Barbara Metzger (30 page)

“Shut up! I won’t sit still and watch it happen, boy, I won’t. If I can’t get rid of the wedding, I’ll get rid of Claibourne. It’s what I should have done from the first. Yes, once and for all.”

“Uh, I’ll just be toddling off now, before you get another of your ideas.”

Fenton sneered. “Did you think I’d send you against Claibourne? As well send an ant to itch an elephant’s arse.”

“Well, I don’t want anything to do with it. Don’t want the title, don’t want any draughty old castle in Durham.”

“Percy, somewhere, somewhere on this earth, I say, there’s got to be a greater fool than you. But when that man dies…”

Two days had gone by with no word from Leigh. Two very long days. Jacey wondered what the rest of her life would be like, if he never came back. Her restless sleep left her more exhausted, and she couldn’t eat, not with the lump of granite in her throat. The dog might have cheered her, but Pen had grown fat and lazy in her London life, and was content just to lie by the fire. Shopping held no attraction either, not if he wasn’t around to dress for.

It was Saturday, the night of the Vauxhall masquerade, and she didn’t know what to do. She’d begged off accompanying her aunt to Lady Richardson’s rout, and she’d told her watchdogs Pinkie and Lem that she wouldn’t need either of them that evening. She was going to read a book and retire early, she’d claimed. The book never got opened.

What should she do? They had talked about meeting at the corner by the stables, but no time was given. She couldn’t very well go stand on the street corner in her evening gown and wait to see if he remembered. On the other hand, if he did come and she wasn’t there, he’d think she was still angry.

The best solution she could devise was her usual one for these situations: the boy’s clothes. She could get out by the tree and over the garden wall, and no one would think anything odd about a lad out at night. She’d be safer from recognition at Vauxhall too, in Lem’s castoffs.

“The only problem,” she told the dog sprawled at the hearth, “is that I want him to see me looking pretty.” The dog thumped her tail twice and went back to sleep. “You’re no help,” Jacey complained from the bottom of the clothespress, where she’d stowed the outfit.

She was stuffing her hair up under the floppy hat when someone scratched at her door. Good grief, what if it was her aunt home early, or Aunt Simone? She mustn’t be seen in britches! She went to the door, but didn’t open it. “Yes, what is it?”

“It’s Eugene, ma’am. A parcel just came for you.”

“Would you put it down by the door, please. I am not, ah, presentable. Thank you.”

She cracked the door an inch and peered out. It would be just like that libertine to lurk in the hall to catch a glimpse of her
en déshabille
. Why Aunt Amabel kept such a creature was a mystery. She scooped up the paper-wrapped bundle and scurried back inside her room.

It was a scarlet domino, a long, hooded cape that would conceal nearly every inch of her! He didn’t forget! The note read
Ten o’clock
. It was already nine-thirty, drat the man, and she would not go in britches! Off they came and back to the closet. Out came one of her new gowns, a low-cut pink crepe. She chose it because of its fuller skirts, besides its daring neckline, in case the side door was locked later and she had to climb up the tree to get back inside. She was pleased at how the gown swirled around her feet and clung to her hips when she moved, but she couldn’t do up three of the tiny buttons at the top of the back! There was no time to change, and she still had to do something with her hair. She brushed it so fiercely it crackled, then hurriedly plaited it into one long braid she could pin into a circlet atop her head. She tied a matching pink bow around the knot, laced pink sandals on her feet, and donned a dark wool pelisse to cover the gown’s gaping back—and therefore sagging front. She refolded the domino and held it against her body, under the pelisse.

“Come on, Pen. I know you’d rather spend the night here, but I need you as an excuse to leave the house. Don’t worry, old girl, I won’t be out all night.”

Marcus and Eugene were both at the front door. To avoid having the footman delegated to accompany her, Jacelyn headed for the library, whose glass door opened to the courtyard.

“I’m just taking Pen out to the stable, Marcus. You can lock up the library when you wish. I’ll come back through the kitchen to get some warm milk, and I’ll most likely use the back stairwell. Good night.”

“Good night, Miss Jacelyn. I hope you’re feeling more the thing by morning.”

“Thank you, Marcus. I know I shall. I’m feeling much better already.”

*

Leigh’s reasons for staying away were twofold. First, they both needed time to calm down after those angry words. He shouldn’t have been so high-handed with her, and she shouldn’t have said what she did. Second, his face didn’t bear looking at. Not as gruesome as Percy’s, Leigh’s black eye gave him a raffish look, but it still declared he’d been in a fight. Leigh had chosen not to make explanations to the
ton
or to Jacey. In the closed carriage, with a black domino pulled low over his brow, the bruise was hardly noticeable. He wouldn’t have to lie that his ragtag cousin had landed a lucky punch, nor tell the truth, that he’d been in a prizefight for the money.

When he was finished with Percy, two days ago, he still wasn’t quit of his anger, so he visited Jackson’s Boxing Parlour. Everyone there was talking of a promising young pugilist they’d seen working out that day. Even Jackson was impressed. Lord Alvanley was so confident, he wrote an open wager in the betting book, offering five-to-one odds to anyone challenging Treadway for a three-round match, Jackson to judge. Claibourne took the bet.

“Arthur, can you lend me a hundred pounds?”

“Are you sure, Leigh? You’re good, but, fiend take it, man, Treadway’s twenty-two. He’s got ten years on you!”

“Ten years of practice, Arthur. The money?”

“Of course. No need to borrow it, in fact, it’s yours. Remember that night at the Cocoa Tree, after the Victory Celebrations? I borrowed five hundred from you. Forgot all about it till now.”

“Lord, I don’t even remember going to the Cocoa Tree that night! Arthur, you’re a prince. A little late, now that I’ve entered my name in the book, but a prince nonetheless. Give me two and hold the rest for me, will you?”

The fight had taken place Friday morning. The first and the second rounds were Claibourne’s. His skill and finesse left the younger man dazed, punching air, and losing his footing. In the third round Treadway found his tempo and landed a few solid, punishing blows, but it was too late, as long as the earl could stand. A fourth round would have finished Claibourne, but the match was his. Now he had a black eye, a bandage holding his ribs together, and enough money to last a good long while, if he didn’t make any more foolish desperation bets. He wouldn’t. He’d much rather spend the blunt on Jacelyn, making sure she enjoyed herself.

Like tonight, at Vauxhall, if she came. She shouldn’t be there at all, certainly not alone with him, so Leigh had made plans for her safety, and more, which was why he was so late. He just couldn’t move as fast as usual. Those ten years felt like twenty, today.

The hackney driver slid the call box open. “’Ow much longer we goin’ to wait, then, gov?”

“A few minutes more. She has to come.”

“It’s your silver, mister. ’Avey-cavey business though.” He slid the little door shut with a snap.

Then she was there. He helped her into the seat opposite him and tapped on the coach roof with his cane for the driver to start.

Jacelyn was staring at him, her face filled with joy. “You came.”

“I promised, sweetheart.”

“I’m so sorry about that other day, Leigh. I didn’t mean what I said. I don’t care about—”

“Shh. I’m sorry too, kitten. I missed you.”

“Oh, Leigh.” She threw herself across the carriage into his arms. He almost fainted from the pain. A good soldier never complains though, so he just held her close while he caught his breath. In a minute she sat back, withdrew the domino, shaking it out onto the other seat. She started to undo the bow holding her pelisse closed, and made a silvery little laughing noise. “I had to let Pinkie have the evening off, Leigh, and I couldn’t do up all the buttons. Would you…?”

“I recall volunteering to be your dresser once, didn’t I? Come here, my wanton, so I can reach.”

She took off the pelisse and made an effort to hold up her bodice while turning around, but even in the dim light from the lanterns on the coach doors, Leigh could see the creamy glow of her skin above the fabric. He had to catch his breath again. His ribs be damned. With her back to him, he folded her in his arms, his cheek against the softness of her neck. Then his lips moved to caress her shoulders, her ear, and his hands moved slowly over the material of her gown. Instead of doing up the top three buttons, he undid three more, until he could cup her breast in his hand and slowly stroke the nipple. Jacelyn moaned softly, calling his name. She turned to face him, and then she was lying in his arms, the gown at her waist, and he was kissing her heart while she grasped his neck and combed her fingers through his curls.

“Oh, Leigh,” she whispered again, until his mouth was on hers and there was no more bumpy carriage or flickering street lights, only his kiss and his hands, waking her like Sleeping Beauty to his passion.

His hand was caressing her thigh, through the silky crepe, and down her leg, drawing the skirt and petticoat up till he was touching bare skin and their breaths were more like gasps.

Snick. The sliding door opened. “By Jupiter, I knowed it! We’re at Vauxhall, governor. D’you want me to pull up or should I just drive ’round a few times?”

*

Vauxhall was vastly different on Masquerade Night, from when the
ton
attended. There were more soldiers, and more girls in low white blouses with rouged cheeks. There were Pierrots and Elizabeths and Henrys. Cats and devils and nuns and nymphs. And a lot of hooded capes and half masks, like theirs. Not just the outfits differed; the outlook was more relaxed, noisier, jollier. These people didn’t have every night of the week to eat, drink, and be merry. They had to do it all at once. At first Jacelyn was enjoying herself. The people seemed so happy, dancing with enthusiasm never seen at Almack’s, cheering and singing, laughing out loud. Then, as she and Leigh meandered along the paths, she realized that most of the crowd was on the go. They all, men and women alike, had bottles and flasks and full glasses waving in their hands. Those who looked so companionable were often holding each other upright, and beneath the laughter and the music she could hear angry shouts, an occasional scream.

“I can see that you and Arthur were right, Leigh. This is no place for a lady.” She moved closer to his side.

“Have you seen enough then? Shall we go?”

“After the fireworks, all right? I’d really like to see them.”

“Of course, my sweet.”

But not tonight. Just past the cascading fountain, near a huge oak tree, a roughly dressed man staggered out of an unlighted alley. He bumped into Jacey, and his hands were groping at her body. She pushed him away and turned to Leigh, but he was grappling with another man! The first, a thickset man with long, bristly sidewhiskers, saw her attention turned and grabbed for her reticule. Jacelyn pulled back, shouting, “Thief! Thief!” to which no one paid the least heed. The strings broke in her hand, and the man was headed down the alley. “Leigh! He’s getting away.”

Claibourne had dispatched his assailant while Jacey was diverted, and now raced after the thief. “Stop, you!” he shouted, and caught the man by the shoulder. He swung him around and connected his fist with the man’s chin, it appeared to Jacey, from where she stood next to the tree. The man went down, and Claibourne retrieved her reticule. He hurried back to her, while the thief scuttled under the hedges.

“Oh, Leigh, how terrible! Are you all right? How can things like this happen?”

“It’s all over, my dear, nothing to concern yourself about.”

“How can you say that? You might have been killed! And if you weren’t so quick and strong and brave, I might have…have been…”

“There, there,” he told her, gathering her against his chest, patting her back, and smiling. His plan was a success! His man Haggerty and Haggerty’s friend Jack had played their parts just as they’d rehearsed. In one easy lesson he’d taught his madcap love never to come here on a lark, to listen when he warned her of danger, and that he’d lay his life on the line for her. Impressing her with his prowess was a bonus. He hadn’t intended to dally in the Dark Walks, but she was clinging so trustingly, tightly―blast Treadway’s right cross—and temptingly.

Someone pushed him from behind. “Haggerty, what the hell are you—” It wasn’t Haggerty. Possibly it wasn’t even a man. It had a little head with piggy eyes all red and squinty, and a huge body with oxlike muscles bulging under its clothes. In a hand the size of a coal scuttle, the creature held a knife. Oh Lord. “Haggerty!”

Leigh got in a quick jab. The attacker hardly felt it, but at least it showed Leigh he wasn’t fast with the blade. He didn’t have to be. Leigh couldn’t disarm him, not without the cane he’d dropped for the first act. He surely couldn’t overpower the beast, even if his ribs weren’t broken, and he couldn’t run—not leaving Jacelyn there.

“Jacey,” he shouted, circling, crouching, never taking his eyes off the giant. “My cane!”

His cane? Jacelyn found it, but how to get it to him? Then those other men came running out of the bushes toward Leigh, the ones who’d assaulted them first. Attack the earl three-to-one, would they? That bear-man had a dagger too, so it was even more unfair! Jacelyn stepped into the fray, beating Haggerty and Jack with the cane before they could get to Leigh.

“Hold, miss, we’re on your side,” Haggerty yelled, shielding his head. “His lordship needs his cane!”

The other man, Jack, was indeed pounding on the giant’s back. Not Leigh’s, and not to any effect, but he was definitely coming to Claibourne’s aid. She let the man Haggerty take the cane from her and toss it to the earl, still keeping his distance from that deadly blade. Now Leigh could act: feint, parry, thrust, counter.
Whack
with the cane and the dagger was in the leaves under the tree. The cane snapping was the last Jacey could see clearly, as the four men made one blurry pile of moving arms and legs.