Duel of Hearts (3 page)

D
espite his best efforts, it was a full week before Tony saw Leah Cole again, and then he had to haunt Hookham's on a Thursday morning to do it. Lingering over a subscription card, he kept an eye on the door, hoping she meant to come despite the light gray drizzle that enveloped the city. Impatient, he checked his watch several times in the course of an hour, until he was certain the rain had dissuaded her. Reluctantly he tucked his first selection under his arm and gave up. Feeling quite foolish about having wasted his morning, he emerged into the street to whistle for his driver just as the elegant black-lacquered carriage pulled up to discharge its passengers. He congratulated himself on this stroke of fortune and turned back, adjusting his beaver hat jauntily on his head as he waited for her to step down.

A glimpse of a slim stockinged ankle came first, followed by a lithe body clad in one of those simple muslin dresses whose very simplicity denoted expense. She twitched the narrow skirt down over slim hips and reached to straighten an altogether fetching chipstraw bonnet over the honey-blond curls that peeped from beneath its brim. She saw him then, and her eyes widened a fraction before meeting his coolly. She spoke first. “Good morning, Lord Lyndon.”

“You are out early, Miss Cole,” he acknowledged with his most winning smile.

“But of course. I have it on strictest authority that no lady dares venture into Bond or St. James Street after noon, my lord.” There was the barest hint of a challenge in her low voice.

“And why do you think that is, Miss Cole?” he quizzed her.

“It is obviously because gentlemen of fashion seldom rise before noon—or so I am told. This way there can be no untoward discourse between the sexes. That, I suppose, is reserved for soirees, routs, and balls—and Almack's, of course.”

His smile broadened. “You cannot have ever been to Almack's if you think that.”

“I have never been to Almack's,” she admitted candidly. “And I cannot quite think I should like the place.”

He thought he detected a hint of defiance in the jut of her chin. “I am sure you would not—I think it rather stuffy myself.”

“Yes, well … you remember Annie, do you not?” She turned to her abigail, murmuring, “Are you quite ready? Do you have the books?”

“You do not appear to have suffered any injury from young Hawkins' wreck,” he hastened to add, unwilling to let her go.

“I did not.”

“You look well.” He felt as green as a boy just come down from Oxford for the first time.

“I am never ill, my lord, nor am I given to taking to my bed with imagined ailments. Now, if you will excuse us, I am determined to obtain a book that Mr. Parkins has reserved for me. Good day, my lord.”

For the second time in as many meetings, she had coolly dismissed him, something that never happened to him. Moving with alacrity to get the door, he bowed slightly. “After you, Miss Cole. Actually, I just took out a subscription myself—perhaps you could recommend an edifying book?”

“Edifying?” she appeared to consider, then shook her head. “No. It is not likely that our tastes would be similar in the least.”

Piqued—and even more intrigued than ever—he let her pass. Nearly every other female of his acquaintance would have artfully batted her lashes, spoken archly, fanned herself prodigiously, or otherwise flirted with him, but Leah Cole was obviously unimpressed, a singularly unexpected circumstance. Telling himself she could be merely seeking to whet his interest by her indifference, he decided to persevere.

He was surprised by the obsequious treatment she received from the proprietor, who came out from behind the desk to greet her personally. As he watched, three volumes were produced from a shelf and handed to her. Tony moved closer to peer over her shoulder.

“Glenarvon?
My dear Miss Cole, 'tis naught but a thinly veiled pack of lies written for revenge. Caro Lamb—”

She stiffened and her expression grew a trifle pained. “If you do not mind, Lord Lyndon, I would very much rather read it myself. Since I do not personally know any of the principals, I shall merely be diverted.”

“You read romances then?”

“Actually, I read anything.” Turning back to the old man, she spoke in that low, husky voice Tony found so pleasing. “Thank you, Mr. Parkins. Annie wishes to borrow
Mansfield Park
again, if it is available.”

“Oh, miss!”

“Nonsense, Annie—'tis my treat for you.”

A clerk approached Tony with an offer of help, and for want of any other excuse, he ordered a volume of Shakespeare's sonnets, and tried to overhear Leah Cole as she spoke pleasantly with the proprietor. This time, he was going to learn her direction if he had to follow her home.

“Good day, Mr. Parkins,” he heard her say. “And good day, my lord.”

“Wait!”

He grabbed his books and started after her, catching up with her on the sidewalk. When she turned around, he favored her with another smile. “Actually, Miss Cole, I came in hopes of seeing you again,” he admitted.

He was rewarded with a faintly skeptical lift of her eyebrow. “But whatever for? You do not even know me, sir.”

“Ah, but I have hopes of remedying that. Indeed, I thought perhaps I might call on you now that you are recovered—unless of course you fear my doing so might displease your …” He paused to make his meaning clear without saying it. “And if 'tis impossible to meet there, I'd take you for a turn around the park, where none need know of it but ourselves.”

“I do not think—”

“If not today, then perhaps tomorrow—or Saturday even. I pray you will not be hasty until you hear my offer.”

She had not the least notion of his meaning, but she knew full well that gentlemen did not offer to take ladies up without paying calls on them first. And she could not quite forget the positively brazen way he'd looked at her earlier.

“I am sorry, my lord, but—”

“Look, I do not know what arrangement you have with your current protector, but—”

“Lord Lyndon, I believe you must be mistaken,” she cut in coldly as she caught his meaning. “I have no wish to further this acquaintance. Good day, sir.”

She'd spoken so abruptly that he wasn't certain he'd made himself quite plain. The chit had rejected him before he could even make the offer! Moreover, she'd wasted no words in dismissing him in no uncertain terms. Surprised, he snapped, “Perhaps 'tis you who are mistaken, Miss Cole. I am interested in making you a generous offer, and, unlike your current protector, I would not be averse to showing you about—taking you to the opera, theater, that sort of thing. A woman of your looks should not be hidden away. You are meant to be admired, my dear.”

Mistaking her outraged silence for consideration of his offer, he moved closer and reached for her hand. She flushed to the roots of her hair when he touched her, and jerked away angrily. Beside her, her abigail gasped at his effrontery.

“Are you offering me
carte blanche,
my lord?” Leah Cole demanded awfully. “For if you are, you have entirely exceeded the bounds of decency!” Biting off each word and spitting it at him, she concluded with cold fury, “Let me make myself quite plain, sir—I neither wish for nor welcome your protection. So you see, you have quite wasted your time waiting for me when it could have been spent searching the gutters. Come on, Annie.”

Angered by the finality in her voice, Tony grasped her arm. “On your high ropes, eh, Miss Cole? Do you think I cannot tell what you are? And do not be trying to pass yourself off as Quality, for it won't fadge! This is Tony Barsett—I have seen your kind before. Now, let us be reasonable—”

“Reasonable? Listen to me, you insufferable oaf! I was prepared to assume you merely offensive, but now I think you are escaped from Bedlam!”

“How much do you want?”

“And
you are obtuse in the extreme! If you do not unhand me this instant, Lord Lyndon, I will set up such a screech that you'll regret it. I do not know what sort of loose screw you are, but you are definitely empty in the cockloft!”

“Coming it too strong, Miss Cole!” he snapped. “I am making you a reasonable offer—what will it take to get you?”

“Do you understand plain speaking, sir?” she demanded angrily. “I am not a Cyprian but a Cit!”

“Mr. Parkins! Mr. Parkins!” The woman Annie ran back into Hookham's for help while a small crowd of interested bystanders gathered. Two coachmen jumped down from Leah's carriage and advanced on Tony. Feeling the fool, he dropped his hand and stepped back, trying to regain his lost dignity. “Your pardon then. I have obviously mistaken the matter.”

“Obviously.” She looked down to where he'd held her arm, and her voice grew even colder. “I am a Cit,” she repeated, “and a proud one at that. For the last time, good day.”

“Miss Cole—”

“Good day,” she repeated firmly. “James, hand me up, if you please.” When one of the coachmen looked as though he'd like to take his fancy lordship down with his fives, she shook her head. “No, leave him be, Thomas—Lord Lyndon is dangerously deranged.”

Once home, Tony relived every moment of the humiliating experience until he could stand it no longer. He'd made a cake of himself, and for the life of him, he could not quite decide how he'd come to do it. He'd meant merely to discover her direction, to converse with her, and to pursue her in leisurely fashion, but some devil in him could not wait, and he'd blurted out his intent like a green youth. He, Tony Barsett, the accomplished flirt, had succumbed to those gray eyes like a boy in the first throes of summer love.

And for the life of him, he could not fathom why he'd done it. If only she'd played the game—played the coquette a little—then there would be less to blame. But she hadn't. She hadn't encouraged him in the least. And in his eagerness to have her, he'd overlooked the obvious: he did not know her because she was a Cit. Drinking deeply of a glass of sherry, he stared morosely into the empty fireplace.

The door creaked open beneath a knock behind him. Reluctantly he swung his tall frame around. “What is it?”

“My lord … ?” It was the footman, Dilkes, easing into the room like a rabbit ready to run. “My lord, there is a person here to see you.”

“Then send him away.”

“He was most insistent—said his name was Jeptha Cole, sir, and that he had business of some importance with you.”

Jeptha Cole. For a moment Tony couldn't place the name, and then recognition dawned. Old King Cole, they called him in honor of the fortune he'd made at the docks. His fleet of trading vessels plied the seas independently of the India Company, carrying cargoes of sugar, Spanish tobacco, Jamaica rum, timber, and rice. But what the deuce was he doing at Lyndon House? Although Tony had heard of him, they'd never actually met.

Then a horrible suspicion reared in his mind. Jeptha Cole. Cole, as in Leah Cole. With the perversity of one who seeks punishment, Tony nodded. “Send him in—and bring another bottle and a glass.” Resolutely he drained the last of his sherry and prepared to face an irate father.

“Lord Lyndon?”

Tony acknowledged the greeting with a nod. “Mr. Cole?”

“Aye.”

Cole was shorter than he'd imagined him to be—a plump, plainly dressed, balding man with sharp, penetrating eyes. He crossed the room to pump Tony's hand perfunctorily, and stated without preamble, “I believe you have made the acquaintance of my daughter, Leah.”

The wine could not prepare him for the impact of those words. To hide his embarrassment over the earlier incident, Tony rose and gestured to the nearest chair, offering, “Er … would you care to take a seat and have some sherry?”

“Damme if I won't. Sit yourself.” Cole dropped his bulk into the deep leather upholstery and drew out his handkerchief to mop his brow. “Fine-looking girl, my Leah—don't favor me at all,” he began without preamble. “Looks like her mother, my late wife, God rest her soul.” Looking across at Lyndon's totally arrested expression, he hastened on. “Oh, do not be thinking I mean to waste your time, my lord, 'cause I don't.”

Cole reached to take the glass of sherry from the footman and waited for the fellow to withdraw. Tasting the wine, he savored it, nodding his approval. “Good stuff, my lord. Here, take a seat yourself, that I may look at you. Aye, that's better. Thing is, Leah's my only issue, my lord,” he explained between sips. “Been reared like a lady—governesses, abigails, ladies' maids, tutors, dance masters, music masters, modistes—everything money can buy her. ‘Course she ain't a lady, 'cause I'm a Cit—ain't ashamed of it—that's the way of it, you know. But she
ought
to be a lady.”

Pausing to drain the glass, he sighed. “Promised her mother: ‘Our girl's going to have a title,' I told her—reason I named her Leah, I liked the sound of it—Lady Leah, you know.”

“I fail to see—”

“Run off your legs, ain't you? Well, I ain't! Jeptha Cole's got the blunt to bring you about, Lord Lyndon, and to do it handsomely.” Leaning forward, the old man stared at Tony from beneath thick, brushy brows that contrasted incongruously with his shiny head. “Aye. When Leah came home last week and said she'd met you, I knew I'd heard of you. Made a few inquiries myself, if you want the truth of it, my lord. And now that I see you, I know I am right.”

“Mr. Cole, I assure you—”

“No, no,” the older man interrupted, “let me open my budget afore you answer me. My Leah's a good girl—not too biddable, I admit it, but good-hearted. Pretty too. She won't disgrace you with her manners or her appearance, I promise you. And don't you worry none that I am the encroaching kind—Jeptha Cole knows what he is. I'd be as out of place at your fancy balls as you would be in my docks.”