Edith Layton (4 page)

S
he wore celestial blue to match her eyes. Her straw bonnet had blue flowers twined through it to further make the point.

One of her admirers had written that. It was only true, Rafe thought as he helped her up into his open phaeton.

“You look lovely,” he said when he’d got himself settled in the driver’s seat, his heart thumping as loudly as if he’d just climbed up the tallest fire ladder in London.

“Why, thank you,” she said with a charming smile, making him wish he’d said something clever enough to deserve it.

“We’re in luck,” he said. “The weather’s held. I thought a ride through the park? And then to Hammond’s? They set a fine tea, I heard, and it’s close to the park. Or would you prefer Gunter’s?”

She bobbed her head. “Oh, Hammond’s, to be sure. I love their teas. But we must stop back here to collect a chaperon on the way, you know. It’s got nothing to do with you, Rafe. I can ride out with you in an open carriage—and a very attractive one it is too, I might add. But go to tea? Never. Any little thing starts tongues clacking in Town, and taking my tea alone with such a dashing fellow would have all the hens chirping. Why, they’d have us married before you could blink!”

“Let’s go straight there now, alone,” he said, grinning.

She laughed, pleased. “So you say now. But my dear sir, you hardly know me.”

“Then let’s remedy that,” he said, and shook the reins. His horses responded, his heartbeat slowed, his wits returned. If he was doing something, he performed well. He was, after all, a man of action. He drove toward the park.

The noise of the city drowned out any opportunity to talk. Raucous street sellers’ cries, horse wagons rumbling over the cobbles—the general clamor kept them silent until they drove through the gates of the park.

“You first,” she said, as soon as the sounds of the city faded enough for them to talk. “I’d like to know more about you. Tell me about yourself if you please.”

“Not much to tell,” he said, and heard how gruff and boorish that sounded. Besides, it wasn’t true. He didn’t like talking about himself, that was all. “My family home’s in the South, by the sea. Arrow Court’s been there since England itself, I think. My parents are still there. My brother’s the heir. I had a choice of the army or navy or church. Can you see me in a cassock? But the cavalry suited me fine.”

“Indeed?” she asked vivaciously. “Where did you serve?”

She sat up straight and gazed at him with every evidence of fascinated interest as he spoke. She was interested. But not in his conversation. She could listen with half an ear as he went on. The other half of her attention could focus on studying him. He wasn’t a loquacious fellow, she thought, but no man could resist talking about himself. The wars were only recently over. She had dozens of suitors who had served in some capacity; men loved to talk about their army days. It gave her time to assess him.

Her mother was right, she thought as she watched him guide his horses. He was attractive, she supposed, in his way. Too bad that wasn’t the way she wanted a man to look. It wasn’t just his ridiculous hair. Damon Ryder was her ideal; no man in England was as handsome. She’d thought so the moment she’d first seen him. That was almost the first time she’d focused her eyes. And what a sight he’d been, from boyhood on—her ideal. She’d never made any other plans for her life. She was to be his wife. The phantom children she’d imagined all her life had all borne his stamp. He was meant for her. It was under
stood. Except by him. Her parents had thought so; she’d thought so. He hadn’t.

It still hurt with a pain that didn’t dull with time, but only grew sharper when she thought of her life to come. He’d been married almost a year. But what was a scant year compared to all the years of her life? It had changed her in ways she couldn’t yet fathom. They said she’d grown ice around her heart. She hadn’t. She would have felt the cold. Worse, she felt nothing. Except this distance between herself and the world now, as though there were an invisible film between it and her. She could observe everything, but it seemed nothing could touch her anymore. That was good. The feeling of unreality was not.

Many men wanted her. She still only wanted Damon. But she’d make do. She’d have to.

But with this man? Damon looked like a Greek statue come to life. Rafe looked like a man. But Damon had a wife now. A wife who was going to bear him a baby soon. Annabelle shifted on the hard, high seat and looked for more than she could see in Rafe. It was time for her to marry. She needed a man to help her bury her hurt so no one could see it or pity her for it anymore. She knew she could never bury her heart’s desire, but she could and would lay away her heart instead. Marriage was necessary. Her suitors claimed to have love enough for both of them. They had better, she thought.

Rafe was neat and clean, precise to a shade, she decided. Still—thinking of shades—his hair! Such a pity. That ghastly color! It blazed copper in the sunlight. It did look oddly well with his eyes, though.
Good eyes, at least, she thought. Clear and stark, blue as new ice. A strong face, long, strong hands. He guided the horses well, he—

He turned to look at her, pinning her with that bright, direct stare. She blinked. He’d stopped talking. What had he been talking about?

He laughed at her expression. “You have to watch what you ask for. Didn’t mean to put you to sleep with my stories. Turnabout’s fair play. Now you tell me about yourself—and mind you don’t put me to sleep, because then who’ll drive my team?”

She laughed with him, pleased and surprised. Who’d have thought such a strict face could be made so attractive by just one genuine smile? Her interest in him nudged up a notch. He was eligible, amiable, wealthy enough for her papa’s standards, and acceptable to her mama. Not a brilliant match. But not a disastrous one either. Lord Raphael Dalton showed definite possibilities. And he was smitten. She intended him to remain so. The Season hadn’t started and she’d promised herself one more before she made her decision. But he definitely showed promise.

It was easy for her to talk about herself. She told him about how odd and lonely it was to have been an only child. She laughed about how very sad it was to have been so coddled, and pretended to be so grateful for his sympathy. She pouted and prattled and watched to see his reactions, a little startled to see boredom definitely beginning to glaze over those perceptive eyes of his. So she spoke about London
and the plays she’d seen and her opinions of them, and saw him pay attention again.

Interesting,
she thought. Definitely another point in his favor.

“Speaking of plays and the theater,” she said slowly, “are you going to be in Town for the rest of the summer?”

“Likely,” he said, watching the road in front of them. “And you?”

“Oh, definitely,” she answered, tilting him a look from under her long lashes. “I was terribly bored before, but suddenly I find London so very interesting again.”

His head turned; he gave her all his attention.

She looked at her gloves. “One can never get tired of London, I suppose,” she went on innocently. And then looked up and smiled at him saucily so he’d know she knew very well just how ambiguous that sounded.

“Certainly are a lot of things to do in London,” he said, “most of them better to do with a friend. I had an invitation to a masquerade at Vauxhall for next week. But my friend Drum up and left me for the Continent. All my other friends are rusticating. If you like, we can go together—if you’re free.”

“I would like,” she said pertly, then sighed, “If I’m free…I’d have to see my appointment book when we get home. Can you wait until then for an answer?”

“Of course,” he said. “It isn’t until next week, after all. Do you like Vauxhall, by the way? I find the food
paltry, but the place is good enough for spectacles in the summertime.”

He didn’t press her for an answer, beg or tease or mention it again. She was startled. Then even more interested.

After an hour Rafe turned the horses back again. He drove back to her town house and jumped lightly down to tell the footman at her door that they’d returned. Annabelle was again pleased. Many men would have only flipped a coin to a passing boy and sent word to her door. But perhaps, she mused, he was only trying to show off that limber frame of his. She didn’t blame him; it was an asset and he probably knew it. He was certainly well put together. Not perfect in every dimension, like Damon. He was rangier, leaner. But certainly fit and agile.

Rafe waited at the door for Annabelle’s chaperon to join them. Annabelle’s mama, the countess, resplendent in purple, finally came out, alone, and greeted him. He bowed, looked behind her for a maidservant, and saw none. The front door closed and the countess walked on toward the carriage. Then Rafe realized no one else was coming.

She was the chaperon who was going to go to tea with them? Rafe’s eyes widened a fraction. This was a high honor.

He gave the countess his hand and led her to his carriage. He helped her up to the seat. She thanked him and settled herself between him and her daughter. But her eyes flew to Annabelle’s. Annabelle gave
her a tiny smile and a tinier nod. Her mama’s eyes widened too then, with sudden interest.

Rafe noted it. He clucked to his team and the carriage moved smartly down the street. “So, to Hammond’s, ladies?” he asked, his spirits rising.

Before Annabelle could answer, her mama did. “Yes indeed. But I heard your town house is not far from it.
Do
point it out as we go by, would you? Vulgar curiosity, I know,” she said in a way that implied she knew she could never be vulgar no matter what she said, “but one likes to know where all one’s friends live, doesn’t one?” Annabelle’s face flushed. Rafe suppressed a grin. He really was being inspected top to bottom. Ordinarily he’d have been annoyed with such a request. But Annabelle’s mama? She could check his back teeth if she wished. Asking to see where a fellow lived was like asking for a glimpse at his bank account. Anyone could drive past a man’s house without letting him know about it. She wanted him to know.

“Certainly,” he said, his spirits rising even higher. He turned his team westward. “It’s only a few streets out of our way.”

Annabelle flushed pinker. She grew even more rosy when they came to his street, and her mother asked so many questions Rafe had to slow the horses to point out his house.

“Should you like to see it?” he offered casually. “My man’s away at the moment, and I’ve a friend stopping with me, but I’ve just got back from a trip and haven’t been able to muss it up much.”

“If it’s a problem, we’ll stop by another time,” Annabelle said. “Mama will understand.”

“It’s no problem,” Rafe said. The thought of her in his house was enormously gratifying.

“But we wouldn’t want to impose,” Annabelle protested.

“You couldn’t,” he said, turning to her and losing the train of his thought as he found himself getting lost in her wide-eyed gaze. He shook himself, concealing it by shaking the reins to hurry the horses. The only problem he could see was the usual when a female clapped eyes on Eric. But Eric had said he’d be sleeping. And he’d been sick.

“Good!!” Annabelle’s mama cried. “I hadn’t wanted to be indelicate, but—one needs to visit the facilities, one finds.”

“And they’re inside all the houses on this street,” Rafe said honestly. “Got hot water on the second floor as well.”

“Oh, do tell?” the countess said avidly. “We do not where we are staying. How charming.”

He let the ladies off in front of his house, drove around back to the stables, and hurried to the front steps where he’d left them. But they were nowhere in sight. Frowning, he tried the door. It was unlocked. He pushed it open.

And wished he hadn’t.

Annabelle and her mama were stopped stock still on the threshold. A woman stood in the hall facing them. She was boldly illuminated by the afternoon sunlight pouring through the transom over the door. She wore a man’s long crimson dressing gown. Her
unbound raven hair was wet and shining; it lay like wet black silk, clinging to her shoulders, making the front of the gown damp as it fell in a glistening cascade to her breasts. Her clearly defined, outlined, upthrust breasts. She was obviously wearing little else, because she was barefoot. She clutched the gown closed at her neck. Her eyes were dark and bright, opened wide in shock. Her cheeks were crimson. It became that exotic face very well, making it vivid and voluptuous. Her mouth was opened in surprise.

But not half so wide as Lady Annabelle’s or her mama’s.

“I
mpossible,” Brenna said. She said it softly but firmly. She kept her hands in her lap so no one could see their fine trembling.

Her brother closed his eyes, laid his head on the back of his chair, and counted to thirty again.

Rafe paused in his pacing round the room. “Not impossible,” he said as firmly as she had. “Necessary.”

“Not necessary,” she said, and then laughed. It sounded genuine. Her brother opened one eye. “My lord,” she added as Rafe stared.

“Rafe,” he muttered.

“Very well then,” she went on, “Rafe. You
are
a man of few words. And you’ve been saying the same ones over and over again. Now I ask you to listen, please. I’ll count off my reasons for not accepting
your proposal as carefully as my dear brother is counting to control his temper.
One,
it was my fault, and there is no way you should be penalized for it. It was a stupid mistake. I shouldn’t have gone to the door. But you had no servants, and you said you weren’t expecting anyone. I thought you were locked out and wanted one of us to open it. Yes, I’d just gotten out of the bath, but no, I would
not
wake Eric, he needs his rest.

“
Two,
I didn’t think you’d be so smitten by the sight of me in Eric’s dressing gown—I lost mine in transit, so I had to borrow his—that you’d forget yourself and overstep the bounds of host by making advances. I’m hardly a temptress.” She laughed again, as though that were a ridiculous thought.

Rafe stared at her. He would have thought it was too, before. Before he’d got a look at her in the sunlight after she’d had a day to rest. Last night she’d looked drab and wan. This morning, slightly better. This afternoon in that dressing gown? Maybe it was just because he’d seen her through Annabelle’s eyes, but she’d looked like the “expensive trollop” Annabelle’s mother had proclaimed her before she’d pulled her daughter out the door.

Now, with the high color of embarrassment staining her cheeks as a cosmetic, his friend’s sister’s face was vivid, startlingly attractive, and undeniably sensual looking. He didn’t know how he could have missed it before. Those sloe eyes, those shapely, smiling, cherry red lips, that slender, curving body…She’d pulled her wet hair back into a sleek knot,
Spanish style, on top of her head. It glistened blue-black in the sunlight, accenting that full mouth, that seductive face of hers. She looked dangerously exotic, capable of enacting a man’s most intense sexual fantasies.

…If she weren’t Eric’s sister, Rafe thought quickly, suppressing the dangerous thought. Eric wouldn’t have a slattern for a sister. Or if he did, he wouldn’t bring her to a friend’s house with him. Or at least he’d have warned him. There was honor among friends. Whatever his half sister was, Eric was honorable. That was enough for Rafe. And who better than he to know looks were no measure of a person? He’d lived through a war and brought most of his friends out of it alive. His hair hadn’t been unlucky for anyone but himself.

“So
three,
” Brenna continued, “I was caught in what might seem to be an embarrassing situation.”

“Seem?”
her brother said dryly. “Yes, like the sea seems wet.”

She ignored him. “And
four,
and finally,” she went on, her low, throaty voice making her words sound very final indeed, “I’ll go home and it will be forgotten. I’m sorry if it made your lady angry with you, Rafe, but I’ll explain it to her and mend matters. She seems like an intelligent woman.”

“Intelligent and observant are two different things. Damme—” Rafe paused. “Excuse me, but I’m a little upset at the turn of matters, Miss Ford.”

“Brenna,” Brenna said softly.

“Annabelle and her mama are reasonable females,
I’m sure,” Rafe said, ignoring her, “but what else were they to think? Dam—by Go—dash it all,” Rafe said in frustration. “Forgive my soldier’s hasty tongue, but I’m not used to the company of women. There—that’s it exactly. How are they to know that? You looked at home here, you looked alone, and to all intents and purposes—except for mine—you were. It was my mistake as much as yours, because…”

He bit his tongue. He couldn’t tell her that he’d entirely forgotten her presence in his house in the presence of his lady, though it was true. So he went on to an even more bitter truth.

“Because it was my fault as well. For barging in without letting you know we were coming. And for being too boggled to think fast. I tried to save your name. I wasted precious seconds wondering if I should claim you were a servant or such.”

“When I was half-dressed and in a man’s dressing gown?” Brenna asked.

“A servant?” Eric said with amusement. “London
has
changed since I was here last. Tell me, what was she supposed to be servicing?”

Rafe glared at him. “We are henceforth engaged, Miss Ford,” he told Brenna formally.

“We are not,” she said firmly. “You’ll tell her the truth.”

“I did. You heard. It made them fly faster,” Rafe muttered. “I never saw females move that fast, out the door and down the street like a shot. I had to send a stable lad after them with the carriage to get
them home. It was the least I could do. The best I could do too.
I
couldn’t go thundering after her. She made it clear she didn’t want me near.”

“But she was upset, and no wonder,” Brenna said. “It was an easy thing to misunderstand. I
wasn’t
properly dressed. And how could she consider what you were saying, the way her mama was screeching?”

“I heard it upstairs,” Eric mused. “I was dreaming I was at the opera, and woke up to hear the soprano going sour.”

“So,” Brenna told Rafe as calmly as she could, remembering that shrilling, “you tell her again. I’ll visit and tell her too. We’ll get Eric to put in a word if we have to. No woman can resist him. Then we’ll be gone and the thing will have blown over.”

“
If
they don’t talk about it to others,” Eric put in, “and I can’t think of a female who wouldn’t.”

“A female who wanted to mend fences wouldn’t, and I can’t believe she doesn’t want that,” Brenna told her brother. Seeing Rafe’s glum look, she added, “They won’t gossip about it if he talks to her soon enough. And besides, they don’t know who I am, do they? Rafe explained I was his old friend’s sister, but I don’t remember him using any names.”

“I learned some discretion in my work on the Continent,” Rafe said. “Names are too precious to give away lightly in time of war.”

“Love and war both,” Eric said with a small smile. “So. I concede you might be able to talk it away. Then if we leave as quickly as we arrived, it might mend all.”

“You’re not ready to travel,” Rafe said stubbornly.

But Brenna saw a hint of hope light up those bright eyes of his.

“Damned if I’m not able to go,” Eric said. “I’ll say worse if you keep me here,” he added at Rafe’s quick look of censure.

“You’ll say nothing if you’re dead,” Rafe said angrily, “and if you’re not healthy enough to travel and you do, I’ll kill you myself.”

He heard what he’d said and his angry expression vanished. His lips quirked. Eric laughed and Brenna smiled.

“We’ll see what the doctor says,” Brenna said, “and then we’ll talk more.”

Rafe nodded.

“Fair enough,” Eric said.

“There,” Brenna said, with a calm she didn’t feel. Because the words Rafe’s lady’s mama had flung at her were still echoing in her head. “Trollop,” “slut,” and then with a flourish,
“whore!”
the lady had cried before she’d stormed out the door. It would take a lot of talking to soothe that woman’s feathers. But they would. Then she’d leave this all behind.

She glanced at Rafe. Today he was dressed in tones of blue. The color accentuated his eyes and actually complemented his hair, which was growing a little overlong for him. But it suited him better that way, she mused. The vibrant color added to the sense of vitality and urgency about the man. He stood tall and straight, poised for action. Brenna was used to army men, those who preened in their uniforms, those who became invisible without it. This was a fellow who would radiate confidence and command
whatever he wore. He pulled out his watch and consulted it, and Brenna felt a small pang because she
would
be leaving this all behind her.

“I’ll go see what’s keeping that physician,” Rafe said, and then paused. He shook his fiery head. “Charming of me, eh? No, I’m not trying to get you out sooner,” he told Eric. “It’s just that I must have something to do.”

“I remember,” Eric said, chuckling. “You haven’t changed. I thought the inactivity in hospital would finish you faster than any battle could. So go find yourself an errand or two. Matters will be that much closer to being settled when you get back. I’ll keep the angry mamas out until you return.”

“Need some fresh milk too,” Rafe said. “You like it in your tea, right? Anything you require, Miss Ford?”

“A little peace, a little quiet. Could you bring me a bag of that?” she asked whimsically.

“My going out now will give it to you,” he said, bent his head in a semblance of a bow, and strode out of the room.

“Hotspur,” Brenna whispered when he’d left.

“That Shakespearean hothead?” Eric asked with laughter in his voice. “No. Don’t be fooled, Bren. Rafe’s hasty, but not unthinking. He’s never been rash. It’s just that he thinks better when he’s in motion. We always said it was a good thing it was his arm that got damaged, not his leg. I don’t know how he’d have borne it. He said it wouldn’t have mattered if it had been his legs, he’d just walk on his hands.” Eric smiled. “He’s a good man, Bren. You could do worse, much worse.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “I could marry him. But he’s very much in love with his lovely Lady Annabelle. If you’d seen his face when she saw me…You’re wrong. Marrying him would be the worst thing I could possibly do.”

“So if you leave him to his lady, what about your reputation?” Eric said, watching her closely.

She shrugged. “I put paid to that when I went to nurse you, didn’t I? ‘Unladylike,’ ‘bold,’ and ‘too forward,’ were just a few of the things they said then. Much I cared. Much I care now.”

“Because Father gave you his blessing at the end,” Eric said. “You have a whim of iron, as he wrote to tell me. But to return home unmarried, after this? If it gets out, there’ll be fresh gossip. Take care. This could put paid to your future hopes. You do want to wed and have babes of your own, don’t you?”

“‘Of my own’?” she asked quizzically. “Are there any others forthcoming? Are you considering marriage then, my dear?”

“No, not in this decade, at least. But you don’t want to spend your life as a dutiful daughter or housekeeper for a bachelor brother, do you? You’re only three and twenty, puss, and still prettier than most women in England.”

“Not pretty,” she corrected him. “Lady Annabelle is pretty. I am never that.”

“Handsome then,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said, “just what a woman wishes to be told.”

“Need flowers, child?” he asked. “Didn’t get enough thrown at your head on the way here? There
wasn’t a sailor on the ship who didn’t want to woo you. I couldn’t close my eyes for a minute—not that the wreck I’ve become frightened anyone. But I had my pistol at hand.”

“Your scowl was enough to terrify anyone,” she reassured him. “You’ve just lost a few pounds, but we’ll put them on you again. You’re looking better already.” It was true. Her golden giant of a brother had frightened her badly when she’d met him in the hospital. He’d been almost unrecognizable, waxen and gaunt, his skin yellow, his eyes dim. She’d wondered if he’d ever leave the place alive. But she’d stayed and cared for him, and he’d rallied enough to go home with her. The trip to England had been difficult for him. He was still too thin and weary, but even so, he looked healthier than he had in weeks, and she silently blessed Raphael Dalton for his safe harbor.

“As for me?” Brenna said. “My dear, sweet, deluded Eric, it wasn’t ‘handsome’ the men were pursuing, and they weren’t exactly ‘wooing’ in the sense you think. I’m too much of a lady to say what they were after, but I’m cursed with an appearance that promises more than ‘handsome’ does.”

“Blessed, more like,” he said, closing his eyes again. “You’ll understand when the right fellow appears.”

He has, twice,
she thought.

It was as if her brother heard the thought, because he quickly added, “It’s the future I’m thinking about. Yes, you’ve got looks, Bren. More than you’ve a right to, the way you take care of yourself. But time’s passing.”

“Thank you for reminding me,” she said sweetly. “But no and no. Fair’s fair, Eric. Your friend Rafe is being gallant. But he doesn’t want or need me.”

He nodded. There was nothing more to say, and besides, he was suddenly too weary to say another thing. Too sad about it, too. After all, she was right. Rafe didn’t want or need her—and he’d noticed she didn’t say she didn’t want Rafe.

“My lady’s not receiving visitors this morning,” Annabelle’s butler told Rafe after scanning the visiting card Rafe handed him.

“Right,” Rafe said. “Understood. But tell me if it’s just this visitor she can’t receive.”

“I couldn’t say, m’lord,” the butler answered.

“That bad, eh?” Rafe asked. He’d been prepared for this. He reached into his pocket and took out a note, and a golden coin. He gave both to the butler. The coin disappeared into the butler’s own pocket immediately. Then he stared at the note.

“See that Lady Annabelle gets that, would you?” Rafe said.

The butler nodded. “But I might say? The lady’s mama is more agitated than the lady Annabelle is. And her papa has refused to listen to the fuss at all.”

Well, he wouldn’t, would he?
Rafe thought.
Not a subject he’d want to get into, considering the ladybird he’s been with for the past twenty years
. “Then please take her the note,” Rafe said.

It was a simple message. It said,