His Lady Midnight (12 page)

“I have heard much worse.”

“I am sure you have, but you should not expect to hear it from me.” He sighed, then downed the rest of the wine in his glass. “It is not easy to be inconspicuous when we are staying at a grand house in Bath instead of the small cottage I had anticipated.”

“I have often found that the best way to hide something is to keep it right in plain sight.”

“That makes no sense. Are you sure you are not the one who got a facer?”

She laughed. “My head is quite thick, or so I have been told on numerous occasions. It can tolerate quite a bit.” Again she grew serious as she added, “I hope yours can endure a lot as well, because we are having a gathering here tomorrow night.”

“You must have taken more than a knock in your head. Tomorrow night?”

“Yes. Just a few friends who will be arriving to play cards and share some conversation.” She raised her hands as he opened his mouth to retort. “Hear me out, Galen. As I said, it is often easiest to hide something in plain sight. If suspicion has chased us from London, we must counter it. No one with any common sense would host a gathering the day after traveling from London to Bath. They would rest up a bit first.”

“Anyone with common sense would.”

“So, my idea is that if we host a gathering tomorrow night, we can speak of how we have relaxed in the gardens here while we recovered from our trip from London.”

He continued to frown. “That may be so, but what reason do you give for you and me traveling alone from Town to this so-called cottage?”

“Why, I was only doing as a lady should when I encountered you on the Bath road after your carriage broke down.” She smiled. “As Alfred had to limp back to London in your carriage, it will give countenance to the whole story.”

“You are devious,” he said, his grin returning.

“Only if you think you can stand by my side tomorrow evening to welcome the guests I have invited.”

Galen sagged back into the pillows as he tried to give no mind to the ache scoring his forehead. “How many?”

“About twenty.” She refilled his glass. “You mentioned the names of some friends while we were riding here. I sent them invitations as well as an invitation to Mr. and Mrs. Lyttle, who are friends of mine.”

“It seems you have this all set.”

Putting the bottle of wine back on the table, she said, “Only if you think you can do this.”

“How can I say no?”

“No is not difficult to say.”

He took her hand and held it beneath his on the covers. When she would have drawn it back, he curled his fingers around hers. “It is difficult for
you
to say.”

“I told that beast in the smithy no very easily.”

“And you have told me no, as well.” He stroked her soft skin. When she quivered at the chaste sensation, he thought of how delightfully she had trembled when he kissed her. A craving that eclipsed even the pain in his side surged through him. “But, my dear, you cannot say no to those you believe are in need.”

“Not now.”

He pulled her down to sit beside him on the bed. She cried out in dismay, but he kept her eyes even with his as he asked, “Does that mean you do not want to continue this work that endangers you?”

“Of course not.”

“Odd, for it sounds as if you just did.” Putting the glass on the chair by the bed, he met her gaze evenly.

“I have my obligations, Galen.” Her chin rose as she offered him her coolest smile. It was wasted because he could see the pain in her eyes.

His other hand brushed her cheek, and he winced when he stretched the wound in his side. The cur's knife had only grazed him, but the pain suggested that the blade had sliced far into him. Swallowing that groan, he said, “Lady Midnight's obligations?”

All color vanished from her face. “Did Mr. Dorrance say anything more about those tales?”

“Not enough to tell me if they truly could be connected with you.”

“You believe it is a coincidence?”

“I would
like
to believe that.”

She sighed. “I don't believe that it is just a coincidence either. That is why I am asking you to risk your recovery with this gathering tomorrow evening.”

“If you will make it a
conversazione
, it will be easier for me. I can sit and complain about the injury I received yesterday when my horse dumped me as I was trying to take a fence. That will explain my sore ribs, although I will endure ribbing at my inability to keep my seat.”

“Good.”

“You realize what a blow this will be to my pride as a horseman, don't you?”

“No.” Phoebe faltered, then said, “I really know very little about you.”

He regarded her with amazement. “That is true. We have not had much time for chitchat. I know little about you other than what
on dits
says and what takes you to the Pool.”

“I can say much the same of you.”

“Mayhap because there is little else to say.”

She laughed. “Come now, Galen. Surely you are not unaware of what is said about the dashing Lord Townsend who sweeps young misses off their feet and endangers their reputations.”

“I do not feel the least bit dashing at the moment.”

“Are you in great pain?” she asked, her smile vanishing.

He put his hand over his side. “I have been better, but you need not fret about me because of this injury. To own the truth, I have hurt myself far worse through my own unthinking behavior.” His eyes twinkled with the merriment that warned her that he was not exaggerating. “And 'tis far better to be wounded in the gallantry of protecting a fair lady from a blackguard than in trying to sneak out of the nursery and falling out of a tree when my nightshirt was caught on a limb.”

Phoebe laughed. She could not halt herself. The image of the customarily elegant Galen Townsend hanging from a tree branch by his nightshirt was wildly amusing. Wiping tears from her eyes, she met his gaze. Her breath snagged in her throat as she saw the naughty child he had been mirrored in his sparkling eyes. He was a man who delighted in a challenge and believed he could do anything he set his mind on. Even rescuing her from her own misstep on the docks.

He did not speak nor did he touch her, but she leaned toward him, wanting to be so close to him that she could savor his breath on her face and hear his heartbeat, which was so much steadier than hers. Slowly her fingers rose to stroke his cheek that was a strange shade beneath his tan.

“I should not,” she whispered, drawing back her hand.

“Because we are alone here on my bed?” he asked as softly.

“No, because I might hurt you worse.”

“These fingers could not hurt me.” He tilted his head and kissed her fingertips, one by one. His own hand brought her lips closer to his. “And a kiss would certainly make me feel better.”

A knock came at the door. Phoebe jumped to her feet, nearly tripping over the chair. She gripped it to keep it from falling to the floor.

“I have never seen a guiltier face,” Galen said with a chuckle.

Giving him an uneven smile, she went to the door. She opened it and let in a tall man.

She slipped out into the corridor as she heard Galen greet the man with “Roland, what in the blazes are
you
doing here?” A pause, then, “Phoebe, wait!”

Phoebe did not answer. Walking along the passage, she let her shoulders ease from their straight line. Roland had welcomed her on her arrival and introduced himself as “Lord Townsend's man.” When Tate had brought the carriage from Townsend Hall, Roland had insisted on traveling to Thistlewood Cottage as well.

She would leave Galen's valet to serve him while she tried to regain her composure. She should not have been in Galen's room alone. Where was every iota of propriety that she once had taken such pride in? She was becoming as indifferent to the canons of Society as one of the high-skirts by the Pool.

Coming down the trio of steps to the next lower level of the house, which went up and down along the hill overlooking the river that split Bath in half, she did not look back. The walls here were constructed of stone, but old tapestries and portraits that were nearly as ancient added a graciousness to the rooms with the deep-set windows and bare rafters. She walked through the room to the terrace beyond the open doors.

The city of Bath was set between the hills below. She rested her hands on the iron railing and admired it. She had not been to Bath since she was a young girl, although her friend Mrs. Lyttle had asked her to pay a call often in the past five years.

The curve of the Crescent and the maze of the streets were marked by lamplight that reflected back the starlight overhead. A gentle breeze sifted through the branches nearby. Hearing the rattle of a wagon, she sighed. These sights and sounds had been so familiar both on Grosvenor Square and, oddly, by the Pool when she had made her way there in the depths of the night.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she smiled up at the sky. She loved this time of year and this time of night. Everything was so alive and yet so quiet.

“You look happy.”

She whirled. “Galen, what are you doing here? You should be resting.”

Taking cautious steps out onto the terrace, he walked to the railing. “I wanted to assure myself that you were all right.”

“Me? I was barely hurt.” She pulled up a chair for him. Sitting on a stone bench facing him, she added, “Galen Townsend, you are want-witted to leave your bed.”

“Mayhap, but I wish to be sure that you are fine. I was not sure if it was just Roland's arrival that might have found you in a most indelicate position with me, or if something else was bothering you.” He held out his hand.

She took it and smiled. “I will be fine when I return to Town and what I should be doing.”

“You are going to be troublesome, I fear.”

“Troublesome?”

“I thought you understood that you must remain here until the furor is over.” He paused, then added, “Even after I go back to London.”

“When you go, I shall as well.”

“No.”

“But, Galen—”

“I will be returning to London the day after tomorrow.”

Phoebe stood. “Are you out of your mind? You were stabbed. You need to heal.”

“I was badly scratched. Nothing more.” Pushing himself to his feet, he said, “I must go to London to fulfill my own obligations. When it is safe for you to return, I will send you a message to let you know.”

“That is kind of you, but I cannot linger here.”

“You must. If your pursuers do not find you soon, they are certain to give up.”

She went back to the iron railing and stared down at the river. “They will not give up so easily.”

“All the more reason for you to remain here.” His voice came from close behind her. When his hands settled on her shoulders, he said, “You will be safe here while I do what I must.”

“Rescue your brother from his own foolishness?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think that is possible?” she asked, facing him.

He scowled. “I have to hope so.”

Nine

“Excellent,” Phoebe said as Vogel motioned for a maid to put the last tray of glasses on the table by the double doors leading to the terrace. Light flowed through the doors and over the rugs to merge with the sunshine coming through the trio of windows set into the opposite wall.

The butler nodded, his face as somber as if they were planning a funeral instead of an evening of cards and conversation. He adjusted one corner of the tablecloth, which was embroidered with a crest that must belong to Sir Ledwin's family because she had seen it repeated throughout the cottage.

As he walked out of the room, Phoebe looked around her. How odd it was to be planning a gathering in a house that was not her own! She was accustomed to the expansive height of the ballroom in Brackenton Park and the elegance of the house on Grosvenor Square.

Tapping her finger against her chin, she tried to remember the last time she had entertained at either place. She sat on a wooden bench by the windows. The last time had been the night before she heard that Jasper's younger brother had been sentenced to seven years' transportation to the far side of the world. She had been the hostess at an evening
conversazione
much like the one she had planned for tonight.

“Lady Phoebe?”

She looked toward the door to the hall. A young footman stood there. Although he tried to copy Vogel's stern expression, his lips twitched. She was not sure whether he was struggling not to laugh or it was something else altogether.

“Yes?” she asked.

Squaring his shoulders, he said, “Mr. Townsend, my lady.”

Phoebe heard herself ask the footman to bring Galen's brother in, but the footman had no time to convey the message before a tall, strikingly handsome man with dark ruddy hair strode into the room. The resemblance between the brothers was strong from their height to the well-tailored clothes that bespoke of their place among the
ton
.

“Welcome, Mr. Townsend,” she said, finding her voice as he stared at her with the same appraising look he was giving the room. What was Galen's brother doing here? Mayhap it was as simple as Carr had run out of funds for his bachelor's fare in Town, and he was coming here to depend on his brother's boundless generosity.

Dash it! This would mean that Galen would not be leaving on the morrow for London. Her heart leaped with joy even as she reminded herself that she would find it more difficult to go back to Town if Galen remained here. She wanted to stay with him to discover more about the sensations that swept over her each time he touched her. But she was needed in London. She must go back.

Carr Townsend pulled off his gloves and tossed them into his hat. Handing both to the footman, he said, “I had understood my brother could be found here. Who are you?”