His Lady Midnight (16 page)

With a growl of a curse he would not have wanted Phoebe to hear, he grasped his brother's arm. He was surprised when Carr did not protest. Then he realized that his brother wanted to speak to him, that everything Carr had done since coming into the parlor had been aimed at provoking Galen so they could speak alone.

He looked back at Phoebe. Her smile was brittle, and her eyes snapped with fury before she went to the doorway as the Lyttles appeared in it. Was she furious at him? He was trying to protect her from Carr's untoward behavior. Blast his brother! And blast Phoebe for not understanding.

“What is so important?” he asked.

Carr's eyes widened, then his mouth straightened. “You allowing that woman to act as if she is your beloved when you could not have known her a fortnight ago.”

“You don't believe in love at first sight?”

“No, and neither do you. Lust? Mayhap. Love? No. By King Harry, Galen, you cannot disregard what you must have heard in Town about her.”

“What I have heard is that she is kindhearted and pretty mannered.”

“She is blasted old,” Carr grumbled. “She must be a half dozen years past twenty. You should consider that young miss I introduced you to at Almack's. Now,
she
would make you a worthy wife.”

“I am not presently looking for a wife.”

“Does she realize that?”

“Yes.”

Carr's lips curled into a superior smile, the one that Galen had always despised, for he knew his brother was about to jump to the wrong conclusion. Carr proved him right by saying, “Now I understand why you have no interest in coming with me to pay a call on Sandy and her girls. You have a marquess's daughter to warm your bed.”

“You insult Lady Phoebe.”

“What are you going to do? Call me out for grass before breakfast?”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“I am not the ridiculous one. I am not the one who has her wearing our grandmother's rubies like a placard announcing her place in this house.”

Galen clasped his hands behind his back before he could reach out and shake some sense into his brother's brandy-drenched brain. “Did you ever give credence to the idea that her own jewelry was stolen on our way here?”

“So you lent her Grandmother's rubies?”

“No, I gave them to her.”

Carr sputtered with fury. “How could you do something so want-witted?”

Galen's answer was forestalled when Phoebe said with a lightness he doubted any of their guests would guess was forced, “You two gentlemen should realize that some of the other gentlemen would appreciate a chance to share your brandy and your conversation.”

“I leave you to your
lady,
” Carr said with a sneer. “I can see you are so fascinated with her fascinating arts that you were too busy to send a carriage for me to the Little Lost Lamb a few nights ago.”

Phoebe flinched. Not at the insults Carr spoke, but how easily he might reveal that all she and Galen had said tonight was based on lies.

When Galen slipped her arm through his and went to the table where their guests were listening agog, she knew her face was the same deep red as the rubies. Somehow, she was not sure how, she restarted the conversation. The guests soon were busy discussing every topic that appealed to them, but she was aware of their glances at her and Galen and his disagreeable brother who sat across the table from her. Carr ignored her, and, for that, she was grateful.

The evening came to a close shortly after midnight. When the last guest took his leave, Galen's shoulders sagged with the fatigue he had hidden throughout the gathering. His smile faded, and the lines of pain returned to his face.

“Sit,” Phoebe said as she steered him toward a chair in the parlor.

A maid appeared with a tray and a single glass. Thanking her, Phoebe took it and held it out to Galen.

“Hot milk?” he asked with a chuckle.

“To help you sleep.”

“I believe you are conspiring with Mrs. Boyd, Phoebe.”

She sat on a stool by his chair. “I believe she worries that you are going to overdo and injure yourself more.” Smiling, she said, “Drink your hot milk.”

With a grimace, he took a sip. “What is that I taste?”

“Cinnamon and sugar. It makes the hot milk easier to swallow.”

Taking her hand, he smiled. “You will spoil me.”

“As you spoil your brother?”

He set the glass on a nearby table and came to his feet. “I should have guessed you had an ulterior reason for hovering over me. You barely know my brother.” He laughed humorlessly. “By Jove, to own the truth, you barely know
me
. I do not need to endure a lecture from you.”

“So you would rather let your brother lambaste you with his selfish demands?” Slowly she stood. “I know it is not my place to speak so.”

“It is not.”

“You have come to my rescue more than once.”

“So now you intend to rescue me from my own brother?” He reached for the glass, then grimaced and set it back on the table.

“You act as if you were his father and he the ill-behaved son.”

“I am his brother, and I am responsible for him.”

“Why?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Yes, that is what I wish to know. Why do you feel responsible for him? He is a man full grown. He needs to learn to be responsible for himself.”

“Like those petty criminals you free from being transported?” He strode to the door and put his hand on the knob. “You speak of me being a beef-head for watching out for my brother, yet you watch out for those who should have known better than to lift a purse or steal a hen. I have not interfered in your skimble-skamble, Phoebe. Do not interfere with my family obligations.”

Reaching up, she yanked off the necklace. Its latch broke and skittered across the floor. She pressed the necklace into his hand. Walking away, she realized she still wore the earrings. She paused and undid them. She went back to where he still stood and dropped them into his hand.

“And what is this performance supposed to mean?” he asked.

She faltered when she saw how the lines of pain were deepening around his mouth. Mayhap he was speaking out of the anguish that must still be bothering him with every breath he took. Wanting to have sympathy for him, she knew she would only be hurting him more if she did.

Quietly she said, “It means tomorrow I will be looking for another place to live until I can return to London. I will not stay here and watch your brother manipulate you and speak carelessly and betray both of us.”

“Carr was in his cups. He was not seeing clearly.”

“But I am.”

He threw the necklace and earrings onto the chair where he had been sitting. “I do not believe you.”

“What?”

“I do not believe you are going to find another place to reside in Bath.” He seized her shoulders. “I believe you are planning to return to London as soon as possible. You accuse my brother of foolishness and yet you will go and risk your life to save strangers.”

“I did not accuse your brother of foolishness.” She jerked herself out of his grasp. Again she nearly faltered, knowing that she would not have been able to free herself unless he was weakened by his wound. She lifted her chin. She could not let sympathy for him keep her from saying what she must. “Carr is very smart. He is using you to get exactly what he wants, and what he wants is to keep you from paying more attention to me than to him.”

She rushed out of the room before she could say more. She tried to erase the image of Galen's stricken face from her memory. It was impossible, and she doubted if she ever could.

Eleven

Mrs. Boyd bustled about Phoebe's bedchamber, oddly silent. There was no need for conversation. Phoebe was well aware of the housekeeper's dismay at last night's brangle, but Phoebe was as reticent. To speak of what she and Galen had said would only distress Mrs. Boyd more.

“I am going out to take the air,” Phoebe said when she could no longer endure Mrs. Boyd's anxious glances.

“A fine idea, my lady. A brisk walk always helps me regain my perspective.” A tremulous smile tried to form on her lips.

“You are right.” She had lost her perspective. She was worried too much about Galen when she should be thinking of her work in London. Without Jasper who loitered on the docks and alerted her when a ship was ready to sail for Australia, she could not know if she had missed the chance to help.

Bidding Mrs. Boyd a good day, Phoebe put on her bonnet and went to the front door. She took her parasol from a footman before stepping out into the afternoon sunshine. She looked across the river to the curving streets of Bath. The wisest course of action would be to call on the Lyttles whose house was only a few blocks from the Royal Crescent. As she crossed the Pulteney Bridge, she turned in the other direction. She did not want to call on her friends until her emotions were more firmly under control.

Walking toward the Abbey whose spires rose into the sky, Phoebe grimaced as she recalled how silly her heart had been when Galen offered her that lovely necklace to wear. She had dared to believe his heart might have been touched by her as hers had been by him. Mayhap she should not have returned the jewelry as she did. Yet, how much easier it would have been if he had given the necklace and earrings to her only as a prelude to seduction.

Mrs. Boyd had said last night that Galen adored her. That might be true, but he concerned himself first with keeping his brother out of trouble, and she should do the same, thinking solely of finding a way to continue her interrupted work.

Phoebe strolled past the Pump Room, not pausing as she wandered through the curving streets of the city. Lost in her thoughts and wishing she could stumble upon an answer to solve all these problems, she paid little attention to the shopwindows she passed.

She should return to London. Right away. Even if the rumors of Lady Midnight were sweeping through Town, she could take care that no one connected those tales with her.

She sighed. Jasper was safe at Brackenton Park, but she knew Johnson remained at Grosvenor Square and was still worried about her safety. Her butler would have sent her a message to come back to London if he believed she would be safe in Town.

The rumble of thunder intruded on Phoebe's uneasy thoughts. Her steps faltered when she discovered that she did not know where she was or how she had gotten there. The houses were no less elegant than most of the buildings in Bath, but she was not sure where she was in the city. The terraced houses edging the walkway prevented her from seeing any landmarks.

Lightning flashed across the darkening sky, and Phoebe turned to go back the way she had come, hoping she could reach the Pump Room before the storm arrived. She could wait there during the storm. Once the rain passed, she would return to Thistlewood Cottage. Then …

“Oh!” she gasped when a man lurched toward her, blocking her way.

He was dressed well, but from the reek coming from him, she guessed he had been giving a bottle of blue ruin a black eye. He stank worse than Carr had last night. She hoped he was not as aggravating. She tried to walk around him. He stepped directly into her path again.

“Are you lost, darling?” His words fired a miasma of liquor-drenched breath at her.

“I can find my way. Thank you.” Her fingers tightened on her parasol, but she closed it. Another clap of thunder warned that she would have been wiser to bring an umbrella. “If you will excuse me, I shall bid you a good day.”

He took an uneven step toward her, and she backed away. With a drunken chuckle, he said, “There is no need to hurry away, darling. I will be certain that you are taken home after.”

“After?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. “After what?”

His arm snaked around her waist. “After you give me a kiss, darling.”

“I do not think so!” she retorted, irritated by his assumption that she would submit willingly. Raising her chin, she tried to hold his drunken stare. It kept sliding away, as if he could not endure for her to see how altogethery he was.

“You do not think so?” He started to release her, then his hands gripped her shoulders painfully as she heard the astounding sound of laughter from behind her.

She looked back to see two other men grinning drunkenly at her. With a smile of her own, she struck the man on the arm with her parasol. He yelped and released her. When his friends shouted, she fled as lightning flared through the afternoon sky. Pounding feet on the cobbles behind her told her that she was being chased. She must find somewhere to hide from these foxed fools. The pungent odor of the waters that came into the Pump Room grew stronger. She must be getting closer to it. Once she reached there, the members of the Polite World who were taking the waters would halt these scoundrels.

Phoebe rushed down an alley and hid in the indentation behind a chimney. Her heartbeat roared in her ears, and each breath burned in her side. When the men raced past, she slumped back against the wall behind her. She counted to twenty to give the men time to be far along the street before she emerged.

A triumphant bellow snapped her head to her left to see a man's silhouette at the end of the alley. She pushed aside laundry that would soon be drenched and jumped over children's toys. Coming to a dead end, she retraced her steps, hoping her pursuers had lost interest in following her when a storm was coming along the river. Her slippers became filthy as she rushed between the pale yellow walls, and she stopped wiping her loosened hair out of her eyes.

She stepped out of a narrow alley and onto a street. She sighed when she saw the unmistakable lines of the Bath Abbey past several rows of houses. She was farther from Thistlewood Cottage than she had guessed. When a lightning bolt darted between two clouds, she cringed.

“Come in before it storms,” called a soft alto voice.

Phoebe saw a woman standing in the open door of a house to her left. “Thank you.” She rushed up the trio of steps and into an elegant foyer. It glistened with freshly polished wood and gilt on the walls. Overhead, the ceiling was painted with a pastoral scene. That tranquility vanished when light flashed into the entry followed almost immediately by thunder that shook the house.