His Lady Midnight (21 page)

Carr's smile was cold. “Yes, my brother does have a weakness for blondes. I should have known he would add you to his list of conquests.”

“You are insulting!”

“To you or to my brother?” He laughed, but his eyes remained frigid. “Do you think a staid assembly this evening will entertain you after your exciting day yesterday?”

Phoebe knew she must not show him how much his cruel words hurt. Keeping her chin high, she said, “I am looking forward to the opportunity to speak further with the guests who called here two evenings ago.”

“A very polite answer that does not answer my question.”

“I thought it did. I am looking forward to seeing friends.”

He rubbed his fingers against his chin. “Have you given thought to the idea that you may see others tonight whom you may not wish to see?”

“I never consider that when I prepare for a gathering.” She looked past him. Where was Galen? It was not like him to be late.

“I would if I were you.”

“You are not me.” How much more bothersome could this man be? Galen could vex her with his questions, and he could entice her away from good sense with his delicious kisses, but he was nothing like his brother who seemed to talk in circles and say nothing and yet hope to send her up to the boughs.

“No, I was not chased by men through the streets of Bath yesterday.”

Phoebe gasped and looked at Carr who was grinning broadly. “How do you know of that?”

“Know of what?” asked Galen as he stepped into the foyer. He adjusted his gloves, which were as white as his cravat and breeches. His black coat was still lighter than his ebony hair.

“We were speaking of her adventure yesterday,” Carr replied, his smile now triumphant.

“I am sure,” Galen said, “that Phoebe would rather speak of other things.”

“Yes.” She stepped forward. “I would like to speak of how you know what you do about—”

Carr turned away to look out the door. “Ah, here is my carriage.” He walked out without adding anything else.

Phoebe clenched her hands on her fan until she heard the spines creak. She released it, not wanting to break her favorite fan. “Carr is not attending the assembly?”

“He wishes to be able to leave when he wants.” Galen's lips grew straight. “And get himself into more of a muddle. He seems determined to get his daylights darkened here in Bath.”

“He may get his wish. That bruise could become a black eye easily.”

He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. She held her breath as she savored the incredible sensation of his mouth against her. His fingers ran along her cheek as he said, “You shall steal every man's eyes tonight, for they shall wish to follow you home.”

“What a loathsome idea!”

“I did not intend it to be. Why, when I am with you, can't I think of the nothing-sayings that have served me so well in the past?”

“Mayhap because you want honesty from me, so you are honest yourself.”

“Now that is, as my tie-mates would be quick to say, a loathsome idea. A lady is supposed to be lathered with court-promises and compliments, not the truth.”

She put her hand on his proffered arm. “Who told you that?”

“I would suspect a lady.”

As she walked with him out of the house to where Tate stood by the carriage, Phoebe laughed. She truly appreciated Galen's jesting, especially when she was so uneasy about this evening. She must not allow him to guess how she planned to sneak out of Thistlewood Cottage at dawn and go to the inn where the mail coach would be leaving for London, for he would be determined to halt her.

She looked out the window as the carriage turned onto the road leading into the center of Bath. When her hand was taken, she faced Galen.

“It will be fine,” he said quietly.

“I hope you are right.”

“On this, I believe I am.”

She did not demur. “If rumors of what happened to me yesterday reach the
Beau Monde
, I will be ruined.”

“And you will have no alibi for your work by the Pool?”

“Yes.”

“That is more important to you than the damage to your family's name?”

Putting her other hand over the one holding hers, she said, “My parents raised me to do what I thought was right unless it brought harm to someone else. To bring shame on the Brackenton name would cause distress to my father's cousin who now holds the title. I would not wish that.”

“I had not given that poor chap any thought.” His smile became wry. “It seems, however, you have given great thought to every aspect of this obligation you have taken upon yourself.”

“During the past five years, I have had many times to consider the consequences of my actions.”

The carriage bounced in a chuckhole, and Galen grimaced as his head hit the roof. Rubbing the spot that had struck the roof, he said, “Yet I suspect you are considering the consequences of someone else's actions tonight.”

“If Carr says anything to anyone—”

“He gave me his word that he will not.” His smile became tight. “I know you find him irresponsible and not worthy of your trust, but he has never broken a promise to me.”

Phoebe let her breath sift out in a sigh. “That is so good to know.”

“But?”

“But?”

“I heard a ‘but' in your voice.”

Her fingers clenched in his hand. “If Carr knows where I was yesterday, someone else might as well.”

“He and Sandra Raymond are very good friends.”

“I suspect she has several
very good friends.
”

Galen leaned back and smiled. “She will lose those very good friends if she prattles one's business to another. That she spoke to Carr of this astonishes me, but she may have thought, since we are all staying at Thistlewood Cottage, he would be concerned by your disappearance.”

“I hope that is all that it was.”

“What else could it be?”

Phoebe had no answer for that. When Galen changed the subject to something he had read in the newspaper that had been delivered from London this afternoon, she tried to pay attention. It was impossible to shift her thoughts away from what might happen this evening.

Carr Townsend was a spoiled child who demanded every bit of his brother's attention. She could not say that
again
to Galen, who saw taking care of his brother as his duty. How could she tell him that his obligation was absurd when he could say the same back to her?

She watched Galen's face as he spoke, his expression emphasizing every word, and wished this interlude was not doomed to be so fleeting. There was so much she wanted to learn about this man whose kisses fascinated her and whose wit forced her to hone her own. The idea of flinging her arms around him and pressing her mouth to his was so tempting—but she must not. She might make him suspicious with her untoward behavior, and leaving on the morrow would be even more difficult.

“Ah, here we are,” Galen said, drawing her attention back to his words instead of to her own unsteady thoughts. “Her Grace's house.”

Phoebe looked out at the house that was set amidst a terraced row constructed of Bath stone, which glowed like tarnished gold in the light of the lamps hanging on either side of the door. Letting Galen hand her out, she was glad when he drew her hand into his arm and put his fingers over hers. He must be able to feel them tremble, but he said nothing as they walked up the pair of steps to the door and into the foyer.

The house was as grand as any on Berkeley Square. Gilt decorated the newel, which was carved to match plaster vines edging the ceiling. The silk wall covering was an icy blue barely warmed by the light from the huge chandelier that dropped from the roof four floors above.

Abruptly Phoebe tensed. The stiffening of her shoulders had become a habit since she had first come to Town in pursuit of one young man who had been wrongly accused. She was among friends who would be horrified if they ever guessed where she went when she excused herself from an assembly or a musicale.

A footman greeted her and Galen. They followed him up a curving staircase. Even before they had reached the top of the stairs, the sound of voices wove through the melodies of violins to welcome them into the ballroom.

Phoebe stared about the grand room. This ballroom was fancier than anything she had seen in London, because the carvings that decorated the ceiling were as intricate as the pattern woven into a rug. Two chandeliers, smaller versions of the grand one above the foyer, splashed their light over the plasterwork. The contrast of light and shadows created an ever-changing pattern as they entered the room.

She tore her gaze from the ceiling to see musicians set in an alcove high on the wall. No minstrels' gallery had ever been as elegantly painted with gold and rich blue. Beneath it, the guests mingled, sharing conversation and the wine that was being carried about the room by footmen.

“Lady Phoebe Brackenton, Your Grace,” Galen said as he bowed over the duchess's time-wrinkled hand.

“We have met,” the duchess replied and smiled at Phoebe. “At Almack's two years ago.”

Phoebe searched her memory as she returned the white-haired woman's smile. The duchess was dressed in a gown as magnificent as her house and as brightly colored for it was an intense purple with a bright red sash decorated with all sorts of medallions.

Although Phoebe could not recall meeting the duchess, she said, “You are kind to remember me, Your Grace.”

“It is easy when I remember meeting your father as a young man about your age. He had the same twinkle in his eye as this young man.” She tapped Galen's arm with her closed fan. “I have heard very little about you recently, my boy.”

“I had understood that you were residing full-time here in Bath,” Galen replied.

“But that does not mean that I do not hear the news from Town. Are you still busy watching over your brother?”

“I find it far more delightful,” he replied, “to watch over Lady Phoebe.”

The duchess laughed. “You are always skilled with a
bon mot
, young man. Is young Carr with you?”

“He took a separate carriage.”

“Then I shall expect to greet him soon.” She tapped him on the arm again with her fan. “Go and get Lady Phoebe some of the champagne I thought would be the best way to begin our convivial evening. I trust you will return to speak to me at least once or twice before dinner.”

“It will be my pleasure.” He bowed his head again.

When the older woman gave him an enthusiastic hug, Phoebe saw him wince. One of the medallions must have been pressed against the spot where the knife had cut him.

The duchess must not have noticed because she said, “Bah, do not lather an old woman with false compliments. You would prefer to spend your time with this young lady.” She leaned toward him and whispered something Phoebe could not hear.

Galen smiled as he drew Phoebe's hand within his arm again. Leading her toward the middle of the room, he shook his head when she started to ask what had been so amusing. Only when they were out of earshot of their hostess did he pause. He picked up two glasses from a golden tray held out by a footman.

Handing one to her, he said, “The duchess is renowned for her plainspeaking, so, no doubt, she feared she might offend you with her words.”

“I do not offend easily. I have heard the basest of language in … London.” She glanced about, hoping that if anyone was listening to their conversation, her hesitation would not be noted.

“No one is heeding us,” Galen said. He touched his left side gingerly. “They are all too busy sharing the latest
on dits
from Town.”

“Are you all right?”

“Still tender, and the duchess is as effusive as a doting grandmother.”

She recognized that offhand tone. He did not want to discuss his injury. That was all for the good, because she had other questions for him. “Will you tell me what the duchess said?”

“Of course.”

Phoebe waited, but he did not add more. Seeing how his eyes glistened, she asked, “Well?”

“It was little more than she congratulated me for choosing you as a companion rather than Carr.”

“She is plainspeaking.”

“As you would like to be.”

She shook her head. “To the contrary, I find that words often provide the very shield one needs to hide the truth.” She hesitated before going on. “You said it was little more than congratulations. What little more?”

“You are as curious as a kitten tonight, aren't you?” Laughing, he tapped his glass against hers.

Its single crystal note caught the attention of the other guests around them. Before Phoebe could ask another question, two men and a woman she did not know began to talk with Galen. He acted as if they were the best of friends, but she noted how he glanced at her as if gauging her reaction.

She wanted to accuse him of drawing them into others' conversations just when she was asking something he clearly did not intend to share. Galen had always been candid with her, hadn't he?

She no longer was certain, but she was sure that she was unsettled by the idea that this might not be the first secret he had kept from her. She had put her life and the lives of those she sought to help in Galen Townsend's hands. She even had dared to trust him with her heart. If he did not prove worthy of that trust, she might have traded everything she had worked to save for his kisses.

Fifteen

Mrs. Lyttle smiled as she looked across the crowded ballroom to where the duchess continued to welcome her guests. “I am so glad you and Lord Townsend accepted the duchess's invitation. I was saying to Mr. Lyttle just a few moments ago that it is pleasant to have new faces amid our small version of the Polite World in Bath.”

“If one does not accept a duchess's invitation, one needs a very good reason,” Phoebe replied with a laugh.