Sherri Cobb South (17 page)

“If that is protection, I think I would do better to manage on my own,” said Lisette, adding in a voice of exaggerated politeness, “Thank you, cousin, but I must decline your generous offer.”

Raoul bared his teeth in a feral smile. “I wonder,
ma cousine,
what makes you think you have any choice in the matter?”

He took a step forward, and Lisette, seeing him advancing upon her, whirled around and made for the door. But Étienne was there, flinging out his arm to block the way. She grabbed at his arm, clawing at him, but to no avail. Raoul seized her from behind, and though she fought and scratched at him, the end was never in doubt. Finally, seizing her by the hair, he pinned her against his chest while Étienne covered her nose and mouth with a noxious-smelling handkerchief. Lisette’s body went limp, all her questions temporarily silenced.

Chapter 12

It is the wished, the trysted hour.

ROBERT BURNS,
Mary Morison

While Lisette confronted her cousin, Lady Helen, seated beside Lord Waverly in his carriage, moved inexorably toward a confrontation of quite another kind. They had departed the Warburton ball promptly at eleven, as planned. Now every revolution of the carriage’s wheels brought them closer to Park Lane and, ultimately, her revenge upon a faithless spouse. No, she told herself resolutely, she would not think of Ethan now. She would concentrate on the task at hand. She was, after all, the daughter of a duke; she had been taught all her life that one of the obligations of high position was the necessity of performing certain duties, no matter how unpleasant—nay, even repellent!— one might find them. Being female, she had been given to understand that foremost among these necessary evils was the conjugal bed; how ironic that in her case, the dreaded task was not the consummation of a legal union, but the formation of an illicit one!

All too soon, the carriage slowed and rolled to a stop before Lord Waverly’s town house. The earl (who, like his inamorata, had been unusually silent throughout the drive) stepped down and offered his arm. Lady Helen placed her gloved hand upon it, and allowed him to escort her up the shallow steps to the front door now looming before her. By the time she passed through it again, she would have betrayed the husband she loved more than life, in the most elemental way a woman could betray a man. As Lord Waverly reached for the knob, something inside her snapped.

“No, I cannot!” she cried, pulling her hand away. “I am sorry, Waverly—I thought I could—but I cannot!”

What Lord Waverly might have said to this outburst would never be known, for at that moment the door was flung open, revealing a host of worried-looking servants in a hall ablaze with light.

“Your lordship!” exclaimed Reynolds, his usually impassive demeanor slipping. “Thank God!”

“If I may say so, it is a relief to know that her ladyship’s fears were exaggerated,” observed Waverly’s valet, mincing forward to relieve the earl of his cloak, gloves, and chapeau bras. “Still, should you not feel up to climbing the stairs, you will find a makeshift bed prepared for you in the drawing room.”

“Indeed, my lord, you won’t wish to overtax your strength,” blustered a stout stranger bearing a bulging leather bag. “If your lordship will repair to the drawing room, I will examine the wound.”

Lord Waverly, who had listened with some bewilderment to the chorus which greeted his arrival, now spoke. “Who the devil are
you?"

“Sir Robert Franklin, physician,” replied this worthy, offering his card. “I was given to understand that your lordship’s case was urgent. Permit me to say that I am relieved to discover this is apparently not the case.”

“I will permit you,” said Lord Waverly with great deliberation, “to tell me what in God’s name you’re doing in my house!”

“It was Lady Waverly, my lord,” offered Reynolds. “She returned early from the theater, convinced that your lordship had met with an accident. She was most distraught, if I may say so.”

“Was she?” asked Waverly, a bemused smile playing about his mouth. “I wonder what can have given her such an idea?”

“I do not know, sir. I was under the impression that the gentleman who accompanied my lady must have brought her the erroneous report.”

The smile was wiped from Waverly’s lips. “Gentleman? What gentleman?”

“Why, the Frenchman who called upon my lady only last week. I know your instructions were to deny him the house, my lord, but under the circumstances—”

“Yes, yes, never mind that! Where are they now?”

“They departed almost at once, my lord, her ladyship having formed the intention of, er, flying to your lordship’s side to offer succor.”

“Damn! They must have arrived at the Warburtons’ house by now!”

“Begging your pardon, my lord, but they were not bound for the Warburton ball. The gentleman informed my lady that you were in Southwark.”

“Southwark? What the deuce would I be doing in Southwark?”

“I do not know, sir. I only heard him tell my lady that you might be found at a hostel in Great Dover Street.”

“Great Dover—Good God!” Grabbing Lady Helen by the arm, he propelled her toward the door, lingering only long enough to toss over his shoulder to Reynolds, “I am going after Lady Waverly. With any luck, I shall return shortly; otherwise, I shall send word as soon as I am able.”

Back in the street, Waverly bundled Lady Helen into the carriage, barked a curt order to the driver, and ducked inside, closing the door behind him as the vehicle surged forward.

“What is the matter?” asked Lady Helen as they turned into Piccadilly, her interrupted rendezvous all but forgotten. “Why do you suppose they have gone to Southwark?”

He blinked at her, as if surprised to find her still there. “I do not think they have gone to Southwark at all.”

“Then where are we going?”

“My dear Helen, if one takes Great Dover Street and drives straight on, without stopping, where will one eventually find oneself?”

“In Dover, I suppose,” she said with a shrug.

He nodded. “Then that is where we are going.”

“To
Dover?”
she gasped. “I cannot possibly accompany you all the way to Dover!”

“On the contrary. If we reach Dover and find they have already sailed for France, you will accompany me a great deal farther than that.”

“You cannot be serious!” But one look at Waverly’s resolute profile was enough to convince her that he was in deadly earnest. “No! I will not go with you! Take me home at once!”

“I am sorry. That is quite impossible.”

“But—but I have a husband and children who will be expecting me! What will Ethan think?”

“He will no doubt think exactly what you have wanted him to think for the past fortnight,” replied the earl with brutal candor.

“But I
don’t
want him to!” Lady Helen insisted. “I still love him, and I could never betray him, no matter what he has done!”

“Your sentiments are vastly touching, my dear, but to be perfectly honest, I find your marital difficulties are rapidly becoming a bit of a bore.”

Lady Helen opened her mouth to protest, then changed her mind. “I—see,” she said at last, regarding Lord Waverly as if seeing him with new eyes. “Tell me, Waverly—how long have you been in love with Lisette?”

“In love?” Waverly bristled, but the wildly swaying carriage lamp revealed his suddenly heightened color. “Balderdash!”

“No, I do not think so—in fact, I am certain of it,” declared Lady Helen, warming to this theme. “Since the day of my marriage—even before, one might argue—you have expressed your desire for, er, an intimate connection with me. And yet, when such a connection was at last within your reach, you delayed in seizing your opportunity, choosing again and again to go to Lisette instead. Indeed, I am amazed I did not see it before.”

“If I neglected you for Lisette, it was because I trusted you to behave with discretion. I could place no such dependence upon Lisette; in fact, I have had to guard her like a duenna to keep her from ruining my good name!”

Far from being persuaded by this argument, Lady Helen choked back a peal of laughter. “No, Waverly, how can you say so? When your good name has been in ruins any time these four years!”

“Touché,”
he acknowledged with a wry twist of his mouth. “Now tell me, does it seem likely to you that such a ramshackle fellow as I should succumb to the charms of a seventeen-year-old?”

“No,” Lady Helen confessed. “In fact, I should think she would be the last sort of girl to appeal to you. Still, it seems to me that if you did
not
love her, you would be very grateful to have her taken off your hands, rather than practically kidnapping me and haring across the countryside in pursuit.”

“Kidnapping you, Helen? Nonsense! You came with me quite willingly; in fact, as I recall, the whole thing was done at your instigation.”

“Oh, do let us argue semantics, Waverly!” Lady Helen applauded. “They serve so well to distract one’s attention from the subject at hand!”

Lord Waverly muttered something to the effect that Lady Helen’s weaver might have her with his blessing, and turned to stare moodily out the window.

* * * *

Had they but known it, Lord Waverly and Lady Helen were by this time not only the pursuers, but the pursued. For Sir Ethan Brundy, finding none of his particular cronies in attendance at Brooks’s that evening, had ample opportunity to consider the state of his marriage as he partook of his solitary supper. It was not a pleasant exercise, but he had every hope that it might prove to be a profitable one. As he recalled his parting with his wife, he realized that although he had tried to persuade her to change her plans to accommodate him, he had made no effort to do the same for her. Had he, over the past four years, made a practice of such self-serving behavior? He did not think so, but then, there were times, particularly of late, when dealing with his wife had left him with the lowering suspicion that he was really quite amazingly stupid. In any case, attending one rather tedious ball was surely not so great a sacrifice, especially when the future of one’s marriage might well be at stake.

His mind made up, he had collected his hat and gloves from the porter and set out on foot for Warburton House. He had reached it just as the church bells tolled eleven o’clock. The evening’s festivities were apparently still in full swing; only one solitary vehicle, a dark crested coach, waited in front to convey its owner home. The house was ablaze with lights, and violin music wafted outward on the night breeze—louder now, as the front door opened to permit the exit of a fair-haired lady in a light-colored gown. Sir Ethan’s heart swelled as he recognized the identity of the lady seemingly coming to meet him, but even as he moved forward to greet her, the silhouetted figure of a man emerged from the waiting carriage and handed her inside. Sir Ethan could only stare in bewilderment as the door closed behind the pair and the carriage began to move forward. As it drew abreast of one of the newly installed gas lamps, the streetlight illuminated the coat of arms emblazoned on the door: the crest of the earl of Waverly.

The discovery jolted Sir Ethan into action. He ran after the carriage for some dozen steps before, recognizing the futility of this exercise, he gave up the attempt and turned his attention instead to summoning a hackney,

“You, there!” he shouted to a promising, if unprepossessing, vehicle trolling the area in search of departing revelers desirous of transportation.

“Where to, guv’nor?” asked the driver, drawing to a halt.

Sir Ethan did not trouble to open the door, but instead clambered up onto the box beside the driver. “Follow that carriage!”

Unfortunately, the earl had by now a considerable head start, besides the not inconsiderable advantage of knowing where he was going. Sir Ethan soon lost sight of his quarry, though not before seeing enough of the route to form a very good idea of the final destination.

“Park Lane,” he predicted to his companion on the box. “That’s where ‘e’ll be ‘eaded. Take me to Park Lane. Number eleven.”

When they reached Lord Waverly’s town house, however, there was no sign of the carriage. Either he had been wrong in his estimation, or the carriage had already delivered its passengers and returned to the mews. One way or the other, Sir Ethan was determined to find out. He leaped down from the box, marched up the steps, and pounded on the door. It was opened almost at once by a butler curiously unsurprised by the lateness of the visit.

“All right, where is she?” Sir Ethan demanded, striding past this unflappable individual.

The butler cleared his throat deprecatingly. “Naturally, I am not in my lady’s confidence, sir, but I understand that she has gone to an inn in Southwark.”

Whatever Sir Ethan had expected—and his imagination had provided many possible scenarios during the short drive—it was not that. “An inn in—and ‘is lordship too, I suppose?”

Reynolds inclined his head in the affirmative.

“And did she seem—” He hardly knew how to ask the question. “—Unwilling? Did she struggle?”

Reynolds was eager to reassure the caller on this point. “Oh no, sir, not at all. She was a bit distraught—which, if I may say so, was not to be wondered at, under the circumstances—but she was determined that his lordship’s bed should be properly warmed.”

This bald confirmation of his worst fears made Sir Ethan feel ill. The obliging Reynolds, noting his ashen color, felt it incumbent upon him to offer the visitor refreshment until such time as he might see for himself that Lord Waverly’s injuries had been greatly exaggerated.

“If you will you have a glass of brandy in the green saloon, sir, they should return very shortly.”

Sir Ethan had never needed a brandy more, but every feeling revolted at the suggestion that he should sit meekly by while his old adversary planted cuckold’s horns on his head.

“No brandy, I’ll—Southwark, you said?”

“Yes, sir. The Pig and Whistle, in Great Dover Street.”

Armed with this information, Sir Ethan saw no reason to linger. He bounded down the steps to the street, where the driver of the hackney walked his horses while waiting impatiently for his fare.