SoundsofLove (20 page)

“Giles will be here shortly.” Julian smiled weakly as she
climbed up next to him. “He hates to miss out on my adventures.” He held out
his arm for her and drew her closer. “I’ll be all right, love. You won’t hurt
me.”

She snuggled into the crook of his shoulder with some
trepidation over damaging him further, but he clasped her tight when she
finally came to rest.

“You were a brave girl today. I’m very proud of you.” He
kissed the top of her head.

“Woman,” she said softly. “I was a brave woman.” Her voice
rose slightly. “I haven’t been a girl in fifteen years.”

He tensed beneath her. “It’s just a figure of speech, love.
I’ll not use it if it bothers you.”

“It never did before, I don’t think. But I feel very…forceful
at the moment, as if I’m filled with a reservoir of rage ready to boil over at
the slightest provocation.” She laid her hand over his heart and was relieved
to feel the strong beat. She cherished the shelter of his arms, but she was
ready to explode with residual anger for her assailant.

“Welcome to my life, love. I feel that way…too often.” His
breath hitched as he tried to shift to kiss her, and she lifted her mouth to
meet his. “You quench my rage with your sweet caresses. It’s the most potent
antidote I know.” His lips brushed hers, and her thoughts of inflicting pain on
Hedges diminished.

A wave of strong emotions crashed over her, and her tongue
sought his. A vision of herself naked, riding Julian hard on the edge of a
large marble tub, filled her senses. She
murred
as she deepened the kiss
further. She was astonished that her rage could turn to lust so quickly. “I’ve
just had a potent premonition of my own—about the Gorham House baths.”

* * * * *

Noel Ahlquist burst into Julian’s sitting room two hours
later, in a state Julian recognized. Trouble with Fiona.

Julian’s arm tightened around Cathryn, who sat beside him on
the settee. His father paced the room briskly, dragging his hands through his
gray hair as he spoke in labored tones. “Millman says you’ve recovered, thank
God. I was nearly to York when I received word of your attack. I’ve been
frantic with worry.” The marquis paced back and forth, not at all his usual
calm self. He finally took in Cathryn’s presence and bowed. “Lady Sibley, I
presume.”

Julian did not rise, and he held Cat in check. “Cathryn
Sibley, my father, Noel Ahlquist.” He squeezed her arm gently before he said, “Has
something else happened, Father?”

“Fiona!” Noel exploded, his hair and eyes both wild in his
distress. “She’s taken a new lover—that American you call a friend!”

Julian felt Cathryn tense as he asked, “Darbonne?”

“Yes! I just caught the bastard with his hands under her
skirts, and she was moaning like a banshee.”

This was bad. “You caught them?”

“He was in her private chamber, on his knees before her, and
she was in ecstasy.”

Cathryn shifted again, and Julian hoped his father was
mistaken about Darbonne. Fiona’s betrayal was less surprising. “I’m sure there’s
an explanation.”

“He was getting ready to—” Noel realized once again that he
was not alone with his son. “My apologies, Lady Sibley. It appears I am not fit
company.” He strode to the door. “I’m relieved to see you well, Julian. I was
very concerned for you.” He bowed to Cathryn. “We shall meet again soon.
Perhaps tomorrow.”

“That would be fine,” Cathryn said, astonishment lacing her
lovely voice.

Julian rose from his seat and pulled the cord. “We need the
other side of the story, before you speak with Violet.”

Rune saved them searching London, because he appeared not
five minutes later. His swollen right eye indicated Noel had acted upon his
rage.

“I tell you, Julian, Cathryn, I’m innocent.” He dragged his
hands through his hair in an eerie duplication of Noel’s distress. “Master
Aubrey had a severe cramp in her leg, that’s all. She asked me to rub it out. I
could feel the knot, the size of a lemon.”

“Why were you in her private chambers?” Cathryn asked,
clearly not convinced.

“She’s asked me to help her with the women’s class tomorrow.
After our lesson she offered me a drink, and I thought she intended to discuss
the details, but her leg cramped before she even poured.”

Julian pictured the scene and he laughed aloud, relieved at
the simplicity of the answer. “Poor luck, she might have made a play for you if
she drank enough.”

Cathryn punched his arm lightly and he laughed again, hoping
she’d taken his comment in jest. She wasn’t smiling and he wondered at his
misstep. Damned laudanum loosened his senses.

“Does Violet know?” Rune asked as he headed for the door.

Cathryn answered firmly. “No. She’s in the music room.”

Rune paused. “Does she need to know?”

Julian laughed again, and Cathryn shot both men a hard look
as she said, “Of course you must tell her.”

“The eye tells half the story in any case,” Julian added
with a grin.

“I know, I know. I’m only kidding, Cathryn.” He continued on
his course. “I only hope she has a sense of humor about the incident.”

Cathryn turned on Julian and he scrambled to read her
expression. Not rage—that was good. Nor amusement—pity that. “Do you regret my
interrupting you and Fiona?”

“No, love, no.” Jealousy. Well, that was all right, and to
be expected.

“Would you have told me about your encounter if I hadn’t?”

He rose slowly to pour them drinks, eager to end the
discussion. “Of course, love, every detail.”

She came to stand beside him. “You haven’t yet told me every
detail, and I’m not certain I want the precise images in my memory, so I am
absolving you of all blame.”

Relief washed over him. He had carried a bit of guilt over
enjoying Fiona in her thin nightgown.

“You were drugged and she was socked.” She stood on her toes
and kissed his cheek. “Just be certain it never happens again.”

Easy forgiveness and no more questions. Cathryn might well
be the perfect woman.

Giles dropped a six-inch stack of newspapers onto the cherry
table and nodded to Cathryn. “It was wise to send your own account, Lady
Sibley, and to provide sketches of Hedges. Every paper in London has the story
in the first three pages, and you’ve made the cover of the
Morning Post.
”

Cathryn reached for the top journal and smiled at Julian. “It
was Lord Ahlquist’s concept, Giles. I believe he’s quite frustrated over
Hedges’ disappearance.”

“You wrote every word, love, and your sketches were eerily
accurate.” He held up the
London Times
to show a large drawing of
Hedges’ gaunt face with symmetrical welts. “Page two, and only to prevent the
scaring of children, I wager.”

She scanned her paper with a sense of deep satisfaction. “If
he’s in London, we should know by nightfall.” She glanced at the mantle clock. “Oh,
dear, I nearly forgot Master Aubrey’s lessons.” She rose to pull for her maid
as she spoke to Giles. “Please arrange for a carriage at nine-thirty.”

“I’m still the man of the house. I’ll be joining Lady
Sibley—”

“No, you won’t!” She headed for her dressing room. “Dr.
Loudon and Fiona would both scold me terribly if I let you leave the house
today. I shall bring a contingent of footmen, but you must rest if we are going
to Gorham House in two days.”

She looked over her shoulder and saw him appeal to his valet
for support. Giles shook his head. “I concur with her ladyship, my lord. You
have correspondence to keep you occupied.” Julian’s glum expression tugged at
her and she nearly returned to his side.

Giles tidied Julian’s desk. “And the Duke of Clarendon has
requested a brief audience at four.”

She whirled around. “Clarendon? Here?” Thus far, the duke
had denied all involvement in Julian’s attack and even sent a fruit basket of
majestic proportions. A rush of dread and exhilaration surged through her, and
she saw the emotions mirrored in Julian’s face. “I’ll be back by noontime and
we can discuss our strategies. I’ll be in the fighting spirit by then.”

Julian’s quiet laugh reassured her, and she hurried off to
dress.

An hour later, Cathryn was mired in London traffic. Poking
her head out the window as the carriage crept ahead, she saw a colorful queue
of ladies assembled on the sidewalk. An Ahlquist footman hung on the side of
the coach, and she asked him to inquire as to the cause of the mannerly mob.

“Master Aubrey’s defense class, my lady,” he said as he
resumed his post. Her jaw dropped in disbelief. “We’re still a half mile away,
milady. I think you’ll miss a ten o’clock appointment in this jam.”

Her entire body prickled with exhilaration.
This must be
due to my articles in the press. I’ve done this.

“I believe I have time if I walk.” She secured her reticule
and tightened her bonnet strings, relieved Julian had stayed home. She never
would have suggested such a trek to him in his condition. “You and James may
accompany me.”

“Yes, milady,” he said with a grin as he opened the carriage
door. “James, come straight away. Lady Sibley plans to walk.”

Hearing the celebrated name, several women on the sidewalk
spread word of her arrival, and the band of patient ladies burst into polite
applause as she reached their midst. “It’s Lady Sibley,” soon echoed in
whispers and shouts throughout the crowd.

Cathryn walked towards the studio, shaking hands with each
woman who reached out to her. She began to weep with joy as women of all ages,
sizes and stations serenaded her with accolades.

“Well done.”

“You’ll soon defeat the fiend.”

“Most heroic.”

“God bless you for telling your story.”

She responded to the uplifting mantra with her own constant
stream of encouragement and gratitude, propelled to move swiftly by the
incoming tide at her rear and the two brawny footmen who urged her towards her goal.
A wave of determined females swept the sidewalk clean of passersby, who were
forced to cross the street to go upstream.

“Sibley, Sibley, Sibley,” rose the quiet chant, filling her
soul with gladness. Single flowers, small bouquets, notes and curios were
pressed into her hands, in such quantity that she passed armfuls to her
increasingly dazzled attendants. The weather was unseasonably warm, and her
head began to swim from the exertion.

By the time she reached the stairs to the studio, the street
itself seemed to be applauding her, as news of her notoriety spread and traffic
halted. She was breathing heavily when she climbed up the last step to Fiona’s
double townhouse. When she turned, she saw an ocean of bobbing heads and
beaming faces—all esteeming her.

She handed off the last of her gifts and sank into a deep
curtsy. For a long moment, she allowed herself to savor the crowd’s adulation
with her eyes closed. Glorious sensations of pride and accomplishment, quite
new and rather awe-inspiring, flowed through her and caused her breath to
quicken even more. All this for defending herself, and for having the added
courage to share her story.

When she rose to face the thickening throng, she waved and a
new burst of applause followed her small action. “Thank you,” she cried as she
entered the open door to Fiona’s studio. Women congregated in the entrance hall
reached out to her, and she shook hands all the way to the head of the line,
barely able to catch her wind.

Fiona’s attendants took Cathryn’s cloak and bonnet as they
ushered her into the studio, which was packed to capacity at five minutes to
the hour. Master Aubrey stood near the door on a small platform that elevated
her above the heads of the overwhelmingly female crowd. As she spied Cathryn,
she clapped her hands three times. When the uneducated mob failed to come to
immediate attention, she put two fingers to her mouth and issued a piercing
whistle that caused many of the ladies to cover their ears and shriek in
fright.

A hush descended like a soft breaking wave as nerves calmed
and eyes turned to the slight blonde beauty in black.

“Lady Sibley has arrived,” Fiona stated, as if that was all
that needed saying. The room erupted into applause for a full minute.

Those closest to her reached out to shake Cathryn’s hand,
and her arm was numb by the time the din died. The scent of lavender, gardenia
and roses was nearly as overpowering as her swell of pride.

Three cracking claps from the Master and the majority of the
room stilled, while a few dunderheads needed nudging from their neighbors. “Come
to order,” Fiona said in a commanding tone, and the crowd went silent.

“Everyone find a partner.” She spoke in a matter-of-fact
tone, as if there were room to accommodate a defense class in such a tight
space. “Quietly.”

Cathryn could scarcely believe the woman intended to
continue. She reached Fiona’s side and smiled up at her on her pedestal. “The
queue goes to Kensington Parkway, at the least.”

Master Aubrey nodded decisively and she called out to her
footman. “Tell the queued ladies to partner up quietly and wait for
instructions, then send staff to stand at the street corners. Keep the ladies
out of the street.”

“What do you mean to do?” Cathryn asked in amazement.

“Conduct a class, of course.” Her determined look said
failure was not an option. “The troops have assembled. I can’t send them home
without some inspiration.”

A footman helped Cathryn up onto the platform beside the
instructor. A hundred eager faces bunched around, and the master cleared her
throat before speaking slowly in a loud voice. “We shall learn three maneuvers
today.” She spoke to her footman by the door. “Tell the queue to pass each bit
of information along. ‘We shall learn three maneuvers. Pass it on.’” She held
up three fingers in a clear gesture, and he followed her lead.

As the group in the studio became aware of the unusual
tactic, an excited buzz rose and Cathryn laughed aloud. The newspapers were
going to have a front-page story for the evening editions. Fiona repeated her
command, and the footman passed it on to reinforce the first.

“Practice each maneuver slowly. Pass it on.” The Master was
in her element as she conducted two classes at once. The one before her, and
the ribbon of women congregated outside her door and far beyond, hungry to
learn how to defend themselves.

“First maneuver, nice and slow.” Each sentence was relayed
out the door twice and could be heard echoing down the hallway and out into the
street. “Be my partner, Sibley. You grab first,” she said in a quieter voice.

Cathryn nodded and readied herself to act in the tight
space.

“Grabbed from behind, heel on arch.” Fiona punctuated her
loud clipped statement with a stomp of her foot, as Cathryn exaggeratedly
placed her arms slowly around her and the two women pantomimed the move.

That particular motion had loosened Hedges’ hold and given
her freedom to twist away. She’d written about it in her article, and many of
the women were familiar with the simple steps. A chorus of “grabbed from
behind, heel on arch” resounded down the hallway and out the door.

The assembled women hesitated for a moment, but they soon
rose to the occasion and began to grab and stomp. A few loud groans and Fiona
clapped her hands. “No pain today. Pass it on.”

Using her innovative technique, Fiona taught “elbow to gut,
throw your weight” and “knee to groin, step aside”. In thirty minutes, the group
was visibly inspired and she promised “More classes soon, look in the press,
thank you for coming.”

“I’m not sure the papers will print my schedule once they
hear which moves I taught today, but I don’t believe the classes need any
advertising at all.”

“You plan to run the classes yourself?” Cathryn asked as
they were helped off the platforms.

“I shall organize the effort, and someone else will become
rich teaching women to protect themselves.” Fiona accepted a long black
cashmere cloak and fastened the frog at the neck. “You, perhaps?”

Cathryn straightened her own cloak. The thought appealed to
her. “A defense academy for women?”

“In warehouses all over London. Payments by need.”

“I’ll consider the concept, of course.” Cathryn put on a
bonnet that covered her simple chignon, but Fiona left her hair in a long braid
down her back and her head bare.

“Come, I want to walk the queue with you.” Fiona headed for
the door. “I want to see this audacious outpouring of hope for myself.”

“Ten thousand women,” Cathryn read aloud to Julian from the
afternoon papers as he rested in a wingchair in his oak-paneled study. “A
veritable army of unarmed females, desperate for a ray of hope, queued not for
the latest fashion accessory or to view the queen’s jewels, but to receive an
education in survival. Lady Cathryn Sibley and Mrs. Fiona Aubrey were angels of
mercy to a feminine multitude ravenous to learn to protect themselves against
the evils of our rapidly expanding metropolis.”

“I wish you were Lady Ahlquist already, love, so I could
share your glory,” he said as he covered his mouth and yawned. “I’m not certain
I like being under your protection.”

“I’m under your roof, and your name appears nearly as often
as mine: ‘a leader of London’s intellectual elite’, ‘noted philanthropist’,
‘the
ton’s
most favored bachelor’,” she noted with pride. She continued
reading where she’d left off. “No stranger sight has been seen on the streets
of our fair city than a stretch twenty blocks long of desperate women wrestling
one another in leisurely movements, utterly perplexing the innocent bystander.
As if a signal had come from above, the wave of females would then change
places and practice their new skills in a unique manner, at once enthusiastic
and cautious. It was a symptom of the future, where women will demand rights,
but then pay only halfhearted attention to the responsibilities inherent in
their newfound authority. Beware ladies, you may get what you wish for, and
what would you do then?” Cathryn pursed her lips as she finished reading and
she glanced up at Julian to gauge his reaction. His eyes were closed, but that
didn’t prevent her from unleashing her thoughts on the reporter’s words. “Of
all the arrogant, pompous, blinkered—”

“The Duke of Clarendon,” announced Millman loudly as he
opened the door. Julian jolted upright in his seat, disoriented. Cathryn blamed
the laudanum.

“Duke,” she said with a deep curtsy, unable to help joking
with herself. “We were just discussing you, perhaps you overheard?”

“No, Lady Sibley, I’m afraid I missed your comments.” He
bowed slightly and took her proffered hand, granting her a light squeeze of her
fingertips. “You’re looking extraordinarily fit. I trust you’ve been well since
Geoffrey’s untimely passing.”

“Yes, sir, very well, thank you. Except for the unfortunate
events of the past few days with Baron Hedges.”

Julian had come to stand beside her, and he bowed to the
duke. “Duke. I didn’t realize you two were so well acquainted.”

“The duke and my husband attended Oxford together, and his estate
is only an hour from the Sibley and Bradford properties.” She granted the duke
a smile in spite of her reservations. He was a slight man who forwarded good
causes, even if he was horribly arrogant. She preferred to think another member
of the royal family was involved in Julian’s attack.

“Ahlquist,” he said as he extended his hand. “I’m terribly
distressed over the misunderstanding with your attackers. As I told your
agents, I was not involved in any capacity.”

“Of course not. Assaulting a peer is a capital offense, and
there is no proof of your attachment.” Julian’s frustration peeked through his
cordial tone. “We have fought on the same side of many bills in Parliament—I
would hate to think we could not continue to be allies.”

“Your sponsorship of Hedges’ scholarship made your name the
first that came to mind, sir. Perhaps the ruffians worked for a man named Duke,”
Cathryn said as she gestured to a chair near the fire and waited for the duke
to approach. “Or they may have fabricated that story to cover Hedges’
complicity.”