Surrender the Stars (22 page)

"Wednesdays, aren't they?" Ryan said. "We'd be happy to attend. But, Countess, how are they managing without you tonight? This
is
Wednesday, and Brummell whispers that you have allowed the waltz to be danced within Almack's hallowed walls."

"I'm certain that the assembly is very dull without me." Her smile was both arch and seductive. "Have you not heard, Mr. Raveneau? It is not fashionable where I am not."

"In that case, we are honored." Ryan's fingers pressed the small of Lindsay's back. "Are we not, dear sister?"

Before Lindsay could reply, the grand duchess linked arms with her brother and inquired of the Regent, "Your Highness, will we have the pleasure of meeting your wife, Princess Caroline, tonight?"

An awkward silence reigned. The Regent emptied his crystal glass of cherry brandy, then cleared his throat. "Uh, no, no, I'm afraid that's not possible." Desperate for a distraction, he brought out his snuffbox and took a pinch for effect, letting it escape before it reached his nose.

"I don't understand," the grand duchess pressed on. "I thought that tonight of all nights the princess would be present to greet the royal visitors who have traveled so very far."

Prinny's face grew even redder. The relationship between him and his unattractive, resentful wife had deteriorated to the point where he could no longer bear her company at all and she amused herself by attempting to embarrass the Regent in public. His position was made even more unnerving and humiliating by the fact that the people of London seemed to have taken Princess Caroline's side in the ongoing drama. And now, here were these European royals who would not allow the Regent to ignore his wife's existence. After all, she was the niece of George III and daughter of the Duke of Brunswick.

"I don't know if an introduction can be effected," he muttered. "My wife has been indisposed of late."

"Has she, indeed?" The grand duchess exchanged glances with the czar.

Lindsay's heart nearly went out to the squirming Regent, until she remembered his years of adultery with Mrs. Fitzherbert and Lady Jersey. Now it was said that there was a new woman in his life, a haughty Tory grandmother called Lady Hertford. Mouette whispered that he visited her every afternoon and that the Marquess of Hertford tactfully left them alone together. Furthermore, Lady Hertford was known to have a powerful degree of influence with the Regent.

Now, as if she sensed that she was the unspoken subject of conversation among the group of royals, the impeccably groomed but aging Marchioness of Hertford appeared at Prinny's side.

"Good evening, Your Highness," she murmured in cultivated tones.

"Ah, Lady Hertford!" With the irrational reaction of one in love, he happily faced his guests. "Czar Alexander, I would like to present my Lady Hertford."

"It is a great honor to meet the savior of Europe!" she declared.

The Russian ruler stared into space. The Regent, knowing him to be a little deaf and supposing he had not heard, repeated loudly, "This is my Lady Hertford!"

The czar continued to ignore them both, whereupon the lady made a deep curtsy, gave him the haughtiest of glances, and withdrew.

Lindsay took Ryan's arm, anxious to absent herself from the increasingly uncomfortable situation. He tensed his bicep in reply, then smiled at Countess Lieven. "Countess, would you care to speak to our parents? They have both been longing to see you since our arrival in London."

"No more than I have longed to see them!"

Curtsies and bows were made to the Regent and his guests, then the trio started across the drawing room. Beau Brummell accosted them midway.

"My dear countess," he murmured with an ironic smile, "what was
that
all about?"

Countess Lieven lifted winged brows. "Czar Alexander refused to acknowledge Lady Hertford. 'Twas not so significant, however, as the damning look she sent his way before quitting his company. You know, George, how much influence she has with our dear Regent. It's my opinion that the fate of this visit was written in that single glance."

* * *

Soon the guests adjourned with short-lived relief to the Throne Room. Here Queen Charlotte, the stiff and unpleasant wife of mad George III, took her place under the canopy of helmets and ostrich plumes to receive hundreds of members of the court. The old queen had borne fifteen children, but she had never relaxed the rigid etiquette learned at the German court of her youth and thus these functions were invariably boring for the participants.

This particular evening was made more excruciating by the stifling heat. Czar Alexander, left with nothing to do but stand and watch, amused himself by quizzing young beauties.

Finally, the Regent led his guests down the circular double staircase to a still more wonderful set of apartments below. Room after room was decorated sumptuously, but most magnificent of all was the conservatory, with a nave and aisles formed by clusters of carved pillars, stained-glass windows, and moonlit marble pavement.

"Well," Ryan murmured to Lindsay, "I believe I saw the king of Prussia gasp in amazement. Perhaps the Regent will feel better."

"I don't think so," she replied. "He looks quite unhappy to me."

"Doubtless all this food will cheer him up." His eyes swept the tables filled with dishes of gold plate that were laden with hot soups, roasts, a variety of cold food, and a fabulous assortment of fresh fruits including peaches, pineapples, and grapes. There appeared to be enough iced champagne for every citizen of London.

Lindsay accepted a glass from a servant's tray and drank it down. "I have a prodigious thirst!" she exclaimed, then hiccupped.

Ryan chuckled fondly. "I've missed you lately."

She lifted her chin. "We've been very busy—and you've been very bad."

"Bad?" He watched as she traded her empty glass for a full one and took a long sip. "I?"

"Yes.
Thou."
Lindsay giggled softly at her own wit. "Of course, it's no surprise. Your behavior has been objectionable since the day I met you."

"And you have liked me for it."

"What conceit!" Bravely, she gazed at his chiseled face and felt a strange weakness steal over her body. "I have told you that I despise you, and I never lie. I will admit that lately I have come to feel a certain contrary fondness for you, but that is in line with our new roles in life. It reminds me strongly of my feelings for Nathan."

"Ah, I see. Sisterly antipathy, hmm?"

"Exactly." Lindsay flushed and dropped her gray eyes under the heat of his gaze.

"Well, well!" A hearty voice spoke from behind them. "The Raveneau siblings! What a happy coincidence."

Ryan glanced over his shoulder to discover Lord Fanshawe staring at Lindsay.

"Hello, Fanshawe," he said shortly. "What can we do for you?"

"I wondered if your sister might consent to share a plate of fruit outside with me. The gardens are quite beautiful, filled with weeping willows, and although the peacocks may have retired for the evening, I do believe there may be nightingales in their place." He smiled warmly at Lindsay. "Do you have nightingales in Connecticut?"

"I—I don't think so!" Dudley Fanshawe epitomized the man she had dreamed about since childhood. He was elegantly slim and handsome, blond, cultured, and kind. Lindsay already felt completely at ease in his company. "I would love to eat pineapple in the gardens with you, Lord Fanshawe."

"Please!" He laughed as they walked away from Ryan. "You must call me Dudley or risk injuring my feelings. We're old friends after all, aren't we?"

"Damn," Ryan muttered under his breath. Lindsay had left him without even a parting glance and now she was halfway across the conservatory, beaming at that simpering Fanshawe. First she swooned at the mention of Lord Byron, and now she appeared to be captivated by a man who probably read the former's poems aloud and wept at appropriate intervals. What had happened to the sensible schoolmistress from Pettipauge?

Devon was chatting with Sir Lumley Skeffington, an old fop who wore false hair and painted his face, when she glimpsed her daughter walking toward the doors to the garden with Dudley Fanshawe, who was carrying a plate of pineapple. Looking around, she saw Ryan nearby.

The handsome Irishman was drinking champagne as if it were water. Excusing herself, Devon went to join him.

"Is anything the matter, Nathan dear? You are looking uncharacteristically out of sorts!"

He took her meaning but doubted that he could summon the patience to even play at his masquerade. "Am I? Well, it's damned hot in here, isn't it?"

"Are you well? It's not like you to snap at your own mother." Now Devon's sapphire eyes were penetrating.

"I apologize, dear Mother. Actually, there is something I should attend to and then I may feel more myself." To appease her, Ryan deftly flipped his quizzing glass upward and looked her over. "You're devilishly beautiful tonight. Have I told you?"

Momentarily thrown off guard by his charm, Devon caught his sleeve before he could escape. "Yes, you forgot, and yes, you are a brute," she whispered. "Have a care! Remember where you are and all who watch you!"

"Believe me, I shall," he said coolly. "My sister is in danger of making a fool of herself over that ridiculous Fanshawe. I only mean to offer her a bit of brotherly advice."

Watching him stride toward the doors to the garden, Devon felt an odd pang that mixed happiness with alarm. If Andre even suspected what she feared, he would be furious and the charade they had so carefully constructed would be over.

* * *

"There is a matter of family business that I would discuss with my sister," Ryan somehow managed to drawl lazily, taking snuff as he lounged against a willow tree.

"Can't this wait?" Lindsay asked in a tight voice.

"That's right," implored Dudley, "have some pity, old man! We haven't even gotten to the pineapple!"

"I'm afraid that this is more important than pineapple," he replied firmly, glancing skyward, "or starlight. Come along, Lindsay."

Fanshawe's face registered confusion as he watched the two of them leave in an obvious mood of mutual animosity. Lindsay had been so sweet, so soft as she'd swayed against him in the moonlight—and then the spell had been broken by Nathan Raveneau's abrupt appearance. Dudley had thought him too foolish to be overprotective, but perhaps he'd underestimated the man.

"I cannot believe that you are doing this!" Lindsay hissed as they entered the conservatory. Ryan wore a congenial smile, but his fingers bit into the flesh of her upper arm.

"Don't make a scene," he counseled in a low voice.

Weaving through the warm, glittering crowd, Lindsay had little choice but to remain silent, but her temper rose apace. For his part, Ryan was beyond thought, beyond even noticing the pair of beautiful green eyes that marked his progress with fascination.

They passed the double staircase, then entered the library. Ryan led Lindsay to a doorway fitted obscurely into a wall of bookshelves, opened it, and thrust her into a tiny chamber decorated in crimson velvet, ivory, and gold gilt. Guttering candles and moonbeams afforded the only light.

"All right!" she cried when he had shut the door behind them, "explain yourself!"

He stared hard at her, but Lindsay did not quail. "I am supposed to be your brother. I didn't want to witness the ruin of your reputation at the hands of Dudley Fanshawe."

"That's nonsense and you know it! Lord Fanshawe is a perfect gentleman. But I suppose I couldn't expect you to understand that, since you don't know the meaning of the word
gentleman!"

Ryan advanced. "Don't be ugly, Lindsay."

"Nothing else will do in your case, or so I begin to believe!" Her thick-lashed eyes flashed silver.

"No doubt you'd prefer to be fawned over by your sweet Dudley."

His broad chest grazed the thin bodice of her gown, and Lindsay inhaled his faint male scent. "That's right. I would rather be treated as a human being, with the same intelligence and rights as a man. I prefer to spend my time with someone who is sensitive and caring. What is wrong with that?"

"Nothing." Ryan's voice was soft now as his brown hands closed over her forearms and moved lightly upward. "Nothing except that there
is
a difference between men and women, a point at which intelligence ceases to be a concern. A point where thought itself is obscured by a stronger force..."

"You haven't changed a bit. You're as insufferably arrogant as the day we met—" Jeweled clasps dropped from her hair to the carpet and Ryan's fingers sank into her burnished curls.

"The day you melted in my arms in your family's entry hall?" he mocked gently. "When you pressed against me and opened your mouth under my kiss?"

"Stop it!" She moaned.

"Lindsay, remember one thing." His dark hands framed her delicate face as he stared down at her. "I am
not
your brother. That is the one aspect of this charade that I will not tolerate."

Dimly, Lindsay realized that she should step back from him, but Ryan's touch was mesmerizing. Suddenly, his arms were about her and he was pressing her against the paneled wall. Their eyes met for a long moment before his hips and mouth joined with hers, demanding that she respond. It was a fierce kiss, and Lindsay felt powerless yet powerful all at once. His body was lean, hard, and muscular as she arched against it, greeting him involuntarily. Then Ryan drew back an inch or two, his breath warm across her cheek.

"Would Dudley Fanshawe kiss you like this?" he whispered harshly before his mouth slanted again across Lindsay's. Ryan felt as if he could consume her, make her part of himself, as he kissed her with a fury that surprised even him. "Christ," he groaned, drowning in the taste of Lindsay's mouth.

Lindsay felt as if her bones had melted away. She clung to his broad shoulders and shivered under the sweet torment of his lips as they burned a path down her throat and tasted each inch of her bare shoulders. Her nipples stood out in arousal against the thin satin of her bodice. Slowly, Ryan's hands slid from her tiny waist up over the curve of her ribs until they cupped the fullness of Lindsay's eager breasts and she gasped aloud.