Edith Layton (6 page)

“I do not yap,” Brenna said.

“She was relentless,” Eric went on, ignoring her. “Brought me doctors when I needed them, water and food and comfort too. She came when she got word of my illness and stayed until she got me well. I didn’t dare die. She didn’t even get a chance to see the country. She didn’t miss a day by my bedside and hurried me home as soon as I left it for fear the climate would get me sick again. But though I appreciate it, I rue it, Bren, and you know it.”

She shrugged. “I had a maidservant with me at all times. I stayed in a respectable home, with your friend’s wife and sister. I traveled from England with an older female as escort, though she was the most tedious creature on the planet, didn’t I? I did everything according to the rules.”

Eric shook his golden head. “You left home, alone.
Well, at least without a husband. And you came back without one. At your age? It isn’t done.”

“Mama couldn’t go,” she said simply, “Nor could Papa or anyone else. What, was I to leave you there alone? I was the right one to go because I
was
free. And there’s an end to it.”

“I wish it was,” Eric said. “I know you did it for me. But I’m sorry for it. And now
this
!”

“Playing chess with Lord Dalton is such a scandal?” she asked, a slight smile tilting her mouth.

“In most circles,” Rafe said, straight-faced.

She looked up at him and smiled.

“If what happened gets out…” Eric said.

“It won’t,” both Brenna and Rafe answered together. They grinned at each other. Rafe gestured, inviting Brenna to speak.

“I spoke with Annabelle. She agreed,” Brenna said. “If we leave, as scheduled, there’ll be no talk, and it will be forgotten. Except I’ll remember it to the day I die. When I opened the door and saw their faces! The time I found that snake in my slippers was a party by contrast!”

“And when I came in and saw all your faces,” Rafe said, and laughed. “You looked like you’d been shot. They looked like they’d found you dead.”

“No,” Brenna said. “At least they might have been sorry for me then.
Might,
I say. Because in that dressing gown—Eric, why couldn’t you have had a nice blue one? But crimson! Crimson silk, with red dragons all over it too. Your lady friends have terrible taste.”

“Thieves can’t be choosers,” Eric said without sympathy. “Should have worn your own.”

“I lost it,” she said, “and if I hadn’t, it might have been even worse.”

“Really?” Rafe asked with exaggerated interest, “Now, what could yours have looked like?”

The firelight couldn’t account for the high color that bloomed on Brenna’s cheekbones as she bent to the chessboard again. She touched a pawn with one finger, as though contemplating her next move. Rafe’s mock leer vanished. Brenna had long, slim fingers, but now he noticed their nails were bitten down to the quick. It surprised him. She was a perfect lady, and a lady’s hands were always well cared for. She lifted her hand from the piece as though she saw the direction of his glance, and curled her fingers under so her nails were unseen, the way she usually held them. It made him feel curiously protective. He wanted to tell her it made no difference to him, and knew he couldn’t, and it didn’t matter anyway.

“Must you leave so soon?” he asked. “I mean,” he added, when her head came up and she stared, “we’ve had such fun together.”

“Much fun you’d have if we stayed!” she said, amazed.

“I know,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking. It’s just that I want everything. Listen,” he turned in his chair and looked at Eric. “
If
I win my lady—if we wed—matters will mend in time. I don’t want to lose contact with you. I feel badly enough that you have to leave
before it’s time. If I’d my way, I’d have you stay here weeks, you know.”

“I know,” Eric said.

“We’ve got the coach hired and readied. We’re packed,” Brenna said. “We only need the doctor’s blessing, a few more vials of his miraculous medicine, and we’re off. But we thank you for your hospitality, we really do.”

“You will write to me and let me know how things are going?” Rafe asked.

She didn’t answer right away. She looked at him for a long moment. Rafe couldn’t read her expression. The study was lit by gaslight jets high on the walls, but because of that, the light was uneven. It had seemed cozy to Rafe until now.

He’d been happy to have Eric’s company again. Eric had been a good friend and a boon companion when they’d been in the hospital together in Spain. Rafe hadn’t expected much of him when they’d met. Eric’s handsome face and towering physique made him appear overconfident; the effect was that of a lazy lion. He had every reason to be vain, but Rafe soon discovered he wasn’t. He was simply sure of himself. A man grew to know the very fiber of a fellow when he saw how he bore adversity. Eric’s wound had given him that, in spades. He’d borne it well. Rafe found him to be generous, considerate, and plucky to the bone.

Eric’s sister was a delight to while the time away with too. Steady, but possessed of a keen sense of humor, she constantly showed new and enchanting
facets of her personality. Rafe found himself looking forward to their time together the last few nights. They spent the time talking, playing cards, singing while Brenna played the piano, and making up silly games to amuse Eric.

Rafe was always more comfortable around women in the evenings anyway. The dimmed light dulled his cursed hair, making him more like other men. The firelight might mock that, but it touched the edges of everyone’s hair with flame. Even Brenna’s inky hair had a crimson aura tonight.

But now the room suddenly seemed to hold secrets in the long shadows and dim corners. Brenna sat at the edge of the light that illuminated their chessboard. The expression in her dark eyes was lost in shadow. He could only see the strong, high bones in her face, and then the way her smile started, and shifted.

“Of course,” she finally said. “We’ll write. We expect you to write and tell us of your engagement too, you know,” she added. She bent her head to the chessboard again. “Your move,” she said.

“Send back a message to let me know you’re safely home!” Rafe said as the coach prepared to leave the front of his house.

Eric sat at the coach window. The early sunlight gave his face a warm peach glow. He smiled, and for a moment looked whole and hale again. The physician said he was making a remarkable recovery. Rafe shifted his booted feet. It still felt wrong to
send him away so soon. He frowned at how very wrong it felt.

“Don’t scowl,” Eric said. “I’ll be fine. I hope we meet again, under better circumstances. And happier ones. Send me word so I can dance at your wedding. Good-bye, old friend!”

Rafe couldn’t see much of Brenna’s face behind her brother’s, but he could hear her low, carrying voice. “We’ll write. Good luck,” she called, “and thank you!”

The coachman snapped the whip, the coach rolled away from the curb, and Rafe stood watching as it went up the street, rounded the corner, and vanished from sight. He waited another moment, finding himself curiously reluctant to go back into his house.

He wasn’t the only one to feel bad about the departure.

“Aye, well, there goes this position,” Rafe heard the footman he’d hired say to his newly hired butler as he stepped into his house. “We’d best pack and get back to the agency, eh?”

“Best not,” Rafe said, startling them. “I find I like the service. Stay on until my man gets back next month and then we’ll see. Looks good for a fellow to have a staff, and I’m tired of running errands. Cook’s good too,” he told the footman. “Speaking of service, I’ve a note for you to deliver. But I’ve got to write it first. Hold. I’ll be back.”

He strode into his study, picked up a piece of paper and a pen. He put two hands on the desk and bent over the blank sheet of paper, thinking. Then he sat, dipped the pen in ink and wrote.

Rafe frowned. Not what he wanted to say. Too rough, too curt, too much like the man he was. Not at all like the man he wanted to be for her. He thought a moment, then picked up the pen again and added a line.

He frowned ferociously when he read that. But it was only true, at least for now, and a man had to do whatever he could to win. He picked up the note and strode out to find the footman to deliver it for him.

R
afe had only climbed to the high driver’s seat of his curricle, not the top of a mountain. But he felt the same feeling of breathless triumph when he got there. Triumph—and light-headedness. Because she was there waiting for him. And she smiled at him. The sunlight spun blue rainbows in Annabelle’s soft curls, and showed her complexion white as rice, smooth as milk. Her eyes were blue as cornflowers and she smelled of roses. He clucked to the horses to get them moving, and worried that any words he would say would sound the same as that cluck. But he spoke anyway; he was never a man to run away from a challenge.

“I’m glad you reconsidered,” he said carefully. “About seeing me again, that is.”

“Why, so am I,” Annabelle said.

“It’s been ten days.”

“Have you been counting?” she laughed.

“Yes,” he said seriously.

She was, for the first time in a very long while, at a loss for words. He didn’t flirt. It was hard for her to know where to go with a fellow like him. She liked to flirt and prattle and play with words. He had a fine, wry sense of humor; she knew that. But he was very serious about her. She wasn’t quite ready for that. But neither was she ready to give him up. She changed the subject.

“I spent
my
time shopping,” she said, opening her parasol. “London’s scarce of company, but the summer’s coming to a close and soon there’ll be so many balls and entertainments! Mama won’t hear of me wearing anything I wore last Season. A waste of time and money, to my way of thinking, but she’s obstinate.”

“She’ll meet us at teatime?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, all’s forgiven. But what a shocking young woman you harbored! Careless and thoughtless. I can’t blame Mama for jumping to the most awful conclusions. I did too. But as my mama reminded me, a man’s not responsible for one’s friends, so how can he be responsible for a friend’s sister?”

“She’s not shocking at all,” Rafe said sternly, his eyes on his team, “or thoughtless. In fact, it happened because her thoughts were all on her brother.”

“Yes,” Annabelle said, sliding a look at him. “‘Provincial’ would be a better word. Oh—let’s not talk about it anymore,” she added, seeing how grim his face had become.

“Right. So why don’t we talk about what you’ll wear to dinner at Vauxhall next Saturday? If you go with me?”

She laughed, genuinely amused. One minute she decided he was so severe and cold she couldn’t imagine why she was even thinking of something permanent with him. The next, he said something so winning she wondered why she didn’t snabble him up. He’d never replace Damon in her affections. No man could. But he was just unique enough to intrigue her. She’d been numb so long. At least he interested her, and that was something. And he adored her. That was everything now.

“Dinner, at Vauxhall?” she murmured, spinning her parasol on her shoulder. “Isn’t it a little late in the day to ask me that?”

“If it is, then I won’t.”

Not quite so adoring then?
She liked that even better.

“It isn’t,” she said. “Should I wear blue?”

He turned to look at her. “Wear anything,” he said. “All I’ll see is you.”

She blinked. It was like receiving a sonnet from any other man. “Blue, then,” she said, with a smile.

They took tea with Annabelle’s mama. It was awkward. Rafe couldn’t be at ease with the countess. Annabelle obviously got her looks from her papa; she seemed to have her personality from him too. Lady Wylde was a squab of a woman, but there was nothing small about her presence. She dominated the conversation even when she was silent, her shrewd
eyes following their expressions—as well as everyone’s in the tearoom.

So Rafe concentrated on Annabelle. He watched her pour his tea with pleasure. It gave him a curious thrill to see her doing something for him, and she did it with grace and charm. Her hands were like little butterflies, like those of Japanese ladies in illustrations he’d seen. Small white hands—but he was brought up short when he saw the neat, pale arcs of her smooth oval nails.

They reminded him of another woman’s nails, short, chewed nails on hands she’d kept hidden, except when she played the piano. Then they couldn’t be concealed. He’d noticed them again the last night she’d stayed with him, when she’d played and they’d sung together. Strange to see such a calm, well-bred woman with such ravaged nails. Her hands had looked functional and competent on the keys, though. He remembered the music and the laughter, and wondered how she was doing.

Annabelle made a little jest. She heard her mama’s laughter, but not Rafe’s. She looked up from the teapot to see his expression. That clear blue gaze was on her hands. But not its focus. He was seeing something else, something far away. That was strange. And interesting. Just last night her mama said she thought Annabelle only wanted him because she wasn’t sure if she could have him.

“Possibly,” she’d answered, truthfully.

“But you can, you know,” her mama had said.

Possibly,
she thought again now, and asked, “Milk?
Or is it too hot? The tea,” she added, smiling, when he recalled himself and his guilty gaze flew to her.

“It’s fine, thank you,” he said.

So it was. But it was over too soon. At least, it was for Rafe.

There were long days to get through until Saturday, Rafe thought after he left Annabelle. Days in which he couldn’t see her, because he’d asked. She’d be busy every night and day until then. At least, she said she was. He wasn’t surprised. She was a popular young woman. And they both knew if she saw him more often, everyone would assume they were about to be engaged. She wasn’t ready to make that decision yet. He didn’t blame her.

Three days seemed long to him now, but he knew it wasn’t the eternity it felt like. He’d find ways to entertain himself; he always had. Still, he saw the sun lowering and his spirits sank too. There was dinner to get through tonight. Good as his new cook was, Rafe discovered he now hated the thought of eating alone. When company left a house, it always seemed emptier than it had been before they came. Eric and his sister had filled the place with their laughter and talk. Rafe handed his curricle over to a stableboy and found his footsteps lagging as he walked to his front door.

His closest friends were gone from town; even his newer friends had just loped off home to Shropshire…Well, but he belonged to clubs, didn’t he? he
thought, brightening. Or at least he had, once upon a time. He was sure he’d sent in his subscription dues. If he hadn’t, he was equally sure they’d welcome him again. Let his new servants dine on his dinner at home; he’d go find something to divert himself.

He considered his options. He didn’t want to talk horses and driving all through dinner, so that let out the Four in Hand Club. Nor did he want to discuss politics all night, so he’d avoid White’s and Brook’s. He’d stay away from Boodle’s too. Gambling was exciting, but his mind wasn’t on it, so that was out. Only a fool wagered when his head was elsewhere. And he’d just discovered his heart was connected to his head.

He and Drum had spent many happy hours at the Roxburghe. But their dinners went on for hours and he wasn’t in the mood for five courses, not to mention seven bottles of wine. Getting drunk would only make him maudlin. He didn’t want sex either, or at least, he did, but the sexual encounter he wanted was impossible now, and he wouldn’t settle for less. So the finest brothels in Town were out. That meant missing a chance to meet up with some of his old army friends too.

Rafe scowled. The unexpected visit from Eric had spoiled him. The long and short of it was, he wanted to spend time with someone he knew. He’d spent so much of his life on the Continent in the past years, there was little chance of that…He stopped in mid-step, and grinned. Simple. The Traveler’s Club. Someone was always arriving in London and stop
ping off there before going on home. There was always someone ready to ship out to some foreign port waiting for his ship to leave too. He’d surely find a familiar face there.

Rafe found it hard to concentrate on what his dinner companions were saying. It wasn’t just because they were dull. John Farkas and Lord Roman were interesting fellows, but one had just come back from Egypt and was filled with memories of it, and the other was just heading out for America and was preoccupied with plans for that. Rafe’s old schoolmate the Viscount Hazelton had led a fascinating life, but he was besotted with some female and hadn’t a sensible word to say for himself tonight. Rafe couldn’t have heard it if he did. The men at the next table had too many.

The dining room at the Traveler’s Club was emptying; dinner was over. The four men at the next table stayed there and gossiped. Only they called it ‘reminiscing.’ Gossip was for women.

Their voices carried in the half-filled room.

“Remember Huntley’s little vixen?” one of the men at the next table said loudly, drowning out the conversation at Rafe’s.

“Aye,” one of his companions, a beefy fellow with a ringing voice, answered. “She went to Freddie Bell, then Copley. I had the keeping of her once myself. What that trull couldn’t do wasn’t worth doing! Could put her ankles behind her ears. Never saw the
like of it. Wasn’t so much good, mind you, as it was special. Off-putting at first, to be sure, but definitely special. Never forget it, at any rate.”

Rafe’s companions gave up all pretense of talking and grinned at each other.

“Aye, she was something,” the beefy fellow went on with drunken sentimentality. “Whatever became of her?”

“Off to the Continent,” one of his friends said with a shrug. “Austria, someone said. Maybe you’ll meet up with her again there.”

“Ho, she must be at least thirty now,” the thickset fellow roared. “Too old for sport, for certain! Probably can’t get an ankle up on a chap’s bum now! But Freddie Bell! What a cutup he was, to be sure! And what about his sister? That dun-haired chit. You know, the long-toothed one.
Celeste,
aye, that was it! ‘The belle from hell,’ remember? Never think it to look at her, but who didn’t get a leg over that one, eh? Not a female in Town couldn’t learn a thing or two from her either, eh? Eh?”

The words rang out in the sudden hush that fell over the rest of the room. Gentlemen did not discuss other gentlemen’s sisters no matter how drunk they got.

“Sisters are the very devil,” one of the other men at the noisy table complained. “Get too close, and you have to march down the aisle. Stay too far, and you insult the brother. One of the reasons why I travel so much.” He looked up blearily and finally noticed the silence in the room. “Say, none of you chaps have a sister, do you?” he asked the men at his
table. “If so, tell me now, and I’m gone from here, I swear it!”

“Mine are married, thank God,” a tall gentleman sitting next to him said, “but speaking of sisters—did you hear about the mess Dalton got himself into with the fair Annabelle because of one?”

“Dalton? He back in England?” the fat fellow asked, looking up from his glass.

“Yes, and in hot water already,” the tall gentleman drawled, so eager to tell his tale he didn’t notice the frantic looks his suddenly alert companions, facing Rafe’s table, were darting at him. “See, he was entertaining some army man he knew in the old days—name of Ford, from Shropshire, I heard. Any event, seems Dalton left this Ford fellow and his sister at his home one day while he was squiring about the fair Annabelle and her dragon of a mama. There’s almost a match there—at least I’ve got a golden boy on it in the betting book. Why are you all wigwagging at me? I could have put down more, but I’m no flat. The lady’s known to change her mind.

“Well, anyway, Dalton invites the dragon and the lady to his house to have a look at it—they’re sizing him up, y’see. They open the door—and there’s the friend’s sister! Naked as the dawn, wearing nothing but her hair, and she flips that back to show them
all
! And there was a lot to see—they say she’s built like Venus on a clamshell.”

He sat back, misconstruing their stunned expressions. “She tried to trap him, see? Didn’t wash,” he said, seeming disappointed about that. “Lady Annabelle is fair in mind and body. She forgave Dal
ton—after he turfed the slut out, of course, and…Oh.”

He’d finally turned to see what his three companions were gaping white-faced at behind him.

Rafe loomed there. “Interesting,” Rafe said, “but a lie.”

“Are you calling me a liar, sir?” the tall gentleman asked.

“If you tell that story, yes,” Rafe said, glowering down at him.

“I’m no liar. I tell what I heard,” the man said.

“You heard wrong,” Rafe said.

“
Apologize,
man,” one of the man’s table-mates hissed to him.

“For telling truth?” he answered. “I think not. What are you going to do about it, Dalton?”

Rafe’s fists knotted. The tall man saw it and flinched. But he remained firmly seated. He forced a laugh. “A brawl in a gentlemen’s club, Dalton? Oh, good! The best way to be sure the slut’s name gets bandied about.”

Rafe’s face grew dark.

“So what are you going to do?” the tall man asked again. “Challenge me?”

“If you wish,” Rafe said through clenched teeth, “Though I’d rather settle it in the court of fives and have it out with fists. That way I won’t have to leave the country after I exterminate you, as I’d have to if my sword or pistol settled the thing.”

The tall gentleman rose to his full height. He had a long, lean body, a perpetual sneer, and a malicious expression in his slitted eyes. That and the obvious
dissipation in his face ruined what might once have been exceptional good looks. “I don’t mind leaving after I win,” he said with a smirk. “I’m on my way to the Continent as it is. There’s a little matter of a claim of paternity. Some slut seeks a husband and is trying to play me for a fool. I’m off until she comes to her senses, or finds another victim. I won’t apologize. So. I take it you’re issuing a challenge? Or are you afraid to try me?”

Rafe’s friends leapt to their feet. “Walk away, Rafe!” John Farkas cried. “The man’s three parts drunk and two parts fool.”