Midnight Bride (54 page)

"Somehow Charles always manages to survive unscathed," she told him, remembering their childhood.

"I want all of us to emerge from this unscathed," her husband said firmly. He glanced at the clock as it struck the hour, surprised that it was only ten. Then he looked down at his wife. He stood up and offered her his hand.
"Could
I interest you in an early bedtime, my dear?"

Miller, dismissed summarily, closed the door behind her, smiling. Inside the husband and wife looked at each other, their faces serious. "Can you forgive me, Elizabeth?" Dunstan asked.

"For what?"

"Letting myself be hoodwinked like that, like the
veriest
baby. I should have realized what he was doing. I never liked the man."

"Neither did
I
. We have excellent tastes in enemies, my lord."

"And in spouses."
He pulled her to him. Realizing that the dress had no ties, he quickly found the hooks down the back and had her dress off in moments. He gasped as he saw her standing there in her petticoat and chemise, the firelight casting interesting shadows through the silk. "I like this," he ran his hand over the front of her
chemise,
stopping to touch the nipples he could see so clearly through the fine fabric.

"Why do men wear such complicated clothing?" she moaned as she struggled to unbutton his waistcoat and shirt. Her task was made harder by the fact that he was kissing her breasts. "Robert." His name was merely a sigh on her lips, but he looked up. It was enough. She pulled away from him and stripped his coat and waistcoat away. Then she ran toward the bed, threw off the rest of her garments and climbed in. He was quick to follow.

Their lovemaking that evening was fevered, frantic, as if their fears were driving them. "Mine," Robert said over and over again. When she would pull away for a moment, he would follow as though he were afraid to lose her. And for the first time, even without the words, she felt secure. Though they did not get much sleep that night, the next morning they awakened renewed.

That renewal helped them both in the coming days. Hartley somehow made it a point to be where they were, how they never discovered. Keeping their faces carefully blank, they passed him, ignoring him as though he were not there. Issuing the cut direct helped Elizabeth control her anger.

Charles was not as lucky. Dancing attendance to
Cecile,
he was on stage constantly, wincing the first time he saw the man every evening. Hartley, as though recognizing his reaction, began to vary his time of arrival. Though he customarily arrived at the last moment, he began arriving much earlier. After the first jolt Charles was able to control his emotions. After dancing the first dance with
Cecile,
he would dance the duty dances the hostess required. After that he would repair to the card room for a hand or two, never more. Then he would return to the ballroom for another dance with his love and remain until the supper dance when he was her partner again.

One evening while Charles was in the card room, Hartley saw his chance. He approached the lovely Miss Westin, whose engagement had lessened the number of admirers who surrounded her. He smiled at the young man who stood
beside
her, waiting for the music to begin. "My lord," Hartley said mockingly, his tone and his facial expression reminding the young man of the vowels that Hartley held. "Will you release Miss Westin so that

I may dance with her?" he asked, his tone daring the young man to refuse,
Cecile,
confused, looked from one to the other. Elizabeth, her chaperon for the evening, had hurried away to fix a torn hem as soon as Cecile's partner had arrived. When Elizabeth returned a few minutes later, she looked around the dance floor for the younger lady and then stared horrified. Rushing into the card room, she found her husband and Charles engaged in a quiet hand. "Come see what that man is doing now!" Elizabeth said, her voice snapping like her eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Charles asked. "I do not see why you had to drag me out here. Wasn't your husband . . ." He stopped, his eyes on the couple. As he watched, his face grew grim.

"Have you told her anything about him?" Dunstan asked, his voice more quiet than even he had expected.

"No. Oh, I told her that he was a bad
'un,
but that is all."

"And that probably made her more curious," Elizabeth said bitterly. "How did he get his name on her card? This was not his dance."

"But I did not. You are her chaperon. Where were you?" Charles demanded. "What will her grandfather say?"

"More important, what will you say? I know the chit." Dunstan said, "
and
she is remarkably hot at hand. If you tell her not to do something, you can be certain that is exactly what she will do."

"Perhaps I should have a talk with her," Elizabeth suggested. "Leave her to me."

But when she tried to explain how evil Sebastian was the next morning,
Cecile
was merely intrigued. "What kind of trouble?" she
asked,
her eyes on Elizabeth's face.

"I would rather not say," she began. The stubborn look on Cecile's face, however, was enough to convince Elizabeth that that tactic would not work. "He tried to ruin me!" she blurted.

"Did he attempt to ravish you?"
Cecile
asked, her voice properly horrified.

"No. He tried to force a strange man into my bedroom to do that. He did take advantage of one of my maids." Elizabeth's voice revealed her disgust with both
Cecile
and Sebastian Hartley.

"Are you certain?
Grandmama
says many maids use their wiles to capture the gentlemen's attentions."
Cecile
looked at Elizabeth, noting the way the older lady's eyes narrowed. "He is a wonderful dancer, and he behaved like a perfect gentleman with me last evening."
Cecile
sighed, pleased with her logic.

Making a note to congratulate Dunstan on his accurate reading of the lady's character, Elizabeth made one last attempt to convince her of the impropriety of being seen with Hartley any further.
"Cecile,
did Charles tell you that Hartley has threatened to blacken his name in all of society so that no family would accept him as a suitor for one of their daughters?"

"No, he did not. Besides, Charles is engaged to me. He does not want anyone else."

"But your grandfather might withdraw his consent if the scandal becomes known," Elizabeth told her quietly.

Cecile,
her face flushed with anger, was indignant that anyone would alter her plan for her life. "And how does Mr. Hartley intend that this should happen?"

"He claims Charles is involved in the scandal surrounding the Duke of York."

"But he is an old man." Then
Cecile
stopped,
her eyes flashing. "Does that mean Charles was involved with that woman, that Clarke person?"

"Not that we know of. Hartley is the link, though. When he is called as a witness in the inquiry concerning the Duke of York, Hartley intends to reveal Charles's involvement. Think what your grandfather will say then."

Cecile's small, angelic face was cold. Her voice echoed that chill when she asked, "What can we do to prevent this from happening?"

"Dunstan is at work on a plan. We simply need to avoid the man and tell our friends to avoid him. Do not mention why, of course. Simply hint them away."

"As you tried to do me?"
Cecile
asked, recognizing her folly.

"Yes. Will you help?" Elizabeth
asked,
her face serious.

Cecile
thought for a few seconds. "Yes. Now that I have found Charles, I intend to keep him. No one or nothing will get in my way."

Her commitment made,
Cecile
found ways of implementing it. Elizabeth never asked how, but soon Hartley found himself not as welcome. Invitations began to be mislaid, especially in those households where young ladies were. At the balls where he could be found, Hartley found it difficult to find partners except among the matrons and wallflowers. One or two of the latter dared their mothers' frowns and refused as well. Accustomed to making others uncomfortable, Hartley began to feel pressure of his own.

Within the week Hartley became aware that something was wrong. Once accepted in almost any circle, he now found himself relegated to the status of those annoying individuals to whom one owes some type of obligation. For Hartley the position was not a desirable one. Self-assured though he was, he began to feel uncomfortable, to feel that people were watching his actions more carefully than he wanted them observed.

For the third morning his mail contained no invitations, only letters from his creditors dunning him. His valet took one look at his master's face and found a pressing errand that needed to be run. Hartley threw the letters on the floor. He paced the room, his boots marking the covers of the bills. His face was angry.

He walked quickly from one side of the room to another, never noticing that as he brushed against the table he was knocking his carefully amassed curios to the floor and later grinding them under his heels. His frown grew darker and darker as he considered how he might retrieve himself from the disasters he saw looming in front of him.

Finally he stopped. A smile that, had anyone been present with him then would have frightened even the bravest man, crossed his face. He walked to the desk, ruthlessness in every line in his body.

Although Dunstan, Elizabeth, and Charles had been aware of Hartley's failing fortunes, not one of them believed that he would simply give up his plans. So they waited. The earl made the wait easier when he acquired a list detailing the witnesses to be called during the next five days. Hartley's name was nowhere to be seen.

Dunstan, with Charles as his companion, began a round of the less reputable hellholes in London. After playing a few hands and seeming to drink deeply, they would mention Hartley's name, wondering why he was so slow in retrieving his vowels. Pretending to be on the go, they put their hands over their mouths and looked around the room as if to confirm that no one had heard them mention Hartley's name. Only at one establishment did their routine change. As they walked in, a tall man appeared beside them.

"You were told never to return, my lord," the man said, looking down at the pair, his eyes hard.

"I do not plan to play," Dunstan explained. Charles simply stood there, surprised at the size of the man. "Is there somewhere we could talk?" The afternoon still early, the man agreed, his face impassive.