The Casanova Code (18 page)

She shouldn’t have been surprised that Walter was waiting in their box at the theater; her father’s intervention, she supposed. She knew Walter was not enamored with plays and the theater. He’d made that quite clear weeks ago when she suggested they see a play to satisfy her story about the need for Faith’s parasol. Of all the new, exciting playwrights, Oscar Wilde was his least favorite, but Edwina assumed he approved, at least, of the title of
this
play. She settled into the chair next to where he stood waiting.

His eyes slipped almost immediately to her daring neckline. “Did you bring your wrap, Edwina?” He frowned. “You might catch a chill without one.”

“I’m quite comfortable, Walter. Sit down.” She tapped him with her black feather fan.

“I would gladly sacrifice my jacket for your comfort,” he insisted. “I can rest it on your shoulders.” He started to shrug out of his evening jacket.

“I’m fine, Walter. Please sit back and enjoy the play.”

Her mother, seated on the other side of her and in vigorous employment of a pair of opera glasses, urgently patted her knee. “The Trewelyns are directly across from us. Do you see? Oh, look! Mrs. Trewelyn just nodded in our direction.” She lowered the glasses, beaming. “It’s a good sign. I knew that following up the Sutton soiree with a round of calls would prove productive. Mrs. Trewelyn wouldn’t have acknowledged our existence before then.”

Edwina borrowed her mother’s glasses and peered across the theater. Ashton smiled in her direction and nodded. Her heart leapt to her throat. He was so incredibly dark and handsome. In spite of her mother’s exuberance, Mrs. Trewelyn did not appear pleased with his attention. The house lights lowered before she could see more.

Edwina enjoyed the first two acts more than she had anticipated she would. The play revolved around a young bride who suspected her husband was having an affair. When her husband insisted she invite the mystery woman to her birthday ball, the bride contemplated running off with another man. Unbeknownst to her, the mystery woman was really her very own mother. Her husband’s involvement with the woman had only been to assist the mother back into society. When the young bride left a note behind of her intentions to run away with a known rake, the mother intercepted the note and pledged to help her daughter avoid making the same mistake she had made herself so many years ago. The curtain was lowered for intermission.

“I don’t know why they call this a play about a good woman,” Walter complained. “A good woman would have accepted without question her husband’s statement that he wasn’t having relations. A good woman would never contemplate running away with another man.”

“Perhaps the good woman is the mother, the one society rejected,” Edwina offered.

“That can’t be right,” he argued. “If she had been the good woman, she would be married. Her own daughter would certainly recognize her.”

She looked at his face.
Sweet Walter.
The concept of hypocrisy was lost on him. Society’s restrictions were necessary and beyond question in his mind. She wasn’t certain if that was an admirable trait, but it was a reliable one. “Perhaps we should go to the mezzanine during intermission,” she said. “I feel the need to stand and take some refreshment before the next act.”

Of course, that wasn’t the only reason for leaving their box to stand in the mezzanine, but she couldn’t tell Walter that. Her mother, however, understood the social aspects of being seen at such an event. She joined them to make a party of three. Her father remained behind to talk to an acquaintance in the next box.

Edwina spied Ashton immediately on the far side of the mezzanine. He was surrounded by women, several of whom she recognized from the soiree. Ashton immediately broke away from the group and walked toward her, a generous smile on his face. “Mrs. Hargrove and Miss Hargrove. What a pleasure to see you both again.” He extended a hand to Walter, who begrudgingly shook it.

“Was that Lady Sutton I saw in your box?” her mother asked. Before Ashton could answer, her mother hurried off. “I must inquire about her health. She had suffered a chill the last I heard.”

Ashton waited until Mrs. Hargrove had left, then turned toward Edwina. “You are a vision of beauty this evening.” His eyes warmed with his words. He leaned heavily on an elaborately carved stick at his side. Edwina was tempted to ask if it concealed a fishing pole or perhaps a life preserver, but that would have required explanation to Walter. “I imagine the other women are seething with jealousy at your unique style,” he said, the wicked gleam in his eyes causing her exposed skin to heat.

He was most likely right about glances of envy—not due to her style, but rather her company. Walter stepped slightly forward, almost as if to shield her from Ashton’s appreciative gaze, but not before a thrill rippled through her.

“Are you enjoying the play, Mr. Trewelyn?” she asked. It was not the question she longed to ask, but Walter stood near.

“I’m enjoying the intermission much more.” He always knew the right words to make her knees weak, but, she reminded herself, he’d had lots of practice in this area. Walter scowled.

“You remind me of that scoundrel in the play, that Mr. Darlington,” Walter said. “He’s a charmer much like yourself.”

“Mr. Wilde did give him the best lines,” Ashton replied. “‘I can resist anything but temptation,’” he quoted as he turned to Edwina. “Do you believe that, Miss Hargrove?”

“I believe Mr. Wilde spends considerable thought on the subject of temptation,” she said, remembering that Ashton had quoted him before. “I wonder what temptation obsesses him so?”

Ashton laughed, then nodded to her in a sort of salute.

“Walter,” she said, turning to her side, “would you be so kind as to bring something for my parched throat?” Walter continued to glare at Ashton. “I’d ask Mr. Trewelyn, but given the stairs and his leg injury . . .”

Walter nodded tersely, then bumped Ashton as he passed. Ashton quickly regained his balance and watched Walter tread down the stairs to the lower lobby with a wary expression.

“That man has no love lost for me,” he said.

“No,” Edwina agreed. She knew Walter didn’t wish to leave her side but she needed the privacy to see if Ashton had received her last letter. Sweet Walter would never deny her such a simple request as a glass of lemonade. “He has his reasons.”

Ashton straightened. His lips tightened. “I imagine he recognizes my affection for you.” His eyes narrowed. “Just as I can see that you care for him.”

She laughed lightly. “Walter has been a friend of the family for many years.” She grasped Ashton’s arm and turned him slightly to carve out a small bit of privacy in a mezzanine packed with people. “Did you receive my message about the Guardians’ meeting tomorrow night?”

He took her gloved hand in his and studied it. “I’ve received all of your many messages.” His finger stroked her knuckle. “Edwina . . . it’s difficult to describe how much those letters mean to me.”

She didn’t know what to say. Strange how she found it easy to tell him of her thoughts through the pages of a letter, but felt tongue-tied now addressing him in person.

“As a result of your encouragement,” he said, “I’ve created a prototype of a rifle scope that may work for the Martini-Henry rifle. I delivered the casing to Thomas Harris this morning. He’s providing the optics.”

His face beamed with his accomplishment. She wished his father, who was missing in that box across the way, could see his son now. “How exciting! I’m so proud of you,” she said. Should the design succeed, no one would think of him in terms of “Casanova” again. Especially his father. Lost in her admiration for Ashton’s news, she’d lost track of what exactly he was saying. She refocused.

“. . . I hope that even after we search the gallery for more notes, you’ll consider—”

“We?” Panic filled her voice. “Surely you don’t expect me to assist in your search. I can’t go back there.”

“Why not? The timing is perfect. You’ve already seen the collection. You examined it quite thoroughly if I recall.”

Her cheeks began to heat. It wasn’t the woodprints that she feared, it was her feelings when she viewed them. They made her want to do things, explore things that she knew she mustn’t. Not with this man. She glanced at his face. That, of course, was the problem. It was precisely
this man
that made her blood hum with taboo desires. She couldn’t imagine doing the things the pictures depicted with Walter, but with Ashton . . .

He smiled, seemingly ignorant of the hot currents flowing through her body. “We’ll be able to perform a much more efficient search if we work together. It was your suggestion, after all.”

She bit her lip, worried that her voice would betray the improper yearnings that coursed through her veins. “I suggested
you
search for more messages.” She cast her voice low, not wishing to be overheard, but that only drew him closer. “Not that I would assist.” She glanced quickly to the stairs. While sending Walter off for a beverage had been a ploy for privacy, now she wished she had the cool liquid in her hand. She looked across the mezzanine, anywhere but at Ashton. She spotted his stepmother speaking to . . . her mother! Her gaze returned to Ashton. “How could I possibly explain my presence to your stepmother? She certainly wouldn’t allow me in that gallery.”

“As luck would have it, Constance is leaving for a stay at a friend’s country house. With both of my parents gone for the evening, we’ll be able to search undisturbed.”

“The servants?” Her voice squeaked as Ashton competently removed her objections one by one.

“A few will travel with Constance. I’ll suggest several others take the evening off, as their services won’t be needed. There will be a minimal staff, but we should be able to avoid those few. Trust me.” He winced. “I have a bit of experience in this.”

Edwina glanced at her mother’s animated conversation. “I wish you had experience in keeping my mother occupied,” she said, half in jest. From the look on Constance’s face, Edwina imagined her mother was being more tolerated than encouraged to climb the higher rungs in society. She feared for her mother’s feelings if all her efforts resulted in rejection.

“Is that a problem?” Ashton smiled. “I have experience in that area as well. Your mother won’t be home tomorrow evening to notice you’re missing.”

She jerked her gaze to his. “How?”

Walter climbed the final steps to the mezzanine with a glass in hand. Their brief interlude of privacy was quickly coming to a close.

“Seven o’clock,” Ashton managed a moment before the bells sounded to return to their seats. He crossed to his stepmother, who waited impatiently on the far side of the mezzanine.

Edwina accepted the glass of lemonade from Walter and sipped at it greedily to refresh her suddenly dry mouth. How did she manage to get into this pickle? She could, of course, decline to participate. It was difficult to refuse Ashton when he turned those expressive eyes her way, but she could refuse. She could stay in her room and, inspired by that netsuke, she could . . . Netsuke! This would provide the perfect opportunity to return that blasted annoyance. Ashton wouldn’t have cause to think she stole it, and she wouldn’t live with the worry that someone would find it in her room.

Thankfully, Walter took her arm to guide her back to their seats. With her thoughts on returning to the secret gallery, she didn’t pay attention to such a mundane thing as a third act. She had managed to escape unscathed from her first unorthodox visit to the Trewelyn library. Would she be as fortunate the second?

“I
KNEW
, I
JUST
KNEW
,
SPEAKING
WITH
L
ADY
S
UTTON
last night at the theater was the right thing to do,” her mother exclaimed, her enthusiasm causing Isabella to jump and pounce with joy. “Why earlier today I received a note inviting me to her town home to play cards this evening. Cards! I wish I had time to brush up my skills.”

“Is father invited as well?” Edwina asked hopefully.

“No. This is for ladies only. But your father won’t mind. He has another appointment this evening. I hate to leave you alone, but I know you’ll be content with your books and letters.” Her mother covered her mouth for a moment like a young girl. Indeed she hadn’t seen her mother this excited in years. “We’re on the verge of stepping up higher in society, I just know it. And it’s all due to your chance meeting with Lady Sutton in the park. I’m not certain why she was so taken with you, but she is. She always inquires after you.”

Guilt tempered Edwina’s enthusiasm. Her mother was so excited over her rise in society, while Edwina knew the invitation was a result of Ashton’s manipulation to lure her back into that secret gallery.

“If I’m accepted into Lady Sutton’s circle, it will mean improved contacts for your father.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “And for Walter, as well. We’ll be invited to balls and soirees and . . .”

“Won’t you miss your meetings at the Perennial Society, or the Ladies Society for Good Works, or Matrons for a Common Cause?”

“I can still participate in all of those groups, dear.” She bit her lip. “Maybe not as frequently as before but I’ll still participate. Or”—her face brightened—“you can take my place. That’s a wonderful idea! I will take you to the next meetings of all of my groups and introduce you. You’ll just love the ladies. Love them.”

“But what of my friends? The Crescent . . .”

Her mother’s face dimmed slightly. “Once you’re properly married and established in your own household, I’d imagine you won’t have time for those ladies. Associating with that firebrand Claire won’t be helpful to Walter. And Sarah . . . well, you just won’t have as much time for them as you do now.”

Edwina could feel the bars on her cage tighten.

Her mother sat on the corner of the bed. “Edwina, I want you to promise me something.”

Isabella jumped onto the bed as well. After accepting a few strokes down her sleek back, the kitten hopped off the bed to set about exploring the room.

“You must admit your pursuits are a little peculiar,” her mother said. “I believe it’s time for you to stop some of your more radical behavior and conform to the roles society expects of young women.”

Edwina heard scratching and a roll from the vicinity of her bureau. Looking beyond her mother, she saw Isabella’s thin tail whipping the air from the partially open drawer. Her mother glanced back as well, smiled, then continued with her lecture. “You’re not getting any younger, Edwina. Most young women your age have married and are well on their way toward producing children.”

The kitten’s head popped up out of the drawer with the middle of one of Edwina’s white silk stockings clasped in her sharp kitten teeth. The bulge in the closed end of the stocking confirmed Edwina’s fears that the kitten had discovered the netsuke. Edwina struggled to keep the panic from her face. She wasn’t certain what was worse, that her mother would discover the erotic piece in her possession, or that the expensive artifact would be damaged from the kitten’s play. Neither possibility was favorable.

“What sort of radical behavior?” Edwina asked in an attempt to keep her mother’s attention focused on her and not the kitten’s antics.

“Riding that bicycle of yours to start. Proper young women do not ride bicycles.”

“Princess Beatrice was rumored to ride a tricycle.”

“And she didn’t marry until she was twenty-eight,” her mother argued. She shook her head. “One wonders if even that would have occurred if she wasn’t a royal. We do not have that in our favor. Your future husband—”

“You mean, Mr. Thomas,” Edwina said sadly. The stocking fell to the floor with a thump. Isabella jumped to the floor in pursuit, then dragged the stocking under the bed. At least the netsuke wasn’t visible, though that could change in a moment with a well-timed kitten stroke.

“Yes, Mr. Thomas.” Her mother sighed. “I’m certain it’s your insistence on riding that bicycle that has kept him from offering for your hand.” The sound of racing paws and the uneven roll of the carved netsuke filled the silence after her mother’s pronouncement. “Whatever has that kitten gotten hold of?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Edwina quickly replied. “Probably just a thread spool. Something Kathleen left behind, I imagine.”

“I don’t think so.” Her mother frowned toward the floor. “It sounds heavier than a spool. Let me take a look.” She began to get down on a knee.

“No.” Panicked, Edwina pulled on her arm. “You don’t want to get down on the dirty floor. You’ll be mussed for your card party.” Her mother glanced up, considering. Edwina needed to get her out of the room before it was too late, so she did the unthinkable. “I promise to stop riding my bicycle if that’s what you prefer. I’ll do better to garner Walter’s approval.” She glanced toward the door. “You don’t want to be late for Lady Sutton’s, do you?”

“I suppose not,” her mother said, rising to her feet. “I’m sorry to ask you to give up something you enjoy, but once you are married, you’ll appreciate the necessity.” She kissed Edwina on the forehead. “You have a pleasant evening, dear.”

As soon as the bedroom door closed, Edwina took a deep breath of relief, then got down on hands and knees. “Come here, you rascal.” She retrieved both the kitten and her prize. “You’re bound and determined to get me in trouble, aren’t you?”

Cradling the cat in one hand, she emptied the stocking on her bed so she could inspect the erotic carving for scratches or marks. What would her mother think of the small innocuous sculpture if she knew of it? Would she suspect it was something a courtesan may have worn on her person? Edwina ran her fingers over the smooth, centuries-old carving. A small thrill tingled her rib cage. What would the Perennial Society say? The Ladies Society for Good Works? She almost laughed, but she didn’t wish to attract anyone’s attention. Possession of such an item would not be smiled upon by any of those groups . . . or by Walter.

In fact, if he knew she had it, he might think twice about the engagement that her parents had assumed was a certainty. The man thought riding a bicycle was radical and breaking codes peculiar. What would he say if he knew she’d been in Trewelyn’s secret chamber? Ashton’s voice whispered in her memory.
“I know you, Miss Hargrove. You are a modern woman who rides bicycles and breaks conventions as easily as breaking my poor devoted heart.”

She certainly was going to break convention tonight. Edwina dropped the netsuke in her reticule, anxious to return it before its absence was noted. So much anxiety over a small carved piece of wood.

Glancing up, she caught her reflection in the small circular mirror suspended on the wall. She was not a striking beauty, not in the manner of those with whom Ashton associated. His reputation had been well documented. He was, as Sarah said, not the marrying kind, not like Walter. A lump gathered in her throat.
Not like Walter.

An earlier conversation played in her mind.
“What do you wish for me, Mother?”

“I wish for you to be married and have lots of children. No woman can be happy without marriage. No woman can be secure. That’s what I want for you. Security.”

Security meant that she must return the troublesome carving to the gallery. Security meant she had to forsake the things in life that gave her pleasure. Security meant that she would ultimately give up her association with Ashton Trewelyn, . . . but not tonight. Tonight she needed to break convention one more time.

Just then her mother opened her bedroom door. “I almost forgot to mention that your father has already left this evening. I’m sorry to leave you home alone, dear, but I know you’ll be fine.”

“I’ll probably just go to bed early,” Edwina said, stroking her kitty to induce deep purring. “Enjoy your evening.”

• • •

A
SHTON
PACED
,
LISTENING
TO
THE
CLOCK
TOLLING
THE
hour while he waited for Edwina’s arrival. Everything was falling in place. The house was almost completely empty, with the remaining servants cautioned to remain belowstairs. Similar demands had been common back in his Casanova days. He guessed from the slight upturn of lips that the staff had assumed the old Ashton Trewelyn had finally returned. In fact, they had most likely cast wagers on when the event was to occur. Good. Their celebrations would keep them out of sight.

Would she come? Never had he so intensely anticipated a woman’s arrival as he had this woman’s. Of course, never had he felt such a connection with another, as he did with Edwina. Until he saw her at the theater, he hadn’t really considered using the convenient departure of both of his parents for anything more absorbing than settling down with a good book and a fine brandy while he waited to hear of the Guardians’ decision. However, the moment he saw her in the black silk with the oranges that were so reminiscent of her scent, and noted the way her eyes sparkled when their glances met, he knew he had to see her in private. Others may wear fringes and falderal, but Edwina’s simple elegance outshone them all. He wasn’t certain additional coded messages even existed, or that, if they did, such additions would help in cracking a code that had thus far defied Edwina’s talents. However, if using the lure of additional notes would bring her to him in private, and to the secret chamber at that, well—he wasn’t above resorting to Casanova’s tricks.

On one hand, he didn’t like that he was exploiting her innocence and trust, but on the other, he couldn’t help himself. He was, after all, only a man, and Edwina was . . . Edwina. He’d lusted for her from the first time she stood in the gallery proclaiming herself a modern woman. His groin tightened with the memory. The promise of having her was far more seductive than he realized, and Walter, fool that he was, had left her alone with an out-of-practice but well-experienced scoundrel.

Of course, she could decline his suggestion that he needed her assistance. Even he had to admit it was a thin ploy. As Edwina suggested, he could search without involving another in the process. Most women would laugh in his face at such an outrageous invitation. If she decided not to come, he would accept that she was wise to his ways and had disregarded his amorous inclinations. He would seek information about the code from the Guardians themselves. He would work from the inside and avoid contact with the fair, delectable, highly desired, yet purely innocent Edwina.

But what if his innocent Edwina came in expectation of actually looking for coded messages? Should she come to his residence, how would he know if she came to search, or to sin?

The answer was obvious.

If she insisted on restricting her search to the perfectly respectable study, then they would look for coded messages and little else. But if she agreed to search the pillow books, then he’d know that she burned for him as he did for her. His heart pounded in his chest in a manner to compete with that bloody clock. He paced to the windows, checking once again if the carriage had returned, and praying that it would return with a passenger inside.

• • •

E
DWINA
COVERED
HER
HEAD
WITH
THE
HOOD
OF
HER
cloak. She didn’t wish Trewelyn’s neighbors to see her arrival and assume she was one of
those
women. Still, a thrill titillated her bones at the adventure of it all. She slipped her fingers over the cloisonné necklace of cherry blossoms that she continued to wear even after Lady Sutton’s soiree. This would be the last night for the Mistress of Cherry Blossoms. She remembered how shocked she had been thinking that Ashton had intended to make her his mistress. Given that he’d never attempted anything more than a kiss, that supposition now seemed laughable. After tonight she would have to revert to demure, traditional behavior as per her promise to her mother. But for now she could pretend she was the sort of woman who did as she wished for the sole pleasure of the experience. How lovely such an experience must be.

She hurried from the carriage Trewelyn had sent to the front door, which opened before her as if by magic. Then she saw him. Ashton. Waiting with open arms for her mad flight from the carriage to the town house. Without hesitation she stepped into those arms that wrapped about her as if to protect her from the night itself. The door closed behind her, sealing off the outside world. Her hood fell back on her shoulders, then Ashton’s lips discovered the sensitive skin of her neck, awakening her body as if from a long sleep.