The Further Observations of Lady Whistledown (Lady W 1) (7 page)

London was a very odd place. Spanning the river from shore to shore, a small village of wooden shanties had risen on the ice. Hundreds of citizens slid and walked and skated among the makeshift buildings while fiddle music and the shouts of vendors filled the air.

He’d been somewhat relieved to realize that Anne skated terribly. She wasn’t perfect. On the other hand, a young lady alone in a crowd could find herself worse than embarrassed. With another low curse he skated onto the ice street between the rows of booths and carts.

He could scarcely advance a foot without being jostled by someone hawking gingerbread or meat pies. Drunken gamblers slipped and slid on the ice. A growing anxiety clutched at him. Chagrined or angry or whatever Anne had felt to cause her to leave the party, this was a dangerous place for her to be alone. Damn Howard for leaving her side.

“Stop! Thief!”

At the sound of the female voice, Maximilian whipped around. Anne clutched the arm of a large, hard-faced man, her green reticule gripped in one of his hands.

“Anne!”

The man shoved, and she went down onto her backside next to one of the shanties. With a leer the thief began a sliding run up the street.

Maximilian skidded to a halt beside Anne. “Did he hurt you?” he asked, crouching to brush hair from her face. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she panted, her hands shaking in his as he pulled her to her feet. “But my brooch was in my bag. I feel so st—”

“Wait here,” he commanded, thrusting her toward an approaching constable, and was off like a shot.

Some brute had dared push his Anne to the ground. For once he didn’t have to be subtle or civilized or wait for another game piece to advance. As Maximilian caught sight of the fellow flashing through the crowd, he gave a grim smile.
No one
was allowed to harm his Anne.

Anne watched Maximilian vanish in pursuit of the purse snatcher. “There, there, miss,” the constable said, gripping her arm. “No harm done.”

She wasn’t so certain of that. Her whole body shook, and not from the cold. She’d thought herself completely alone, and then Maximilian had appeared out of nowhere. And he’d vanished again—after what could be a very dangerous man, all because she’d been stupid and mentioned her silly brooch. “Please let me go,” she said shakily.

“The gentleman said you should wait here.”

“Lord Halfurst,” she said distinctly, “might be in danger.”

“Lord…Oh bloody hell,” the constable muttered. “Right. You stay here, miss.”

He skated off, his desire to be of assistance to a nobleman obviously outweighing his concern for a female who was in all probability a mere miss. Anne had no intention of correcting his misapprehension, if it would convince him to go help Maximilian.

Another constable appeared, demanding to know what all the excitement was about. Before someone could point her out to him, Anne pushed off in the direction Maximilian had vanished. He’d come after her when no one else had, and she would not let him be hurt on her account.

Maximilian caught up to the thief just before the shanty street ended. With a growl he launched himself at the man. Vendor carts and beer mugs and brandy balls went flying as they both went down in a flailing heap of fists and feet and skates.

They careened into the corner of one of the booths, bringing the flimsy thing down on top of both of them. Maximilian grunted as a boot slammed across his thigh. Thank God the fool hadn’t been wearing ice skates, or his plans to produce an heir with Anne Bishop might have been extinguished. With a better purchase on the ice because of his own skates, he scrambled to his feet first.

“Bloody—” the thief began, and stopped when Maximilian’s fist met his jaw.

Leaning across him, Maximilian yanked Anne’s reticule from beneath a pile of beer mugs and oysters. “Thank you very much,” he panted, stuffing it into his coat pocket.

“Lord Halfurst! M’lord, are you unhurt?”

Maximilian turned to see the constable skating through the mayhem and wreckage toward him. “Weren’t you supposed to be watching after someone?” he snapped, trying to regain his breath. Damn it all, now Anne was alone again.

“She…she sent me to help you, m’lord,” the constable protested. “I—”

“Maximilian!”

Max spun back around just in time to wrap his arms around Anne as she thudded hard into him. With another curse he landed in the beer and wood splinters and oysters again, Anne crumpled across him.

“Are you all right?” she asked, raising her head from his chest to look down at me.

“I’m a bit winded,” he forced out.
Mostly from people and buildings falling on me
. “And you?”

“I feel horrid, knocking Susannah down, and then running off like an idiot, and sending you after a thief. Heavens, he might have had a knife!”

“But you’re not hurt,” he repeated, wishing she would stop wriggling on him. It was damned distracting, and they’d gathered quite a few onlookers with all the commotion.

“No, I’m not hurt.”

“Good. Would you mind removing your skate from my knee, then? Slowly, if you please.”

“Oh good heavens,” she gasped, slipping with ungainly and exaggerated care off him and onto the ice. “I’ve hurt you!”

He sat up. “Only a scratch. My trousers have seen the end of their run, though, I’m afraid.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Now she looked ready to cry. “Don’t be,” he said in a quieter voice, smiling. “I’ve had much worse than this.”

The constable had been joined by another, and together they hauled the reeling thief to his feet. “What do you wish done with him, my lord?”

Max pulled Anne’s reticule from his pocket and handed it back to her. “Nothing. No harm done. Just see him away from here.”

“Ah, yes, my lord.”

Muttering to one another about all nobles being madmen, they dragged the thief off, presumably to give him a stern talking to. As long as Anne was all right, Maximilian didn’t much care what happened to the man. Stifling a groan, he climbed once again to his feet, and pulled Anne up after him.

“I suggest we return to the party,” he said, wrapping her gloved hand securely around his arm so she wouldn’t be able to cause any further havoc.

“No, I can’t,” Anne blurted, her face going scarlet. “I behaved like such a hoyden.” She looked up at him. “And besides, you’re hurt, and wet, and you smell like fish and beer.”

“Isn’t that what you’d expect from a sheep farmer?” he returned evenly. “Or perhaps mutton and wet wool would be more in line with your thinking.”

“You’re just angry because I went skating with Lord Howard. And you
are
a sheep farmer.”

His jaw tightening, Maximilian gave a slight nod. “Yes, I am. Why did you flee the party?”

“Because I wanted to.”

She’d already convinced him that she wasn’t the spoiled, flighty chit he’d expected at first sight of her. “With no thought to the danger you might be putting yourself in? Some of this ice is too thin to hold a rat. Not to mention your barging into the middle of a street fair. You’re lucky our friend only wanted your reticule.”

“I was managing quite well without you.”

That was enough of that
. He let her go. With a squeak Anne lost her balance. Before she could fall, Max slipped his hands beneath her arms and pulled her upright against him.

“Care to revise that statement?” he suggested to the back of her head. At her continued silence, he relented a little, pushing off in the direction of Queenhithe Dock. “All right. Then tell me why you decided to attend with Lord Howard.”

“He asked me.”

“You knew I would ask you.”

“He asked first.”

“I asked you to marry me first.”

She looked up over her shoulder at him, and he was surprised to see tears in her green eyes. “You never asked me. No one ever asked me.”

Anne expected him to say something cynical, like reminding her that no one had asked him, either, but he didn’t. In fact, as she thought about it, he’d never said anything to bemoan his own part in this.

They reached the dock at Queenhithe, and with no visible effort Lord Halfurst lifted her onto the edge of the pier. While Anne watched, fascinated, he untied her skates from her half boots. His hands brushing the hem of her skirt and gripping her ankles left her feeling oddly…hot inside, despite the cold against her skin. She would never have thought a sheep farmer would know how to skate so well, and yet he obviously did.

He seemed to know how to do quite a few things well—things that made him fit into London better than she ever would have suspected. And yet in some ways, he didn’t fit in at all. “I should have told Desmond no,” she said slowly.

Max looked up at her as he tied her skates together and slung them over his shoulder. “Why?”

He wanted a truthful answer; she could see that in his warm gray eyes. “Because I knew you would ask me.”

With a hop he sat beside her and leaned down to remove his own skates from his fine Hessian boots. “He doesn’t own your heart, does he, Anne?”

She studied his profile. “No one owns my heart.”

He straightened. “I’ve already accepted that challenge.”

“I’m not sure why. I’ve told you a hundred times that I won’t marry you.”

“Ah.” A slight smile touched his sensuous mouth, and then he leaned down again, his too-long black hair half obscuring his lean face. “Do you like to argue, or just with me?”

“I think it’s my turn to ask you a question,” she countered, abruptly wondering whether he had any lovers waiting for him back in Yorkshire. Sheep farmers were no doubt very popular there, and he was by far the most handsome farmer she’d ever set eyes on.

“Then ask.”

“Do you
need
to be in Yorkshire all year long? Or is it just that you like to be there all the time?”

His skates off, he slung them over his other shoulder and stood. “I’m a landlord, the local magistrate, the farmer’s almanac, and whatever else Halfurst needs. It’s a responsibility, not a choice.” Bending down, he helped her to her feet.

For a moment, Anne hoped he would take her arm around his again, as he had when they’d been on skates. Instead, though, he helped her stuff her hands into her warm ermine muff. “Am I a responsibility, Maximilian, or a choice?”

“What you are, Anne, is a conundrum. Shall I hire us a hack, or do you want to walk?”

“Walk? It’s miles!”

“A hack it is.”

He guided her back to the street. She liked that he’d called her a conundrum; it sounded so much more interesting than simply saying she was contrary or flighty. In truth, mostly what she felt lately was confusion—interrupted by moments of unexpected lust toward the man she’d sworn she would never marry. And even covered with beer and oysters, he enticed her.

“You must be freezing,” she said abruptly, freeing one hand from her muff to take his arm as a hack stopped before them.

He handed her up, giving directions to Bishop House before he joined her inside and pulled the door closed. Even in the closed carriage she could see her breath. For heaven’s sake, if Halfurst froze to death she wouldn’t be able to argue with him any longer, and he wouldn’t kiss her good morning.

“How wet are you?” she demanded, pulling him around to face her, and unfastening the top buttons of his greatcoat.

Maximilian lifted an eyebrow. “Beg pardon?”

“You’re soaked all the way through,” she said, stuffing her hand inside his coat, against his jacket. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?” When she shoved the dark material of his jacket aside, even the fine lawn shirt covering his chest was cold and wet to the touch.

“Anne, I suggest you remove yourself to the opposite seat immediately,” he said in a low voice.

“But—”

“Now.”

She looked up. Maximilian’s gaze was fixed on her hands, both of which had found their way inside both his greatcoat and his jacket. Jaw clenched, he gripped the door handle in one fist, and the back of the worn seat in the other.

Blushing scarlet, she yanked her hands back to her lap. “I…I was only worried that you might catch a chill,” she managed. Good heavens, not even courtesans simply stuck their hands down men’s fronts.

“I am quite warm, thank you,” he grunted, his gaze still on her hands and his breathing harsh.

“Are you—”

“Anne?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

“Oh.”

He muttered something she couldn’t interpret, but it seemed unwise to ask him to repeat himself. Instead she watched as he closed his eyes tightly, his jaw clenched so hard she could practically hear his teeth grinding.

“Are you all right?” she whispered.

Maximilian shot to his feet, opening the flimsy door in the same motion. “I’m walking.”

Anne grabbed his arm. “You can’t!”

He swung his head around to face her again. “You’re asking me to remain?”

“You’re being ridiculous,” she answered in her most matter-of-fact tone. She was being ridiculous, too, to insist that he remain with her, unchaperoned, in a closed carriage. “You will catch your death of cold if you go back outside.” Releasing his arm, she moved to the opposite seat and folded her hands over her lap. “I promise not to assault your virtue.”

He narrowed his eyes. “It’s not
my
virtue I’m worried about.”

“Just sit down.”

With another deep breath he did so. “You do realize that if I did catch my death, you would never have to worry about being dragged off to Yorkshire.”

At least he seemed able to converse again. “I won’t be dragged anywhere, regardless.”

“I’m beginning to realize that.”

Did that mean he was giving up?
The look in his eyes remained distinctly lustful, however, so she didn’t think so. And whatever base thoughts he might be having, by the time the hack stopped, Halfurst was shivering, and making a valiant effort to pretend that he was not.

Maximilian stepped to the ground to hand her down. “In order to keep my virtue intact,” he chattered, casting a glance up at the driver, “I’ll forgo a goodbye kiss, just for today.”

He was going to climb back into the hack and leave. And his home on High Street was another twenty minutes away. With a deep scowl Anne grabbed his arm again. “No, you don’t.”