A Heartless Design (4 page)

“Yes,” Cordelia said shakily. She wasn’t sure her legs would work properly to let her walk away. “Don’t think you’ve changed my opinions.”

“You’ve changed a few of mine,” he said, watching her back away. “Perhaps I was mistaken in not attending more society functions.”

“So you could seduce women in dark corners?” she asked sharply.

“So I could meet you.”

Cordelia frowned. “You haven’t met me. And I assure you that we’ll never see each other again.”

He tilted his head. “Don’t place too high a wager on that, beauty.”

Cordelia rushed out the grotto without looking to see who might be around. Fortunately, this part of the garden was quiet at the moment. She hurried back to the house to find her aunt. She wasn’t sure what had just happened, but her whole body was singing with unfamiliar sensations. Whoever that man was, he was dangerous. She was lucky she had escaped with no more damage than bee-stung lips and an admittedly disturbed brain. It was high time to leave, before she could encounter him again.

* * * *

Sebastien waited for the goddess to disappear, then took a long breath.

He wasn’t fooled by her nonchalance earlier. He knew fear when he saw it. That woman wasn’t heartless. She was frightened. Of what? Him? No. She never would have let him get so close. But something had been on her mind. Sebastien felt a familiar growl boiling up, a need to strike out at whatever was threatening him. But nothing was threatening
him
. He wondered why that protective urge was uncurling now. The gold-gowned lady was a beautiful thing, but it wasn’t as if she was his responsibility.

The woman had affected him far more than she ought to have. Despite her age, she was rather innocent…although her reactions to his kiss hinted at her being a very quick learner.  And he’d be more than happy to teach her. No. He had to stop that line of thought. He deliberately shrugged his shoulders, willing himself to forget the encounter. He did not dally with women of her sort…it was not his style, nor did he relish the idea of being trapped into marriage after an indiscreet encounter. Widows, courtesans, Cyprians…those were his sort of women. Practical, delightful women who didn’t entangle one in drama.

He scolded himself for getting carried away by a beautiful face. Then his eyes narrowed. Why
was
such a beautiful, supposedly innocent woman hiding in just the place where he was supposed to pick up the hidden information?

Thorne suddenly lunged toward the statue. After a moment, he found a tiny folded letter marked with a barred arrow, the astronomical symbol for Sagittarius. She hadn’t taken it. But could she have read it? The letter was sealed, and written in code, but there were ways around that. And it had been almost an hour since he last saw the woman in the ballroom, surrounded by her admirers.

He reassured himself that it was probably just coincidence. Though he should have learned her name. He tucked the folded letter in his pocket and sauntered back out into the main gardens, looking for all the world like a slightly drunk gentleman getting a breath of air. Why was he unable to get the thought of the goddess out of his head?

Was the woman a spy? Was she after the plans too? Or was she just in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or the right time. He smiled, remembering the kiss.

Shaking his head, Sebastien paused to take out the letter. Standing under a lantern, he unfolded it and read the cramped and cryptic handwriting. Neville, using a coded language known only to the Zodiac, related every last detail that he knew of the affair. Sebastien read the letter carefully, then read it again.

“Kingston China Company, on Dock Street.” He muttered the name of the front the other agent had overheard, too quietly for anyone but himself to hear…not that there was anyone nearby.

After the third reading, he nodded to himself, confident that he had memorized everything in the letter. He reached up to the lantern, opened the glass door, and thrust the paper into the flame. It flared for a moment, then turned to ashes. He headed back to the house. He’d walk straight through the ballroom. He wouldn’t even look for the green-eyed beauty.

He had work to do.

Aunt Leona was not wrong
about the length of Lord Gough’s balls. As the hours wore on, more and more people arrived. Despite the fact that the house seemed unable to hold any more bodies, more appeared anyway.

Thankfully, Leona did not notice Cordelia’s preoccupation, as she was being entertained by Lord Dunham. Though only a baronet (and a recent one), Dunham was a regular fixture in society due to his charming manner. A widower for years, he was a sought-after companion among older ladies at these events.

Of late, Dunham seemed to know when Leona Wharton would be attending something, and he was frequently at her side. The development had not gone unnoticed among the
ton
, and Leona was getting some jealous looks.

Cordelia rejoined her aunt and stood alongside Lord Dunham. She sipped her punch, hoping that the drink would cool her. The stifling heat in the house had only increased since she arrived, and the faint night breeze could do nothing to alleviate it. Even if it were freezing, though, she would still be heated from the kiss of the mysterious gentleman. What had she been thinking, to allow him such a liberty?

“Bonaparte is no longer a threat,” one of the gentlemen standing in their group asserted. “We routed him at Trafalgar.”

“Oh, did
we
? I thought it was Lord Nelson and the brave Royal Navy who routed the French and Spanish fleets,” Dunham noted. His dry wit was renowned, and he could wield it like a scalpel when he chose.

“By we, I meant England, of course.”

“Of course,” Cordelia echoed. The man was really insufferable. She was glad Dunham was there to take the brunt of his boorishness.

“My point,” the other man went on, “is that we don’t have to worry about an invasion. The French advance is over.”

“Perhaps we are safe from an invasion—perhaps—but I’ve heard that Bonaparte is considering keeping British ships from trading at European ports, which will pinch in the coming months. We need a real peace, not a stalemate,” Dunham argued.

The voices of the men blurred as the talk turned political. Cordelia, distracted, looked around. She was certain that someone had been looking at her, very intently too. She wondered if it was the man from the garden.

She decided to escape the feeling by heading for one of the small rooms off the ballroom kept free for ladies to rearrange their hair or fix a ripped hem. Although she didn’t need to do either, she was grateful to slip into the room limited to women only.

Of course, it was crowded, just like the rest of the house. Two young ladies in striped silk empress gowns chattered away near the door. One of them was picking at the diaphanous fabric of her dress, but it was clear that she was far more interested in what her friend was saying.

“Mama told me everything. He’s just returned to London, and he’s
here
tonight. He never attends balls, says Mama. Not for years. But he’s got the title now. So he must be looking for a wife at last.”

“But Belle said he was absolutely penniless!” the first girl insisted passionately. “He gambled it all away, and there’s nothing left but some moldering ancestral home miles from anywhere, so entailed that it’s nearly worthless.”

“He’s an earl,” her friend noted. “That’s all I need to know, should he glance my way.”

“A title won’t keep you very warm in winter. I’d rather have an income to buy decent clothes.”

“If I were married to him, I wouldn’t need any clothes. I’ll point him out to you, darling, and it will all become very clear.”

“Oh, that’s wicked!” Her friend giggled and blushed at the same time. The two made their way back out to the ballroom, leaving Cordelia to shake her head over their conversation. She had no idea who they were talking about, and she tried to be grateful she would never need to worry about such things. A pulse at her neck warned her that a headache was coming on.

“Cordelia, my dear,” a voice broke in. “Are you not well?” It was Aunt Leona, looking lovely in the soft light of the room, save for her concerned expression.

“I’m well enough, Aunt.” Cordelia rubbed her temples, hoping to thwart the headache. “It’s just so warm in there.”

“Yes,” Leona agreed. “But that’s not all that’s bothering you.”

“I have been worried lately, for some reason,” Cordelia admitted. “And tonight…I felt like I was being watched.” She of course could not say she’d also been kissed by a complete stranger, or that she had enjoyed it far more than she ought to, which was to say, at all.

Her aunt took her hand. “Darling, you are undoubtedly being watched, but I am sure none of the watchers are malicious.”

“Too admiring, then.” Cordelia shrugged. “I wish I could explain that their attentions are unwanted.” But she had wanted the kiss. Oh, Lord, she needed to stop thinking about that!

“My dear.” Leona said nothing more than that, instead providing the only support she could—simply being there for her niece.

“I am sorry, Aunt. I don’t mean to spoil your fun.”

“Not at all.” Leona leaned in closer. “To be honest, this crowd is rather dull tonight.”

“Politics seems to be the topic on everyone’s lips,” Cordelia agreed. “Even Lord Dunham can’t stop himself from guessing Bonaparte’s next move.”

“Ah, those discussions are for larger heads than ours. Let’s go home,” her aunt urged.

“Yes, Aunt.” Cordelia tried to shake off her uneasiness. She was no one special, after all. She wasn’t important to the
ton
, or influential in any way. True, engineering was an odd profession for any woman. But virtually no one knew she did it, so why would anyone be watching her? Still, she was grateful that they were leaving.

Leona led her niece through the throng, but before they could mount the great staircase to the entry hall, a cultured voice halted them.

“My ladies, surely you are not running away!” Dunham emerged from the crowd, his twinkling eyes surveying them both.

Leona answered, “I fear that the heat has quite overwhelmed me, and my niece is taking pity on an old woman by accompanying me home.”

“Old?” Dunham put on a shocked expression. “Never say so! You outshine half the ladies here tonight, Mrs Wharton.”

“You have a flattering tongue, my lord.” Leona smiled.

“You spare me the difficulty of lying, madam. The words are sweet because the subject is.”

“Such gallantry. You make me sad to leave, and Cordelia as well, I’m sure.” Leona frowned slightly, seeing that Cordelia was distracted, staring off into space. “Darling? Will you not bid Lord Dunham good night?”

“What?” Cordelia suddenly recalled herself to the conversation. “Oh, yes! Lord Dunham, you are always a gentleman. And you deflected that popinjay, whatever his name was.”

“I am always pleased to serve as your knight protector, Miss Bering.” He bowed slightly. “But now you must take your charming chaperone home. I wish you a speedy recovery, madam.”

Leona smiled winsomely, and Cordelia thought she detected a slight blush, over and above what could be blamed on the heat. The ladies left the party, grateful to step into the cooler outside air. One of Gough’s footmen hailed them a hired coach.

Except for the rattling of the vehicle on the London streets, the drive back to the house was a quiet one. Cordelia sat lost in thought, and her aunt was too gracious to interrupt with idle conversation. The carriage turned up the long drive to the house itself, the gravel crunching under the wheels.

Whoever had first designed the property clearly enjoyed the idea of privacy. The drive twisted in a way that concealed the house from the street, so arriving in front of the home was always a bit of a surprise. When the horses halted at the front steps, the driver leapt down to open the carriage doors.

They walked toward the door. As soon as Cordelia saw a grim-faced Stiles waiting there, she knew something was terribly wrong.

With the housekeeper Mrs Landry
standing nearby, Stiles watched as they ascended the steps. His posture gave no hint if he was weary from waiting up until the ladies returned. Considering he’d been awake since dawn, it was likely, but he would never let such a thing show on his face. Looking at him, one would think he’d trained from the cradle for his position. The idea made Cordelia smile, since she knew that his past had been quite different.

“I see you have endured the evening unscathed, my lady,” Stiles rumbled.

Stiles was a perfect butler in
nearly
all respects. The only obvious deviation he made from proper address was to call the mistress of the house
Lady
Cordelia. In point of fact, she held no title, and so should properly be called Miss Cordelia Bering. Stiles ignored this rule entirely. To him, she was and always would be
Lady
Cordelia, and the rest of the household staff took their cue from him.

“None the worse for wear,” Cordelia admitted, still concerned by the man’s expression. “But I shall retire now. Can you send a little tea up? Aunt Leona?” She looked over toward her aunt. “Do you want chocolate?”

Chocolate was properly a morning drink, but Leona never let a thing like custom get in the way of modest enjoyments. “The day I don’t want chocolate is the day you’ll call the undertakers, dear.”

“Oh, don’t say that!”

“I’ll say it and mean it! I’m going to my room. Goodnight, Mr Stiles.”

“Good night, madam.” He bowed stiffly. Mrs Landry disappeared toward the kitchen to convey the orders.

Leona headed off to her own chambers, which were located in a separate wing on the ground floor, unlike the rest of the bedrooms. She loved the gardens in the back of the house, and spent most of her free time working in them. She said the upper floor was too far from the scent of flowers.

Stiles looked back at Cordelia, a somber expression on his face. “My lady,” he began.

“What happened?” she asked in a low voice.

“Someone tried to break into the house tonight,” he said. “Did break in, in fact. He opened a window in your study. Fortunately, Bond was in the hall and heard the noise. She yelled for us. Jem tried to chase the man down, but he lost him.”