A Lady's Guide to Improper Behavior (5 page)

“I spent a bloody year in Arabia being sober,” Easton returned. “Never again.”

Sir Bennett searched the shelves for a moment, then pulled a book down. As he turned around his gaze met Bartholomew’s, and he changed direction. “Colonel James,” he said, offering his hand as he stopped at the table. “You’ve been asleep or drinking most times I’ve seen you here, sir.”

Tolly shook his hand, eyeing the young vervet monkey perched on the captain’s shoulder as it eyed him in return. In the month since he’d arrived back in London very few people offered to shake hands with him. It was a social, human gesture, and he frequently felt like neither of those things. “You’ve been chasing disaster, most every time I’ve seen you.”

With a brief grin, Wolfe inclined his head. “I think I’ve finally got it on the run,” he returned.

“I heard you were on your way to Greece.”

“Next week, as a matter of fact.” Hefting the book, the captain backed a step toward the door. “If Sommerset asks, I’ll have this back tomorrow. Just verifying some Latin etymologies.”

“You’re writing another book?”

“Eventually. This is actually to settle a wager I made with my wife.” The captain gave a mock scowl. “I have the sneaking suspicion that Phillipa is going to win. She generally does.”

Bartholomew settled for nodding as Bennett Wolfe left the club again. There wasn’t much he could say
in reply other than “good luck,” but from his expression the captain seemed perfectly content with the idea of losing.

Perfectly content
. On occasion, in the past, he’d felt that way. Like sleep, it was something he imagined he’d never find again. He allowed himself to feel envious for a brief moment, then returned to his dinner.

Theresa Weller enjoyed dancing. Aside from that, she was a favorite among her fellows, and her feet seemed barely to touch the floor even when she was standing still. If nothing else,
he
was irretrievably earthbound.

It had only been a kiss, anyway. Two kisses. If he hadn’t surprised her, he more than likely wouldn’t have managed it. And if he’d been solid on his feet, he imagined that she would have kicked or slapped him for taking such a liberty.

He rubbed at his temple. If he could capture some sleep for a damned change, at least his mind would be more solid. And then he would realize that he had already spent too much time contemplating a bloody kiss, that before his last assignment in India he’d been a quite competent and sought-after lover, and that perhaps he’d only needed that one last kiss to bid his old life farewell.

Belatedly he remembered that he’d neglected to stop at the Society Club for any messages. He wasn’t likely to have any, however, so it could wait until tomorrow. Simple enough—except that he then had to wonder if Stephen would invite him again for dinner, and if the cousin of Stephen’s new wife would be attending.

With a curse he downed the dregs of his glass and
shoved to his feet. A little temptation served him right. Some of his men—his dead men—had left behind wives and children. Those soldiers wouldn’t be dreaming of kissing or holding anyone again. Which made him what, lucky? He limped to the club’s rear door and shouldered it open. If he didn’t get his left boot off now, he would have to sleep in it again.

Yes, that was him—lucky. And cursed. Under the circumstances, the one deserved the other. And neither left any room for the temptation of a sharp-tongued, kissable chit.

For someone who could barely put both feet on the ground, Colonel Bartholomew James was exceedingly elusive, Theresa decided. A pair of stolen kisses and then…nothing. For two days, it was as if he’d never existed at all.

“Whatever are you thinking about?” Lord Lionel Humphreys asked from beside her. “I’ve never seen you so quiet.”

That was only because she always had to carry the conversation when Lord Lionel came to call, and she hadn’t felt up to it this morning. “I was only wondering how long this fine weather will last,” she improvised. “What say we go for a drive and enjoy it?”

“I—well, I rode to Weller House. On a horse.”

She bounced to her feet. “Even better. I’ll have Cleopatra saddled while I run upstairs and change.” She summoned Ramsey and gave the butler her instructions.

“But I—that is, I thought we might chat a bit. You and I.”

Oh, dear
. “We can chat while we ride,” she said over her shoulder, not slowing her flight through the door and to the staircase. At least out of doors she would have something else with which to distract herself.

“But I—I had something particular to say to you, Tess.”

Her maid, Sally, who’d been sitting unobtrusively in the corner of the morning room, made a choking sound but didn’t look up. Keeping a smile pasted on her own face, Theresa stopped and turned around. So Lionel had chosen this morning to deliver his marriage proposal. As if she could seriously consider marrying anyone who could barely put three syllables together without having to stop and re-measure his words.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, “but it’s Wednesday. I never have serious conversations on Wednesdays.”

“Yes, you do.”

For heaven’s sake, she was attempting to spare the man’s feelings. He was attractive enough, and wealthy enough, she supposed, but as far as she was concerned he lacked a bit in the brain area. And that would be difficult to look past—as would be the fact that she didn’t love him. The thought of marrying him had never seriously crossed her mind.

“Well, I don’t today,” she returned, hurrying on up the stairs. “It’s far too pretty outside to remain in here for any reason.”

“Oh. Very well.”

Stifling a sigh, Theresa returned to her bedchamber. As she dug through the wardrobe for her forest
green riding habit, she heard Sally enter the room behind her. “You’re not supposed to laugh when a gentleman makes to propose to me.”

“I apologize, Miss Tess,” the maid said, pulling out the dressing table chair for her. “But I wasn’t laughing; I was only surprised. I thought Lord Lionel and Lord Montrose were friends.”

“So did I. Perhaps Lionel only means to deduce my feelings toward Alexander.”

She took a moment to consider that. It was possible; Lionel was definitely more of a follower, so if Alexander had asked him to be an intermediary, he would likely do so. On the other hand, Lionel could be suitor number five to propose to her this Season.

“If I’m not being too forward, Miss Tess, have any of the handsome young gentlemen caught your eye yet?”

“You
are
being too forward, Sally, and they’ve all caught my eye. Montrose dances well, John Kelly has a very sharp wit, Lord Lionel is very handsome, Richard Bromford has a superior stable and, well, you see? They’re all quite acceptable. It’s just that none of them are exceptional.” She hid a frown. It wasn’t their fault. Any of them. “Or perhaps I’m simply not ready yet to decide.”

“It is better to have too many choices than too few, I think.”

Theresa shook herself. “Indeed it is.” There was that third trail of reasoning, of course, the one she traveled alone; they all thought they knew her, and she didn’t agree. Laughing, chatting, dancing, dressing prettily—that was all they saw, and all they required. And all they expected.

No one other than her immediate family members even challenged or argued with her. That was the way she wanted it. She paused as she stepped into her riding habit. Tolly James argued, and he kissed. The question remained, though, whether that made him challenging or merely unpleasant. And that was only one of the questions she had about him.

For instance, if he liked her enough to kiss her, why had he then disappeared for two days rather than come calling? That was not how things were done. Theresa blew out her breath, straightening her spine as Sally came around to button up the back of her dress. Why the devil did she even care if he made another appearance or not? He’d been rude and forward, and he had yet to say anything nice to her except for the pedestrian comment about her hair.

“There you are, Miss Tess. All set.”

“Thank you, Sally. Have my lavender gown pressed for this evening, will you? I think it and those silver hair ribbons will show well at the Ridgemont soiree tonight.”

“Oh, yes! I’ll see to it right away.”

Lord Lionel seemed to have given up on the idea of speaking with her privately, because when she returned downstairs he was already out on the front drive waiting with the groom and her bay mare.

“Thank you, Wallace,” she said, as the groom handed her up and then mounted his own horse to accompany them. “What do you say to St. James’s Park, Lionel?”

“Why not Hyde Park?”

“Oh, it’s so crowded at this time of day.”

The Marquis of Quilby’s second son swung up on his chestnut gelding. “As you wish, Tess.”

So now he was humoring her, more than likely because he was annoyed that she hadn’t given him the chance to ask her about marriage. She was only attempting to save his blasted self-respect. Of course he had such an overblown sense of his own—or Montrose’s—irresistibility that he had no idea she was actually being kind. Of course she could never allow him to realize either of those points.

Theresa smiled. “And you will now tell me the names of everyone you know who will be attending the Ridgemont soiree tonight.”

His expression lifted a little as they trotted down the drive. “Everyone?”

“Absolutely everyone.”

She almost immediately regretted making the request, but it did give him something to say. And it therefore allowed her to enjoy the ride and the remainder of the morning without having to fish about for topics of conversation. Theresa smiled and returned the wave of the trio of Parker-Lyons sisters in their barouche.

Once they reached St. James’s Park she started Cleopatra along the hard-packed earth path that ran beneath the tall stands of oak and ash trees. Yes, this was much more fun than sitting on a sofa and dashing the hopes of a likely suitor before he could realize on his own that they would never, ever suit.

Ahead of them someone on a big gray horse rode across the path at a breakneck pace, winding in and out of the trees with a speed and precision that only the finest of riders could manage. It wasn’t a particu
larly safe endeavor considering the number of carriages and pedestrians about, but horse and rider avoided them all with little apparent effort.

“He’s going to break his neck,” Lionel said from beside her.

She’d forgotten her would-be suitor was even there. “Who is that?”

“Bartholomew James. It’s his gelding, anyw—”

“That?” Theresa pointed at the rider, her jaw nearly dropping. “That is Tolly James? He can barely walk!”

Lionel shrugged. “He ain’t walking.”

She returned her gaze to the rider. “No, he isn’t,” she mused.

As they drew closer she could make out what looked like a tightly wrapped sheath of leather around his left knee, from mid-thigh to mid-calf. Considering how much a rider used his knees, especially on twists and turns such as those he and his horse were engaging in, Colonel James must have been in extreme pain. And yet he continued his bruising ride.

“Maybe he’s been looking for sympathy and he’s not as crippled as he pretends.” Lionel stopped half in front of her, blocking her view of the colonel. “The East India Company don’t like stories of men getting murdered, regardless. He’d best watch himself.”

Theresa had seen enough. “Let’s go, shall we?” Clucking at Cleopatra, she turned the mare away.

A heartbeat later Colonel James and his splendid dark gray horse thundered up on her—then came to a sliding, grinding stop. “Good morning, Miss Weller.”

For a bare second she felt breathless, quite unable
to remember what she was supposed to say. Hatless, his too-long dark hair tossed by the wind, his great-coat flared out behind him, his whiskey gold eyes alight, he looked absolutely mesmerizing. She shook herself. “Colonel.”

“Were you out looking for me?”

“I should say not.” For a second she glared at him. Clearly he was attempting to unsettle her. “Though I am forced to observe,” she continued aloud, “that if you can ride this well, surely you can manage a dance. Or at least a social call.”

Before he could respond to that, she sent Cleopatra into a trot. She hardly noticed when Lionel caught up to her and resumed his recitation of the evening’s guest list. That should do it. She couldn’t think of a way to make it more obvious to Bartholomew James that he interested her without standing straight up and saying it. And ladies did not do such things.

T
olly stared after Theresa as she and the lumbering Adonis known as Lord Lionel Humphreys trotted away. A heady mix of heat, lust, and pain seared through his muscles, rendering him taut and speechless at the same time.

Sweet Lucifer. All she’d done was appear, and all he could think of was bare skin and sweat and sweet moans of pleasure. While it might have been his fault for being unable to resist riding her down and then teasing her, he hadn’t expected that the impossible chit would still want to dance with him—even after he’d mauled her the last time she’d saved him a dance.

Still breathing hard from the morning’s exercise,
Tolly patted Meru on the flank. “That’s enough for today, I think.”

Taking a more sedate pace mostly because Mayfair’s late morning traffic demanded it, he headed back to Ainsley House and the Adventurers’ Club. His knee felt on fire, but at least on horseback he could move the way he used to. For an hour or two, for a handful of miles, he could forget that he’d allowed fifteen men to die while he’d lived.

Except that he never forgot. Not until today. Today he’d been thinking about Theresa Weller—and then she’d appeared twenty feet away from him.

“He looks winded, Colonel,” Jenkins observed as he gripped Meru’s bridle. “You had a good ride, then?”

“Yes,” he answered, as he always did. The Ainsley House grooms had proved to be as helpful as those at James House, and without waiting to be asked the second groom, Harlow, carefully pulled his boot from the stirrup, then stepped around to help him to the ground.

Tolly swung his leg over, and Harlow helped support his weight until he could free his right foot. The second his bad foot touched the ground, though, white-hot agony shot all the way up his spine into his skull, where it exploded. Before he could do more than gasp, everything went black.

A cut-off scream, and then the worse sound of absolute silence. A quiet filled with murder and death. Then screams that broke through, first one, then more, all around. Shouting, gunfire, a burst of flames and the glint of steel. Being choked—

Tolly roared upright, wrapping his hands around the throat of the man leaning over him. A heartbeat later an arm snaked around his neck and shoulder from behind, pulling him down again.

“Colonel! Tolly! Let him go!”

He blinked, the present crashing back into his mind. “Gibbs,” he rasped, and released the servant. The man staggered backward, coughing.

“He was untying your cravat.” The arm pulling him back onto the bed relaxed and vanished, and the Duke of Sommerset stood to straighten the sleeve of his fine gray jacket.

“Apologies,” Tolly grunted, rubbing his own throat. “You startled me, Gibbs.”

“I’ll try not to do that again, then, Colonel.”

He was in the small room he’d commandeered at the club, and in addition to Sommerset and Gibbs, Dr. Prentiss and Harlow the groom were packed inside, as well. With a scowl Bartholomew pulled himself into a seated position on the bed.

“Did someone convene Parliament when I wasn’t looking?” he asked stiffly. “And where are my damned trousers?” His frown deepening, he adjusted the blanket thrown across his middle.

“Ruined, I’m afraid,” Dr. Prentiss answered, indicating a ripped pile of dark cloth on the floor.

“I fainted. The devil knows I’ve done that before. You didn’t need to strip me. So thank you for carrying me off, and now leave me be.”

“About that,” Prentiss continued, clearing his throat. “You’ve been using your leg a bit hard, lad.”

“It’s my leg. I’ve been using it as necessary.”

“Mmm-hmm. Who tended it in India?”

Tolly looked from Sommerset to the physician. “Arnold. The company’s head groom.”

“A groom.”

“The company’s doctor was traveling with my unit. He was killed.” He watched, seeing the looks of mingled sympathy and supposed understanding on their faces. “It was some time before I could reach Arnold. He did what he could. I have nothing to complain about.”

“The bone just below your knee was broken in what looks like two places,” Prentiss said. “I took the liberty of examining it while you were unconscious. It was never set properly. Every time you walk on it, it shifts. Luckily, your activity has kept the upper break from healing entirely. Unluckily, it keeps tearing the wound open and causing infection.”

“And?” Tolly prompted after a moment.

“The pain must be excruciating.”

“And?” he demanded again.

The doctor folded his arms across his barrel-shaped chest. “And so I can either cut it off, or break it again and set it properly, in which case I might, if you’re lucky, be able to avoid cutting it off.”

For a long moment Tolly regarded him. “So the one is supposed to frighten me into doing the other? Arnold offered to hack the thing off for me in India. I declined. I decline again.”

“And the other? You’ll probably lose it regardless, but if I don’t reset it soon you’ll be permanently subjected to that pain, and you’ll never gain more use of it than you’ve got at this moment.”

Tolly looked down at his bare leg. They’d not only cut off his trousers, but they’d removed his damned
boot and the tight leather brace he’d fashioned to hold together his knee while he rode, plus the bandage underneath all of the other clutter. “If I say I’ll consider one offer or the other, will you leave and let me put some blasted clothes back on?”

“I’ll even dress that mess in a fresh poultice and re-bandage it.”

“In a moment, Dr. Prentiss.” Sommerset angled his head at Gibbs, and almost immediately the two servants and the physician were gone from the room.

“You don’t frighten me, either, Sommerset.”

“I know that. Misguided of you, but I haven’t the time at the moment to change your mind.”

“What do you want, then?”

The duke narrowed his steel gray eyes. “Outside of this club, I expect you to address me properly.”

Half hoping this would end in a brawl no matter how poor his odds of winning were at the moment, Tolly nodded. “Outside the club.”

“Secondly, this
is
a club. Not an infirmary. I don’t mind Gibbs having to pick someone off the floor from time to time, but this place is attached to my house. If Dr. Prentiss keeps calling here, the wags will begin speculating over whether I’m on my deathbed or not. With my stocks and myriad public investments, I can’t have that.”

The breath Tolly took shook a little. Sommerset was booting him out. Panic touched him with cold, familiar fingers. He could rent a small house or an apartment in Town, but that would mean hiring servants. Hiring a keeper. Because however damned little he wanted to admit it, with his leg like this there were things he simply couldn’t do for himself.

“Is that understood?” the duke pressed. “You’re welcome here at any time, but not while you require medical assistance.”

Tolly leaned over to grab his cane and swing his legs off the side of the bed. Without the bandage on, that motion alone nearly brought him down again. “You might have waited to tell me until I had my damned trousers on,” he growled.

“I’m not your wet nurse.” Sommerset walked to the door. “And whatever you think you deserve, Colonel, killing yourself by inches is a bit time-consuming. If you mean to commit suicide, use a pistol.”

“You may have traveled the world, Sommerset, but you’ve never walked in my boots.”

“True enough.”

“Then cease advising me. And someone else decided what I deserve. I’m only living with it.”

“You’re dying with it, but I suppose that’s semantics.” The duke pulled open the door. “I’ll send in Prentiss.”

As the doctor put fresh bandages around his knee, Tolly reviewed his options. Stephen would never ask him to leave James House if he returned there, so he supposed he could make it clear that he wanted to be left alone—or as alone as he could be, considering that half the time he couldn’t pull off his own boots.

As for the rest of it, he wasn’t ready to see his leg gone. Nor was he certain, though, that he wanted to risk additional time in a sickbed for the same eventual outcome. Whatever he truly did deserve was likely to come about with or without his assistance. At the same time, he couldn’t help thinking if he did
take another chance, a certain irritating young lady would want to dance with him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Grandmama,” Theresa said, not bothering to hide her grin. “That hat is absolutely magnificent.”

Grandmama Agnes reached up to finger the brim of the ostrich feather-topped monstrosity, then reached across the carriage to rap Michael on the knee. “Your sister is a much better liar than you are.”

“Clearly not, if you didn’t believe either of us. Why did you purchase the silly thing, anyway? It looks like a mossy, half-sunk schooner.”

“I think it more resembles the chimney tops of Hampton Court,” Theresa countered, laughing outright now.

“I bought it because I saw Lady Dalloware fondling it, and I can’t abide that woman and her wagging tongue.”

“Well, I hope she attends the party tonight, or you’ll have to wear it a second time.” Michael pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. “Tell me again why we’re stopping at James House? We won’t all fit in one carriage, anyway, so I don’t see the point.”

“We’re going because Amelia wants to borrow my pearl ear bobs,” Theresa replied, “and she can’t very well put them on after she arrives at the Ridgemonts’.”

“Ah. As long as it’s something vital.”

“Young man, you have no idea,” their grandmother noted. “Will I finally get to set eyes on the viscount’s younger brother, do you think?”

Theresa’s heart accelerated for a beat or two. “I doubt it,” she supplied, keeping her voice light and uncaring. “He doesn’t reside with them.”

“Damned unpleasant fellow, anyway.” Michael frowned briefly. “He was crippled in India, you know.”

“I’d heard something about that. Poor man. Young Violet always seemed very fond of him.”

“He’s not dead, for heaven’s sake,” Theresa put in. “He’s merely injured and a bit…direct.”

“Direct like a musket ball.” Her brother squinted one eye at her. “Why are you defending him, Troll?”

“I’m not. You described him incorrectly, and I corrected you. Aside from that, you shouldn’t gossip about someone behind his back.”

“Is that in your guide?”

“I’m going to write a second one, I think. It’s going to go in there.”

The coach stopped in front of James House, and a footman and the butler emerged to help them onto the drive and see them into the drawing room upstairs. “Lord and Lady Gardner will be with you shortly,” the butler droned, and exited.

“He seems in a lather, doesn’t he?” Grandmama Agnes observed.

“If Leelee takes as long to dress now as she used to when she resided with us, I can see why.” Michael strolled over to the liquor tantalus to pour himself half a glass of brandy.

“Ha ha.” Theresa dug the pearl ear bobs out of her reticule. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

“If she hasn’t selected a dress yet,” her brother
drawled after her, “send down a shout and I’ll go out to White’s for dinner while we wait.”

“I think I’m going to tell Amelia how many cravats you and Mooney ruined tonight attempting that ridiculous knot around your neck.”

“It’s the new fashion, Troll.”

Laughing, Theresa climbed the stairs and turned down the hallway leading along the north-facing wing of the house. She went slowly; she’d only been in James House a handful of times, and she would feel foolish if she became lost.

Stopping outside the closed doors of the master bedchamber, she hesitated. Her cousin was a married lady now. Heavens, her husband might be in there, as well. Tess certainly didn’t wish to interrupt them. They’d only been married for six months, after all.

“So you do have common sense.”

She jumped. Immediately she recognized the deep voice across the hallway behind her, but it was too late to pretend she hadn’t been startled.
Blast it all
. “Common sense
and
the good manners to make my presence known so I don’t frighten anyone half to death.”

When she turned around Colonel James stood in the doorway of the room opposite. As usual he had a cane gripped in one hand, his long, lean body canted slightly to one side as he attempted to keep weight off his bad leg.

“
You
startled
me
,” he returned, regarding her evenly. “For the second time today, I might add.”

“You didn’t sound startled,” she retorted defensively. “Either time.”

He ignored that. “You know, that’s the first time I’ve seen you hesitate at anything.” Golden eyes trailed from her face down to her toes and back again.

Warmth crept up her cheeks. “Well?” she demanded, when he didn’t say anything. She was accustomed to men scrutinizing her, but a compliment on her appearance generally followed.

“The color of the gown makes your eyes look more gray than green,” he said, still studying her face.

“Is that your idea of a compliment?” She scowled to cover the fact that both his gaze and his direct words continued to unsettle her. It was almost as if he didn’t see the gown or the hair ribbons, but rather noticed only…her.

“It was an observation.” Swinging the cane forward, he limped into the hallway, directly up to her.

Theresa lifted her chin to keep her gaze on his. “Are you visiting?” she asked, attempting to keep her attention away from his wickedly sensual mouth and the thoughts of the kiss in the Haramund garden.

“I’ve moved back in. For the moment.” His gaze momentarily broke from hers, letting her breathe again. “My former host didn’t appreciate the frequency with which I lost my footing.”

“That’s rude of him.”

“I didn’t say it was a
him
,” the colonel replied. Leaning toward her a little, he knocked the end of his cane against the closed master bedchamber door beyond her. Then, with the first grin she’d seen him wear, a wicked, humorous expression that made him look younger than his twenty-eight years, he turned and headed toward the back of the house and the narrow servants’ stairs there.