A Love That Never Tires (12 page)

Above him, he heard the clicking of heels on the hardwood floor, then the rustle of satin as someone descended the stairs. When he saw Linley, his top hat fell to the floor. She drifted down the stairs in a tight, black dress. The first thing he noticed was her smile. The next thing he noticed was her shoes.

“You look amazing,” he said, his voice a tad deeper than usual.

“Do you like?” she asked, spinning for him.

Patrick cleared his throat, finding his normal voice. “Very much.”

“Good,” Linley said, slapping him on the arm with her black satin clutch. “Let’s go to dinner.”

***

Patrick’s valet, who also doubled as his driver, pulled up in front of Claridge’s. A line of other automobiles circled the block, also trying to deposit their passengers. The red brick building stretched high into the warm night air, its row of flags popping in the breeze.

A liveried doorman held the door open for them as they stepped inside. Linley did her best not to gawk at the elaborate hotel foyer. The marble floor gleamed from the lights of the chandeliers above. Everything seemed polished to perfection.

Past the entrance hall, a quick right turn brought them into the restaurant, where a piano spilled a lively melody throughout the room. Polished wood paneling covered the walls, and plush red carpet padded the floor. Linley and Patrick weaved between the round tables and giddy patrons as they made their way to their table.

“This place is really nice,” she whispered in his ear. That caused Patrick to burst into laughter, and she was certain every head in the room turned in their direction.

“Claridge’s is one of the finest hotels in the world,” he explained.

“Oh.”

The
Maitre d’
showed them to their table. “Is this to your liking, my lord?”

Patrick nodded and took a seat. Linley sat opposite him, still trying not to stare.

“Do you take all your lady-friends here?” she asked.

Easing into a slow grin, Patrick shook his head. “No. Just the special ones.”

Linley grinned, too. “Then I suppose I should feel honored.”

“On the contrary,” he replied. “This is what you deserve.”

She laughed nervously and swept her napkin onto her lap.

When the waiter came, Patrick ordered champagne and oysters to start. To Linley, champagne was only for celebrating, a special treat the Talbot-Martin team could rarely afford to indulge in. By the time her melon
glacé
arrived, she was on her second glass.

“I’m not one to lecture,” Patrick said, “But I think you should pace yourself.”

Linley set her glass down, blushing. “You’re probably right.”

He smiled, taking a spoonful of melon ice. “I know I am.”

The entrée was
cailles roties—
roast quail. Between that and the
fois gras,
Linley wasn’t certain she’d be able to save room for dessert.

“May I ask you a question,” she asked. “One of a personal nature?”

Patrick sat his fork down and nodded.

“Who is Lady Wolstanton?”

He blinked at her. “Why do you ask?”

Suddenly, Linley’s face felt warm. She shouldn’t have asked. Now she felt foolish. “Reginald suggested that you might be…well, you know…involved with her.”

“With Lady Wolstanton?” Patrick repeated.

“That’s right.”

“Why on earth is Reginald Bourne so concerned with my love life?” he asked, bristling. “I really do not see how it is any of his business.”

Linley shifted in her seat. “He thought…he thought it should be
my
business.”

“I see.”

“But if you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to. I should never have brought it up. I should never have presumed—”

Patrick took a deep breath. “It’s all right. If your friend wants to dig up past relationships to throw in my face, he should really find something a little more recent. Lady Wolstanton and I are old news.”

“Then may I at least ask if you are seeing anyone now?”

“Don’t worry. I am quite unattached at the moment,” he said. “I would not have taken you to dinner otherwise.” He picked up his fork and knife as if he the subject was finished, but then stopped and looked back up at her. “Despite what they want you to think, I am no Don Juan running through as many women as I please.”

Linley breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t care what Reginald or any of the others thought about Patrick. She didn’t need anyone else’s approval to know that she and Patrick shared a friendship on an entirely different level. And if Archie, or Reginald, or Schoville, or Berenice, or even her own father did not like that, they would learn to get over it.

“Kyre!” A voice called through the crowd, making Linley jump in her seat.

Patrick turned in time to see two gentlemen coming towards them, hands outstretched and faces flushed with wine. “Allard. Finchdale. Hello.”

The three men shook hands, but the newcomers’ eyes never left Linley. She immediately recognized Allard Robeson, Gaynor’s handsome brother who ignored her the night of the ball.

“Kyre, you must introduce us to this lovely lady,” Finchdale insisted.

“La Infanta, may I present Lord Finchdale and Mr. Allard Robeson,” Patrick said, completely straight-faced. “This, my dear chaps, is the Infanta de Nova.”

Linley blinked from the smiling faces of the young men, to Patrick’s mischievous one, and back to the young men again. “
Hola!
” she said, extending her hand. “
Bueno conocerte!
”

“It is an honor to make your acquaintance,” Finchdale said, taking her hand and kissing it.

Allard shoved his friend out of the way and kissed her hand next. “La Infanta!”

“Well,” Patrick said, trying to keep his composure. “This has been entertaining, but if you gentleman will excuse us, we would like to finish our meal.”

“Certainly, Kyre,” Finchdale said. “But only after I secure a dance from the Infanta. Would you do me the honor, Señora?”

Linley nodded. She would much rather dance with the gorgeous Allard Robeson, but Finchdale, with his red hair and bright smile, seemed like a nice enough consolation.

“Wonderful!” Finchdale said. “I will search you out after dinner!”

After the two gentleman walked away, Patrick and Linley burst into laughter.

“I cannot believe you did that!” Linley said, reaching for her glass.

Patrick shrugged. “I hate the both of them.”

“Really?” she asked, taking a long sip of champagne.

“Finchdale is a clod, and Robeson thinks every woman in London is bursting at the seams to go to bed with him.”

“Aren’t they?”

At that, Patrick arched his dark eyebrows. “Oh, I see.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Patrick. I don’t want to sleep with him, I just think he’s good looking.”

“You wouldn’t even think about it? If he asked?”

Linley shrugged. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m sorry I ever brought it up.”

“Why can’t you answer the question? Would you or would you not go to bed with Allard Robeson if he offered?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Are you quite certain?” Patrick leaned across the table. “I could talk to him…”

Linley slammed her palms down on the white tablecloth. “Stop it!”

Satisfied, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. With shaking hands, Linley grabbed her glass and gulped down the rest of the champagne. They sat in silence for a long time.

“Do you want me to take you home?” he finally asked.

“No.”

“Would you like some dessert then? Because I think I do.”

“Fine.”

When the waiter came, Patrick ordered
bombe favorite
. Linley picked at a dish of fresh peaches. Neither spoke to the other.

Afterward, Patrick paid the bill and led Linley through the maze of circular tables full of well-dressed patrons laughing and enjoying their lavish meals. Again, it seemed as if everyone turned their eyes to watch the young pair pass by. Patrick nodded and smiled at a few of them. Linley tried to seem as blasé as possible.

In the lobby, he fetched their coats and his hat, and then stepped through the hotel doors and out onto the pavement. Linley followed him, stopping at his side as they waited for his automobile.

“Please don’t take me home,” she said.

Without looking at her, Patrick answered, “I wasn’t planning on it.”

The motorcar pulled up to the kerb, and Patrick’s driver went around to open the door. Linley climbed into the rear seat with Patrick a step or two behind her.

“Where are we going?” she asked him.

“I don’t know.” He situated himself on the tufted leather seat beside her. Leaning forward, he told the chauffeur, “Just drive.”

They drove along Brook Street. Linley stared out the window at the other motors and buildings they passed. Patrick watched her expressionless face as the lights from outside fell across her features.

He cleared his throat and whispered, “I’m jealous of Allard Robeson.”

Linley’s head snapped around. “What?”

“I am,” he said. “Only I’ve just realized it.”

“Would you please just drop it,” she said, turning back to the window.

They turned from Brook Street onto Bond Street. Patrick leaned forward and told the chauffeur, “Drive us to Park Lane, please.”

The drive to Park Lane did not take long, but Linley felt it dragged on endlessly. She didn’t really know where Park Lane even was. The streets looked the same to her, and she was certain if she had to, she could never find her way back to Bedford Square.

“Where are we?”

“Near Hyde Park,” Patrick answered.

As they turned onto Park Lane, Linley could see the great green behemoth that was Hyde Park. On one side lay the park, and on the other stood an endless row of the largest homes she ever saw.

“Would you like to go to a party?” he asked her.

Still studying the houses, Linley nodded.

“To Markham House,” Patrick told his driver.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The motorcar pulled up to an enormous four-story mansion, lit up so brightly that it flooded the pavement with warm yellow light. A fleet of automobiles lined both sides of the street and a large group of people spilled from the front door. The driver let Patrick and Linley out at the kerb.

“We’ll stay about an hour or so,” Patrick told him.

Linley followed Patrick through the crowd. Many of them knew him, and shook his hand or stopped him to talk. A few spoke to her, and Patrick was always ready with introductions. By the time they reached the front door, Linley met three countesses, a foreign minister, and the Duke of Darlington.

“It’s a wonder anarchists don’t try to bomb a party like this,” Linley said to Patrick. “Half the most powerful people in England would be wiped out in one shot.”

“Don’t let Asquith hear you say that,” Patrick said, laughing as he helped her inside. “Or you’ll end up in Holloway Prison.”

Her eyes grew wide. “The Prime Minister? Is he here?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it.”

A servant swooped down on them with a tray of drinks, and Patrick took two glasses of champagne, handing one to Linley. As she sipped, she took a moment to look around the huge foyer, filled to capacity with beautiful ladies and dapper gentlemen. A marble staircase twisted up to the floors above. Most of the guests waited in line on the steps, trying to make their way to the ballroom.

“Come on,” Patrick said, taking her hand. Together, they pushed their way up the stairs. “Pardon me. Excuse me,” he said as they bumped their way up the line. “
Pardon!
Entschuldigen Sie! Mi scusi!
”

Linley tried to keep up with him, ignoring the indignant stares from the other partygoers until they reached the landing.

“This is the Earl of Markham’s house,” he whispered in her ear. “He’s a nice old chap, but if he dances with you, don’t be surprised if he gets handsy.”

“Handsy?”

Patrick nodded. “He might pinch your
derriere
.”

“Seriously?”

“It’s been known to happen. Especially with pretty girls.”

Linley smiled as they passed into the ballroom. It was three times the size of the Robeson’s. Twin staircases led to the marble dance floor below. A full orchestra sat on an elevated platform in one corner, and the entire other side of the room was composed of French doors, which were thrown open to the garden.

Patrick held out his arm for her. “Shall we?”

Slipping her arm through his, they descended the stairs. And she thought the people at Claridge’s stared at them! There must have been two hundred people crowded into the ballroom, and Linley was certain at least three-quarters of them stopped to turn around and gawk.

“How do you ever get used to this?” she asked.

“I promise this never happens to me,” Patrick replied. “It must be you.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs. Instead of acknowledging the crowd of people that rushed to speak to them, Patrick escorted Linley straight to the dance floor.

Linley kept her eyes glued to Patrick as they swept along. She didn’t want to see just how many people were staring and talking about them. A few times, though, she caught her reflection in a mirror and almost didn’t recognize herself. Where was the Linley Talbot-Martin covered in sweat and up to her elbows in dirt? Who was this new Linley, the one in the satin gown and the bright red shoes?

And the gentleman in her arms, with his drowsy eyes and dimpled grin? There was no way he could be hers. This had to be a fairy tale.

Patrick looked down at her and smiled, pulling her a little closer. “If you don’t stop looking at me like that, people will think you are in love with me.”

Linley blushed. What an ass he was to tease her!
 

“If
you
don’t stop looking at
me
, you’ll miss a step,” she replied.

As the waltz ended and they stepped back into the crowd, Linley caught sight of Gaynor Robeson. Her mind drifted back to the night of the ball at the Robeson’s house. She hoped Gaynor did not think anything untoward was going on between her and Patrick, especially after she caught them alone together.

Linley started to ask him not to talk to her, but before she could speak, Gaynor waved them over.