An Improper Suitor (20 page)

They had reached a bend on the road, and Julia could not help exclaiming at the sharp incline below her feet. This was what an abyss
was like. An edge that cannot be stepped over.

She could not bear to glance at Lionel. His assumption that she wished to resume her flirtation smarted, salt in a wound. Did his
arrogance
have no bounds?

So she came directly to the heart of the problem, without prelude. ‘I’m afraid we have another urgent Neave situation,’ she said.

‘What the devil!’ said Lionel sharply, alarming his horse, who tossed his head in protest.

‘This time it doesn’t involve me,’ she said. ‘It involves Amelia.’

‘I’m aware that I’m betraying her confidence,’ she continued, ‘but I know that I can’t stop this by myself. There’s too little time. Especially since we won’t be returning to London until tomorrow.’ She related what Amelia had told her, drily, and without intonation.

There was a short pause after she had completed her narrative. ‘Thank heavens she decided to confide in you,’ said Lionel. ‘You should not feel guilty, however. You are attempting to save her from ruin.’

Julia did not answer. Instead, having explained the situation, she fell back, joining the other riders. Before long, she was riding
alongside
her cousin, exchanging reminiscences about one of their
childhood
companions.

Meanwhile, Lionel and Lord Benedict rode ahead, deep in earnest discussion, no doubt determining how best to deal with Amelia’s elopement.

The evening at Lady Thorwynn’s country estate was coming to an end. An impromptu dance had followed dinner, in which the younger persons had been reduced to hilarity watching Lady Bullfinch and Lord Yarfolk vigorously hopping a quadrille until perspiration ran down their cheeks. But after a long day out in the outdoors, the general trend seemed to have an early night. Amelia and Miranda had already retired upstairs, and after a rather unsuccessful game of whist in which she partnered Nicholas against Lionel and Lord Benedict, Julia rose and excused herself.

To her surprise, as she reached the bottom of the stairway, she heard her name. It was Lionel.

‘We need to talk about our plans,’ he said. ‘I will need a minute of your time.’

Because she had not expected to speak to him tonight, and because she was still mortified by her actions earlier, she responded coldly. ‘Unless you are planning to leave very early,’ she said, ‘I suggest we postpone this conversation until tomorrow morning. We can hardly talk in the hallway.’

‘There is always the library,’ he said, grinning.

She stiffened. ‘I do not think that is a good idea,’ she said, icily. ‘Considering the circumstances.’

Lionel ran his hand through his hair. ‘You may wish me to Jericho,’ he said, ‘but the fact is we have some unfinished business. You cannot simply abandon Amelia to her fate.’

‘Of course I won’t abandon her,’ she said, piqued. ‘She has become my friend, and although she will be hurt by this, we must prevent this marriage. If Neave is even planning to marry her.’ But she did not want to spend a single moment alone with him. She would not make that mistake again. No doubt he thought her completely devoid of all principles.

‘In that case,’ said Lionel. ‘I will call Benedict on some pretext, and we will adjourn to the library.’

He walked away, leaving her to contemplate how, yet again, she had misunderstood his intent. 

‘I don’t know why you’re having such difficulty with Miss Swifton, Thorwynn. I assure you, she’s perfectly amiable.’  

Lionel and Benny were once more at Brooks’s. It seemed they never did anything more interesting these days than dine at Brooks’s and attend banal social affairs. And his mother’s picnics.  

Thorwynn growled. ‘She’s perfectly amiable to you, you mean.’ Benny had the grace to look a bit ashamed, at least. But that did not prevent Lionel from wanting to wring a promise from Benny never to talk to her again.  

‘She did soften towards you at the picnic. At least for a while. In fact, you and she seemed to be on almost intimate terms. Did you make the best of the opportunity I gave you, by the way?’  

Did he make the best of it? He had relived that moment time and again since yesterday. The way she leaned towards him. The
rosewater
tinge of her scent. Then her lips. They tantalized, barely
connecting
with his. A contact as light and elusive as silk. It had been sheer torment to stand still. But he let her explore him, afraid she would draw back if he moved.  

His instinct raged at him. He needed to press her body to his. To feel the length of her against him. To demand with his lips. To explore every inch of her. To take advantage before she changed her mind and while she was still willing. Because he knew it would not last. It was an impulse, on her part, and she would regret it.  

But he had to let her have her way. Because only then would she
learn to trust him. To understand the pleasure he could give her,
without
being threatened by it.

But he had never struggled so hard for control in his life. That small, shy kiss broke through every barrier in him. Barriers he did not even know he had.

Then she had deepened the kiss, asking for more. He was forced to put her away from him. It was the only way he could resist
temptation
. One minute longer and his desire would have carried him away like a torrent.

It had taken that gentle kiss to strip away every illusion he had ever had about himself, leaving him raw inside. He knew then that no other woman had meant anything to him. That she was the only one he had ever cared for.

The only one he had ever loved.

A word he had never thought could mean anything to him beyond an irrational compulsion to bring a woman to his bed. An urge that, once fully satisfied, would begin to fade.

But she had proved him wrong. She had escaped down the path, shamed by his rebuff. She did not know he was saving her from himself.

He had sunk down on to the chalk outcrop she had stood on. The sharp corners bit into his skin. He welcomed the discomfort. It brought him back to his reality, which was that he loved a woman he could not have. A woman who would never seriously consider him for marriage, unless she was forced to. Who saw him as nothing but a dissolute rake. Who thought him so devoid of feeling that she wanted him to give her lessons in the art of kissing. So that she could kiss another man. Probably that toad-faced cousin of hers who seemed to be popping up everywhere.

He sat there on that punishing rock for what seemed an eternity, gazing out at the mottled green valley before him. The faint scent of blackberry blossoms surrounded him.

After a while, he failed to notice the rock’s jagged edges. He had grown numb.

By the time he had followed her back to the picnic, she had
withdrawn
again. She was chattering warmly with Lord Talbrook, who was more than happy to be on the receiving end of her attention.
There was no mistaking the closeness between them.

And to make matters worse, she had flirted with Benny. His best friend. Who had laughed and flirted back.

She did not glance in his direction once.

He even wondered if he had not imagined that little interlude.

Once again, he felt the delicate tickle of her lips as they moved across his. He drank in her scent, mingled with the aroma of flowering blackberry bushes.

He would take her back again to that place on the hill, when the blackberries were ripe. He would watch her as she ate the plump berries, smudging her lips with their dark purple juice. And he would lick it off her. He would—

‘If you persist in licking your lips like that in public,’ said Benny, ‘I’ll have to remove myself from your proximity. People may think you’re making indecent suggestions to me.’

He plunged down from the heights of Box Hill with its wild berries into the starched world of the gentlemen’s club.

He smiled ruefully. ‘I need some activity.’ He rose. ‘Shall we head to the gaming room? I’d like to test my chances.’

He was losing badly. He knew he should withdraw, but he did not want to be alone with his thoughts. The game kept him occupied at least. Even if he did seem to miss a lot of what was happening around the table.

‘Your turn,’ said Benny. Lionel stared vaguely at his cards.

‘Excuse me, sir. This note came for you.’ He looked up at the sombre footman, welcoming the intrusion, since he had lost track of the game completely. ‘Thank you.’

He glanced at the envelope. He knew the handwriting. He had seen that rushed scrawl before.

He stood up immediately.

‘Something wrong?’ said Lord Manderton. His voracious eyes met Lionel’s, seeking information. Any morsel of gossip would be gnawed to bits by him within the hour.

Lionel’s bland mask slipped into place. ‘Nothing of interest at all,’ he drawled, bored. ‘I know the writing. Inside, no doubt, is an exceedingly tedious invitation to dine with a lady undergoing a
nervous spasm, namely, my mother. Which saves me from having to lose an even bigger sum of money than I have already lost.’

General laughter followed.

‘Good luck,’ said Manderton. ‘Enjoy the company.’

There were general sympathetic murmurs.

He waited until he was outside the club to open the note. Just as he had thought.

Like last time, it was unsigned.

It was a Grosvenor Square address, but not among the most
fashionable
.

He did not make the mistake this time of thinking that it was a seduction. Although when he had first seen the writing his heart had given a little extra beat, a hopeful joyous jump. But of course she would not write this way unless extremely perturbed. Her normal handwriting was elegant and neat.

He called to mind every possible reason she would summon him this way.

All the threads led to Neave. Lionel’s hands clenched.

If he had harmed her in any way…. If he had touched her. If he had hurt one hair…. He would tear him into tiny pieces and drop them one by one in the Thames. He would—  

If he had
….

He shied away from the very thought, tried to control his towering rage.

He needed to stay calm. To think rationally.  

He called a hackney and gave him the address, promising a
half-crown
if he brought him to the address as quickly as possible.  

The jarvey whipped his horses. They tore off through the crowded streets as if driving on a wide open country road. A curricle scraped by, barely an inch to spare. The next instant, the hack swerved abruptly, causing Lionel to slide down in his seat. Through the window Lionel noted with amazed fascination that they managed to avoid collision with a slow cart loaded with vegetables. The owner of
the cart shouted and waved his fist at the jarvey, but the hack hurtled onwards, intent on its mission.

Lionel held on tight, expecting any moment they would overturn. The jarvey took a corner tightly, and the hack swayed dangerously, then righted itself. It jerked sideways, no doubt in another near miss, but it did not reduce its speed. As they weaved in and out of the
traffic
, Lionel lost count of how many times he closed his eyes, thinking an accident inevitable. But their journey continued, the horses’ hoofs pounding relentlessly onwards.

By the time they reached their destination, his hands shook from the effort of holding on.

He descended gingerly from the carriage. He paid the jarvey more than he had promised, because he had miraculously brought them there alive. He had never seen a driver so skilled.

The jarvey tipped his hat.

‘Shall I wait for you, your lordship?’

Lionel considered him. His clothing was immaculate. Not a hair was out of place. He looked as if he had just gone for a quiet jaunt in the park.

‘No, but I’d like to hire you, if you would be willing to abandon your current position. I need someone like you in my stables.’ Lionel gave him his card. ‘Come and enquire tomorrow. I’ll leave word with my butler to expect you.’

The jarvey bowed solemnly. Lionel had no idea if he would accept the job or not. If it were not for the urgency of his summons, he would have stayed to try and convince him.

As it was, he could not spare a moment.

He looked up at the townhouse before him. His heart was
pounding.
He did not know what he would do if something had befallen her.

A footman opened the door. ‘The young lady awaits you in the library,’ he said.

The footman led the way at a leisurely pace. Lionel wanted to prod him in the back so he would move faster, but it would not do at all. They finally reached their destination. The footman opened the door and let Lionel in, then closed it behind him.

She was not there.

There was a young girl sitting with her back to him, with gold ringlets that were somehow familiar.

She twisted round, saw him, and turned white.

‘Oh, no,’ she said, jumping to her feet and putting her hands to her cheeks. ‘Not you!’

‘Where is she?’ he said, his eyes narrowed.

‘I suppose you mean Julia,’ she said. She was extremely agitated. ‘There’s no time to explain. You must get away immediately. It’s a trap. If they find you in here with me, you’ll be compromised, and I’ll be forced to marry you.’

He stood frozen in the middle of the room. Somehow, he seemed unable to think.

She ran to him, and gave him a push. ‘Hurry! Move, you big oaf! Do you really want to end up marrying me?’

Her frantic actions, especially her jabbing fists, finally penetrated his dull brain. He obeyed. She rushed to the French windows and opened them. ‘Go quickly. Get to the street and walk away as fast as you can.’ She made shooing motions at him.

The sound of footsteps reached him from outside the library door.

He sprang into motion. He did not walk: he
sprinted.
Out of the windows. Into the garden, and on to the street. There, he slowed down to a quick march, expecting any moment to hear Lady Medlow’s nasal voice calling his name. He turned the first corner he reached and bounded down an alley.

He kept going until a stitch in his side brought him up short. Finally, lost in a maze of side roads and alleys, he stopped to take his bearings. He did not think Lady Medlow would hound him now. The stitch pinched at him, a reminder of his stupidity.

He should have known that the handwriting did not belong to Julia. He had never asked her about the first note. He had just assumed that she had summoned him that first time.

In fact, everything pointed to the fact that it was not her
handwriting.

He leaned against a wall, catching his breath, and willing the stitch to go away.

In any case, he would not be caught in the same net again. He
always
recognized people’s handwriting. Now he knew Lady
Medlow’s very well.

He leaned against the wall, waiting for the pain to recede. The handwriting was Lady Medlow’s. Which meant that Julia was perfectly safe.

His spirits soared as relief flooded into him so quickly he sagged against the wall. She was safe.

The door crashed open. Amelia looked up from her chair and regarded her mama and Lady Telway with apparent bewilderment.

‘I thought – I was led to expect that Lord Neave wished to speak to me.’

Mama peered at her with suspicious eyes. ‘Where is he?’

‘Lord Neave?’ she asked. She pouted. ‘He hasn’t come.’

‘Not Lord Neave, you foolish girl,’ said Mama, impatiently. ‘Lord Thorwynn.’

Amelia put on her stupidest little girl look. ‘But you said it would be Lord Neave who would be offering for me, not Lord Thorwynn.’

The two women were pacing around the room, looking behind the curtains, and, unbelievably, under the large mahogany desk. She stifled a giggle. Did they really think Lord Thorwynn would fit under the desk? He was so
tall.

‘Where is he?’ said her mother, advancing on her in frustrated rage.

‘Lord Thorwynn, or Lord Neave?’ she asked. ‘Because if you mean Lord Neave,’ she said, putting on a tragic air, ‘he never came.’

‘We are looking for Lord Thorwynn,’ said Lady Telway, bringing the little game to an end. Her icy eyes met hers and Amelia knew she was not fooled for a moment.

Something in Lady Telway’s voice communicated itself to Lady Neville. She stopped searching and came to stand next to her friend. ‘Yes. Where is he?’

Amelia shrugged. ‘I didn’t see anybody. I’ve been waiting here for Lord Neave to call, but nobody came.’

Lady Telway’s pale blue eyes lingered on Amelia’s face.

‘But we know he came in. The footman said he’d showed a
gentleman
in,’ said Lady Neville.

Amelia frowned, still maintaining her little girl façade. ‘I don’t remember seeing anybody. Maybe he showed the gentleman into
another room?’ she said, uncertainly.

Lady Telway’s gaze never faltered.

‘He said distinctly that he showed him into the library,’ said Lady Neville, her voice growing more high pitched with agitation.

That other woman kept staring.

What business was it of hers, anyway?

Amelia was tired of this game, tired of pretending all the time, tired of having to play the innocent miss and let women like Lady Telway determine her life.