Confessions of a Little Black Gown (7 page)

Brutus tipped his head and shook it, the mane of hair around his face flying about furiously.

“And worse yet, this evening was an utter waste of my new gown.” She held out the velvet for his examination. “But at least I haven’t ruined it by spilling on it or tearing it.”

But Brutus was already sniffing the air for something to chase after, velvet gowns barely worth his notice.

Something he had in common with Mr. Ryder, Tally thought, smiling slightly.

She stepped down onto the lawn, avoiding the gravel path. It was an odd thing to do, but she smiled as she did it, for her father had always said it was better to go silently into the night.

Then again, he’d taught her and Felicity how to “skulk about” at an early age, neither of them realizing he was merely practicing his own skills in subterfuge. But, she had to admit, this velvet dress was perfect for slipping about unnoticed, for it made not a sound as she walked, and the black fabric melded with the growing darkness as if it had been chosen for just this sort of assignation.

Of course the shoes were another matter, and she glanced down at them, her ankles wobbling beneath her. What an utter shame that such lovely shoes should be so terribly painful.

She glanced across the lawn to the low wall that was the first vista on the fabled walk through the gardens, assuming that Mr. Ryder would be standing there, watching the moon rise over the three perfectly clipped lawns below.

But he was nowhere to be seen. She glanced around the rest of the upper portion of the garden, and found the place deserted.

How odd.

But then Brutus helped her out, his ears pricking up before he set off toward the other side of the house, where the eighth duke’s crowning glory sat—the Hawthorne Maze. Planted, legend held, in honor of Queen Elizabeth coming to visit.

Whatever was Mr. Ryder doing wandering over there?

Then she had a wicked thought as she crossed the lawn. What if he is out walking for his digestion? As dyspeptic as Felicity feared? Oh, wouldn’t that be perfect.

My dear Miss DeFisser, I would like you to meet the Duke of Hollindrake’s cousin, Mr. Ryder. He’d be here to greet you, but I fear his poor digestion has left him terribly indisposed.

Tally smiled to herself, but when she turned the corner, she faltered to a stop, the sight before her putting a complete halt to her foolish musings. For there before her stood a man. Oh, not some poor fellow with ill digestion, but the man she’d spied in the study.

Her heart hammered beneath her breast with a staccato tempo that seemed to announce,
That is him. Him, Tally. The one you’ve been waiting for.

Perhaps all her years of traveling with her father, of writing romantic plays, of sketching strangers and friends alike had had another purpose. To fix in her mind her ideal man.

Tall and mysterious. Tense and aloof. And now here he was, standing across the lawn, no longer the esteemed and respectable Reverend Milo Ryder, but an entirely different sort of man.

She blinked to make sure this time her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her, but when she opened them, she found him still there, pacing a bit, his quick, hard stride like a passionate tempo to her ears.

But as suddenly as her awe had come over her, another question struck her.

Whatever was he doing?

He’d forgone the infamous Hollindrake vista, and didn’t appear to be contemplating a trip into the maze. And he certainly wasn’t walking for his health.

No, instead the man was taking a survey of the entire south side of the house. Studying the windows, one by one. He wasn’t just studying them, nay, he was counting them, as if he was trying to discern which rooms were which.

As she watched his finger wagging at the second-floor rooms, she saw him pause on the middle suite, where the curtains were drawn obscuring the interior.

Whatever was he doing studying those rooms?

Her rooms, to be exact. The ones she shared with Pippin and Aunt Minty.

It was as if he was looking for something.
Or someone.

Tally covered her mouth with her hand, cutting off the gasp that threatened to give her away, for suddenly she found herself being tossed into something too akin to the second act in her and Pippin’s play,
Lady Persephone’s Perilous Affair.

Too close, indeed.

Stooping down to catch up Brutus and make for the house in all due haste, her hands discovered only grass and an empty spot. Her vexing little dog had caught a whiff of something, or rather the sight of a familiar boot, and had taken off like a hare. A noisy, barking one.

Tally had no choice but to follow her errant dog, but when Mr. Ryder whirled around, startled out of his silent reverie by Brutus’s noisy entrance, she came to a stumbling halt.

The man she faced looked ready to do battle, alert and dangerous, his face deadly with murderous intent.

Good God, Tally
, she thought,
leave Brutus to his fate and run for the house.

Then she looked at the man again and shivered. Not because she was cold. No, because his wild gaze awakened a dangerous part of her heart. A wildness she’d always held closely in check. She should be terrified, but Thalia Langley found this man’s deadly scrutiny thrilling to her very core.

Wavering and teetering atop her high-heeled shoes, she tried to breathe. Tried to find a voice to call Brutus back, not that it ever worked, but it might be enough to break the spell that held her in this man’s mesmerizing thrall.

Go closer
, a wicked voice whispered to her.
’Tis him. And he’s no vicar, no saint.

As she took her first step forward, she nearly stumbled over her shoe, the strap having come loose, and so she knelt down to fix it, and when she arose, everything was different. Everything had changed.

Oh, dear, goodness. I am going mad.
To her horror, the only thing left of her rake was the bland features of Hollindrake’s dull cousin staring at her coldly.

No. It couldn’t be
, she told herself.
Where did
he
go?

Yet her next glance left no doubt that the man before her was a rather annoyed, yet dull-witted vicar with an overly-attentive Affenpinscher attached to his heel.

“Off, you. Off!” he was saying in a wheezing voice, waving his hand in a motion akin to a benediction.

And while she knew what she’d seen and she’d swear to anyone who would listen that there was more to Mr. Ryder than this unhappy vicar before her, who would believe her? It was as if the rake inside him had slipped into the night like the most expert of thieves, or most deadly of…

Spies.

A spy? Oh, now her imagination was getting the better of her. Though what was it her father had always said? The best veneer is one of congenial blandness.

No one suspects the happy fool…or perhaps, Tally thought,
a vicar.

She glanced up at her window, the one he’d been studying, and then back at Mr. Ryder. Could he be a…? Oh, such a notion was ridiculous. He was
Hollindrake’s cousin. A vicar, for goodness sakes!

Or was he?

Startled by her own question, she pasted a smile on her face and did her best to still her trembling heart.

“Oh, how fortuitous! We found you,” she said, trying to sound exactly like the other debutantes in London, as if nothing ever entered her head other than gossip or fashions or polite comments about…well, the weather.

And not what he was doing spying on her rooms.

“I daresay you should be honored,” she continued, beaming down at her dog as if he were the most brilliant of creatures. “Brutus doesn’t chew on just anyone. He obviously likes you.”

“He needn’t,” Mr. Ryder said, in that soft, mild-mannered voice he’d used to answer Felicity’s barrage of questions at dinner.

But to Tally, his dull tone sounded forced, and she imagined his real voice coming forth in the deep rich tones of a man used to being in command of his own destiny.

He shook his boot, but Brutus clung to him with all the tenacity of his terrier forebears.

Tally smiled apologetically and reached down and tugged the dog off. “At least your boots don’t look as if they are very dear. As a puppy, Brutus ruined the archduke’s best riding boots. Papa always said that was why the good man gave Brutus to me and Felicity as a birthday present.”

“Yes, a most gracious gift,” he replied, glancing down at the now pitted heel of his boot.

Tally blithely went on not caring that she sounded
utterly vapid. “Hollindrake avers that Napoleon should have considered the same course, and just shipped crates of these little devils to England, and infested us all with them.” She laughed, tousling Brutus’s head and tickling the little fellow’s ears. “I hardly see what he means, for truly I think the breed adorable and a most excellent lady’s companion.”

When she glanced up, she found him studying her, much as he had when they’d first been introduced. His scrutiny coiled into her belly like a smoldering fire. Oh, heavens, what should she do?

A dangerous part of her wanted to nudge the rake she’d spied moments before back out from behind that dull collar. Brutus squirmed in her arms—as if to remind her that this was no game she was playing—that is, if her instincts were correct. She took another furtive glance up at her windows. No, there was only one way to determine what Mr. Ryder was about.

And so she continued, “Brutus’s grandsire belonged to Marie Antoinette. I don’t like to brag about his royal connections, but I think it gives him a certain distinction over other dogs.”

He stared at her for a moment, then replied, “So you said earlier.”

“Did I? Well, yes, I suppose I did,” she said, smiling up at him as if such a thing happened all the time.

But she shouldn’t have looked at him, for she found herself caught again by his measuring gaze—one that now said she was being dismissed as hardly worthy of any further scrutiny.

And that ruffled at her far more than the fear of discovery.

Dismiss me, will you?
her injured feminine wiles railed.

Remember, Tally, you want him to underestimate you
, a more sensible voice argued.

But not to dismiss me entirely…
that wicked part of her whispered, the part that found this gown, these shoes utterly irresistible.

That desired a man as rakish and devilish as the one she swore she’d seen before.

Meanwhile, an uneasy silence lingered on as she searched for something else to natter about. Oh, if only she were as feather-witted as Miss Sarah Browne and had a knack for filling any void with useless chatter.

“Did you see the terrace?” she asked, resorting to her Bath education and offering a polite, safe subject for discourse.

Yes, that was it. Gardens. The weather. Fashions.

“Yes,” he replied, shuffling his boot over the grass.

Well, certainly not much to work with there.

“Not a devotee of gardening?” she asked brightly, tamping down the temptation to take a more dangerous course. Like asking if he knew the prison sentence for committing treason.

“Um, no,” he murmured, still staring over her shoulder and not paying her the least bit of attention.

“Then you must prefer architecture,” she said, pointing at the house, and taking the conversation into a little deeper waters.

“Not really—” he began to say, and then he stopped himself, and his gaze returned to hers, once again searching.

Well, it didn’t hurt to test him a little…

“Ah, yes, architecture,” he agreed. “This house is considered quite unique.”

“So I am told,” Tally demurred. “And you were out here…?”

“I thought perhaps to gather some ideas for the estate I’ve recently, um, inherited…Renovations, I believe, are in order, and I found this vantage of the house quite inspiring.”

Tally glanced over at the plain south face of Hollindrake House, which was nothing more than a plain brick wall with the predictable, classical arrangement of windows. Either Mr. Ryder was as dull witted as they came, or he thought her foolish enough to believe him.

“Yes, I can see where, perhaps, the window sashings might be inspiring.” Tally replied.
Oh, yes, that was good. Imply that you don’t believe a single word of his lies.

He straightened slightly, and then took a few polite steps away from her, as if continuing his review of the,
ahem
, window sashings.

Then again as Nanny Bridget always said, the closest way to discover the truth was by using it.

Well, as close to the truth as Tally dared.

“I fear, Mr. Ryder, I’ve come here under false pretenses,” she said, returning to a more sunny, Mayfair tone.