Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (40 page)

"You must dress," he said. "I'm not handling Clarissa alone, and I want you to meet Blanche." He smiled. "I can't imagine any other wife in the world I could say that to."

"Is that a compliment?" Beth queried.

"The greatest I can offer," he replied, and his look was a caress.

Chapter 19

Hours later Beth and Clarissa crept down the servants' staircase to the side door and out onto the street. Lucien had arranged to pick them up nearby.

The waiting time had not been pleasant. Lucien had returned to her room only briefly with instructions, and Beth knew it was not Clarissa's presence which constrained him. He could not bear the sight of her face, already beginning to discolor. When she put on her outer clothes she chose a close-fitting bonnet which shadowed her cheek.

Soon he drew up in a hired coach and handed them in. "I thought it best not to involve the servants except Robin. He carried the message to Blanche, and he's waiting at her house."

"You sent a child out into the streets of London at this time of night?" Beth protested.

"He's doubtless better equipped to survive there than I am," said the marquess, and passed the journey telling them how he had first become acquainted with Robin Babson.

"There must be so many children like him," mused Beth.

"No," said the marquess firmly.

Beth flashed him her first deliberately appealing look. "A school, perhaps? To train them for a trade?"

He sighed, but his lips twitched. "Perhaps."

She grinned in triumph, and he shook his head.

The coach drew up in front of a row of houses and the marquess handed the ladies out and paid off the driver. As soon as the vehicle rolled away, a slight figure slipped out of the shadows.

"All's right, milord," said Robin proudly. "The mort's in and waitin'."

"Well done. You go and wait in the kitchen then." Lucien went forward to apply the knocker. In a moment Blanche herself opened the door and let them in.

It was a pleasant house, Beth thought, well-proportioned and furnished with taste. Not, as she had imagined, the home of a lady of easy virtue. Feeling stiff and awkward, she looked at the White Dove. Seen up close she was as beautiful as on the stage. Her milky skin was touched with roses, her large eyes fringed by tawny lashes, and there was no sign of cosmetics that Beth could detect. Her plain white gown was the simplest of muslins trimmed only with a little lace, and yet it seemed to enhance a long slender neck, full high breasts, and a very graceful carriage. The woman's long silvery hair was gathered on her crown in a simple knot. Beth felt like a mill pony next to a thoroughbred.

Worse, in a sense, was that Blanche looked both kind and intelligent. Mary Wollstonecraft might have railed against women who were trained for nothing but pleasing men, but what was one to say of a woman so gifted by God who had apparently still retained the powers of her brain?

Having closed the door, Blanche showed her intelligence by standing back to allow Lucien to handle this unusual situation.

He turned. "Beth, may I present Blanche Hardcastle?" Instead of the formal words, it was an honest question.

"Of course," said Beth and extended a hand to the woman. "I am very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Hardcastle, and very grateful."

Blanche shook the hand firmly and smiled warmly, but as her eyes caught the discoloration on Beth's face, they widened and she looked incredulously at the marquess.

"And this is Clarissa Grey stone," he said quickly. "She is the one who needs your help."

Clarissa was clearly at a loss. After a moment, she dropped a little curtsy.

"Let's all sit down," said Blanche, leading the way into her parlor. "Tell me exactly what's to do, and I'll help in any way I can."

Lucien quickly outlined the story. Somewhat to Beth's surprise, Blanche was totally on Clarissa's side. "Lord Deveril is a wart," she said. "If half the stories I hear of him are true, he shouldn't be allowed to touch the toughest binter, never mind a young lady. I'll gladly have you here, Miss Greystone, but it can only be a temporary measure. You'll have to think what you intend to do in the future."

"I know," said Clarissa, looking pale and exhausted. "But I can't seem to think at the moment. This has been the most awful day of my life!" She burst into tears.

Beth immediately went over to her. "If you please, Mrs. Hardcastle, I think we should get her to her bed. Tomorrow will be soon enough to make plans."

Blanche took them upstairs to a small, comfortable room and saw that Clarissa had everything she needed. She left her there with Beth and descended the stairs thoughtfully. She found Lucien sprawled in his favorite chair, knocking back a brandy.

"I like your wife," Blanche said. "Am I allowed to say that?"

"Say what you damn well please. Having broken just about every rule of polite society, I'm in no mood to quibble."

"You are in a mess, aren't you, love?"

He sat up a bit and looked ruefully at her. "Do you mind me bringing the chit here?"

"No. I'm a bit surprised you bothered, though. I'd not thought you the philanthropic type."

"My marriage sees me a reformed man."

"Then why does your wife have a bruise growing?" asked Blanche quietly.

He straightened and glared at her, a de Vaux through and through. Blanche faced him unflinchingly. A clock ticked. They could hear, faintly, voices from the upper floor.

"I hit her," he said at last and swallowed the last of the brandy in a gulp.

Blanche picked up the decanter and refilled his glass. "Because she was helping the girl?"

"No." Lucien could not bring himself to tell her the sordid tale, but he waited for Blanche's judgment. Though he knew he deserved only disgust, he felt Blanche was the one person who might make sense of everything. She'd seen the worst of life.

"You'll feel better in a while," she said at last.

He stared at her. "I? I'm not the one in pain."

"Are you not, my dear?"

He looked thoughtfully away. "Yes, Blanche, I am. But what of Beth? Don't you feel for her?"

"I can see in her eyes you've made amends, though I suspect you have a way to go yet to wipe the record clean. I hope so. It doesn't do for women to be too forgiving. If you lay a hand on her again, I hope she wraps a poker round your head."

"Is that what you'd have done?"

"It's what I have done, and worse," said Blanche straightly. "My father knocked my mother about all the time. I promised then no man would raise a hand to me and get away with it."

They heard the door open above.

"Thank God," said the marquess dryly, "I never gave in to the temptation to beat you."

"Why didn't you? We had our fights and you've certainly got a temper, but I'll go odds you've never hit a woman before in your life."

He looked down at the amber liquid in his glass. He hadn't drunk from it since she'd refilled it. "Do you really want to know?"

"Yes, I think I do."

"I've never loved a woman before in my life," he said, adding almost angrily, "It's not all it's cracked up to be."

Coming down the stairs, Beth heard this and stopped. She couldn't help a glow of warmth at the admission of love, but she'd rather not have heard the rider.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Blanche asked, with laughter in her voice.

"I've never been so miserable in my life as these last few weeks. I don't remember when I last had a good night's sleep."

"Well...."

"Not for that reason, damn it!"

"Oh." There was a wealth of meaning in Blanche's voice, and Beth could feel herself color up. She knew she should go down and join them, but embarrassment and curiosity kept her fixed where she was.

"Well," said Blanche, "even with a guest, I've a spare bed here. If I were you, I'd just get on with it. You'll both feel a great deal better."

The marquess laughed out loud. Beth felt herself burn with embarrassment. And longing. She remembered how she'd felt not that long ago, before it had all broken into disaster.

"Straight to the point," said Lucien, humor still in his voice. "I'm doubtless a fool, but I feel there should be some decorum to the whole thing."

"A total fool. What's decorum got to do with it?"

"Heaven knows. I've got to get out of here before you corrupt me, woman."

Beth knew he had risen, and she pulled herself together and began to descend the stairs so that when he came into the hall she met him there.

"How long have you been listening?" he asked tolerantly.

"A while."

"Shall we take one of Blanche's beds then?"

Beth looked away and shook her head. Though there was a hunger in her, the flames had died, the moment passed. She couldn't contemplate stirring them up so cold-bloodedly. Especially not here. She turned to Blanche.

"Thank you again, Mrs. Hardcastle. For everything." She saw Blanche understand as she smiled. Beth realized with surprise that she liked this woman. Perhaps just due to the extraordinary situation, Blanche felt more like a friend than Miss Mallory or any other woman.

Beth and the marquess left the house and stood on the pavement.

"What now?" asked Beth.

Lucien laughed. "My wits are scrambled. We have no carriage, do we?"

At that moment Robin came dashing up from the basement, a half-eaten bun in his hand.

"What's the chance of getting a cab hereabouts this time of night, Robin?"

"Not much, milord."

They set off to walk back to Marlborough Square, Robin a discreet distance behind.

"I could have left you at Blanche's and sent for a carriage," he said after a while.

"Why didn't you?" asked Beth, though she was enjoying this stroll. The streets were largely deserted. The theaters had emptied some time ago, and the grand balls were still in full swing. With Lucien beside her she felt no fear of footpads.

"I'm not leaving you alone with her," he said. "She's full of dangerous ideas."

"So am I," Beth remarked. "Don't forget I am a follower of Mary Wollstonecraft."

"Then you don't need any encouragement."

She looked at him. "Have you ever read any of her writings? I fail to see how an intelligent person can fault them."

"Yes, I have. Some of what she says does make sense, but I think she's intolerant of human nature in both men and women. Not all men are heartless brutes, nor are all women given over to a feeble-minded delight in trivialities. I actually wonder how much she liked women, apart from the few who fit her narrow pattern of what a woman should be."

Beth was shocked. "Can you support that?"

He smiled. "I prepared a quotation in anticipation of this discussion. 'As a sex,' the earnest lady wrote, 'women are habitually indolent.'"

"But she meant because of their poor education and their enforced subservience."

"Perhaps, but she didn't qualify it in the context, and I gained the impression she regarded most of the human race, of both sexes, as children to be taught better by herself. Her comments on the aristocracy are equally biased."

"Well, you would think that," Beth retorted, enjoying this meeting of minds very much.

"True enough. But you can hardly expect me to be in favor of doing away with the aristocracy altogether."

"I must confess," said Beth, "that having become better acquainted with the species I find there are many who are responsible and industrious and fulfilling their potential. Do you not agree, however, that expecting women to slavishly obey men, even when they are obviously wrong, is ridiculous? Look at poor Clarissa's situation."

She thought he might make a flippant reply, but he answered her seriously. "Yes, I do think it ridiculous. But I don't think I've ever expected that. My mother doesn't strike me as slavish and my sisters never cowered before me. In fact, they could pin me to the ground until I was thirteen, and frequently did. I suppose they slavishly obeyed the duke but then so, by God, did I."