Lady Beware (24 page)

“Please, Harriet, go and get a tisane. My head is torture. I'll ready myself for bed.”

The maid hurried away and Thea quickly took off the shift. A check in the mirror showed nothing. How could there be nothing from such a powerful experience?

Such delicious pleasure.

The musky, dark intimacy.

The tender exploration—

She slammed that door shut.

She washed, put on her neck-to-toe nightgown, unpinned her hair and brushed it out. Then she paused, silver-backed brush limp in her hand, struggling again with tears.

Harriet came in. “Oh, you poor dear! Get to bed, milady, and drink this up. There's a bit of poppy in it to help you sleep.”

Thea climbed into bed and sat propped up by pillows to sip the drink. It was sweetened, but she could still taste the bitterness beneath. A bitterness of herbs, but above all, of opium—Dare's demon, but such a blessing in small, occasional amounts.

Was Darien like that? Safe only in rare small doses?

Had she taken too much, too often, and become an addict?

How right he'd been—marriage wouldn't work for them. Thus, she'd have to endure the torture of withdrawal as Dare was doing.

As Thea returned the cup, Harriet said, “I'll get your nightcap, milady.”

“Don't bother.” She slid down under the covers and Harriet arranged the pillows.

“You go to sleep, now. It'll all be better in the morning.”

Harriet extinguished the candles and left. Thea lay in the dark, knowing it wouldn't all be better in the morning. It would be bleak and painful, but in time, if she was strong, she'd have her orderly world back again, and once there she'd find it was just what she wanted.

As the poppy claimed her, a scrap of memory floated through her mind.

“Loose hair isn't wise, you know. It makes a lady look new come from bed.”

“A lady braids her hair to bed, or confines it in a cap.”

“You'll do that on your wedding night?”

“We will not discuss my wedding night.”

Tears leaked, even as she fell into sleep. Perhaps she wept in her sleep, for she woke with gritty eyes and a smothered feeling.

Harriet brought her washing water. The duchess arrived not much later to check on her health, clearly disappointed that she hadn't enjoyed the masquerade.

“Ah, well,” she said, a cool hand on Thea's forehead, “you never were one for adventures, dear. No need to repeat the experiment.”

I was outrageously adventurous. And look how very unwise it proved to be.

Thea did tell her mother about being in the servants' area, with the reason she'd given out, and about the fight. She expected horror, but though upset, her mother only said, “How fortunate you were with someone like Darien, dear.”

“Except that he went too far. The man was down, defeated, but he carried on.”

“Men do get carried away, but his anger is understandable when he'd seen you so vilely assaulted. I trust his opponent wasn't seriously hurt, though. That could set back his reputation. A shame that you didn't stay for the unmasking. Then people would have known we trusted you to his care. But the story of the fight will spread,” she said cheerfully, “and have the same effect.”

Trusted, Thea thought, feeling out of humor at this cheerful view of things. They'd not been trustworthy at all.

“I can see you're still under the weather,” her mother said. “Have a quiet day, dear. If you feel up to it later, there are some letters from the girls' homes to be answered.”

When her mother left, Thea pulled a face over her mother's idea of a quiet day, but she'd welcome a routine task. The headache and fight gave her some excuse for being quiet, but if she moped all day her mother might become suspicious.

She took a bath and dawdled through her breakfast, but eventually she sent for the stack of letters and the big orphanage record book and settled at her desk. Her mother supported orphans in refuges around the kingdom. On each child's birthday they received a small gift and they were expected to write their thanks. Those too young, or too new to the home to be able to write, were assisted by others.

As encouragement, each letter received a reply and commendation from one of the family. As the number of needy children grew, however, these responses took a lot of time. The men in the family were supposed to reply to the boys, but they often shuffled it off to a clerk or secretary. Thea and her mother tried to keep it up themselves. Probably the children would never know or care, but it seemed important.

The task soon soothed her, and an hour later, when she sealed the last reply, Thea felt a degree of peace. Each letter had shown true gratitude, and the brief records revealed the children's difficult beginnings. This was what was important in life, not masquerades and dangerous men. She wanted a life similar to her mother's, using rank for good.

Her mother burst in. “Excellent news, dear! A letter from Dare to say he's on his way to Long Chart. He started out yesterday, and of course he won't travel on Sunday, and he's taking it by easy stages so he probably won't do more than forty miles a day. We should be able to get home in time to welcome him. We
could
travel on the Sabbath with this excuse….” She shook her head. “First thing on Monday, however, so make sure your packing is done. Oh, and purchases! There are any number of requests from our country friends that aren't filled yet. How improvident. I'll send you the list. You won't mind shopping, will you? You girls love that.”

She rushed away and Thea rang for Harriet, chuckling over her even less quiet day. Being busy was just what she needed, however. By Monday morning this dreadful season would be over. And she would probably never see Lord Darien again. Whatever he decided to do once his brother was able to marry, she couldn't imagine him becoming a regular member of the ton.

She went through her wardrobe with Harriet, deciding what to take to the country and what to leave here. Then she read through the list of purchases requested by country friends. Material, ribbon, hat trimmings, items from a druggist and a perfumer. Books. There was always so much more choice in London than in the country, but this was a Herculean task for one day.

She wrote the book list on a separate sheet and sent it to Mr. Thoresby, requesting that a clerk do that search. Then she set off with Harriet and a footman. For the food items, at least, she could rely on Fortnum and Mason's.

D
arien hadn't slept well, even with the help of brandy. Prussock's statement that it was the last bottle had led him to rebuke Lovegrove, who'd staggered away weeping without even putting away the borrowed costume.

His morning ride hadn't lightened his spirits, and the fact that the artist wasn't in the park had him gritting his teeth even as he knew he was being illogical. Luck Armiger hadn't been there since that first meeting. He'd either run off with the five guineas or was working on his commission.

When he returned, he sat at his desk to write a stinging note to the young man and realized he had no idea of his address. He sent the note to his solicitors, but he doubted that would do any good. No one could be trusted.

Especially himself.

How had he slipped into temptation last night? He knew Thea wasn't the type to take that sort of amusement lightly. Of course she'd leap to marriage. Which was completely bloody impossible.

He took the inventories out of the locked drawer in a good mood to pin down Prussock's guilt, but today the infuriatingly tiny writing made his eyes ache.

Pup wandered in, glowing with health and good spirits. “Thought you was going to that masquerade last night, Canem.”

“I did,” Darien growled.

“Didn't see you.”

Darien focused on him. “You went?”

“Fox took me. Didn't see you. Left early. Going for a toddle.”

Darien knew he should probably go with him, but dammit, he wasn't Pup's keeper. “Enjoy yourself,” he said, and returned to the page, which still didn't make any sense.

He'd done the right thing in the end.

Not to begin with. Preserving her virginity was a minor grace. He'd taken Thea Debenham's innocence, but he damn well wouldn't drag her deeper into the pit.

Pit.

Cave.

Perhaps he should change the pronunciation of the family name.

He abandoned the records, grabbed his hat, gloves, and cane, and strode out to go to Van's house. As soon as Van came into the reception room, Darien said, “Jackson's.”

Van's brows rose, but they were soon both walking to Jackson's boxing establishment.

They'd often boxed and wrestled in the past. Outside of the most active times of war, they'd both needed ways to expend energy. Weaponless fighting, fighting with no intent to kill or maim, had been a recreation. In the past week, however, it had been part of the plan, part of increasing Darien's acceptability with the upper-class men. It had been the part of the effort that Darien had most enjoyed and Van had enjoyed the excuse.

“Maria doesn't like the goods marked,” he'd said. He'd clearly been joking, but Darien guessed only to an extent, so he'd tried not to leave too many marks.

At the sweaty establishment, they stripped down to shirts and breeches, pulled on the big gloves, and set to. Darien had to hold back. Some fire still burned from last night—from the fight, but mostly from the damned mess of it all.

It was good that Thea had seen him fight, that she knew who he was.

A punishing machine.

A killing machine.

Mad Dog Cave. He hated the name, but he knew he deserved it.

It wasn't as if she needed someone like him to keep her safe. Lady Theodosia Debenham would tread through life in golden security as long as she had nothing to do with men like him.

Jackson stood watching them for a moment, calling a few instructions, then stripped down himself and waved Van aside.

“To what do I owe this honor?” Darien asked.

It was an honor, but he could read the man.

“You look as if you need to let loose, my lord.”

True enough, with Jackson he didn't have to be careful. With Jackson, he had to fight for his life. He held his own, just, but it was as well he had no woman who'd be upset over marked goods.

Van complained and Jackson sparred with him—much more as a scientific lesson than a bout.

They washed off sweat and redressed, then relaxed with ale in the parlor.

“Are you going to tell me now what happened?” Van asked.

“Everything, nothing,” Darien said. “Thea Debenham and I were at the Harroving masquerade last night.”

Van's brows rose. “A bit of a change for her, wasn't it?”

“She wanted an adventure.” Darien gave Van a brief account, framing it in Thea's quick-witted context. “I only stepped aside for a moment, and this brute forced himself on her.”

Van took a deep draft of ale. “So you tried to kill him out of guilt at letting him touch her. Very understandable.”

Darien didn't answer. It was true. “At least it's killed any inconvenient enthusiasms she might have been developing,” he said.

“Not necessary anyway. The Debenhams leave for Somerset on Monday.”

It settled like cold stone into Darien's belly. “Dare Debenham's fit again?”

“Fit enough to be on the road, taking it slowly. Is it a problem? You're far enough up the hill to do without them.”

“With the beneficent assistance of the Rogues.”

“It really is time to let go of that, you know.”

Darien pulled a face, but said, “I have. Mostly. I don't know. Things have run fast.”

“So what are your future plans?” Van asked. “For summer, for example. You'd be welcome to spend some time with us….”

He broke off because four men came in, laughing loudly.

Lord Charles Standerton saw Van and Darien and came over. “Did you hear about the incident at Lady Harroving's?”

Darien tensed.

Van shot him a glance, but then said easily, “I gather my friend here pummeled an executioner who'd offended a lady.”

“Was that you, Canem?” Standerton said and laughed. “The man picked the wrong opponent there. No, I'm talking about Prinny.”

“The regent was there?” Van asked in surprise.

More laughter from the group. They grabbed flagons of ale from a servant and pulled chairs up at the table.

“He was indeed,” said Lord Pargeter Greeve. “Dressed as a Roman emperor, laurel leaves and all!”

“Pretending to be incognito,” Standerton said, “but everyone knew him. Didn't you see him, Canem?”

“Must have been after I left.”

“Quite early on. But the real joke was the other Prinny. Someone went dressed as him!”

“Dressed as the regent?” Van said reverently. “Did they meet?”

More laughter was the answer.

“Face to fat face!” gasped Sir Harold Knight, pounding the table with his fist. “I tell you,” he went on when he could speak again, “the faux regent was true to life and more. Must have been pretty plump to begin with, but with two or three pillows on his belly and more wrapped around his thighs. Probably cheek pads, too.”

“Had some tawdry imitation orders glittering on his chest,” said Standerton, “and his hair all teased up like the regent does.”

“Must have been drunk as a monk,” said Lord Pargeter. “Didn't seem to realize what was going on. There was the regent, red in the face, eyes bulging, and the man says something like, “Roman, eh? I'm the Prince Regent.”

The three men collapsed again, wiping their eyes. Darien laughed, too, but he had a horrible suspicion. As soon as possible, he claimed need to leave. As he and Van walked down the street, he said, “How are Pup's marital adventures going? I'm sorry I've not had much time for that.”

“Maria has it in hand. He came to tea with Alice Wells on Tuesday.”

“Will the lady take him?”

“We think so. They walked in the park with her children yesterday and then went to GÜnter's.”

“I must have been too busy for him even to tell me. I feel like a neglectful parent.”

“You're not his father, Canem.”

“No, but if anything's to come of it, someone will have to steer him into a proposal. It's not unfair to her?”

“No. It won't exactly be a love match, but she appears to be truly fond of him. I gather her first husband, who was a love match, was a dramatic, dominating type given to jealousy. Someone amiable and easy to manage and also able to provide security and comfort is just the ticket.”

“I hope that's true. It feels like an imposition, but I need him settled.”

“Any particular reason now?”

“I suspect Pup was the spurious regent.”

Van stared. “What? Why? I mean, why would he do that?”

“He'll do almost anything that's suggested, but the description fits. I detect Foxstall's hand behind it.”

“He's a bad man, Canem.”

“Fox is just restless without someone to fight. Like me, perhaps.”

“No. He has a nasty streak. I've heard tales. If people cross him, bad things happen to them. Deadly ones, sometimes.”

“Then why was nothing done?”

“No evidence, and in wartime it can be hard to tell quite how a person is wounded or killed.”

Darien wanted to defend Foxstall for old time's sake. “I've crossed him and he hasn't wreaked his malice on me. Anyway, he'll be off to India soon. But he is a bad influence on Pup. Best to get him settled in someone's loving care.”

When Darien arrived home, Pup was still out. He returned midafternoon, whistling untunefully. “Been to Tatt's,” he announced with pride.

The famous horse-selling establishment.

“Buy anything?” Darien asked with dread.

“Couldn't quite work out how to bid.”

Thank heavens.

“What did you get up to last night?” Darien asked, pouring them both wine. He expected some awkwardness or even a lie, but he should have known better.

“Went to the masquerade. The same one you were at, Canem. Fox took me, but I didn't see you. Splendid costumes. I was the Prince Regent.”

“Not the wisest thing, Pup. Have you told anyone?”

“Fox said it was a secret.”

“He's right. It would be very bad to tell anyone who you were at a masquerade.”

“Oh, all right. I didn't get to play my part for long, anyway. Met this fat man dressed as a Roman and he seemed cross. Probably wished he'd thought of my costume first. Fox hurried me away. Before I'd had a go at the supper, too.”

Feeling his responsibilities, Darien took Pup to the Egyptian Hall, where the exhibits were exactly the sort to appeal to him. When they returned, there was an invitation for them both to dine with the Vandeimens after church the next day, with the casual note that Mrs. Wells would be there.

“That'll be nice,” Pup said. “Lady Vandeimen keeps a good table.”

“And Mrs. Wells?” Darien asked.

“She probably keeps a good table, too. Or would, except that she's short of money.”

Darien abandoned subtlety. “Which is why you'd better marry her before some other man snaps her up.”

It took a moment, but then Pup said, “Do you think that could happen?”

“Definitely. What you need to do, Pup, is ask her tomorrow.”

Pup pulled at his enormous cravat, as if it was suddenly tight. “How do I do that, Canem? Want to do it right, you know.”

“Of course you do.” Keep it simple, Darien reminded himself. “You ask for a moment to speak to her in private. Maria will take you both to a reception room.”

“Before or after dinner?” Pup asked anxiously.

“Whichever seems best.” Immediately, Darien knew it was unwise to offer choices.

But Pup said, “Before. Worrying about it might turn me off my food.”

“Excellent. When you have her alone, you say something like, ‘My dear Alice, I have come to like and admire you very much. Will you be my wife?'”

Pup moved his lips, rehearsing his lines. “I can do that,” he said.

“Of course you can. Easy as easy. You can go together on Monday to buy the ring, and there's no reason to delay the wedding, is there?”

Pup surprised him with an original thought. “Need a home, Canem. Married man needs a home. Have to wait.”

“You can rent something. I'm sure Mrs. Wells is anxious to leave her brother's roof. You and your wife will enjoy looking for the perfect place at your leisure. In the country, probably. Children need the country.”

“Right-ho,” Pup said. “We can always toddle up to Town now and then. What are we doing tonight?”

Darien wanted to lurk in the Cave cave licking his wounds, some of them real. He was turning stiff from last night's bruises, and Jackson's would set in soon. But by this time tomorrow, Pup might no longer be his burden, so he promised a trip to Astley's, where grand effects, performing monkeys, and pretty equestriennes would be a treat for him.