Lady Hawk's Folly (20 page)

“The fact that you are a guest in my house,” Hawk said evenly, “not to mention a guest in my country, prevents me from tossing you over that balcony, Highness. But it does not prevent me from interrupting this pretty scene to send you about your business. I will have my butler show you out.” He stood aside to let the prince pass by, but before he followed, he looked directly at Mollie, and despite the uncertain light, there could be no mistaking the fury in his eyes.

“I suggest you return to your guests at once, madam. You and I will discuss this incident fully at a more appropriate time.”

I
T WAS A FEW
moments before Mollie could gather her wits. Hawk’s sudden appearance and patent misunderstanding of the scene had shocked her to the point where she was unable to think clearly, but one thing was certain: she must stifle the emotional upheaval that was threatening to overcome her. There was no time for shock, worry, or anger. She must return to the saloon and she must make it appear as though nothing had occurred to distress her. There would be eyes everywhere, and the scandalmongers would have a field day if they thought Hawk had interrupted a tête-à-tête.

The piano concerto was approaching an end, so the time had come. Taking a deep breath, she stepped through the curtains, smiling as naturally as she could at the first person who chanced to look her way, which happened to be Lord Breckin. Then Lady Bridget came quietly up to her, her brow slightly furrowed.

“Is everything all right, my dear?”

Mollie nodded, feeling as if she had suddenly been split into two persons, one concentrating on what Hawk must be doing and thinking, while the other smiled and chuckled and nodded in response to a number of curious expressions.

“I am fine, ma’am. If anyone should inquire, I had a slight headache and stepped out for some air. His highness popped his head out to ask if I needed assistance, and Hawk came looking for him to discuss some matter of business. Please do not allow anyone to refine too much upon the matter.”

She knew that she was babbling and that Lady Bridget probably wasn’t swallowing the half of it, but the exchange helped Mollie gather her resources sufficiently to parry the one or two oblique references to the situation that came her way.

Some fifteen minutes after he had left it, Hawk came back into the room. The servants had begun to serve tea, and a number of people were ready to take their departure. Moving into the hall, Hawk put a casual hand at his wife’s waist as they bade their guests farewell, and though Mollie trembled at his touch, she forced herself to smile up at him, knowing that such an open display of affection, rare in their set, would do more to stop any pending rumors than whatever nonsensical tale she or Lady Bridget might put about.

It was some time before they saw the front door shut behind the last guest, but the moment still came too soon to suit Mollie. She wanted nothing more than to link her arm in Lady Bridget’s when that gentle dame informed them that they might stay up all night long if they chose, but she, for one, was going to bed. Stifling her more cowardly instincts, Mollie meekly said good night, and a moment later, except for the footman extinguishing candles in the downstairs rooms, she was alone with her husband. She glanced at him hesitantly.

“We will go upstairs,” Hawk said, his hand firmly in the small of her back. He did not actually push her, but she knew there would be no point to be made by resisting that pressure. She did attempt to speak, however.

“Gavin, it was not what you think.”

“Upstairs, madam. I have no wish to discuss the matter where we shall be overheard.”

Swallowing hard, she followed him, and nothing more was said before they reached her bedchamber, where both Cathe and Mathilde du Bois awaited her. Hawk dismissed them without ceremony, and the moment they were gone, he turned to his wife, letting his anger surface at last.

“I told you to have nothing more to do with that fellow.”

“And then ordered me to invite him here,” Mollie countered, her own temper stirring.

“That has nothing to do with the matter. I didn’t bring him here for your entertainment.”

Mollie forced herself to speak more calmly. “That business on the balcony was not what you thought,” she said. “What you saw did not occur by my choice, sir, but entirely against my will.”

“Do you deny you have been flirting with the fellow everywhere you have met him?” Hawk demanded.

“I have not been flirting. I have merely been friendly.”

“With a man of his stamp it amounts to the same thing,” he returned implacably, “and, I confess, the minor differences between your notions of friendship and flirting would be difficult for any ordinary mortal to discern. Moreover, I specifically told you to have nothing to do with him.”

“I won’t be told who my friends will or will not be,” Mollie said bitterly. “You agreed to let me go my own way, my lord, and to discuss matters, not to give arbitrary orders. Yet, in this instance—”

“In this instance I gave orders because it was necessary,” he said, interrupting her.

“Why was it necessary?”

He hesitated, but her glare dared him to answer, so finally, goaded, he said, “It was necessary in order to stop the tattlemongers. You have indulged in a good deal of folly over the past four years, my lady, and your reputation is more fragile than you might suspect.”

Surprised by the line of his attack, Mollie turned away, biting her lower lip. “You said you didn’t believe those tales,” she reminded him.

“Are they all untrue?”

She turned back, words of defense springing to her tongue, but when her gaze met his, the most she could manage was to say the tales were exaggerated. “I cannot know precisely what was written to you, of course, since you have not told me, but I do know Lady Andrew, sir, and most of your other relatives are cut from the same cloth.”

“Other people are not, however. Gwen, for one.”

“Good gracious, Gavin. Gwen would never tell tales of me! What are you implying?”

“I merely mentioned Margate to her. I daresay she assumed I knew the whole, for she attempted to defend you, Mollie. Do you intend to dress as a Vestal virgin for Brummell’s fancy-dress party as you did for that wretched masquerade?”

Her cheeks flushed with deep color. “That costume was not so bad as you have been led to believe, my lord,” she muttered. “It was merely a white gown, bound across the bodice and around the waist with twisted gold cord. Others were amused to designate it a Vestal’s gown. I did not.”

“No doubt it was vastly becoming to you, my dear, but it was scarcely proper attire for a lady in mourning. My father had not been in his grave for three months.”

“And what were you wearing just then, sir? Perhaps you condescended to wear a black armband while you were out hunting. We’ve heard grand tales about Wellington’s officers’ behavior, I can tell you, and masqued balls are but the least of
their
entertainment. Are the Spanish ladies as alluring and generous as one hears?”

“We will leave my behavior out of this discussion, if you please,” Hawk said firmly, refusing to be diverted. “What of your escort on that auspicious occasion? A damned loose screw if the tales come anywhere near the mark. Were you having an affair with him?”

It had taken the bulk of her courage simply to reply to his mention of the masquerade, and she quailed at the thought that he had heard about her escort, but she had never expected such an accusation as this from him. Her hands flew to her hips as fury overcame apprehension.

“I never had an affair with him or with anyone else,” she snapped. “You are the only man who has ever touched me, sir, and you should think shame to yourself for suspecting otherwise.”

“Oh, come now, Mollie, don’t expect me to swallow such a rapper as that one.” He looked almost amused by her anger. “You enjoy our bedchamber exercises far too much now to plead such innocence to me.”

She gasped, “How dare you!”

“Don’t poker up, sweetheart,” he replied, a weary note entering his voice. “I daresay you are afraid I shall cut up stiff, but I’m not blaming you. I’ll even go so far as to thank you for not presenting me with a nameless brat or two. Four years is a long time. I’m willing to put it all in the past, but I am not so willing to put up with a Russian prince now. Nor will I allow you to flaunt your affairs before the eyes of the
beau monde
as you did tonight.”

Speechless with indignation, Mollie could only stare at him. It had never occurred to her that he might believe her capable of adultery. Surely Lady Andrew might have suggested the possibility, but there was not a grain of truth in the accusation. She might have flirted. She might even have behaved occasionally in a manner that would have been more loudly condemned in a lady of lesser rank and fortune. But she had never had an affair with anyone! She attempted to tell him so, but he clearly disbelieved her.

“Look here, Mollie, I don’t care about the past. You may have had a dozen affairs for all I know, and—”

“As you did yourself?” she cried, snatching up a brocade pillow from the nearest chair and flinging it at him. He glared, and she grabbed for whatever came nearest to hand. “Is that why you’re so willing to forgive me, sir?” Her hairbrush missed his shoulder by inches. “Is it? Does it ease
your
conscience to believe such a thing of me?” A hand mirror followed the hairbrush, knocking over a small vase of flowers. “Does it?”

Hawk sidestepped a gold candlestick that crashed into the mantelpiece behind him. Then, his face set with grim purpose, he moved toward her, deflecting a hail of other objects without seeming to take his eyes from her. “Dammit, Mollie,” he said furiously, “whatever you may believe of me, I will not allow you to fling the furniture about. Come here.”

She dodged out of his way, snatching up a framed miniature of her mother in one hand and the book she had been reading earlier that day in the other. She hefted the book, ready to throw it as Hawk advanced steadily toward her. Neither of them paid the slightest heed to the sudden pounding on the door.

“Give me that book.”

“I’ll give it to you!” She drew back her arm, her gaze pinned to his.

The door banged back on its hinges. “I say, Mollie—” Ramsay’s voice broke off as he stared in astonishment at the scene that greeted his eyes.

Startled, both Mollie and Hawk turned to face him, the book still poised high in Mollie’s right hand.

“Get out,” Hawk ordered.

“I—I can see I’ve come at a bad time,” Ramsay stammered, eyeing his older brother in dismay. When a sudden glint of humor flickered through Hawk’s eyes, he relaxed, though his voice had not gained much strength when he spoke again. “I was looking for you,” he said. “Heard a crash and thought perhaps Mollie had done herself an injury or even that there might be housebreakers.” His words were met only by silence, and he shook his head as if to clear it. “I’d better go.”

“Put the book down, Mollie,” Hawk said then, gently.

She looked at it, surprised to find it still in her hand. Then, sheepishly, she dropped it into the chair and turned to Ramsay. “Thank you for your concern. Is your business urgent?”

Her husband shot her a speaking look, but Ramsay said gratefully, “By Jove, it is at that, Mollie. You won’t believe what happened less than an hour ago.”

“I daresay we won’t,” Hawk said, “but it can wait. I have business now with Mollie.”

Ramsay’s cheeks reddened with embarrassment, but he stood his ground. “No, it shouldn’t wait, sir.” He looked at Mollie. “The devil’s in it, Mollie, but we’ve got to tell him the whole.”

She stared at him, her consternation plain. “Must we? Can it not wait?”

“The whole of what?” Hawk looked from one to the other.

“It is nothing that she did,” Ramsay explained hastily. “She merely hoped we could sort it out without confessing my sins to you. But, Mollie, d’Épier means to put the screws to me in a way you’ll not believe.”

“What?” She set the miniature back on the table. “What do you mean?”

“What have you got to do with d’Épier?” Hawk demanded at the same time. “He’s no one you should be associated with.”

“Don’t I know it!” Ramsay admitted. “But I met him through Hardwick, you know, so I thought he was harmless. Only then I lost five hundred guineas to him—”

“You
what
?”

“Gavin,” Mollie put in quickly, “I’m certain the outcome of that game was somehow contrived. Ramsay said he was sure he had more markers on the table, enough to cover his wager, in any case. Only when they counted them afterward, he was short by five hundred.”

“I know I said you were wrong to think that,” Ramsay told her, “but now I believe you must have been in the right of it. Hawk, d’Épier offered tonight to forget the debt if I could contrive to obtain certain information from you about Wellington’s intentions for the late summer and fall.”

Mollie stared at him in astonishment, then turned to look at her husband, expecting fireworks. But instead of flying into the boughs as she had thought he would, Hawk gave a small sigh of what could only be described as satisfaction.

“So, we were right. We knew we were on the track after Vitoria, for the French completely misunderstood the military situation there. Until then, Wellington had been having nothing but difficulties. However, that time he sent false information through regular channels, indicating his intent to retreat out of Spain. Only Bathurst and the Regent knew the truth.”

“Because you told them,” Ramsay guessed, his eyes sparkling.

“Bathurst met us at Hastings,” Hawk admitted. “We brought secret dispatches with us, but by the time we got here, word was already spreading about Wellington’s weakened troops and the necessity for retreat. It was clear that someone was leaking information, and we decided to do our possible to flush him out. We could discover nothing solid, however, and what with the Season rapidly drawing to a close and the Regent planning to move down to Brighton a day or two after his summer fete, it will become more difficult to contain military information here in London. We had hoped, by bringing a number of possibles together here tonight and giving them plenty of port and a chance to mingle, with an odd hint or two tossed to the wind, to stir something, but I never expected this much. Not that d’Épier can be more than an agent,” he added grimly. “We want his contact. But what exactly does he want from you? I hope you did not refuse outright.”