Marry the Man Today (13 page)

"Ignore you? You must be joking!"

Oh, this was sticky stuff, uncharted waters. "I'm very serious."

"Excuse me, my lord, but every woman for miles around seems to know exactly who you are and are vastly interested in everything you do."

"Me?" That sounded odd. He was hardly ever in town.

"They were willing to bid thousands of pounds in order to win you for an evening at the opera."

The opera? "What are you talking about, madam? Bidding where?"

"
At the bachelor auction at Lady Maxton's Charity Ball. Hasn't she told you?"

"Not a word." A bachelor auction?

"Nevertheless, the club members are sure to want to know the reason that you're loitering in the halls."

"I guarantee that I'll be discreet. Practically invisible."

"Then while you're at it, sir, bring an elephant along from the zoo. We'll put it in the tea room and we can ignore that too. Great heavens, this is ridiculous!"

"But it's the way it must be. I'll do my best to stay out
of sight."

"Excellent. Then I'll just tell them we have a ghost."

"Whatever you like."

"I don't like you."

Indeed. But he wouldn't have expected that to hurt as deeply as it did. "I am sorry for that, madam."

"Another thing, Blakestone. If anyone asks, you will not say a thing to any of the club members about the reason you're here."

"They'll want to kno
w
—"

"And I'll explain that we've had a few break-ins and I've asked Scotland Yard to look into the matter. That's all. Nothing about the missing women and their so-called connection with the Adams. Do you understand me?"

"Fine."

"Good." She took a deep breath and narrowed her eyes at him. "Now if you'll please leave m
y
—"

"Just a few more questions ..." He still needed to think this whole thing through. Square the facts with the crime, and judge them against the threats.

She groaned and leaned against the arm of the chair. "Please, Lord Blackstone, it's nearly two o'clock in the morning."

"I've been looking into the inheritance you received from your aunt
s
—"

"You've been what?" Suspicion flared in her eyes, winging her brows. "You have no right! My financial status is none of your business."

Now was not the time to tell her that he was determined to make everything about her his business.

"You were your spinster aunts' sole heir to a substantial fortune." Nearly ten thousand pounds a year. Most of which she wisely kept in high yield bonds, managed nicely by the Bank of England.

"How could you possibly know that?"

He held back his smile of satisfaction. Because if the woman knew the extent of his resources, she'd throw him out the open window into the alley below.
"
I have my sources."

She f
i
xed an outraged glare on him that he could feel right through his skull to the back of his brain. "Damn you," she whispered with such naked loathing he drew back from her in confusion.

No longer sure of himself, he toned down his approach. "Was the will ever contested, Miss Dunaway? By a disgruntled relation?" Not that he expected her to answer.

"No. I am a free and independent woman. No one, anywhere, has a claim on my finances. And I plan to keep it that way. Now if you're finished, I've got a busy day tomorrow."

A huge yawn seemed to ambush her. She rubbed her forehead as though she was tired beyond sleeping, making him feel like a complete heel as she shambled toward her bedchamber.

"Busy at what?"

"Club business, if you must know." He didn't like the tone of the frown that she tossed back at him from over her shoulder, or the challenge in her voice as she turned back to him at the door.

"I absolutely must know, madam." And he was just as certain that the woman would absolutely tell him nothing on her own. All right, then; the gloves were off. He plopped down onto the sofa. "Good night, then, Miss Dunaway.
"

Another scowl. "I thought you were going to use the visitors' parlor."

"Tomorrow. Tonight, I'll be right here. If you should need me."

She cast a wry glance at the spindly piece of furniture, then another at him, with a slow shake of her head. "Does your wife know you're spending the night in my suite?"

He tucked away his smile. "Believe me, Miss Dunaway, if I had a wife, I wouldn't be here."

"Oh." She gathered her robe about her like an armored shield. "Well then, sir, sleep well."

And if
she
was his wife, he sure as hell wouldn't be sleeping out here.

Chapter 9

If particular care and attention is not paid to the ladies, we are determined to foment a rebellion, and will not hold ourselves bound by any laws in which we have no voice or representation.

Abigail Adams, to her husband John March 31,
1
776

“”T
his way to the carriages, ladies!" Elizabeth called into the crowd of milling women in the lobby of the Adams. Their random circling reminded her of rounding up a flock of chickens on her aunts' manor farm.

"Carriages, where, Elizabeth?"

"Outside, Mrs. Deverel, in the drive-up." These were all highly intelligent women, one-on-one, but jam them together into a gossiping mob and they lost all sense. "We've got three carriages. Plenty of room for everyone. Just find a place and sit down or we'll be late."

And the omniscient Earl of Blakestone might appear out of nowhere and discover them leaving on their expedition, then follow them with his blaze of objections right to the steps of Westminster.

Or concoct some obstacle to keep them from leaving the Adams at all. For their safety. For England. For the good of mankind.

She had expected to run his gauntlet of questions that morning on the way out of her bedchamber. Heaven knows, she'd felt him there all night long. Even imagined herself waking to the sight of him standing in her doorway, his bronze chest naked in the moonlight, stalking toward her, his corded muscles shifting . . . Ahem!

But by the time she'd bathed and dressed, he had already disappeared from her sitting room. Her hopes that he'd reconsidered his unnecessary security measures against a nonexistent threat to her and the ladies' club had been dashed when she found three very serious men walking a frowning circuit around the Adams.

Trapped. Observed. For no reason whatsoever.

Except that she'd obviously done her job far too well. But how could she possibly have predicted that secretly arranging steamship passage for one young woman who desperately needed to escape her abusive husband would so quickly escalate into a full-scale clandestine conspiracy to aid and abet two other equally desperate women?

A total of four now, counting Lydia, who was quickly recovering from her ordeal and gaining back that much needed will to triumph over the worst of her fears.

"I thought I'd bring one of our Votes for Women signs, Elizabeth." Justine Knox grinned broadly as she held up the sign between them. "Just to get my husband's attention on the back benches.

"Let's leave that here, Justine," Elizabeth said, gently taking the sign from her. "Remember, ladie
s
—
t
his goes for all of u
s
—
w
e're not attending the session of Parliament to protest this time. Only to listen and learn."

"
Aw
www
w
..." They all groaned like a team of cricketers at a rained-out match.

"So we don't want to do anything to call attention to ourselves...."

But, of course, they couldn't really help it. As much as Elizabeth wanted their expedition to be unremarkable, a dozen well-dressed women marching up the public steps of Westminster was bound to cause a
fu
ror.

******************

St. Stephen's Hall had been ringing with male voices when the ladies of the Abigail Adams entered the long room, but the sight of the women traveling in a pack seemed to have struck the men dumb.

The stunned silence followed her determined group through the narrow, grandly vaulted hall, right into the central lobby, where the women broke into a chorus of oos and ahs about the impressive architecture, and wandered about among the other denizens of the room.

"Oh, my! Look at that spire!" Mrs. Garrison pointed her gloved finger into the air. "Why, it's grand!"

It was, indeed. The octagonal tower was a full seventy-five feet high, and crowned with ta
l
l windows framed by lacy Gothic arches.

"Ooo! And there's the Duke of Argyll!" Mrs. Barnes was heading toward the man and his knot of aides.

Elizabeth hooked the woman's arm and turned her toward the group. "Mustn't interrupt the duke while he's in conference. Now, let'
s
—"

"And if I'm not mistaken that's Sir William Molesworth," Mrs. Deverel said, narrowing her eyes at the man. "The Commissioner of Public Works. Excuse me, dear, I need to see him about a pothole in front of my town house."

"But, Mrs. Deverel, it's time to take our seats in the public gallery. Come along, ladies!"

Elizabeth had visited the halls of Parliament a few times since moving to London, but she'd never made it beyond the central lobby into the gallery of the House of Commons.

Nothing was going to stop her today. Not flood nor famine, nor busybody earls.

Especially not unmarried ones, who had slept the night just outside her bedchamber.

"Have you lost your way, ladies?" An official-looking little man was bearing down on them as they moved toward the Commons, a patronizing tolerance for the weaker sex hovering beneath his neat moustache. "You have found yourself in the halls of Parliament."

"Excellent, sir." Elizabeth met him before he could plow into the center of her party and risk his equanimity. "That's exactly why we had our carriages drop us in front of St. Stephen's Porch."

His smile thinned. "
W
hyever would you want to do that, madam?"

"Because we plan to . . . to . . ."

Oh, blast it all!

Blakestone!

"Look there, Elizabeth, dear," Mrs. Barnes whispered, nodding slightly toward St. Stephen's Hall. "It's that stunning earl. And he's coming right this way, like a locomotive."

With a full head of steam.

"Let's go, ladies!" Elizabeth left the little official stammering and started herding the women toward the long corridor and the Commons lobby beyond. "Up the stairs to the Public Gallery. Careful now."

Elizabeth could feel Blakestone's eyes burning into her back as she hurried with the last of the group down the narrow corridor.

Knowing she couldn't escape him completely, she waited until the women had reached the Commons lobby, then stopped at the end of the corridor to wait for him.

"Ah, Blakestone," she said as she turned on her heel to meet him. Every massive ounce of him coming toward her as though he would overtake her like a thunderstorm. "Fancy meeting you here in Parliament. Is the Lords in session today? Or are you on loan to the prime minister?"

He took up her elbow and brought his steaming temper against her ear. "Bloody hell, woman, you told my guard at the Adams that you were heading for Kew Gardens."
      

"You know women. We change our minds as often as we change our hats."

"Why did you lie? Because you didn't want me to know what you were up to today?"

"Because you'd send someone to follow us, wouldn't you? Even though we are perfectly safe from an abduction. I don't appreciate being tended to like a child."

"Or is that your guilty mind, Miss Dunaway? What sort of mischief are you planning now?"

"Mischief?"

"Another protest? Have you Women's Rights signs tucked up under your skirts?"

Elizabeth should have gasped in outrage, but the sound turned instantly into laughter. "You must be joking."

"Oh, no, madam. I can see your plan now: just as the Speaker opens the debate, your ladies launch into a chant."

Elizabeth caught her hand over her mouth to quiet her laughter, but Blakestone only drew her closer, his sultry whisper dashing against her temple.

"I warn you against this, madam. A single outburst from your ladies in the gallery and the sergeant-at-ar
m
s will haul you away to jail, and then you will have your precious press coverage in spades."

"Excellent news, sir." Delighted to find the man so disgruntled and so unable to freely chide her in such a public corridor, she turned her head and whispered against the slight bristle of his very male cheek. "Any suggestions as to what we should shout to make the biggest impression?"

He scowled fiercely down at her, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Mocking Parliament is no way to win them over to your cause."

"We had planned to shout 'Give us the vote or give us death!' but that might not quite do the trick. However, it'll have to do for now since we're late and fresh out of ideas." She gave the startled man a huge smile, then started into the nearly empty Commons lobby, darting toward the gallery stairs.

"Oh, no you don't, madam!" He caught her arm as she reached the base of the stairs. "If it weren't for the Lord Mayor's inquiry, I'd be sorely tempted to let you go make a fool of yourself."

"Then what do you mean to do with me instead? Tie me here to the banister? Or put me in stocks out in the old courtyard? Think of the press coverage then!"

"A pity we've outlawed that sort of punishment."

"An even greater pity that you have no idea when I'm pulling your leg."

"What do you mean?"

"The ladies of the Abigail Adams have not come here to protest."

"Then what?" He narrowed his eyes at her, focusing their dark intensity on her own. "You're surely not here for anything but mischief."

"There's a great pity too, my lord. That men cannot fathom the fact that women might possibly be interested in the everyday workings of government. But we are."