My Wayward Lady (9 page)
80
My Wayward Lady
by Evelyn Richardson
The very next day Harriet's life took a turn toward the unusual—too unusual even for her comfort. She had appeared at Mrs. Lovington's in her customary manner and was conducting a lesson which was going extremely well. Violet was piecing together a few words from an advertisement in
The Times
and much to Harriet's delight the disturbing gentleman, who had been intruding entirely too often in her thoughts since their last encounter, had not appeared. It was during a pause while Violet was puzzling out the word
engage
that the silence was broken by a piercing scream. Harriet looked up in alarm as the first scream was followed by another and another.
"I think it's Fanny, miss." Lucy leaned forward listening intently. "Yes, it's Fanny."
Not in the least reassured by this, Harriet hurried toward the door of the schoolroom. "We must do something."
"But what?" Violet wanted to know. The girls sat there, curiously unquestioning and passive.
"I am not sure what, but we must. Follow me." And Harriet headed out the door and up the stairs without looking to see what effect her words had had on the others, if any. They had. Led by Bessie, the others charged up the stairs hanging close behind her as Harriet stopped at the first door, listened, shook her head, and proceeded to the next. Finally at the third door she heard the crash of a chair being overturned.
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That was all Harriet needed and she burst into the room which was the scene of considerable disarray. The bedclothes were torn from the bed and hurled all over the carpet, and there was a heavy brass candlestick flung to the floor in addition to the overturned chair. Over to one side by the fireplace, a swarthy man, his thick hands fastened around her throat, was shaking a half-clothed Fanny and shouting furiously, "You bitch! You'll do as I say and like it!"
"Unhand the girl, sirrah!" Harriet shouted as she sprang into the room. The gentleman did not even look up. "Get out of here, you interfering trollop," he snarled as he continued to tighten his fingers around Fanny's neck and she, too weak from lack of oxygen, stopped struggling, using her strength instead to gasp for air.
A red mist of fury rose before Harriet's eyes as she glanced around, desperately searching for a weapon of some sort to threaten him.
Aha,
she thought as she spied the poker. Grasping it firmly, she swung it with all her might against the assailant's right arm. She would have preferred to use it on his head, but much as she wished to kill the man, she knew that such an act would only bring trouble for everyone at the Temple of Venus.
With a yelp of pain the attacker dropped his victim and turned his attention to Harriet. Fanny sank to the floor in a dead faint and Bessie, bolder than the rest who clustered in the doorway transfixed with horror, rushed to her side.
"So, you have spirit do you?" the man growled as he lunged for the poker. "There's nothing I would like better than to tame a little spitfire like you." 82
My Wayward Lady
by Evelyn Richardson
Gritting her teeth Harriet swung the poker again, but she was no match for a powerfully built man who was taller than she was. With one hand he grabbed the wrist that held the poker, pulling her toward him as he wrapped his other arm around her waist. "So you think you are a match for Sir Neville Fletcher, do you my pretty one. We shall see about that," he panted.
A wave of nausea swept over Harriet as his hot breath blew in her face and his fingers dug into her ribs. She tried to ignore the greedy look in his eyes as she fought for control.
I
must not faint, I must not faint
she told herself over and over as she struggled in his grasp.
It was a terrifying experience. Harriet had always been strong enough to do anything she wished to, in fact had scorned those who regarded females as the weaker sex, but now she was fast beginning to learn that men, or at least this particular man, truly were a good deal stronger than women. She was powerless against her aggressor who was not only stronger than she, but larger. He seemed to be all over her everywhere. Her heart began to pound and she gasped for breath.
"Unhand the lady!" the words were spoken quietly enough, but there was a deadly menace in the cool voice. Both Harriet and her attacker stopped dead in astonishment and looked up as Harriet's unknown gentleman strode into the room.
"She is no lady, just a damned interfering trollop and this is none of your business, Chalfont," Harriet's assaulter snarled.
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"It is the business of
any
gentleman to protect
any
lady. Now let her go."
For a moment, Harriet's captor remained still, uncertain as to what to do next. That second's hesitation was all her rescuer needed as he delivered a punishing left to the jaw which sent Sir Neville crashing to the floor at the feet of Lord Chalfont. Stepping over him without a downward glance, Adrian gathered Harriet's hands into his warm, comforting grasp. "Are you all right?"
Too stunned to speak, Harriet nodded dumbly, her brain in a whirl. To think that she would actually be glad to see her tormentor from the schoolroom! He had his arms around her shoulders now and they felt so strong and reassuring, but not as reassuring as the look of concern in those unusual amber eyes. If she had had her wits about her, she might have wondered what it was that made her instinctively trust and draw closer for comfort and protection to a man who heretofore had done nothing but tease her. But she was not thinking clearly. Reacting to her jangled nerves, she only knew what she needed and nothing else.
Gazing down into the dark blue eyes still wide with horror and disgust, Adrian gave her an encouraging smile. She looked so fragile and helpless now when just moments before she had been fighting like a tigress. She was a courageous little thing, his Quakeress, no doubt about that. He had arrived just in time to see the poker being wrested from her clutches and had had no need of the chorus of voices to tell him what had happened. Somehow he had known she would 84
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rush to the victim's defense without a thought for her own safety.
"What a little fire-eater you are to be sure. It is a good thing I arrived when I did or who knows what you would have done to poor Fletcher here." He prodded the inert gentleman on the floor with the toe of one gleaming Hessian. Harriet gave a weak laugh. Some of the color had returned to her face and her breathing was coming more regularly now.
"That's my girl." Adrian beamed at her, relieved to see that she was more the thing now. He longed to do nothing so much as wrap her in his arms and hold her until the trembling, now detectable only as a slight tremor in the hand that pushed a wayward curl from her forehead, had completely subsided. But of course he could do nothing of the sort with the audience they had. "I am exceedingly sorry you had to have anything to do with Fletcher here. He is a very nasty piece of work." Lord Chalfont nodded in the direction of the man on the floor who was now sitting up and shaking his head groggily.
"That he is. And he is no longer welcome in this establishment," an imperious voice broke in. Harriet looked up to see Mrs. Lovington, framed by two brawny footmen, standing just inside the doorway. "Help him to his feet and see him to the door," she commanded. The two footmen leaned down, and each grabbing a shoulder of the unwelcome customer, helped him to rise. "I run a respectable house that caters only to gentlemen and you, sir, 85
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are no gentleman." Mrs. Lovington turned on her heel and swept from the room leaving the others to gape after her. The prisoner was the first to recover. "I'll see you ruined, madam!" he spat as the footmen led him to the door. "And you"—he shouted over his shoulder at Harriet—"I'll teach you to interfere in something that is none of your affair. You're a fighter. I like 'em that way, hot and fiery and all the better to tame." And he leered at her in a way that made Harriet's blood run cold.
"The welfare of another human being should always be the affair of another human being," Harriet shot back with a good deal more spirit than she was feeling. Instinctively she moved closer to her protector who again smiled comfortingly at her.
"Do not worry," Adrian reassured her, "I shall not let anything happen to you. Sir Neville Fletcher is a low, scoundrelly sort of fellow, but he only picks on those weaker than he is. He is not very good
ton
though he desperately tries to be, so you can be assured that he will do his best to keep quiet about an incident that does not redound to his credit. His reputation is unsavory enough as it is; he will not take any chances on its being made any worse. If he does make the slightest move to bother you in any way, you must call on me. I am Chalfont, by the way, and my lodgings are in Mount Street. You have had quite a day. No one else I know would have done such a brave thing, and I am honored to make your acquaintance. Now, may I see you home?" Chalfont. Harriet's brain was in a whirl. Where had she heard that name? It sounded vaguely familiar, but she could not place it, certainly not at the moment when her thoughts 86
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were considerably disordered. She shook her head. "No thank you. I am quite recovered." Glancing around to see that the others, with the exception of her maid Rose, were all clustered around Fanny, she hastened from the room before Adrian knew what she was about. Her retreat was so precipitous that by the time he gained the street she and her maid were already climbing into the waiting carriage. Blast! Was he never to discover anything more about the woman except that she appeared to be devoted to helping others, even at the risk of considerable danger to herself?
How fierce she had looked even as Sir Neville forced the poker from her grasp. What a woman! She had been half the man's size and, from the look of horror and disgust in the depths of her eyes, had never been in that sort of situation before, yet she had fought gamely on, her cheeks burning with exertion, her lower lip firmly clenched between her teeth. More than anything he wanted to take her home, to reassure himself that she was suffering no ill effects from the encounter, to promise her that he would personally see to it that she never had to see Sir Neville again. Actually what he wanted was just to be with her. She was so vital, so filled with an energy and purpose Adrian had not seen in anyone since he had left the army. In her presence he felt more like his old self—the bold and daring Major Lord Chalfont who had led his men into battle against incredible odds and delivered messages behind enemy lines, not the idle useless Lord Chalfont who had no other purpose in life than to escort the Honorable Alicia De Villiers from one
ton
event to another. 87
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And now, even if he had known where and how to pursue his mysterious Quakeress he could not for he was due at the modest house in Hanover Square that the De Villiers' were renting for the Season. His betrothed had made it quite clear that his presence was expected not only for the requisite ride in the park and any entertainment she was attending that evening, but she also expected his escort on any other errands she and her mother might wish to accomplish. In particular she had mentioned that this morning she wished to discuss with him some patterns she had chosen for the refurbishment of the hangings in what was to be her new bedchamber and other various schemes she had dreamed up for the improvement of her new home.
Adrian let out a sigh of resignation as he began to make his way back to his chambers. There was nothing for it but to wait with as much patience as he could muster until the Quakeress's reappearance next week, if she did reappear. His heart sank at the thought that she might no longer visit Mrs. Lovington's, but surely a woman who had exhibited such spirit this morning would not allow one unfortunate episode to deter her from her mission. No, not she.
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In the carriage Harriet was also reliving the entire momentous scene and coming to the rather uncomfortable conclusion that the most upsetting thing about the entire episode was not the horrible way Sir Neville had behaved, but the surge of happiness and relief that had swept over her when Chalfont had come to her rescue. Harriet was not fainthearted and she had never before found herself in a situation she could not manage, so why now should she have been so relieved and happy at the glimpse of broad shoulders filling the doorway as he had stormed into the room? Even worse, why had she clung to him like a ninny even after he had summarily dispatched Fanny's attacker? More mystifying still was the lingering wish that he was still there with his arm around her, solid, safe, and comforting. She had never needed reassurance before, why should she suddenly long for it now, especially from someone who had done nothing before this but tease her, someone who was precisely the useless sort of rake and wastrel she despised?
Of course Harriet did not know for sure that Chalfont, as he had called himself, was a wastrel, but certainly someone who frequented the Temple of Venus as much as he appeared to was not involved in much activity of a productive nature. And though it was well enough known even among the young misses of the
ton
that men did occasionally need to relieve their primitive urges at establishments such as Mrs. 89
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Lovington's, Harriet did not like to think of her rescuer as doing such a thing.
Lord knows she was no prude—quite the opposite in fact. Elizabeth was forever being shocked by her younger sister's free and easy ways, her cavalier dismissal of society's intricate rules and regulations, her insistence on associating with people like Bessie, for example, regardless of their reputations. Why should she now be made uncomfortable by the fact that Mrs. Lovington's ladies appeared to be on excellent terms with the man she had come to consider as her rescuer?
