No Place for a Dame (29 page)

“Fun. Yes.” That is exactly what they’d had, but fool that he was, now he wanted something else. Something more. Avery.

“We might… again.”

Her hand curled around the back of his neck and she stretched to her tiptoes, running the tip of her tongue along the edge of his jaw. He froze as her hand scooted down his chest to his waist and below, cupping his member. He was only too human, God knew, and his body reacted where his spirit flagged.

She drew back her head and regarded him triumphantly. “I knew it!” She flung her free arm around his neck, pulled her body up against him, dragging his head down and finding his mouth while her hand worked busily over his erection. She swayed heavily into him, so that he had to clutch her to keep them both from falling.

Angrily, he wrenched his mouth free of hers. All that was needed was a witness for him to be obliged to renew his offer to Sophia. And he did not for an instant put it past her to arrange one.

Chapter Twenty- Nine

A
very stood in stunned silence, not quite believing what had just happened. She had done it! Accomplished the impossible. Everything she had ever dreamt of achieving was soon to be hers.

Sir Isbill had introduced her to his fellow Royal Astrological Society member, Mr. Donald Fuller, a renowned astronomer in his own right. Immediately he’d congratulated her on her impeccable research in anticipating the orbital reoccurrence of the Quinn comet. Her heart had stuttered a few beats on hearing the appellation applied to a comet from lips other than her own and she’d only been able to nod mutely.

Mr. Fuller and Sir Isbill had exchanged what she could only term “twinkling” glances and Sir Isbill had casually announced that not only had he nominated her for admission into the society but, as there had been a quorum present at yesterday’s meeting, they had voted on it. She had been accepted as a member.
And
, Sir Isbill had added, leaning forward with a finger alongside his nose, he had a strong, no, make that a
very
strong suspicion that between the comet and her design for a new telescope lens she stood a strong—no, make that a
very
strong—chance of being awarded the Hipparchus medal.

And the two thousand pounds that went with it.

A short conversation about asteroids had followed, but only between Sir Isbill and Mr. Fuller. Avery had been far too excited to participate. She needed to find Giles. She had to tell him.

She hunted around a little frantically, unable to keep from smiling, scanning the guests for his distinctive gold head, but she didn’t see him anywhere. She went in search of him, grinning in anticipation of his response. He would be so pleased.

But after a few minutes her smile began to falter. Giles was not in the room set aside for dining, nor was he in the room where some guests were gambling. She could not believe he would have left her without saying something, but she had looked in every room that had an open door.

Which meant he must be in one of the rooms with a closed door.

She did not spend time wondering why those doors might be shut or consider whether their being closed meant they were to remain that way. If she understood opening one’s host’s closed doors was inappropriate, she chose to ignore it. She had one idea: to find Giles and share her triumph with him.

The first two rooms she opened were empty. From behind the third door, however, she heard voices—a male and female—but the door was heavy enough that she could not recognize them.

She put her hand on the knob, but an unexpected sliver of tact caused her to turn the handle carefully rather than sweep in unannounced. She peered around the cracked door.

There was no mistaking that golden head, the broad shoulders bolstering the slender female form above him. There was no mistaking the passion of that embrace. There was no mistaking what was happening, what the next minutes would bring. Not with the woman’s hand pressed so intimately where it was.

Avery’s fingers fell from the doorknob. Her breath stoppered in her lungs. She heard a pounding in her ears, but distantly, like drums from some distant plane. And then she was running, her feet carrying her away while her mind remained a frozen witness, jeering at her, “
Fool! Fool! You knew what he was! He told you himself a hundred times!”
and her heart replied, “
I didn’t believe him.…”

“Quinn? Quinn, my good fellow!” Large hands caught hold of her, ending her headlong rush down the hallway. Blinking, she peered up
into Neville Demsforth’s good-natured and concerned face. “Good heavens. Are you feeling all right? You’re positively gray! Shall I send for Lord Strand?”

“No! No.” She clutched at his arm. “I’m just out of sorts. I don’t belong here. I feel out of place, is all.”

Neville, bless him, grew grave. “Did someone insult you?”

She shook her head. “No. Actually, quite the opposite, but it’s all rather much, you understand. I just want to be able to be myself without worrying about how others see me.” The words tumbled out of her, far more truth than she’d meant to tell, but she could not have found a more sympathetic ear than Neville’s.

“I understand. Mother has me taking dance and bowing lessons and French lessons and I’m no good at any of it! I am sure everyone thinks I am a laughingstock and pity any girl who has to spend more than five minutes in my company.” He glanced over at her. “I’m sure you understand.”

She had nothing to say, her mind’s eye was still riveted on the scene she’d witnessed. She choked back a sob.

“There, there! I’m sorry. Didn’t mean anything by it. Gads, you’re even more of a disaster than I am, aren’t you?” he asked wonderingly.

“I expect so.”

“Come on. We’ve both had enough of me uncle’s party. Let’s find that card game I told you about. No one to judge there. No one to nag.” He said this last with a telling glance towards his mother who stood craning her neck and critically surveying the crowd.

Avery didn’t care where they went, as long as it was away. Panic filled her at the thought of facing Giles. “Yes,” she said. “Yes. Can we go at once?”

“Of course. It’s not that far away. We’ll slip out now, while Mother is towing poor Lucy around trying to hunt down Strand.”

He grabbed hold of her elbow and wheeled her around and in a matter of minutes they’d collected their coats and were gone.

Will sat huddled in the interior of Lord Strand’s brougham coach, Belle curled in his lap. She made a comfortable armful, warm as a hot water bottle, and if he hadn’t been given a task he might have fallen asleep right there and then. It weren’t bad inside, what with the wind kept at bay.

But he fought the drowsiness that threatened and kept his gaze hard on the front door of the mansion into which Lord Strand and the he-she lad, Quinn, had vanished. Phineas, having spied a couple of his mates amongst the other drivers, had gone off to a public house located halfway down the street. He’d invited Will to join them but, though Will appreciated the offer, he shook his head.

His lordship had said to Will, “Keep an eye on things,” and that was just what Will was aiming to do because, as God was his witness, he never intended to give Lord Strand the slightest excuse to be rid of him. Or Belle. He’d lived in St. Giles’s squalor long enough to ken there was no future there for an undersized boy with ambitions above getting deported or havin’ his neck stretched.

Besides, he had another job to do.

So, Will straightened right up when he saw the odd little bloke Quinn come out the front door. And he was just preparing to run quick and fetch Phineas when he realized that the little bugger weren’t with his lordship at all, but in the company of a big, brawny sort of bloke that to Will’s eye would have looked more comfortable behind the back of a plow than in some posh drawing room.

As he watched, the ill-matched pair hurried down the stairs but, rather than get into one of the waiting carriages, they set off up the street heading east towards Covent Garden.

It didn’t occur to Will to wonder what two young gentlemen would want in such a place. He knew. He also knew their chances of finding it were significantly less than their chances of finding something they neither wanted nor had bargained for. The chances of
that
happening were very good indeed.

Will squirmed, uncertain of what he ought to do. On the one hand, he weren’t no snitch. If a couple of green would-be swells wanted to have a peek-o-day down in the stews, weren’t no business of his. On the other hand, ’twas clear as black on a crow that his lordship was strange fond of Mr. Quinn and wouldn’t like no harm coming to him—which flummoxed Will who, as one who accounted himself a fine judge of men,
reckoned Lord Strand must be amongst the manliest the ton had to offer. At least he were a good enough specimen to best his dad, curse his black soul.

Will considered fetching Phineas, but like as not he’d only get cuffed for his trouble and told to mind his own business. And he should. Still…

With a curse that would have had the old biddy Mrs. Silcock boxing his ears ’til they rang, Will set Belle down and exited the carriage. He pulled the scarf the footman Burke had given him up over his head, covering his ears, then he tucked his bare hands up the sleeves of his new coat.

“Stay here, Belle,” he sighed and started trotting up the street. “I’m just gonna go see where them two is goin’, is all.”

Chapter Thirty

L
ike an ant’s nest kicked open by a cruel boy, the low, mean rooms of The Crown and Cock churned with life. Dustmen and costermongers, linkboys and porters crowded together in a raucous spectacle, shoving and pushing and embracing one another. Some slouched against walls, others crowded the benches, banging their tankards or singing in boozy chorus. Everyone seemed to be shouting either encouragement or invective while half-clad girls rained bawdy invitations down from the overhanging balconies that led to smoky backrooms.

“It’s marvelous, isn’t it?” Neville shouted above the din. “So… natural. None of that Society claptrap! These are real people, Quinn. No one here will judge or find fault with you. Here you’re free.”

Yes, Avery thought cynically, free to be plucked clean of any loose object one carried. Sure enough, as she watched, a girl in a dirty shift sniggled the handkerchief from a bemused buck’s coat pocket while he ogled a barmaid.

Not that Avery cared. Her mood was dark, her thoughts swinging between hot jealousy, disgust with herself, and fury that Giles had wanted that unknown woman… and not her.

What a fool she was!

A fat woman in a tight bodice appeared at their sides and thrust heavy tankards into their hands. “On the house, gents!” she said, lifting her head to answer a shouted order from nearby.

Avery set her tankard down, untouched. Not Neville. He took a hearty swig, choked, laughed, and took another. “Terrible stuff. Appalling!” he declared and finished the rest off.

The woman must have been irresistible for Giles to have risked her reputation in so public a place. He hadn’t even bothered to lock the door. Why? It made no sense. Unless he’d been carried away by desire.