Surrender to Sin (31 page)

Brother and sister turned to look at them in amazement. Cary did not seem to have heard the Duke. The way he looked at her made Abigail’s knees melt. She quite forgot that he had practically called her a thief. “There you are, monkey,” he said softly. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“You certainly don’t let the grass grow under your feet,” Juliet observed. “But I expect you are quite in the habit of making friends in the street. It’s how you met my brother, I believe.”

“I met your brother at White’s,” the Duke retorted.

“No one was talking to you, Ginger,” said Juliet. “No one even knows you are there.”

“I just met his grace coming out of the bakery,” Abigail blurted. “Quite by accident. He was good enough to escort me to my carriage.”

Cary quirked a brow. “Only just met, and already walking arm in arm,” he remarked. “Pretty fast work, Geoffrey.”

“Oh, no,” Abigail said, flustered. “We met yesterday. I meant to say that we—that
I
bumped into him, literally, in the alley. I ruined his muffins, I’m afraid.”

“I see,” said Cary rather coolly, she thought.

“They told me you’d left town,” said the Duke of Auckland, glowering at Juliet. “I ought to have known it couldn’t be true. I couldn’t be so lucky.”

Juliet tossed her head. “You know, Ginger,” she said coldly, “if you keep eating muffins at all hours, you will soon be too fat to sit a horse properly. Your curricle already lists dangerously to one side when you get into it. I should hate to see you overturn.”

“Muffins,” he said scornfully. “It’s a
bun
, you tart. Trust a tart not to know the difference between a muffin and a bun.”

Abigail gasped. “You…You mustn’t…” she stammered. “I wish you wouldn’t speak to Miss Wayborn like that, sir. It’s very wrong.”

“Who asked you?” Juliet said resentfully.

“You’re quite right, Annabel.” The Duke seized Abigail’s hand in his giant paws and patted it protectively. “I shouldn’t talk to her at all.”

“Annabel!” Juliet and Cary both spoke at once.

“Sir, it’s Abigail,” Abigail said, growing red in the face.

The Duke snapped his fingers. “Oh, that’s right. Annabel was your mother.”

“Anne. Anne was my mother.”

“Anne. Yes, of course. I beg your pardon. I hadn’t thought of it before, but I suppose you must be cousins to these people.”

“Only very distant,” Abigail said faintly.

“
Very
,” Juliet agreed. “Ginger, do you mean to say you
know
Anne Wayborn?”

“Are you talking to me, madam? Yes, I know Anne Wayborn. That is, I know
of
her. She and my mother were very dear friends.”

“Were they?” Abigail exclaimed in astonishment.

“Of course, when your mother married your father, my mother was forced to end the association, but things were different in our parents’ time,” said the Duke. “Mama always regretted giving up your mother. My father, however, was inflexible on the subject. I did think that, when the old earl died, that the new earl would treat you better. This would be your uncle, Annabel.”

“Abigail!” Juliet snapped.

“Sorry. I keep doing that. Abigail.”

“It’s all right, sir. I would just like to go home now, if I may.”

“Just a moment,” said the Duke. “Let me finish. It’s a very funny story. I asked your uncle why he was so hard about your father. Do you know what he said?”

“I’m sure I can guess,” Abigail said, wincing.

“No, you can’t. He said, ‘I don’t care three straws who Anne married, but she never should have taken my old nursey with her when she left.
That
I will never forgive.’”

“What, Paggles?” said Cary, chuckling.

“What’s a paggle?” the Duke asked, puzzled.

“She’s a who, not a what,” Cary explained. “Paggles is Dickie-bird’s old nurse.”

“Then the little thief really
is
our cousin,” said Juliet, clearly appalled.

“Only very distant,” Abigail said firmly. “Now I must beg you all to excuse me. My father will be wondering where I am.”

“Don’t forget our engagement!” said the Duke, rather loudly. “I’m taking your cousin to the theater this evening,” he told Miss Wayborn. “Who knows where it will all end?”

Abigail’s head was beginning to ache. “Sir,” she began unhappily. “It was very good of you to ask me, but I—”

“I don’t suppose you’ll have the nerve to show your face there,” said the Duke. After a moment of confusion, Abigail saw, to her relief, that he was now addressing Juliet.

“Of course I shall be there,” Juliet replied. “It’s Mr. Rourke’s opening night. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Why, Ginger? Is there some reason I
shouldn’t
be there?”

“No, you
should
be there,” he snarled. “I’m glad you’re going to be there.”

“Depend upon it. I shall be!”

“I’m glad!”

“Good!”

“I’m glad because tonight I’m going to give Mr. Rourke the Boo,” he shouted.

Juliet’s eyes flashed and her composure suffered a sharp decline. “You wouldn’t dare!” she spat, trembling from head to foot with rage.

He laughed bitterly. “Wouldn’t I? I’ve got baskets of rotting vegetables waiting at the ready. I’ll give your precious Mr. Rourke a salad he won’t soon forget.”

Juliet stamped her foot. “I’m warning you, Ginger, if anything happens to Mr. Rourke, on stage or off, I swear I’ll—I’ll—!”

“You’ll do what?” the Duke taunted Juliet with evident glee. “Jilt me? You’ve already done that, madam! Think of it, Julie. Your favorite Irishman, covered in slimy cabbage leaves and rotten tomatoes. I wish you much joy of him!”

“If you
dare
to throw cabbages at Mr. Rourke,
I
will throw him roses,” Juliet hissed. “
Red
roses.
Heaps
of them. I swear I will.”

“You’d do that to me?” The Duke’s lip curled. “Yes, of course you would, you serpent. Well, you won’t have a seat in my box, I can tell you. You’ll have to catch as you can in the pit with the rest of your kind. No one will remark on your being alone. Harpies
are
solitary creatures, after all.”

Juliet was white with fury. She caught Cary’s arm for support. “My brother will be escorting me, of course. We have our own box. Isn’t that right, Cary?”

Abigail looked at him with interest. “Are
you
going to the play, Mr. Wayborn?”

He looked back at her. “Are you?”

Abigail bit her lip. “I suppose I could if…if you are,” she said. “Only, I wish no one would throw anything at poor Mr. Rourke.”

“Oh, you like him too,” the Duke muttered.

“Not at all,” Abigail protested. “I don’t think anyone should throw anything at anyone.”

“What an excellent suggestion,” Cary remarked. “Why don’t we call a truce? We’ll all go to the theater tonight, and no one will throw anything at anyone.”

“What about the ball after?” said the Duke. “Am I allowed to throw things at the ball?”

“If you do,” said Juliet, “I shall
kiss
him.”

“I am engaged to go to the Carlton House Ball afterwards, too,” Abigail said quickly, “and…and my father will be there. I should very much like to introduce you to him, Mr. Wayborn,” she added a little doubtfully. “That is, if you would care to—to meet him.”

“All right, monkey,” he said softly. “I should very much like to meet your father. You shall have your truce. Juliet? Geoffrey? Pax?”

“I will if
he
will,” said his sister.

“I will if
she
will,” the Duke snapped back.

“Excellent,” said Cary. “If only the Congress in Vienna had been so agreeable! May I escort you home, Cousin Abigail?”

“Oh,” she said regretfully. “Thank you, sir, but this is my carriage.”

“What? That giant blue thing with the silver spokes?” Cary’s eyes twinkled. “I thought it was the nation’s mail.”

Juliet’s head swivelled around. She seemed quite taken with Abigail’s carriage.

Conspicuously new, it was painted a deep royal blue with sterling silver handles on the doors. The two footmen were in black livery trimmed in silver, with blue and silver cockades on their black tricorns. While understanding that it was far too grand for a mere tradesman’s daughter, Abigail was cautiously proud of it.

“
This
is your carriage?” Juliet asked, with a peculiar inflection.

“Yes, Miss Wayborn. Is something wrong?”

“Not at all,” said Juliet tightly. “It’s a very elegant vehicle, I’m sure.”

“I don’t know horses very well, so perhaps these are no good,” Abigail said doubtfully. “I do hope my father didn’t pay too much for them.”

“The horses are perfect, Abigail,” Cary assured her. “A very handsome equipage altogether. Just big, that’s all. I shouldn’t think it very convenient for driving about Town. Why, you must bounce around in there like a pip in a rattle.”

“Not at all; it rides very smoothly.”

“They’re Cumberlands, ain’t they?” said the Duke, squinting at the four horses.

“Yes, of course they’re Cumberlands,” Juliet said crossly. “You know perfectly well they are Cumberlands, you priceless ass.”

“Pax!” he roared at her.

“You broke it first!” Juliet shrieked.

“All I said was they were Cumberlands,” he grumbled. “How’s that breaking the truce?”

Her gray eyes narrowed to slits. “You know how, you scaly fiend!”

The Duke groaned. “Come, Abigail. There’s no talking to your gruesome cousin when she’s like this.” He nearly wrenched the beautifully polished door of the carriage off its hinges.

“Do be careful!” cried Abigail.

“Thank you, Ginger,” Juliet said, jumping up the steps into the carriage before Abigail.

The Duke stuck his shaggy red head into the carriage and snarled at her. “What do you think you’re doing, Miss? This ain’t your carriage.”

Juliet looked past him and smiled coldly at Abigail. “You can set me down in Park Lane, can’t you, Cousin Abigail? I’ll give you tea if you do.”

Her arrogance took Abigail’s breath away, but, at the same time, she hardly knew how to refuse. She did not wish to appear rude, even though Juliet clearly had no similar scruples, and Park Lane was only a little out of her way. All the same, she would have preferred sharing her carriage with Mrs. Spurgeon’s nasty macaw, dead or alive.

“I’ve got my curricle, Juliet,” said Cary, leaning into the vehicle. “There’s no reason to trouble Cousin Abigail.”

“Hadn’t you better get back to Bow Street, Cary?” Juliet said impatiently. “We wouldn’t want a
certain person
being dragged away in chains during Cleopatra’s lament, now, would we?”

“Damn!” said Cary under his breath. “Yes, I’d better go and call them off.”

Abigail frowned. “Did you
really
hire Bow Street Runners to hunt me down?”

“They’re very discreet,” he said cheekily. “Really, you’re nobody until you’ve had the Runners after you. Unfortunately, they do have a nasty habit of getting results. I’d better go before they snatch you off the street. Geoffrey?” he called to the Duke. “Do you have your grays out today? If not, I’d be happy to set you down in St. James’s.”

The Duke was watching Juliet arrange her skirts so that they fell in neat rows on either side of her. “What? No, I’m on foot.” Abruptly, he clambered up and threw himself onto the seat opposite Juliet. “Could you set me down in Berkeley Square?” he asked Abigail. “It won’t be out of your way.”

Abigail realized with a sinking heart that she would be obliged to bid farewell to the one she could not do without, while being forced to keep company with the two she could most easily dispense with. She could scarcely contain her frustration.

“Your carriage is too big,” Cary informed her, laughing. “That’s your trouble. You could carry about the entire Oxford University Cricket Club in that monstrous thing.” He kissed her hand with disappointing celerity. His smile was equally quick. “Until tonight, then, monkey? It should be an interesting evening.”

“Cousin Abigail?” Juliet inquired shrilly from within the carriage. “Are you coming with us or not?”

To Abigail’s relief, Miss Wayborn chose to punish her jilted suitor by maintaining a haughty silence. The Duke seemed content to glower at Juliet. For her part, Abigail looked out of the window.

The Duke broke the silence. “I’ll call for you at six then, Miss Abigail. No, better make that half past five. It’s a long way to Kensington and back.”

Juliet wrinkled her nose. “Do you live in Kensington, Cousin Abigail?”

“Yes, Cousin Juliet, I do. It’s quiet. I like it there.” She smiled at the Duke. “But you needn’t call for me at home, sir. I am happy to meet you at the theater. I’m sure it would be much more convenient if it were so. I have my own carriage, after all.”

“Yes, we know,” Juliet said dryly.

“That’s awfully decent of you,” said the Duke, taking Abigail’s hand. “My, how considerate
some
young ladies are.”

“Well, young ladies with their own carriages can afford to be considerate,” said Juliet sweetly. “And such a nice carriage it is, too. I particularly like this cobalt blue leather on the seats. How do you like the leather, Ginger?”

He frowned down at the leather cushions. “I know it, don’t I? I’ve seen it before.”

“It’s Italian,” said Abigail. “Specially ordered.”

“Indeed?” said Juliet. “How very nice for you.”

“Thank you,” Abigail said uncertainly. “I daresay it
is
rather too big for me.”

“Where did you get it?” Miss Wayborn inquired politely. “Colfax, of course.”

“I’m not sure,” said Abigail. “My father bought it for me while I was away. He got a good deal on it. Originally, it was ordered by a nobleman for a certain lady, but there was a rift between them of some sort, and when it was delivered, he refused it.”