Tempted (14 page)

She stared at that arm, wondering if she should take it.
Take it, Mary, it’s not a bleedin’ tiger’s tail.

“Indeed you may,” she said at last. Bugger it, she was Mary Callahan. Afraid of nothing.

Only the moment she touched him, it all came back. All too vividly she remembered the way it’d felt to be snuggled next to him. Remembered how she’d had to fight the urge to simply revel in the way he held her so safely and securely in his arms. Aye, the way his fingers had felt gliding across her face. Tenderness. He showed her that, and lord help her, she’d never had it before…

“That is a fine jacket,” she said to cover her sudden anxiety.

“It is my cousin’s,” was his expected answer.

And Mary suddenly found it hard to swallow. What had happened to the sultry vixen? To the saucy wench? To the self-confident Mary Callahan?

Gone by the wayside, she had. And it angered her because all her life she’d fought to stand on her own two feet. Aye, she’d done some things she weren’t proud of to get to where she was. And now here she stood in a nobleman’s house, touching a nobleman’s arm and she’d gone as soft as freshly oiled reins.

What a pea goose.

Lifting her chin, she reminded herself that this was all a farce. That she would enjoy the next few hours, whatever they might bring. Memories were what she’d take away. Aye, and that was all, for she wasn’t fool enough to believe there would ever be anything else.

Such as a happily ever after.

Chapter Fourteen

Her bravado lasted until the moment she entered the main hall.

What was it with the bleedin’ nobility that they all owned spectacular homes? Grand did not begin to describe either the duke’s or the earl’s, though each was as different as a cat was from a dog. While the duke’s hall had been wide and spacious, the earl’s hall was dark and dull, only…not. To their left and right were open doors that allowed light to filter in from windows in the exterior walls. She gawked until she caught sight of the trees. Aye, trees. Four of them there were, two on the left and two on the right, and taller than herself. Only as she got closer did she realize they were giant ivy topiaries, the pots they stood in bigger than Mary’s bed back in London. Lord.

She glanced up at Alex who, of course, looked completely impervious to it all as they headed through the center of it, though how someone got used to such surroundings, Mary sure as certain didn’t know. Just then she spotted a moth fluttering above their heads, the creature’s presence amongst such a pristine environment somehow out of place.

Mary felt a lot like that moth.

“Are you ready?” the marquis asked, pausing before a closed door, the servant who stood next to that door standing so upright, Mary was certain a stick was strapped to his back. Inside she could hear muffled laughter mixed with the murmur of voices. And for just a second Mary felt a great fear come over her. Aye, almost like the time she’d come face to face with a large, snorting bull that’d escaped from a nearby pasture back in Hollowbrook.

But years of quelling a nervous stomach enabled her to look up at him and say, “I am.”

Alex nodded. The servant opened the door, and conversation in the room stopped. As Mary glanced inside the room, she realized she might, just might have bitten off more than she could chew.

Ladies dressed fancier than parade horses stared back at her. Five of them there were, two of them wearing, of all things, fortune-teller turbans with ornate feathers tucked into the front of them. Jewelry as grand as the Queen of England’s sparkled on their bodices and on their heads. Real emeralds with diamonds encrusted around the sides. One young lady even wore a coronet with a diamond as big as her pinky nail for a center stone. And though she’d felt rather fine in her green dress, only now did she realize that the gown she’d been given could only be called second rate. The women before her wore satin and lamé in various colors: burgundy, yellow, even pristine white. And with various stripes and prints that made her own dress appear dowdy.

And the way they stared. It always amazed her. A noblewoman could look a person up and down in a way that made a person think they’d been born and raised in a dust bin.

“There you are, cousin,” the earl said, crossing an Oriental rug so plush, Mary’s feet hardly hurt at all as Alex led her across it. The room had a fireplace made of green stone, and despite the pristine environment, she noticed that not even nobles could keep the smell of smoke from invading their room. But it was a grand fireplace, indeed. Gray and black marble. And a matching clock that rested upon a marble mantel so large, Mary imagined she could play shuttlecock upon its surface. Everything looked clean and neat and so new, Mary ached to touch the precious objects on the shiny inlaid side tables. Only the earl stood before her now, Mary admitting he was nearly as handsome as the marquis. Nearly.

He took her hand—and it only went to show how bosky-headed she’d gone for that her hand shook with fear—raised it to his lips as he murmured softly, “Curtsy,” with a smile.

Curtsy?

Oh.

She started, then sank down. The earl looked down at her in approval. So she sank even lower.

He frowned, leaning toward her under the pretext of kissing her cheek only to say, “Not so low, for I am only an earl, and your cousin.”

She jerked. Too abruptly it turned out, for her head cracked him in the face.

“Oh, good lord,” she said, realizing what she’d done. “Rein, are you all right?” Alex asked.

“My nose,” the earl mumbled from behind his hands. Everyone stared; Mary wanted to dive beneath the bleedin’ fancy rug. It didn’t help that when the earl removed his hands, blood smeared his face.

“Oh, my goodness,” Mary gasped.

Someone else gasped, though it was more of a moan. Mary turned just in time to see a portly lady hit the ground like a giant pine. That started a trend—and Mary would swear later it was like watching one tree knock down another. One by one the females of the room listed to the floor. Mary’s mouth dropped open. She turned to Alex, saying, “Either someone passed foul wind, or they’re overreactin’.”

To which Alex choked, or laughed, Mary couldn’t be sure.

Rein followed her gaze and said, “Oh, for God’s sake. Ladies, ’tis just a little blood.”

“Here,” Alex said, holding out a white handkerchief. “Cover yourself before we have to fetch a physician for the whole lot.”

Rein dabbed at his nose, Mary noting that it did, indeed, look awful.

“You’re going to have a nasty bump on the bridge,” Alex observed.

“Lord,” Mary said. “I’m so sorry, m’lord. I’d never curtsied to a bleedin’ earl before. His lordship here, yes, but he’s a nabob what doesn’t count.”

And after she said the words, it was one of those moments, one of those awful moments when you realize you’ve shot yourself in the arse by opening your big, fat flapper. Mary glanced around. From the floor their lady-ships’ eyes popped open, one by one. The men who kneeled over them looked up, too, froze, one portly chap going so far as to say, “Never
curtsied
before? What the devil does she mean, never curtsied before?”

“My thanks, Mary,” Rein said an hour later. “You managed to empty my house faster than I thought possible.”

Indeed, she had, Mary thought miserably. She looked at the earl, lifting her chin a notch as he lifted a glass of brandy in her honor. And though she made sure to place a look of sublime unconcern on her face, there was a large knot in her throat, one made up of humiliation and, of all things, disappointment.

“I tried to cover my slip.”

And she had, only she’d made it worse, forgetting her fancy accent and muddling the whole thing. She glanced over at Alex. He sat near the fire, staring into its depths as if contemplating the troubles of all mankind, or simply himself. And he had cause to be contemplative, Mary admitted. She’d gone and caused him trouble, for Alex had tried to explain to the earl’s guests that her appearance at Sherborne was an accident.

They hadn’t believed him. And, really, Mary was surprised Alex had thought they might. Hadn’t he learned by now that people actually
wanted
to believe the worst? That mankind lived for the latest scandal? Odd’s teeth, it was such a basic lesson, Mary had a hard time understanding how it’d escaped him.

“And Alex,” the earl said next. “Why such a long face? Welcome to the ranks of rakes. You should be honored, for not even I would ever dare to pass my mistress off to the
ton.
You’ve outdone me, old boy. Handily, I might add.”

“Oh, stuff a fist in your mouth, m’lord,” Mary finally said, unable to take his sarcasm a moment longer. “Can’t you see he’s ready to shoot himself? He’s a man what spent his whole life trying to escape his father’s reputation. And in one night—one bleedin’ night—I have to go and open my mouth and now all of London will believe he’s as bad as his sire.”

“Worse, actually,” Rein added with a smile. “For as I said, he tried to pass you off.”

“Worse,” Mary agreed.

“Oh, stop it, the both of you.” Alex stood up abruptly. “What’s done is done.” He looked over at Mary with an expression of self-flagellation. “You cannot be blamed for what happened, for it was I who came up with the idea of dressing you as a lady. ’Tis not your fault that you lack the skills. Not your fault at all.”

His words stung, Mary feeling the ridiculous urge to tip her chin up. She did have the skills. She’d just forgotten them in the resulting melee. If only…

But it was ridiculous to wish for “if only.” As his lordship said, what was done, was done.

“Let us go eat instead of hanging our heads,” Alex added. “I dare say it will do me some good not to have such a sterling reputation. At least the more discriminating of matchmaking mamas will turn their noses up at me now.”

And that was when it dawned on Mary why she truly felt wretched. It wasn’t that she’d failed at being a lady. It wasn’t even that she’d failed herself. It was that she’d failed the marquis, though why it should matter was beyond her ken.

“Indeed, cousin,” the earl agreed. “Mary, if you do not mind dining with two disgraceful wretches, I should like to eat as well.”

Mary didn’t think she could eat a bite. “As you wish, my lords,” she said softly, coming to her feet.

The earl looked at her in surprise, then smiled widely. Mary tried to smile back, but she couldn’t shake the funk she’d sunk into.

Not even the beauty of the room the earl and marquis took her to could shake it. Nor the fact that the table she dined at was as big as the sweet shop she frequented back in London. Nor that, for the first time in her life, she was waited on hand and foot. Mary noticed none of it. Well, she did notice a particularly large spoon made of silver so shiny, she could use it as a mirror if she had a mind to. And that the sausages were particularly tasty. But that was it, because there was one thing that didn’t escape her notice, and that was the feeling that she was a fraud.

Silly chit,
she scolded herself.
You should be used to feeling like a fraud.

Aye, and it were true. For the person who performed so brazenly in front of hundreds of people had always hated it. She despised the exhibitionism of being a trick rider for the Royal Circus: the catcalls, the lewd whistles. She hated the men thinking she exhibited herself to catch their attention. She hated that women thought the same thing when all she wanted to do was show the world how special a horse could be.

“Are you finished, Mrs. Callahan?” asked the earl. Mary looked up. His lordship had been nothing but kind, while Alex…well, Alex had ignored her. And though a part of Mary felt like she should enjoy the earl’s solicitous attention, another part of her admitted she wasn’t in the mood. Her black spells happened rarely, but when they did, she knew enough about herself to know it wasn’t worth the effort to try and lift her spirits.

“I am, m’lord,” she said softly, deciding that what she needed was fresh air. Aye, the smell of candle wax was giving her a headache. And the flower arrangement. And all that rich food. She needed to breathe. To be herself. Not Mary Callahan, nurse. Not Artemis, famous female rider. Just plain old Mary.

“If you will excuse me, m’lord,” she said, rising suddenly. “I believe I shall retire early.”

The earl nodded, looking not surprised. “Indeed, you’ve had an eventful day.”

She looked at Alex, but all he did was give her a brief nod, his eyes not even meeting her own.

So that was the lay of the land, eh? Very well.
Throwing her napkin down on the table, she turned away, uncaring where she went, just wanting to get away.

“Which way to the gardens?” she asked the first servant she could find, a footman by the looks of his fancy white and gold livery.

“Why, I’m sure I don’t know, madam,” he said with a look of affront, and the way he did it, aye, the very way he looked her up and down was exactly like those fancy lords and ladies.

It was funny how a body could keep forging ahead, and then,
blam,
one person could come along. One, inconsequential person could say something rude and cause a body to crumple.

That’s how Mary felt. Like crumpling.

Why?
she yelled at herself. Why did she suddenly feel like crying? Was she worried again about Gabby and Abu? Or were her menses coming on? Was that the trouble? For as sure as she wore borrowed clothes, those were tears she felt at the back of her eyes.

“I see,” she said, lifting her chin as she’d done so many times before. “Well, then, if you would be so kind as to point me to the privy, I’d appreciate it very much. Of course, if you’d rather I toss my accounts all over this fancy marble floor, you could tell me you don’t know where that is, too.”

He pointed to a door beneath the stairwell. Mary turned.

“Thank you,” she said as ladylike as she could. But each step she took, she felt closer and closer to collapsing like a sandcastle doused by a wave.

It was a small room with a slanted roof, thanks to the stairwell above it, but it was clean, and surprisingly spacious, with a wooden privy this time. And it occurred to Mary as she stood inside the tiny, little room: a person’s worth could also be measured by the type of commode he sat upon. The marquis’s had been marble. The earl’s was wood. Hers was a bucket. And so, too, was her life. In a bucket of, well, never mind.

Of course, she didn’t really have to use the privy, she just wanted some privacy and a water closet seemed as good a place as any. There was even a bench next to a dark oak washstand, and so she sat down, placing her chin in her hands and fighting the urge to cry. Silly thing, tears. A monumental waste of energy, she’d always claimed. They made your eyes burn, your skin redden, and in most cases, branded you a fool.

Yet a tear still fell.