Tempted By the Night (26 page)

He leaned over and picked up a stone. After studying it for a moment, he tossed it into the artful pond that delighted so many who came to Hyde Park. The stone splashed into the still water, sending ripples out in all directions.

They sat side by side for a while, before Quince spoke again. “You do know what they intend to do with the ring.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve come here to sit with me while it will most likely be destroyed?”

He shrugged. “I thought that was what you wanted. Finally to end all this. To end us.”

“Harrumph,” she sputtered, and crossed her arms over her chest, and again they sat in silence. A tiny part of her had hoped he would endeavor to do his best to stop Hermione. To recover his ring. To save them both.

Overhead, a shooting star fell, streaking across the sky, then disappearing.

Quince glanced over to see if Milton had seen it, and found him looking at her to see if she’d seen it. His eyes shone, like they had when she first met him, and she recalled what it had been like to be in love with him, when he had loved her.

“I certainly never wanted this,” she whispered.

“I know. I regret my part in all this as well.” He glanced toward the Dials. “There is no other choice. Melaphor has gotten too powerful of late. Too dangerous. He’s stretched his claws too far into this realm, and he must be stopped. If he were to actually…could actually…”

“Kill the Paratus,” Quince whispered. For as much as she feared the Earl of Rockhurst, a world without him would be a far less desirable place.

“Yes, if Melaphor was capable of killing him, ending his family’s reign, then where would our Queen be? Our realm? Our kin? There would be no place for us to return to—that is, if we were ever granted such a pardon.” Milton sighed. “No, there was nothing to do but to sacrifice our ring.”

Our ring
. Those words sent a shiver down Quince’s spine. “’Twas a noble decision, my lord.”

“Yours as well, my lady,” he replied.

They sat for a time in the endless silence of the night.

“I will miss granting wishes,” she confessed.

“I will miss being vexed with you for granting them.” Then he leaned over and brushed a wayward curl back from her face. “You’ve looked younger of late.”

“You noticed?”

He nodded. “I always notice you. Even when you are nattering on at me.” Then he smiled, and Quince’s heart skipped a beat.

“If the ring is destroyed, that will mean—”

“Aye, I know,” he said, glancing away. “We haven’t much time.” Regret filled his words.

Quince glanced up at the ripples on the water. They were now spread out in wide circles, drifting apart and wavering. “I thought it was what you wanted.”

“I thought it was as well, but now—” He looked at her again, and this time he reached out to cup her chin. “I’m not so sure. I fear I still love you, Quince. As aggravating and downright meddlesome as you are, I love you.”

Quince’s breath caught in her throat. She’d never thought she’d hear him say such a thing. But before she could tell him what was in her heart, a great blaze of light ignited in the distance.

The ring. The world around them trembled, and they knew what it meant. The ring had been used to close the holes, and with it all the magic inside it, the magic that bound them together was lost.

But suddenly they both knew they didn’t want their marriage to end just like that, and Milton caught her in his arms. “I’ll not lose you yet, my sweet Quince,” he said, and then kissed her, sealing his vow.

Quince felt her toes curl up inside her slippers as his lips claimed hers, and once again she was young and full of dreams. He continued to kiss her, and she all but forgot that they were about to meet their end.

But that was just it—all things must end eventually, including a kiss, and when Milton finally pulled away from her, they looked each other in the eyes and realized two things.

They were still alive.

So the ring must have survived.

And there was also one other small problem.

Heavens! He still loves me,
Quince realized, and she
let him prove it again with another kiss that lasted until the dawn.

Hermione wasn’t the only Marlowe in Seven Dials that night. Near a gaming den frequented by those in the
ton
who were considered less than reputable, a group of young men were making their way down the street.

“I’ve got a notion I’ll be in the pink tomorrow,” Griffin Marlowe said.

Lord Delamere laughed. “You always say that!”

From nearby, a great explosion rocked the neighborhood, and all them stopped and gaped as a nearby alley lit up, then fell into darkness and silence.

“Devil of a place,” Lord Percy Baker commented, having caught up with the pair.

“No, tonight is my night,” Griffin told them. “My luck is about to change.

Then all of a sudden, he heard the clatter of something falling at his feet.

Griffin bent over and picked up the silver bit, then held it up to his friends. “Perhaps not pennies from heaven, but I daresay it might be worth something.”

“Nothing that won’t turn your finger green,” Lord Percy teased as he leaned over to inspect Griffin’s find.

“Well, I consider it a lucky token,” he said, sliding the ring onto his pinky. “Now where was I?”

“Your lucky night?”

“Ah, yes. I do believe my fortunes are about to change for the better.”

“Couldn’t get much worse,” Delamere said, nudging his friend in the ribs.

When Hermione awoke the next morning, it was by her mother’s arriving uncharacteristically early and waking her up with a frantic cry. “Minny, dear, wake up!”

Hermione rolled over, for her head ached horribly. Then flashes from the night before brought her completely awake.

“Oh, demmit!”

“Hermione Marlowe!” her mother exclaimed. “Is this the sort of language you’ve been using around Lord Hustings? No wonder he and his mother are here.”

“Here?” she asked, sitting up. She wasn’t even sure how she’d gotten here. She’d been in the alley with Rockhurst, and she’d been sliding toward the abyss. “Oh, demmit!” she repeated, but this time under her breath. She tapped her fingers to her forehead trying to remember what had happened next…let alone, how she had gotten home.

Yet here she was, back in her bed. Not his bed. That didn’t bode well! That is, until she peeked under the sheets and found she hadn’t a stitch on. Naked? She certainly didn’t remember that part. Oh, this was dreadful. She yanked the sheet up to her chin and managed a wan smile for her mother.

“Minny!” her mother exclaimed. “I fear there is something very amiss. And I think you should brace yourself. I suspect Hustings is here to cry off. Oh, this is a veritable disaster. If only your father were here, or even Sebastian.” Her mother had gone into her closet and was plucking out one dress after another. “Oh, heavens, what does one wear for such an occasion?”

But Hermione wasn’t really listening to her mother’s dire prattle. She was still trying to recall how she’d gotten home…and if Rockhurst had survived.

“This is most vexing,” she muttered. She glanced back under the sheet and considered that finding herself in her altogether must mean that Rockhurst had brought her home.

But he hadn’t taken her to his bed, or kept her as he’d once vowed. No, now that he knew who she was, he’d brought her home and left her to her future.

Alone.

Her heart tore in two. “Wretched man.”

“I’ll say,” her mother agreed, though her vehemence was directed toward Lord Hustings. “But we shall weather this disgrace, Minny, dear. And I am sure we will be able to find some nice baronet or some such who will overlook all this scandal and want to marry you.”

If only that was the worst scandal she could manage. How would she ever live without Rockhurst? Without being his Shadow?

Hermione began to sob, and her mother came rushing to her side.

“Now, now, let us find something truly beautiful for you to wear, and you shall go down there and hear him out with your pride in place. You are a Marlowe after all, and a Pembly on my side. Who are these Hustings after all? Upstarts, I say.”

Her mother smiled and helped her dress, and Hermione followed her downstairs.

“I suppose you’ll have to give him back his ring,”
Lady Walbrook said, as she paused before the closed doorway to the morning room.

His ring! Hermione glanced down at her now-bare hand.

This was going to be difficult to explain. Not only to Lord Hustings, but to his mother as well.

“Bugger!” Hermione said under breath, and her mother shot a warning glance worthy of Nelson in her direction as she opened the door, a regal smile pasted on her strained features.

Lady Hustings, it seemed, was under no such polite constraints, for she sniffed disapprovingly as they entered.

“Welcome, Lord Hustings, Lady Hustings,” the countess said, in a sunny voice. “How wonderful of you to call so early.”

At the sound of Lady Walbrook’s greeting, Lord Hustings turned in the wrong direction, only to find himself staring at a rather large fertility goddess Lord Walbrook had sent home from the South Pacific and the countess displayed quite proudly, despite the fact that the idol had four pendulous breasts and was completely unclothed. When he finally got oriented toward the door where Hermione and her mother stood waiting, he wore a pasty expression of shock.

Heavens! What was I thinking, accepting him?
Hermione asked herself. She’d rather live the rest of her life on her memories of Rockhurst than spend one night with Hustings and his faint blushes.

And most likely that would be all that was left for her, memories, once the respectable and honorable Hustings cried off.

Hermione dashed away the tears that welled up at the very thought of him.
Oh, Thomas…I am so sorry I couldn’t be the woman you desired.

“It has come to our attention—” Lady Hustings began.

“Mother, I said I would do this,” Lord Hustings told her.

The lady sniffed again. “Yes, but you needn’t be involved in such a distasteful situation.”

Hermione’s mother, who’d never suffered fools gladly, stepped forward. “Lord Hustings, are you here to cry off?”

“Well, I mean to say, that is—” he blustered on.

“Yes!” Lady Hustings cried out, rising to her feet and nearly upsetting the tea table. “Of course he means to cry off.”

“Mother!” The baron straightened his jacket and tried his best to look, well, commanding. “Please be seated. I will settle this.” He took a deep breath and looked the countess in the eye. “Lady Walbrook, I would feel better if you and Lady Hermione were seated as well, as this news may be unsettling to you both.”

Hermione noted he avoided glancing in her direction, but following her mother’s lead, perched herself on a nearby chair.

“It has come to my attention of late that Lady Hermione is not in good health
—”

“My lord,” Lady Walbrook said. “’Tis only bridal nerves, I assure you. Most young ladies have megrims from time to time.”

“Megrims, indeed!” Lady Hustings sputtered.

The baron shot his mother a censorious glance. “I think it best to say that on the subject of our former attachment
—”

Hermione noted that he didn’t use the word “engagement.” Yet what ever could have Lord Hustings backing out of their betrothal in such due haste?

“—if anyone is so rude as to inquire, I will advise them that it was Lady Hermione’s fragile health that was the reason for our mutual parting.”

Lady Walbrook blew out an exasperated sigh. “Fragile health? No one will believe such nonsense. We Marlowes are always in excellent health.” Her mother, faced with impending social disaster, leaned forward. “If you mean to end this engagement, you will tell me why, or I shall come to my own conclusions and share them freely about Town. Perhaps an inability to do your marital duties, partake in your conjugal visits—”

“That is high-handed, madam,” Lord Hustings blustered. “I am trying to be fair when very soon the entire
ton
will know that your daughter has been
—”

The door to the library opened, and Fenwick poked his nose inside. “My lady, there is a guest here to see you.”

“I am not at home,” Lady Walbrook told him in a sharp, panicked voice. “Not to anyone.”

“Very good, my lady,” Fenwick said.

Then to Hermione’s shock, the stoic and possibly only normal member of their household shot her a wink.

A wink? From Fenwick? Had all of London turned upside down.

“Now, where were you, Lord Hustings?” Lady Wal
brook asked in a tone that anyone of good sense would have known held a dangerous edge to it. The countess was often regarded as a flighty eccentric, but when it came to her children, there was nothing she took more seriously.

“Yes, as I was saying,” Lord Hustings said, shifting uneasily in his seat and glancing one more time at his mother before he continued. “I cannot marry Lady Hermione because she was seen, madam.”

Lady Walbrook shook her head. “Seen? What do you mean, seen?”

“She was seen early this morning,” Lord Hustings said.

“I still don’t understand
—”

The dowager could stand it no longer and burst out, “She was seen just after sunrise by Lord Calkley in the company of a man—a very disreputable man—riding into Berkeley Square in this man’s phaeton.” Lady Hustings sniffed again. “Lord Calkley is my nephew and felt it imperative that Hustings know immediately what a lightskirt his cousin intended to marry.”

Lady Walbrook’s mouth fell open, then she turned to Hermione. “What do you say to this nonsense?”

“I have no memory of any such thing,” she answered quite honestly.

The countess nodded. “See. It couldn’t have been Hermione.”

“She probably doesn’t remember because the report was that she appeared highly intoxicated!” Lady Hustings rose to her feet. “I will not have some drunken strumpet darkening the halls of Hustings Manor!”

Hermione bounded to her feet. “I was not drunk,” she declared, stopping short of denying the strumpet part because in truth, she’d walk across Hyde Park in her chemise to gain Rockhurst’s favor just one more time.