The Care and Taming of a Rogue (23 page)

“Why don’t we go inside and have some tea?” the sister suggested, though she glared at him through narrowed eyes and clearly preferred to see him gone.

“Bennett can’t come into the house until after I talk to Papa,” Phillipa said, wiping at her eyes.

“Did Lord Leeds find out about the climbing through the window incident?” Jack asked.

Bennett swore to himself. Apparently this had become a four-person conspiracy. “How did
you
find out about it?”

“I mentioned it,” Olivia said loftily, “and John overheard.”

“That isn’t it, anyway.” Phillipa wrapped her hand around his arm. “It’s because of the fight.”

Olivia put her hands on her hips. “You see? I told you that would happen.”

Bennett rolled his shoulders. Very well. If Phil lipa wanted her sister and Jack included, then so be it. And as badly as he wanted to punch someone, Phillipa’s father made a poor target, given that he intended to be related to the man. “I can’t stay, anyway. I’m taking you driving tomorrow, so I need to purchase a carriage.”

“Borrow mine, nickninny,” Jack suggested.

“No. And I’m not borrowing Sommerset’s again, either. From now on I’m paying court using my own possessions and on my own merits. Such as they are.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Phillipa whispered.

“Yes, I do. If I’m to stay in England, I need a curricle. They’re more civilized than phaetons, are they not?”

“There’s room for a chaperone, if that’s what you mean.”

“It is.” There were several other things he needed to see to, as well. He raised his voice. “And Jack’s coming with me.”

“Hm. Tea with two lovely young ladies, or buying a rig.”

Bennett lifted an eyebrow. “And?”

Jack sighed. “I’ll be on the drive, waiting for you. Huzzah, we’re purchasing a curricle.”

However improper it was, Bennett couldn’t resist kissing Phillipa. Her mouth was so soft and so sweet, parting from her was physically painful. “I’ll talk to your father in the morning,” he said, ignoring Olivia’s gasp. “I can explain myself. You shouldn’t have to do that.”

“I enjoy setting things right,” she returned with a smile.

“Mm hm. I’ll see you at eleven o’clock. And I’m bringing luncheon.”

He made himself turn around and leave the garden. Whether they’d resolved anything or not, he felt calmer and steadier after seeing her. Most females wouldn’t appreciate being thought of as ballast, but Phillipa would more than likely think it both hilarious and touching.

“Why the devil do you need me to go with you?” Jack complained as they headed down the street. “You wrestle lions; I wrestle calling cards.”

“Because you know people, and I don’t.”

“I’d rather have tea with Livi.”

Bennett glanced sideways at him. “You said you’ve been after Olivia Eddison for four years.”

“Yes. Nearly since her debut. What’s your point?”

“And you’ve made it as far as tea? That’s pitiful.” He couldn’t imagine sitting back and watching other men pursue Phillipa while he simply bided his time.

“Don’t criticize my strategy just because you barge into a room swinging crocodiles by the tail and bellowing. Livi has dozens of suitors. Subtlety is required.”

“And Phillipa doesn’t require subtlety?”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Jack pulled up Brody. “Fight with someone else. I like Flip. As a friend. She’s unique. And no, she hasn’t had suitors. But I’ll tell you one thing. She’s as sharp as a tack, and everyone knows it. If she supports your side of an argument, it’s because your side has more merit.”

Bennett circled his friend. “You don’t need to convince me to like Phillipa. And I’m not using her to gain some sort of damned credibility.” He drew Ares to a halt. “And yes, I want a fight. But not with you.”

“Thank God for that.”

“What I want from you, my friend, is information. I want to know everything you know about Langley’s life in England.”

For a long moment Jack looked at him. “The Africa Association is backing Langley, isn’t it?”

“Yes. And without my journals I can’t do a damned thing about it. Which is why I’m going to get them back.” Bennett dug his fingers into the leather reins. “I honestly don’t think Phillipa cares what everyone else thinks of me, but I want to be in a better position for her sake.”

“And so you can leave England again.”

“Perhaps. It’s a bit of a complicated kettle of fish, Jack. Are you going to help me?”

Jack kneed Brody into a trot. “Yes. I only hope I don’t regret it.”

“So do I.”

Without the lure of the journals, Bennett would have no reason to maintain the pretense of civility. And David would be worried about preserving his pretty face—and his reputation. If Langley headed another expedition to Africa, he wouldn’t want Bennett running free in England spreading…well, truths. The journals were the only assurance the dear fellow had of keeping Bennett at bay, and his mouth closed.

The House of Lords had had a late session, and with no parties planned for the evening, Mayfair was quiet. He could go to the Adventurers’ Club, he supposed, but at the moment he wasn’t particularly in the mood to run across its benefactor. And climbing through another window to see Phillipa, though highly appealing, didn’t seem wise. Olivia would more than likely be sitting up all night with a pistol across her knees. While she wasn’t much of a problem, he should likely be proceeding in a more honorable manner.

And so he found himself in the unusual position of having idle time. He and Kero retreated to his borrowed bedchamber, and he sat at the small table there to read. With one hand he turned pages, and with the other he tickled the hooting, teeth-chattering vervet monkey. At least
she
was content.

He tried to imagine more nights like this. Quiet, ordinary, each one like the next, where the only part of the world he could see would be the one passing by his front window. And he knew one thing for certain. He couldn’t do it. Not alone. With Phillipa there, however, he didn’t see how everything—anything—could be…dull. She brought her own light with her into a room. And after all the time he’d spent walking through deserts and jungles and so many solitary places, he craved it. He craved her.

A knock sounded at his door. “Come in.”

He expected Geoffrey, wanting to play with Kero again, but the figure at the door was taller and sterner. Fennington. “I wanted to ask if you would be joining us for dinner.”

“Do you want me to?” Bennett asked, surprised. He generally either avoided being about when the family sat down together, or he went down to the kitchen to scavenge something.

Fennington cleared his throat. “Yes. I think it would be…pleasant.”

“Then yes.” Standing, he held down one hand and then swung Kero up onto his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“I had luncheon with several fellow members of Parliament,” his uncle commented, stepping out of the way as Bennett left the room. “Including Thrushell.”

“Ah.”

“Yes. I had to listen to a great deal of drivel about you contesting the authorship of David’s book. It seems that since you had no proof, your claims were considered ridiculous and dismissed out of hand.”

So that was the story. “Something like that.”

“It occurred to me that you did have proof, and you declined to mention it. Why?”

Bennett glanced over his shoulder at his uncle. “The overall opinion was that Langley makes a better representative of the Association than I do. I don’t think it would have mattered if I
could
have produced my journals for them. I didn’t see the point of dragging you into a lost argument.”

“That was good of you, Bennett. I wasn’t…anticipating a rift between Thrushell and myself.”

He settled for nodding as they walked into the dining room to find his aunt, Geoffrey, and fourteen-year-old Madeline already seated. Even Madeline mustered a smile as he took the seat beside Geoffrey and Kero jumped over to his cousin’s shoulder.

It was all so damned odd. He and Fennington having a civil conversation, after his uncle actually offered to speak against Langley. And he hadn’t used the opportunity, even when it would have made trouble for a man he’d hated for most of his life.

“I saw your new rig, Bennett,” Geoffrey said with a grin, handing Kero up a slice of potato. “It’s sterling. What’s the mare’s name?”

“Sally. Which I don’t like. I was thinking of Usiku. That’s Swahili for ‘night.’”

“Oh, I like that. And she’s a pretty black, so it fits. I’d been meaning to ask you, what does Kero mean?”

“Nuisance.”

Geoffrey laughed. “That’s a perfect name.” He leaned forward. “Maddie, you should feed her. She’s very friendly.”

“No, thank you. She’s a dirty beast.”

“You’re such a girl.” The lad chuckled again. “I think you’re settling into London, Bennett. A carriage, two horses, and a monkey. Next you’ll have chickens.”

“Not in this house,” Lady Fennington put in.

“I think I’ll wait on purchasing chickens.” Bennett stifled an unexpected smile. “What else should I get, then, to fit into Society?”

“A cane,” Madeline suggested. “And a hat.”

“Gambling debts,” came from Geoffrey. “All the rakes have gambling debts.”

Bennett took a breath. “Actually,” he said, look ing down at his plate, “I’m planning on getting married.”

“What?” Fennington sat forward. “You don’t know anyone. To whom could you possibly be getting married?”

There was one woman he did know. And thank God he’d met her. “I think I’ve mentioned her to you already. Lady Phillipa Eddison.”

Chapter Eighteen

“They’re pink,” he returned, handing them to her. “I researched it. Pink is sweetness and admiration.”

She grinned back at him. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“You are most welcome.”

When he didn’t enter the house, but instead craned his head to look down the hallway, she turned to follow his gaze. “What?”

“I thought your father might be waiting with a pistol.”

That had very nearly been the case. “I told you that I would set things right. I explained that you and Kero were defending her honor.”

“Oh. Wonderful. Now I’m uncivilized and completely mad.”

“I’m certain it didn’t sound that way.” At least she hoped not. “He would like to speak to you, but he had a meeting. I told him you would make yourself available after our picnic.”

“I’ll do that.” He spent another heartbeat or two gazing at her, then offered his arm. “Shall we?”

Phillipa handed the roses to Barnes. “See that these are put in water, will you? And send Mary down.”

“Of course, my lady.”

Bennett escorted her down the front steps, and then left her breathless as he put his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the curricle’s seat. And a few short weeks ago she’d thought amorous pursuit was overrated. Ha. Now she wanted to tremble just looking at him. Part of her still couldn’t believe that he was looking back at her—though he’d several times proven that his interest was sincere and ongoing.

“Hyde Park?” he asked, handing Mary onto the narrow seat at the back of the carriage and climbing up himself.

“Might I suggest somewhere else?”

He lowered one eyebrow, but nodded. “Wherever you like.”

She smiled, encouraged and a bit nervous at the same time. After all, at the moment he was trapped here. It seemed a fine line between showing him there were things to enjoy in London and attempting to bribe him to stay put. “The British Museum.”

“Can we get in without an appointment?”

“Oh, yes. They know me. I go all the time.”

“Ah.” He snapped the reins, and the smart black mare trotted down the drive. “So we’re going for
my
sake.”

“Firstly, don’t be angry with me before you even set eyes on the inside of it. Secondly, I said that I go all the time, which I would think implies that I enjoy myself there.”

His mouth twitched. “Very well. Consider me humbled.”

“I’ll consider you chastised. I don’t think you’ve ever been humbled.”

Bennett laughed. Oh, she liked the sound of his amusement. It lifted her inside, made her feel cherished. She reached over and touched his sleeve; she couldn’t help herself.

“Don’t distract me,” he said, chuckling. “I don’t know where I’m going as it is.”

“Turn here.” She pointed. “Up Oxford Street.” Phillipa smiled again. “You find me distracting?”

“You have no idea.” He shifted closer to her. “Do you want to take the reins?”

“I told you that I don’t know how to drive.”

“I’ll be right here,” he returned. “And Usiku has a very good temperament. That’s why I chose her.”

Phillipa looked at him. “You chose this mare because you think I can manage her?”

His mouth curved. “Since we’re all to be part of the same household, I thought it made sense.”

Part of her felt very warm and tingly at hearing that. The other part, though, was abruptly troubled. “You haven’t given up on locating your journals, I hope.”

“I haven’t. I’m developing a strategy even as we speak. But forgive me if I’ve found something that seems of even more immediate import.”

He meant her. She almost felt guilty that she could be so happy and excited even knowing how abysmal he must consider his own prospects. When she could prefer that he remain in England no matter how badly he might wish to be elsewhere. “When you retrieve the journals,” she said, mentally shaking herself, “will you write another book? One to counter Langley’s? I’m certain there are things—discoveries—he must have left out. Your expedition couldn’t have been day after day of heroic posturing.”

“It was for him,” Bennett commented. “And no. Other than details of who did what and the more scientific observations that no one wants to read about, my book would essentially be identical to his.”

“But what good will it do if you only use the journals to blackmail the Association and not to make the rest of London respect you again?”

He shrugged. “I’m an explorer. It’s not up to me whether anyone believes what I tell them or not. Let the scholars debate. The journals are only important because, well, they’re mine, and because they are what will convince those who control the purse strings and make the decisions about who is asked to head which expedition.”

For a minute she made herself pretend that all this didn’t mean he wanted to leave again. “I still think it’s a shame,” she said quietly. “I so much enjoyed reading your books. I could actually feel the sun burning my skin when I read about you seeing the pyramids for the first time.”

“I could take you to see them with your own eyes, you know.”

She shivered again, this time with nervousness. Could she travel to Egypt and brave sandstorms and bandits and thirst in exchange for such an amazing sight? Phillipa drew a sharp breath, shutting her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, brilliant green eyes were gazing at her.

“Oh, turn here,” she said abruptly, although there was still plenty of time to maneuver. “Up Tottenham Court Road, and then right onto Great Russell.”

He didn’t bring up traveling again as they went inside the museum, but as far as she was concerned, it colored every bit of their conversation. Why had the greatest adventurer in England decided to pursue her? And why couldn’t she stop worrying about whether she would disappoint him? Oh, books were so much easier.

“I’ve never been to Greece,” he commented, pulling her out of her reverie.

They stood in the gallery filled with the Elgin Marbles. “I love looking at these sculptures,” she said. “But you would have left them at the Parthenon, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know.” He eyed the closest of the figures speculatively. “I might have made off with one or two of them. They are exquisite.”

She took his arm as they wandered through the museum. This was the way she liked to explore. From his expression at least he wasn’t bored, but she could imagine how displays with description cards must pale compared to seeing lions running on the savannah or being handed a carving of an unknown figure by the man who’d fashioned it.

“What’s that?” he asked, stopping before a black block of stone with letters and hieroglyphs carved into it. Several men stood around it, eyeing it and sketching it as though they expected it to get up and walk away.

“That’s the stone from Rosetta. Bonaparte’s men found it. Everyone’s been trying to translate it, but it’s written in at least three different languages, only one or so of which anyone’s ever been able to decipher.”

“Hm. It looks like one of those damned decrees they used to post in Spain—the same orders, repeated in Spanish, English, and French. Only wordier.”

One of the men closest to them made a sound, then began muttering furiously with his colleagues. Phillipa tried to listen in, curious, until Bennett headed them off toward the African collection. In quick succession he named off the tribes to which a rack of spears belonged—Masai, Zulu, Turkana, and Samburu.

“Which kind stabbed you?” she asked.

“The tribe was Ngole, but I didn’t keep that particular spear.” He looked for a moment. “It’s closest to that one, I think.” He pointed at the sharp-looking, narrow, eight-inch head of the Turkana spear.

“Dear heavens, I can’t imagine how much that must have hurt.” Tears gathered in her eyes. Seeing the spear made it seem more real. She’d already seen the scar, and it was devastating to realize how very close she’d come to never meeting him at all.

“I’m only thankful I was stepping into a canoe at the time.” He looked down at her, then stroked a finger softly along her cheek. “Don’t cry,
nyonda
,” he murmured.

Phillipa took a deep breath. “What does that mean, anyway?
Nyonda
?”

His green gaze held hers. “It’s Swahili. It means ‘beloved.’” A small smile touched his mouth, and he brushed her cheek again. “You do know I love you, Phillipa. To an alarming degree.”

Her heart did a somersault. “I very much want to kiss you, Bennett,” she whispered back.

“I’m not stopping you.”

Oh, propriety was such a silly thing, anyway. She leaned up on her tiptoes.

“Lady Phillipa,” Mary exclaimed.

She jumped. For goodness’ sake, she’d forgotten the maid was even there. Bennett lifted an eyebrow, but settled for reaching out to straighten her sleeve. “Damned shame, that.”

He was cursing again, but she rather agreed with the sentiment. “Perhaps we should find a park and have our picnic,” she suggested.

“If you’ll attempt driving the curricle.”

“Very well.” After all, driving a curricle was a less alarming prospect than traveling to a different continent. Or than losing Bennett Wolfe to his adventures because she was too much of a coward to share in them.