The Indomitable Miss Harris (18 page)

Suddenly she came plump up against a rock-hard body encased in a glitteringly bemedaled uniform. Two strong hands grasped her shoulders as she glanced up in dismay. “Excellency!”

“Miss Harris.” A small space seemed to clear around them as if by magic, and the Tsar dropped his hands. His eyes gleamed as his gaze swept her from the top of her dark curls to the tips of her satin slippers. Gillian dipped a low curtsy, but Alexander reached forward gallantly and drew her to her feet, smiling in pleasurable anticipation. “We dance.”

The seductive look in his eyes frightened her, and she remembered the Regent’s earlier compliments, but she could not imagine how one said, “No, thank you” to the Emperor of all the Russias. She opened her mouth, but no words came out, and the people around them, now recognizing Alexander, were beginning to stare.

“Ah, Miss Harris, here you are at last. I have been searching for you these past ten minutes. This is my dance, I believe.” Landover’s suave, familiar voice came from behind Gillian and affected her much in the way that an approaching Yorkist cavalry call might have affected the King’s forces at Bosworth Field. “How do you do, your Majesty?” Landover went on with a bow as she turned toward him gratefully. “Are you in need of a partner? Here, Harriette! Here’s a treat for you.”

He beckoned imperiously to a smart, saucy-looking girl with laughing black eyes and glossy curls nearly as dark as her own. The girl was accompanied by a delicately fair, rather wide-hipped youth in black satin breeches and a light blue silk shirt.

To Gillian’s amazement, when the “youth” turned in response to Landover’s command, “he” was quite clearly seen to be a beautiful young woman in boy’s clothes. Gillian blushed, then looked uncertainly at Landover. He ignored her, but the fair-haired beauty did not approach them. She merely smiled and waved two fingers at Landover before fading back into the crush.

“Well, my lord?” The dark-haired young woman spoke in a sultry voice and gave Landover a teasing smile, while at the same time shooting Gillian a slanting look.

“Well yourself, Harriette.” He grinned at the Tsar. “Excellency, may I have the honor to present this lovely creature to your notice. She is Miss Harriette Wilson, and she would be most pleased to dance with you.”

Miss Wilson grinned but swept the Tsar a deep curtsy. As he had done with Gillian, however, Alexander reached forward and drew her to her feet. Miss Wilson lowered her lashes demurely. “We dance,” announced Alexander firmly. He glanced as an afterthought at Landover. “Our thanks.”

Landover gave a slight, mocking bow to the Tsar’s back, and Gillian stared at him in astonishment. “How did you dare to introduce the Tsar of Russia to a common courtesan!”

“There is nothing the least bit common about Harriette Wilson, my dear child, and I can safely promise you that there is no one in London to whom Alexander would prefer an introduction tonight.”

“You did not introduce her to me!”

“No, I did not!”

Gillian chuckled, making no demur when he took her hand and firmly placed it in the crook of his arm. Suddenly, it seemed much easier for her to make her way through the constantly shifting mass of people. “Who was that person with her?” she asked, looking up at him. “I thought at first it was a rather chubby gentleman.”

“Julia Johnstone, another of Harriette’s sisterhood. They came as brother and sister, though I must say they seem to have got their roles mixed. Julia’s got at least five children, and hasn’t the slightest claim to a boyish figure, whilst Harriette is a good deal slimmer and has, besides, the manners of an obstreperous schoolboy.”

Gillian chuckled again and gave his arm an impulsive little squeeze. “I haven’t thanked you, have I? I was imagining myself served up for an imperial savory, and I can tell you quite frankly, Landover, that I have never been more grateful to hear your voice.”

“We’ll see if you still feel that way ten minutes hence,” he retorted. She glanced up again quickly, surprised by the grim note in his voice. “I’ve a good deal to say to you, miss. We’ll begin with an explanation from you of where you had got to before you crossed his majesty’s lecherous path.”

Gillian made a
moue.
“My partner vanished after the last set, and we had somehow managed to get to the far side of the room. I thought I’d never get through the crowd.”

“Who the devil was your partner?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea. Never saw him before. But I daresay he was no gentleman. Although,” she added with disarming frankness, “it was not altogether his fault. I was rather rude. I expect it put him off.”

Landover’s lips twitched, but he managed to retain the stern note. “I’ve no doubt you were rude if you say you were, but perhaps you would care to explain a trifle more fully.”

“I was distracted, actually,” she replied on an airy note. “I was thinking about other matters and did not precisely attend to him when he spoke. I’ve noticed gentlemen prefer an attentive audience.”

Landover was not distracted, however. “What other matters?” Gillian, after a brief, dismayed glance at him, blushed to the roots of her hair and clamped her lips shut. There was certainly no way she was going to tell him she had been savoring her potential success at rescuing him from the designing schemes of Miss Clara FitzWilliam. “No? You wish to say nothing? Well, I have a bit more to say, I’m afraid.”

And he proceeded to make good his promise while he guided her back to their party. First, he informed her flatly that, masqued ball or no, she was to let Mrs. Periwinkle have the final word on her partners if he was not himself at hand, that furthermore it was her business to see that her partners did not merely fade away but returned her to her chaperone, that so on and so on and so on. Gillian merely bowed her head before the muttering storm, knowing it would be useless to protest. But as they emerged from the thickest part of the crowd, she saw Miss Clara FitzWilliam slip into an anteroom, closely followed by her companion, Mrs. Robinson. Miss FitzWilliam was holding a string of silver stars that seemed to have detached themselves from the blue fairy gown, so the matter was self-explanatory. What caught and held Gillian’s interest, however, was the sight of a tall, dark gentleman with raven’s-wing eyebrows lounging artlessly against the wall not ten feet from the door through which the two ladies had passed.

Smoldering dark eyes turned first one way, then the other; then, with a purposeful stride, Viscount Linden made his way to the anteroom door. Here he paused again, glancing about quickly before slipping inside and shutting the door behind him.

“Miss Harris! I’ll swear you’ve not been attending to one word I’ve said to you!”

Gillian gulped and turned to face him, discovering another set of smoldering eyes rather closer than was compatible with her comfort.

“Oh, I was listening, sir,” she insisted contritely. “It was prodigiously foolish of me not to take better care, and I shan’t do it again, so please forgive me.” And she held out her hand, gazing at him limpidly.

His responding smile had a tendency to mock her. “I ought to quiz you, young lady, for I’m as certain as can be that you didn’t hear half of what I said, but to do so after such a generous and—might I add—unexpected apology would not only be foolhardy but churlish. I trust I am rarely accused of either trait. More important, however, I’ve no wish to quarrel with you tonight.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she replied, genuinely grateful. She tucked her hand in his again. “And thank you for rescuing me.” He patted her hand, gazing down at her with an enigmatic gleam in his eye.

“Landover! Oh, my lord, how glad I am to find you! You must come at once.” Mrs. Robinson, seemingly appearing out of thin air, grabbed his arm in agitation.

“What seems to be the trouble, ma’am?” Landover returned calmly in an effort to soothe the little woman’s ruffled feathers.

“It is Clara, my lord. She’s being assaulted by that dreadful man!”

“Where?” demanded the marquis in a much harsher tone.

Gillian drew a sudden breath. What if Landover felt obligated to fight a duel with Linden? It was a notion that had not previously occurred to her. She had thought only to nudge Viscount Linden into doing what he so clearly wanted to do anyway; she had not paused to think how Landover might react. Mrs. Robinson pointed now to the anteroom and fluttered along beside him as he strode determinedly forward. Gillian hastened after them, not wanting to miss a thing and straining her ears to hear as Mrs. Robinson breathlessly twittered out the details.

“It is that dreadful rake Linden, my lord. If I’ve warned dearest Clara once, I’ve warned her a thousand times. ‘Have nothing to do with him,’ I said. ‘He’s a rake,’ I told her. ‘A dangerous man.’ But some idiot during the last set yanked a string of those lovely stars from poor Clara’s gown, and we retired to the anteroom to effect a repair. No sooner had we got inside, though, than that brute nipped in behind us and demanded words with Clara. She was mighty angry, I can tell you, but he just walked bang up to her and said she’d been behaving badly and he meant to put a stop to it. Well, I wasn’t surprised at all when she slapped him for his rudeness, but you could have tipped me over with a feather when he slapped her back. Just as calm as you please, mind you, but the blow nearly knocked poor Clara plumb off her feet. Needless to say, my lord, that’s when I fled to get help.”

“And a very good thing, too,” approved Landover as they reached the anteroom door. “But perhaps you ought to remain here now with Miss Harris whilst I see what can be done.”

Mrs. Robinson seemed perfectly willing to let Landover attend to the matter, but Gillian was not about to be set aside while he walked into a trap of her creating. Determined to do her possible to prevent the duel she had by now convinced herself was imminent, she slipped into the anteroom right behind him and thus was witness to a scene that neither of them had expected.

Miss Clara FitzWilliam was enfolded in the strong arms of Viscount Linden, but she did not seem the least averse to her position. In fact, she was returning his kisses with what Gillian could only describe later to Lady Sybilla as “passionate abandon.” Landover cleared his throat loudly, and the two sprang involuntarily apart. Miss FitzWilliam, a wicked bruise forming at her delicate jawline, flushed guiltily.

“Oh, Landover!” she cried, stepping toward him. “’Twas not what you think, my lord. ’Twas merely—”

“Enough, Clara!” admonished Linden sharply, taking a firm grip on her upper arm and ruthlessly pulling her back to stand beside him. “It was exactly what you thought, my lord. I love this unprincipled baggage, and I believe she loves me. At any rate, I intend to marry her just as soon as things can be properly arranged, but if you’ve a desire to debate the matter, I urge you to name the time and place.”

“No!” Gillian cried, springing forward as though to fling herself between them. Linden’s meaning could not be mistaken. Even Clara seemed taken aback, and she stared at Linden as though she had never really seen him before. But Landover caught Gillian’s arm and drew her closer to himself.

“Be still, child. There will be no ‘debate.’ I cheerfully leave the field to so determined a warrior. I think they will deal admirably together, and I wish them only happiness. Shall we leave them to take up the discussion we so rudely interrupted?”

Silently, she let him lead her from the room, and as silently did she listen while he explained to Mrs. Robinson, anxiously awaiting them just outside the door, that rather than an assault, she had witnessed the onset of a proposal of marriage and therefore a scene of quite unexceptionable behavior.

“Landover,” Gillian said, recovering her equanimity with a delighted chuckle once Mrs. Robinson had gone away, “slapping each other is scarcely the accepted prologue to a civilized courting ritual.”

“No? Well, I had to say something to the poor little widgeon. Now she can gossip to all her cronies and be perfectly content. Oh dear,” he added with a comic grimace, “there is Abigail beckoning to us. Whatever shall we tell her? She has been trying so hard.” He grinned at Gillian. “She will say I am jinxed, and perhaps I am. Or perhaps,” he added musingly, “I’ve got a particularly active guardian angel watching over me.”

G
ILLIAN STARED AT HIM
in dismay, wondering if he could somehow have discovered her activities, knowing he would not approve at all if he had, and fearing his next words. But he only grinned wider and moved toward his sister.

“Best get it over with, I suppose. She won’t be pleased, but I think Linden will deal better with Clara than I should have done.”

Gillian gave an inward sigh of relief and held her tongue while Landover described the past quarter hour to his sister. Sir Avery was standing with Lady Sybilla, enjoying a cup of wine punch but easily able to hear Landover’s words, and at one point in the tale he glanced rather sharply at his sister. Gillian felt the telltale color creeping into her cheeks, but at least this time Avery would find nothing to condemn. It was scarcely a reprehensible thing to bring two lovers together. Nevertheless, she experienced another surge of relief when, after a slight narrowing of his eyes, Sir Avery turned back to the girl at his side. Really, thought Gillian, her mind still on matchmaking, the two would be well suited to each other.

Sir Avery was certainly beginning to show signs of an attachment to the lovely Sybilla, and the lady did not seem totally blind to his virtues either. But there was an easy camaraderie between them that seemed to be at odds with courtship as Gillian romantically expected it to be. Viscount Linden’s rough-and-ready methods were a good deal more in keeping with her notions than Sir Avery’s, if indeed the latter was even interested in forming a permanent attachment. Perhaps—she eyed the pair speculatively—perhaps she might be able to nudge things along a bit.

But no, she dismissed the notion almost as soon as it occurred to her. Sir Avery would never countenance her interference. Her ears actually tingled at the thought of his ‘probable’ reaction to any matchmaking by her on his behalf. Far better to let matters take their own course, even if he muffed it.