Their Wicked Ways (11 page)

She stalked to her room and
fumed about it for a while, but some of her irritation dissipated as it
occurred to her that at least Nick and Darcy were still friendly enough to join
forces to annoy her.  It helped her feelings some to know she hadn’t
permanently damaged their friendship.

She was still annoyed at
their determination to interfere.

She was still resolved on her
course.

It would’ve been easier if
she could’ve simply run for it.  She couldn’t, though, not all the way back to
America, and she wasn’t about to languish in the country through the winter,
not even for Darcy and Nick.

She needed a distraction.

She thought it was possible
that seeing Nick and Darcy again had only resurrected her girlhood
infatuation.  That combined with her natural needs as an adult could be the
problem.  If she found someone she was as equally attracted to, she would
probably experience just as much lust, except that she could indulge herself
without creating problems for anyone else and get it out of her system.

If Darcy and Nick meant to
guard her, though, she was going to run into a problem.  Those two were bound
to scare off possibilities, and if they didn’t, then things could get much
worse.

They could end up on the
dueling field.

Terror suffused her at that
thought.

With an effort, she tamped
it.  There was no sense in scaring herself with her imaginings.  Neither Nick,
nor Darcy, were so dead set on having their way that they’d go that far … she
hoped.

The most immediate problem
was what to do now?

She finally decided she
simply wasn’t up to dealing with either of them at the moment, which left her
with two choices.  She could stay home until she did feel up to the challenge. 
Or, she would have to avoid those places they would be looking for her.

That ruled out most of the
ton parties.

“I’ve been giving some
thought to what we might do for entertainment this evening,” she told her
mother as they dined.

Lady Millford sent her
daughter a long suffering look.  “I’m not at all certain that I’m up to going
out this evening.  My head has been throbbing all day.  I’m very much afraid I
might be coming down with something.”

“You poor thing!” Bronte said
without much sympathy, for, as much as she loved her mother, Elizabeth Millford
had been enjoying poor health her entire life and it was difficult to get
excited about it.  “I’d thought we might go to the theater.”

“Oh!  What a lovely notion!”
Lady Millford said, clapping her hands in delight.  “I haven’t been to the
theater in....”  She thought it over.  “Well, I declare, I can’t recall!  No
matter! It’s just the thing.”

“You’re certain?”

Lady Millford massaged her
temples.  “I shall lie down and rest for a little bit and then I’m sure I can
manage.”

Chapter Twelve

They arrived at the theater
unfashionably early.  Lady Millford seemed completely unaware of the fact that
the ton considered enthusiasm gauche.  Sophistication required a degree of
ennui and arriving early at any function was just not done.  Bronte was aware
of it, but she didn’t particularly care what the ton might think of it,
especially since she found that she was looking forward to the play with almost
as much excitement as her mother was.

Neither of them were
disappointed.  The troop performing was experienced professionals who took
their work seriously and knew how to play to a crowd of bored aristocrats.  The
sets, once the lights were dimmed, were excellent, and the comedic skit, which
they began the night with, was bawdy but highly diverting nevertheless.  By the
time the first intermission was announced, the theater had filled considerably,
but since Bronte saw no sign of either Darcy or Nick, she felt more relaxed
than she had since she’d arrived in London.

Lady Millford wasn’t nearly
as enthusiastic about taking a turn around the theater while the performers
changed the set, but since Bronte seemed determined to do so and she felt it
her duty to escort her daughter, she capitulated.

Since a number of ladies of
the ton stopped to speak to them, Lady Millford was feeling more in charity
with her daughter after only a few moments and entirely forgot that it not only
hadn’t been her idea to ‘walk a bit’ but that she’d been loud in disclaiming
any interest in doing so.

“There!” she said
complacently.  “Aren’t you glad we decided to walk about a bit after all?  Lady
Connolly was most kind to invite us to her soiree on such short notice!  And
it’s bound to be a crush, for invitations to her affairs have always been much
sought after.”

Bronte smiled.  She’d
forgotten her mother’s tendency to consider good fortune of her making and bad
luck as someone else’s idea.  It was strange that one could miss such an
annoying habit.

“Who is that young woman
waving at us over by the door?”

Bronte followed the direction
of her mother’s gaze and frowned.  “I’m not certain.  She looks familiar, and
I’m sure I should recall her name, but … perhaps she is waving at someone
else?”

“Oh?  She does appear to be
heading this way.”

“Lady Millford, Lady
Dunmore!  How delightful to run into you again!”

Bronte smiled, casting wildly
about in her mind for the woman’s name.  It eluded her, but the woman had made
a point of singling her out and she felt sure it was she who was supposed to
know her.

“Let me make you known to a
couple of very dear friends of mine.  Mrs. Bolington.  And this is Lord Ashley
Fairfax.”

Mrs. Bolington’s smile was
friendly, despite the hint of hardness Bronte detected about her eyes and
Bronte found herself smiling with an equal friendliness.  “How do you do?”

“Tolerably well, thank you! 
Though I must say I’m disappointed in the offering tonight thus far.”

Bronte’s brows rose.  “I
suppose I’ve become a rustic.  I found it amusing.”

Mrs. Bolington chuckled.

Lord Fairfax, a rather
dashing figure, who exuded the sort of dangerous mannerisms of a conformed
rake, smiled, an expression that softened his rather harsh features
appealingly.  “I hear you’ve only just returned from the Americas.”

Bronte felt her heart flutter
with an unmistakable sense of attraction at his smile and the deep timber of
his voice.  “You heard incorrectly, I’m afraid.”

His dark brows rose
questioningly.

“I make my home there now.  I
am only visiting England.”

He seemed intrigued by that,
but since the announcement was made just then that the play was about to begin,
it didn’t seem likely they would be able to pursue their new acquaintance.

Without quite knowing how it
came about, Bronte found that she and her mother had been invited to Mrs. Bolington’s
private box.  Mrs. Bolington, she discovered, was much of an age with her, and
widowed, giving them a good deal in common. From the little she said, and the
great deal left unsaid, Bronte also gathered Mr. Bolington wasn’t deeply
mourned and gained the sense that, quite possibly, she and Mrs. Bolington had a
very great deal in common.  She couldn’t help but wonder if her own bitterness
showed in her face as it did Mrs. Bolington’s.

Lord Fairfax’s interest was
both flattering and unnerving.  To her mind, no man was quite as handsome as
Darcy or Nick, but he did not miss it by more than a hair and was very well
built, as well.  He looked to be a few years older than Nick, perhaps in his
mid to late thirties, but it sat very well upon him.

He seemed amused by her
reluctance to talk during the play, but entertained both her and himself by
leaning close enough to convey low voiced observations regarding the play, as
well as the various members of the ton in attendance.  He’d just directed her
attention to a macaroni mincing about the pit in the most absurd costume,
provoking a chuckle from her, when Bronte’s gaze was arrested by two men in the
pit below whose attention was directed, not at the stage, but at the box in
which she sat.

Her heart skipped a beat as
recognition dawned.  Even from this distance, their displeasure was evident. 
Lifting her chin at them, Bronte pointedly turned her attention to the stage.

“I believe I see two of your
admirers in the pit.”

Bronte glanced at Lord
Fairfax sharply.

He nodded his chin in Nick
and Darcy’s direction.  “Cain and St. James.”

Bronte managed a dismissive
smile.  “They are only friends.”

His dark brows rose. 
Amusement gleamed in his eyes.  “That will be a blow to them, I’m certain.”

Bronte’s smile was easier
that time and carried a hint of responsive amusement.  “I take leave to doubt
that, but certainly it will not wound them to any lasting degree.  They grew up
on estates that march with my family’s and were prone to look upon me as an
annoying younger sister when we were children.  We are still quite friendly,
but no more than that.”

His smile broadened to a wry
grin.  “Men are not generally inclined to view beautiful young women as
friends, my dear, but I confess I’m relieved to hear your feelings on the
matter.”

Bronte’s smile stiffened.  A
faint color rose to her cheeks.  “Does such effusive flattery generally please
the London ladies?  I confess, I’m fonder of temperance since it allows me the
illusion that the compliment
might
be sincere.”

Confusion filled Lord
Fairfax’s eyes.  “I beg your pardon.  It’s obvious I’ve offended, but I confess
I’m at a loss as to how that may be so.”

Bronte smiled tightly, her
color deepening as she struggled to tamp her irritation.  “It’s of no
consequence.  I should beg pardon myself for being so waspish.  I believe I may
be developing a headache.”

He studied her with keen
interest and an understanding that was as profound as it was surprising. 
“Beauty is a state of being as much as appearance and, when all is said and
done, the opinion of those who behold it.  You should not assume, only because
your opinion differs, that mine was not a sincere observation.”

“Very prettily said,” Mrs.
Bolington said with a chuckle.  “Lord Fairfax is known for his clever tongue,
you must know.”

Lord Fairfax sent her an
inscrutable look, which seemed to disconcert her mightily.

Uneasy, though she wasn’t
entirely certain why, Bronte divided a conciliating smile between them.  “She
is right, and I thank you for the very kind sentiments, Lord Fairfax.”

“I’m am always all that is
kind,” Lord Fairfax said dryly.

Bronte wasn’t at all certain
that was true, but he was witty, he was handsome and he excited her almost as
much as he unnerved her.  She was fairly certain that he was not courting her
with a view to offering an honorable proposal, but that hardly mattered when
she was not seeking one, nor had any intention of accepting even if a proposal
was forthcoming.  She wasn’t altogether certain that he was a ‘safe’ man to
consider as a lover, however.  In fact, she was fairly certain that he was not.

If either Darcy or Nick
challenged him, he would not back down.

Reluctantly, she decided that
as intriguing as he was, she could not pursue the matter.  She would have to
take care to avoid him in the future.

By the time the second
intermission was called, Bronte had a headache in truth, primarily, she was
certain, from nerves.  She could not like the situation she found herself in. 
As attractive as Lord Fairfax was, she knew that it would only cause more
problems if she yielded to the temptation to pursue the flirtation he’d begun,
but she discovered fairly quickly that she was way out of her league.

He was older than any of the
other swains who’d thrown lures in her direction, and far more experienced and
sophisticated.

In short, she didn’t know how
to handle him.  Mere courtesy required politeness and yet Lord Fairfax seemed
oblivious to the coolly polite manner that Bronte had found generally held men
at arm’s length.  More accurately, she supposed, he seemed to find it both
intriguing and amusing.

Acutely conscious of the fact
that Darcy and Nick were both present and either watching, or lying in wait for
her, Bronte found her nerves winding tighter and tighter as the evening wore on
and to make matters worse, she could think of nothing that wouldn’t sound
plainly rude to disentangle herself and her mother from Lord Fairfax and Mrs.
Bolington.

Her mother had finally
supplied the answer she was searching desperately for by observing, wonder of
wonders, that Bronte appeared not quite herself.  Bronte smiled at her wanly
although she felt like leaping to her feet and kissing her mother.  “I have a
touch of headache.”

Lady Millford looked vaguely
disappointed, but she got to her feet readily enough.  “We should go home
then.  I have something that will fix you right up.”

Lord Fairfax stood, as well. 
“I would be delighted to escort the two of you home.”

Bronte had already opened her
mouth to object when her mother spoke.  “That is most kind of you, Lord
Fairfax!  I always feel much better with an escort.  The streets are so
unsafe.”

“We wouldn’t want to impose,”
Bronte said weakly.

He lifted her hand, brushing
a kiss across her fingers and capturing her gaze with his own.  “I assure you,
it would be my pleasure.”

It was unfortunate that Mrs.
Bolington chose that moment to open the door to the box, that Darcy and Nick
happened to be standing just outside, apparently in the act of knocking--and
equally unfortunate that Bronte could not forebear glancing at them guiltily. 
She wasn’t at all certain that any expression would have appeased them, but the
appearance of having been caught at something she shouldn’t was probably the
worst possible scenario.

Darcy reddened with anger. 
Nick paled, his eyes narrowing dangerously on Lord Fairfax.

Lord Fairfax lifted his head
and fixed them both with a look of amused satisfaction.

Lady Millford chose that
moment to swoon, bless her.  It had the effect of averting disaster by creating
chaos.  Nick instinctively surged forward to catch her.  Darcy, slightly behind
Nick, also stepped forward, but collided with Mrs. Bolington, who would have
fallen if he hadn’t reached out to steady her.  All attention thus diverted to
Elizabeth Millford, who preferred it that way and considered it the only truly
acceptable situation, neither Nick nor Darcy managed to provoke a fight with
Lord Fairfax.

By the time Lady Millford
decided she had recovered sufficiently to make her way to the carriage, so long
as someone would lend her support, some of the tension between the three men
had eased.  Since she looked pointedly at both Darcy and Nick when she said it,
they both politely offered to do so and she was escorted from the theater with
one on either arm.