A Night Like This (6 page)

“Several hundred years.” He turned, and for a moment she forgot his scrapes and his bruises. She saw only him, watching her as if she were the only woman in the world.

She coughed, using it to mask her tiny motion away from him on the bench. He was dangerous, this man. Even when they were sitting in a public park, talking about nothing of great importance, she felt him.

Something within her had been awakened, and she desperately needed to shut it back away.

“I’ve heard conflicting stories,” he said, seemingly oblivious to her turmoil. “The Smythes had the money and the Smiths had the position. Or the romantic version: The Smythes had the money
and
the position but the Smiths had the beautiful daughter.”

“With hair of spun gold and eyes of cerulean blue? It sounds rather like an Arthurian legend.”

“Hardly. The beautiful daughter turned out to be a shrew.” He tilted his head to her with a dry grin. “Who did not age wel.” Anne laughed, despite herself. “Why did the family not cast off the name, then, and go back to being Smythes?”

“I have no idea. Perhaps they signed a contract. Or someone thought we sounded more dignified with an extra sylable. At any rate, I don’t even know if the story is true.”

She laughed again, gazing out over the park to watch the girls. Harriet and Elizabeth were bickering over something, probably nothing more than a blade of grass, and Frances was powering on, taking giant steps that were going to ruin her results. Anne knew she should go over to correct her, but it was so pleasant to sit on the bench with the earl.

“Do you like being a governess?” he asked.

“Do I like it?” She looked at him with furrowed brow. “What an odd question.”

“Do I like it?” She looked at him with furrowed brow. “What an odd question.”

“I can’t think of anything less odd, considering your profession.”

Which showed just how much he knew about having a job. “No one asks a governess if she likes being one,” she said. “No one asks that of anyone.” She’d thought that would be the end of it, but when she glanced back at his face, he was watching her with a true and honest curiosity.

“Have you ever asked a footman if he likes being one?” she pointed out. “Or a maid?”

“A governess is hardly a footman or a maid.”

“We are closer than you think. Paid a wage, living in someone else’s house, always one misstep away from being tossed in the street.” And while he was pondering that, she turned the tables and asked, “Do
you
like being an earl?”

He thought for a moment. “I have no idea.” At her look of surprise, he added, “I haven’t had much chance to know what it means. I held the title for barely a year before I left England, and I’m ashamed to say I didn’t do much with it during that time. If the earldom is thriving, it is due to my father’s excelent stewardship, and his foresight in appointing several capable managers.”

still, she persisted. “But you still
were
the earl. It did not matter what land you stood upon. When you made an acquaintance you said, ‘I am Winstead,’ not ‘I am Mr. Winstead.’ ”

He looked at her frankly. “I made very few acquaintances while I was abroad.”

“Oh.” It was a remarkably odd statement, and she did not know how to respond. He didn’t say anything more, and she did not think she could bear the touch of melancholy that had misted over them, so she said, “I
do
like being a governess. To them, at least,” she clarified, smiling and waving at the girls.

“I take it this is not your first position,” he surmised.

“No. My third. And I have also served as a companion.” She wasn’t sure why she was teling him all this. It was more of herself than she usualy shared. But it wasn’t anything he could not discover by quizzing his aunt. All of her previous positions had been disclosed when Anne had applied to teach the Pleinsworth daughters, even the one that had not ended wel. Anne strove for honesty whenever possible, probably because it so often
wasn’t
possible. And she was most grateful that Lady Pleinsworth had not thought less of her for having departed a position where every day had ended with her having to barricade her door against her students’ father.

Lord Winstead regarded her with an oddly penetrating stare, then finaly said, “I still don’t think you’re a Wynter,” he said.

How odd that he seemed so stuck on the idea. still, she shrugged. “There is not much for me to do about it. Unless I marry.” Which, as they both knew, was an unlikely prospect. Governesses rarely had the opportunity to meet eligible gentlemen of their own station. And Anne did not want to marry, in any case. It was difficult to imagine giving any man complete control over her life and her body.

“Look at that lady, for example,” he said, motioning with his head toward a woman who was disdainfuly dodging Frances and Elizabeth as they leapt across the path. “She looks like a Wynter. Icy blond, cold of character.”

“How can you possibly judge her character?”

“Some dissembling on my part,” he admitted. “I used to know her.”

Anne didn’t even want to think about what that meant.

“I think you’re an autumn,” he mused.

“I would rather be spring,” she said softly. To herself, realy.

He did not ask her why. She didn’t even think about his silence until later, when she was in her small room, remembering the details of the day. It was the sort of statement that begged for explanation, but he hadn’t asked. He’d known not to.

She wished he
had
asked. She wouldn’t have liked him so well if he had.

And she had a feeling that liking Daniel Smythe-Smith, the equal parts famous and infamous Earl of Winstead, could lead only to downfal.

A
s Daniel walked home that evening, after having stopped by Marcus’s house to convey his formal congratulations, he realized that he could not recall the last time he had so enjoyed an afternoon.

He supposed this was not such a difficult achievement; he had spent the last three years of his life in exile, after al, frequently on the run from Lord Ramsgate’s hired thugs. It was not an existence that lent itself to lazy outings and pleasant, aimless conversation.

But that was what his afternoon had turned out to be. While the girls counted their steps along Rotten Row, he and Miss Wynter had sat and chatted, talking about very little in particular. And all the time he could not stop thinking how very much he’d wanted to take her hand.

That was al. Just her hand.

He would bring it to his lips, and bow his head in tender salute. And he would have known that that simple, chivalrous kiss would be the beginning of something amazing.

That was why it would have been enough. Because it would be a promise.

Now that he was alone with his thoughts, his mind wandered to everything that promise might hold. The curve of her neck, the lush intimacy of her undone hair. He could not recall wanting a woman this way. It went beyond mere desire. His need for her went deeper than his body. He wanted to worship her, to—

The blow came out of nowhere, clipping him below his ear, sending him tumbling back against a lamppost.

“What the hel?” he grunted, looking up just in time to see two men lunging toward him.

“Aye, there’s a good guv,” one of them said, and as he moved, snakelike in the misty air, Daniel saw the glint of a knife, flashing in the lamplight.

Ramsgate
.

These were his men. They had to be.

Damn it, Hugh had promised him it was safe to return. Had Daniel been a fool to believe him, so desperate to go home he’d not been able to bring himself to see the truth?

Daniel had learned how to fight dirty and mean in the last three years, and while the first of his attackers lay curled on the pavement from a kick to the groin, the other was forced to wrestle for control of the knife.

“Who sent you?” Daniel growled. They were face-to-face, almost nose to nose, their arms stretched high as they both strained for the weapon.

“I jest want yer coin,” the ruffian said. He smiled, and his eyes held a glittery sheen of cruelty. “Give me yer money, and we’ll all walk away.” He was lying. Daniel knew this as well as he knew how to draw breath. If he let go of the man’s wrists, even for one moment, that knife would be plunged between his ribs. As it was, he had only moments before the man on the ground regained his equilibrium.

“Hey now! What’s going on here?”

Daniel flicked his eyes across the street for just long enough to see two men running out from a public house. His attacker saw them, too, and with a jerk of his wrists, he flung the knife into the street. Twisting and shoving, he freed himself from Daniel’s grasp and took off running, his friend scrambling behind him.

wrists, he flung the knife into the street. Twisting and shoving, he freed himself from Daniel’s grasp and took off running, his friend scrambling behind him.

Daniel sprinted after them, determined to capture at least one. It would be the only way he would get any answers. But before he reached the corner, one of the men from the pub tackled him, mistaking him for one of the criminals.

“Damn it,” Daniel grunted. But there was no use in cursing the man who’d knocked him to the street. He knew he might well be dead if not for his intervention.

If he wanted answers, he was going to have to find Hugh Prentice.

Now.

H
ugh lived in a small set of apartments in The Albany, an elegant building that catered to gentlemen of exceptional birth and modest means. Hugh certainly could have remained in his father’s enormous manse, and in fact Lord Ramsgate had tried everything short of blackmail to force him to stay, but as Hugh had told Daniel on the long journey home from Italy, he no longer spoke to his father.

His father, unfortunately, still spoke to him.

Hugh was not home when Daniel arrived, but his valet was, and he showed Daniel to the sitting room, assuring him that Hugh was expected to return shortly.

For nearly an hour Daniel paced the room, going over every detail of the attack. It hadn’t been the best lit of London streets, but it certainly wasn’t considered one of the more dangerous. Then again, if a thief wanted to capture a heavy purse, he would need to venture beyond the rookeries of St. Giles and Old Nichol. Daniel would not have been the first gentleman to be robbed so close to Mayfair and St. James’s.

It could have been a simple robbery. Couldn’t it? They had said they wanted his money. It could have been the truth.

But Daniel had spent too long looking over his shoulder to accept the simple explanation for anything. And so when Hugh finaly let himself into his rooms, Daniel was waiting for him.

“Winstead,” Hugh said immediately. He did not appear to be surprised, but then again, Daniel didn’t think he had ever seen Hugh appear surprised. He had always had the most remarkably expressionless face. It was one of the reasons he’d been so unbeatable at cards. That and his freakish aptitude for numbers.

“What are you doing here?” Hugh asked. He closed the door behind himself and limped in, leaning heavily on his cane. Daniel forced himself to watch his progress. When they had first met up again, back in Italy, it had been difficult for Daniel to watch Hugh’s painful gait, knowing that he was the cause of it. Now he bore witness as a sort of penance, although after what had happened to him that very evening, he was not certain it was a penance he deserved.

“I was attacked,” Daniel said curtly.

Hugh went still. Slowly, he turned, his eyes carefuly sweeping from Daniel’s face, to his feet, and back again. “Sit,” he said abruptly, and he motioned to a chair.

Daniel’s blood was rushing far too quickly to take a seat. “I would rather stand.”

“Excuse me, then, if I sit,” Hugh said with a self-deprecating twist of his lips. He made his way over to a chair, awkwardly, and then lowered himself down. When he finaly took his weight off his bad leg, he sighed with audible relief.

This, he was not faking. He might be lying about other things, but not this. Daniel had seen Hugh’s leg. It was twisted and puckered, its very existence an improbable feat of medicine. That he could put any weight on it at all was a miracle.

“Do you mind if I have drink?” Hugh inquired. He rested his cane on a table and then began to knead the muscles in his leg. He did not bother to hide his pain from his face. “It’s over there,” he winced, jerking his head toward a cabinet.

Daniel crossed the room and extracted a bottle of brandy. “Two fingers?” he asked.

“Three. Please. It’s been a long day.”

Daniel poured the drink and brought it over. He had not touched alcohol since that fateful drunken night, but then again, he did not have a shattered leg that needed numbing.

“Thank you,” Hugh said, his voice somewhere between a groan and a whisper. He took a long swalow, and then another, closing his eyes as the fire roled down his throat. “There,” he said, once he’d regained his composure. He set the glass down and looked up. “I was told that your injuries came at the hands of Lord Chatteris.”

“That was something else,” Daniel said dismissively. “I was attacked by two men as I was walking home this evening.” Hugh straightened, his eyes sharpening. “Did they say anything?”

“They demanded money.”

“But did they know your name?”

Daniel shook his head. “They did not say it.”

Hugh was silent for a long moment, then said, “It’s possible they were ordinary footpads.” Daniel crossed his arms and stared at him.

“I told you that I extracted a promise from my father,” Hugh said quietly. “He will not touch you.” Daniel wanted to believe him. In fact, he did believe him. Hugh had never been a liar. Nor did he possess a vengeful nature. But was it possible Hugh had been duped?

“How do I know your father can be trusted?” Daniel asked. “He has spent the last three years in the pursuit of my death.”

“And I have spent the last three years convincing him that this”—Hugh curled his lip and waved his hand over his ruined leg—“was as much my fault as yours.”

“He would never believe that.”

“No,” Hugh agreed. “He is a stubborn ass. He always has been.”

It was not the first time Daniel had heard Hugh refer to his father in such terms, but still, he was taken aback. There was something about the plainness of Hugh’s tone that was unnerving.

“How can I know that I will be safe?” Daniel demanded. “I returned to England on the strength of your word, on your belief that your father would honor his promise. If something happens to me, or if, God help you, any member of my family, I will hunt you down to the ends of the earth.” promise. If something happens to me, or if, God help you, any member of my family, I will hunt you down to the ends of the earth.” Hugh did not need to point out that if Daniel was kiled, there would be no hunting to be done.

“My father signed a contract,” Hugh said. “You have seen it.”

Daniel even possessed a copy. So did Hugh and Lord Ramsgate, and Hugh’s solicitor, who was under strict instructions to keep it under lock and key. But still. . .

“He would not be the first man to disregard a signed document,” Daniel said in a low voice.

“Indeed.” Hugh’s face was pinched, and there was a long-standing look to the shadows under his eyes. “But he will not disregard this one. I have made sure of it.” Daniel thought of his family, of his sister and mother, and his rolicking, giggling Pleinsworth cousins, whom he was just beginning to know again. And he thought of Miss Wynter, her face springing to the forefront of his mind. If something happened to him before he had the chance to know her . . .

If something happened to
her
. . .

“I need to know how you can be so certain,” Daniel said, his voice dropping into a furious hush.

“Well. . .” Hugh brought his glass to his lips and took something deeper than a sip. “If you must know, I told him that if anything happens to you, I would kill myself.”

If Daniel had been holding anything, anything at al, it would have crashed to the ground. It was a remarkable thing that
he
did not crash to the ground.

“My father knows me well enough to know that I do not say such a thing lightly,” Hugh said, lightly.

Daniel couldn’t speak.

“So if you would . . .” Hugh took another drink, this time barely touching his lips to the liquid. “I would appreciate if you would endeavor not to get yourself kiled in an unhappy accident. I’m sure to blame it on my father, and honestly, I’d rather not see myself off unnecessarily.”

“You’re mad,” Daniel whispered.

Hugh shrugged. “Sometimes I think so. My father would certainly agree.”

“Why would you do such a thing?” Daniel could not imagine anyone else—not even Marcus, who was truly a brother to him—making the same sort of threat.

Hugh was silent for a very long while, the unfocused stare of his eyes broken only by the occasional blink. Finaly, just when Daniel was sure that he would never answer, he turned and said, “I was stupid when I caled you a cheat. I was drunk. And I believe you were drunk, too, and I did not believe you had the ability to beat me.”

“I didn’t,” Daniel said. “All I had was luck.”

“Yes,” Hugh agreed. “But I don’t believe in luck. I never have. I believe in skil, and even more in judgment, but I had no judgment that night. Not with cards, and not with people.”

Hugh looked at his glass, which was empty. Daniel thought about offering to refil it, then decided that Hugh would ask if that was what he wanted.

“It was my fault that you had to leave the country,” Hugh said, setting his glass on the table next to him. “I could not live with myself any longer, knowing that I had ruined your life.”

“But I have also ruined yours,” Daniel said quietly.

Hugh smiled, but it only touched one side of his mouth, and neither of his eyes. “It’s just a leg.” But Daniel didn’t believe him. He didn’t think Hugh believed himself, either.

“I will see to my father,” Hugh said, bringing a briskness to his tone that signaled their interview was coming to an end. “I do not believe he would be foolish enough to have been responsible for what happened to you this evening, but just in case, I shal remind him of my threat.”

“You will inform me of the outcome of the meeting?”

“Of course.”

Daniel made his way to the door, and as he turned to say good-bye, he saw that Hugh was struggling to rise to his feet. His tongue touched the top of his mouth, ready to say,
Don’t,
but he bit back the word. Every man needed his pride.

Hugh reached out and grasped his cane, then made his achingly slow progress across the room to see Daniel out. “Thank you for coming this evening,” Hugh said.

He held out his hand, and Daniel took it.

“I am proud to call you my friend,” Daniel said. He left then, but not before he saw Hugh turn swiftly away, his eyes wet with tears.

T
he folowing afternoon, after spending the morning in Hyde Park doing three remeasurements of Rotten Row, Anne sat at a writing desk in the Pleinsworth sitting room, tickling her chin with the feather of her quil as she considered which items to put on her to-do list. It was her afternoon free, and she’d been looking forward all week to running errands and shopping. Not that she ever had much to purchase, but she rather enjoyed poking about in shops. It was lovely to have a few moments during which she had responsibility for no one but herself.

Her preparations, however, were interrupted by the arrival of Lady Pleinsworth, who came sailing into the room in a swish of pale green muslin. “We leave tomorrow!” she announced.

Anne looked up, thoroughly confused, then stood. “I beg your pardon?”

“We cannot remain in London,” Lady Pleinsworth said. “Rumors are flying.”

They were? About what?

“Margaret told me that she has heard talk that Sarah was not actualy ill on the night of the musicale and was instead trying to spoil the concert.” Anne did not know who Margaret was, but it could not be denied that the lady was well informed.

“As if Sarah would
do
such a thing,” Lady Pleinsworth continued. “She is such a superior musician. And a dutiful daughter. She looks forward to the musicale all year.”

There was no comment Anne could make about that, but fortunately for her, Lady Pleinsworth did not seem to require a response.

“There is only one way to combat these vicious lies,” she continued, “and that is to leave town.”

“To leave town?” Anne echoed. It seemed extreme. The season was just getting underway, and she’d thought that their main objective was to find a husband for Lady Sarah. Which they were unlikely to do back in Dorset, where the Pleinsworths had lived for seven generations.

“Indeed.” Lady Pleinsworth let out a brisk sigh. “I know that Sarah
looks
as if her health has improved, and perhaps it has. But as far as the rest of the world is concerned, she must be at death’s door.”

Anne blinked, trying to folow the countess’s logic. “Wouldn’t that require the services of a physician?” Lady Pleinsworth waved this off. “No, just healthful country air. Everyone knows one can’t properly convalesce in the city.” Anne nodded, secretly relieved. She preferred life in the country. She had no connections in the southwest of England, and she liked it that way. Plus there was the complication of her infatuation with Lord Winstead. It behooved her to nip that squarely in the bud, and two hundred miles of countryside between the two of them complication of her infatuation with Lord Winstead. It behooved her to nip that squarely in the bud, and two hundred miles of countryside between the two of them seemed the best way to do it. Setting down her pen, she asked Lady Pleinsworth, “How long will we be in Dorset?”

“Oh, we’re not going to Dorset. And thank heavens for that. It’s such a grueling journey. We’d have to stay at least a fortnight for anyone to think Sarah had got the least bit of rest and respite.”

“Then wh—”

“We’re going to Whipple Hil,” Lady Pleinsworth announced. “It is only near Windsor. It won’t even require a full day to get there.” Whipple Hil? Why did that sound familiar?

“Lord Winstead suggested it.”

Anne suddenly began to cough.

Lady Pleinsworth regarded her with some concern. “Are you quite wel, Miss Wynter?”

“Just . . . ehrm . . . some . . . ehrm ehrm . . . dust in my throat. I think.”

“Wel, do sit down, if you think it will help. There is no need to stand on ceremony with me, at least not at the moment.” Anne nodded gratefuly and retook her seat. Lord Winstead. She should have known.

“It is an ideal solution for us al,” Lady Pleinsworth continued. “Lord Winstead wants to leave London, too. The notoriety, you know. Word is getting out that he has returned, and he will be deluged with calers. Who can blame the man for desiring a peaceful reunion with his family?”

“Then he will be accompanying us?” Anne asked carefuly.

“Of course. It is his property. It would seem odd if we traveled there without him, even if I
am
his favorite aunt. I believe his sister and mother will be coming as wel, although I am not certain.” Lady Pleinsworth paused for breath, looking quite satisfied with the recent turn of events. “Nanny Flanders will supervise the packing for the girls, since it is your afternoon free. But if you would look everything over when you return, I would be most appreciative. Nanny is a dear, but she is getting on in years.”

“Of course,” Anne murmured. She adored Nanny, but she’d long since gone a bit deaf. Anne had always admired Lady Pleinsworth for keeping her on, but then again, she had been nurse to Lady Pleinsworth as a child,
and
Lady Pleinsworth’s mother.