An Improper Suitor (21 page)

‘Very well,’ she said, angrily. ‘Lord Thorwynn passed through this room. On his way out into the garden.’ Her mother gasped and put her hand to her chest. ‘I told him not to linger, because I have no interest in him
at all
. I won’t marry him in a hundred years, even if
all
the gossip columns in London were filled with delicious bits of scandal about me and Lord Thorwynn. Even if they all whispered about it behind their fans.’

Lady Telway’s mouth was rounded with shock. Possibly no one had talked to her like this in her life.

She turned to her mama. ‘You will be forced to withdraw me to the countryside in shame, and all the nice clothes you bought me will come to
nothing
because by the time I return to London again they will be so
outmoded
I will not be able to wear a single one, besides, they won’t fit any more because I’ll be a fat old maid who gorges herself on sweetmeats and cakes. So you might as well get used to it.’

Lady Neville fell back on to the settee, waving her hands and crying for her vinaigrette. ‘Please fetch it for me, Amelia,’ she said, her voice cracking.

‘Fetch it yourself,’ Amelia snapped. She shot a glance at Lady Telway. ‘Or perhaps your friend can help. She seems more than
willing
to go out of her way to assist you.’

She walked to the door, pausing to take in the scene. Mama was still waving her hands frantically and gasping for breath, with little cries in between. ‘How can she say such things? To her own mother. And to you. After all you’ve done for her!’

Lady Telway bent over her. ‘For heaven’s sake, Eustacia,’ she said, firmly, ‘stop that caterwauling and pull yourself together! We have to
sit down and make some plans.’

Amelia left them to each other, and slammed the door shut behind her.

She had taken care of that.

Now she was ready to elope with dearest,
dearest
Warren. 

Walking into the masquerade ball was like walking into a pagan
festival
celebrated in some other area of the world. The flaccid whites and pinks of the debutantes were broken by the lurid colours of the masks. Red, silver, black, green, and gold glimmered and shimmered under the candlelight. The polite masks of Society had disappeared, replaced by grotesque and distorted faces. Julia threaded her way through the fantastical realm, wondering if she was seeing the true selves of the
ton.
Menacing outlaws, growling tigers, tearful clowns. Ladies with hard gold faces and men with glimmering diamonds. Pagan gods and wizards. She had entered a world where all the
carefully
established rules had lost their meaning.

Lionel had told her he would be in a black and white domino and cloak, but she had already passed a few similarly dressed gentlemen. Nor was it easy to distinguish them under the flowing capes they wore. In the crush, where nothing was in place, she did not know if she could find him. Then someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned to find Lionel only partly concealed by the black and white domino. She would have recognized him anywhere.

Lionel bowed to Lady Eckles, the agreed upon signal for everyone to make their exit. It was early, but according to the plan, Lord Medlow and Julia had to reach the East India Docks before the fleeing couple arrived.

Julia went to find Lady Bullfinch. She was dancing a waltz with Lord Yarfolk. Julia managed to catch her grandmother’s eye. They twirled towards her.

She, of course, knew what was happening. But since Julia could not divulge anything openly, they had agreed on her excuse to leave.

‘I have a headache. The Medlows have been good enough to offer their carriage to take me home.’

‘Can’t it wait a while?’ she asked.

Julia raised her hand to her temple and tried to look as if a lancing pain was driving through her head. ‘I’m sorry. But the lights, and the crowd …’

‘Why don’t you take Aunt Viola with you?’

‘She’s in the middle of a card game,’ said Julia, ‘you know how she hates to be interrupted.’

Lady Bullfinch snorted, sending Julia a piercing glance. ‘Very well. Try to get some rest.’

Julia nodded.

As soon as they were safely back on the dance floor, she pressed on through the crowds to the door. By the time she was at the entrance, her toes felt as though they had gone through a clothes press. Her feet had been trodden on more times than she could tell, and the thin silk material of her slippers offered no protection.

She started as a black shadow detached itself from the shadows by the wall and came in her direction. She let out a breath of relief when she realized it was Lionel. He had abandoned his white and black disguise.

‘You should be more cautious,’ he said. ‘What if it was Neave?’

‘He’s after different prey, don’t you think?’

He gripped her suddenly and, drawing her back toward the
shadows,
crushed his mouth to hers. There was nothing lover-like in the kiss. It pinned her down, a moth caught in the light. She struggled to free herself, but his iron arms held her in place.

Abruptly, the kiss changed. His lips softened and began to move, exploring. She stopped struggling, shocked by the tides of sensation churning through her. Her arms reached up to lock his head down, pulling him closer. She could no longer breathe, but she didn’t care. She just wanted the sensations to continue.

He pulled away, gently.

She uttered an incoherent protest. She was tired of being pushed away, just as she was starting to enjoy herself.

‘Hush,’ he whispered, a silencing finger to her lips. He indicated with his head.

She looked to the right. It was Neave. He had just passed her by, and was now descending the steps. He was wearing a bright red cloak, but had removed his domino. She could tell from his stiff back that he was on the alert, searching for something. Perhaps he had noticed that she had left and come to investigate.

‘I’m sorry for my unimaginative attempt to conceal you,’ he said, ruefully, running his finger through his hair. ‘I couldn’t think of anything else on the spur of the moment.’

She was glad it was dark because so much heat rushed to her face, she must have looked like lobster. So he hadn’t kissed her in an
overwhelming
moment of passion, after all. And she, foolish as she was, had practically thrown herself at him, yet again.

‘I hope you’ll use your imagination next time,’ she hissed. ‘I could have been completely compromised.’

He grinned. ‘It wouldn’t have been the first time,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, I would have offered for you again.’

‘I hardly think that’s funny.’

He shrugged, still grinning. ‘I doubt that many could have known you, with that domino covering your eyes.’

In the confusion of the kiss she had forgotten about the mask.

She ignored him and peered into the street. ‘I wonder where Lord Medlow is?’

As if on cue, a carriage drew up. The door opened and Lord Medlow’s head emerged. She took a deep breath.

‘Well, here goes,’ she said. She turned to Lionel, reluctant to leave him. ‘I wish you luck.’

He nodded. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll bring her to you safely.’

He handed her into the carriage, his hand lingering on hers. She clung to it, suddenly afraid, wondering if something terrible was about to happen.

By the time she had settled into her seat enough to look out of the window, he had disappeared once more into the shadows.

The ride through the darkness was uneventful. After a brief attempt at small talk, Lord Neville abandoned any attempt at conversation.
She could hardly blame him. His daughter’s future was at stake.

He had brought along Amelia’s maid, Hannah, to lend some propriety to the situation. Beyond an initial greeting, Hannah said nothing. She seemed subdued. No doubt she had been under a great deal of pressure, even blamed for her mistress’ elopement. Julia tried to engage Hannah in conversation, but under Lord Medlow’s
withering
eye the maid faltered so badly that Julia was obliged to give up.

They left the lamplight of London behind and moved into an area where the buildings were large and squat and lights were few and far between. The carriage moved rapidly, unhampered by traffic. A
halfhearted
moon peered periodically from behind the clouds, giving her a brief glimpse of her surroundings, then disappearing again.

It was essential that they arrive at the inn before the others. The agreement was that they would stop at the inn at the East India Docks, supposedly to arrange for a fresh pair. Amelia’s father would open the carriage door when they arrived, intercepting the fleeing couple.

That is, if Neave had not discovered already that his coachman was Lionel. And had not found out that the carriage was heading out to the docks instead of north.

She had never liked that part of the plan. She was sure Neave was bound to look out of the window at some point.

But Lionel had argued that Neave would keep the curtains drawn, not wanting Amelia to be recognized. And that a man intent on an elopement would have no reason to suspect foul play.

Yet even while worry gnawed at her that something would happen to Lionel, she still found herself revisiting that unexpected kiss. She relived the myriad sensations it stirred in her, over and over. It was no longer possible to dismiss the longing in her, the need that had broken open the shell that had enveloped her. She could no more control it than she could control her heartbeat or stop her breathing.

She wanted nothing else but to be held by him, to caress him, to move her lips across his skin, to feel his fingers touching her, his body against hers.

I thought myself immune to the temptations offered by rakes like Lionel, but I was very mistaken.
Even worse, she revelled in it. All sense of perspective was gone. She finally understood what her
grandmother
called
those carnal urges
that will drive a woman to forget everything. A strange urgency gripped her by the throat and demanded to be satisfied.

She knew he did not love her. That he had no intention of
marrying
her.
And to think that when Grannie threatened to marry me to Lionel, it had seemed like the worst thing that could happen to me! Even more strange, I actually had the opportunity to marry him, and I tossed it away without a second thought.

She would no longer deny it. She loved Lionel. And even if it was too late to marry him, even if she had let that chance slip away, she would not deny herself the pleasure she could find in his arms. She would not live her life without at least once experiencing the joys of love.

She knew Grannie would give her blessing. Perhaps that was what she had intended all along. To give Julia a chance to come out from behind her protective wall and enjoy what life had to offer.

Tonight, if they stayed at the inn, which was likely, the stage was set. It would be a simple matter to creep into his room and overcome any reluctance he may have.

But first he would have to return to her safely.

They took refreshments in the private parlour. Lord Medlow behaved as though there was no one in the room. His gaze was distant, and from time to time he ground his teeth, grating them so hard she grew certain they would break.

She wished he would start up some conversation. Any trivial chit chat would do. But his closed face did not invite trivialities, and she dared not intrude on a complete stranger at such a delicate moment. Hannah sat completely still in a corner. She was tempted to engage her in a whispered conversation, but again held back.

The silence in the room stretched onwards, the quiet outside the inn unbroken. The taproom provided the only source of noise, though there were only a few scattered men enjoying a glass of ale and a meal. She found herself straining to overhear their
conversation
, but they were too far away to make out anything.

She folded her hands one way. Folded them another way. If she had brought a book she could have kept herself occupied.

Anxiety gripped her. Suppose Neave happened to look out of the window? Suppose he had discovered his coachman gone right at the beginning? Suppose Lionel was lying bleeding on some deserted street, blood flowing from a head wound?

She could stand her speculation no longer. She rose and went to the mantel to examine the clock there. Not interesting. She picked it up, looked at it closely, put it down again. She moved slowly to examine a painting of a fox hunt hanging on the wall, then a painting of an Indiaman riding the waves.

Lord Medlow’s eyes bore holes into her back.

She returned to her seat, arranged her gown around her very
carefully.

At last the clatter of carriage wheels reached her ears. She jumped up.

‘Stay out of sight for the moment,’ commanded Lord Medlow.

She went to the parlour window and opened it. It overlooked the courtyard where the carriage stood.

Neave opened the door of the carriage.

‘What the devil’s going on?’ he said to the coachman. ‘Why have you stopped here? What is this wretched place?’

Lord Medlow stepped forward. ‘I believe my daughter is with you.’

Neave’s eyes opened wide. Under the pale light, his face turned ghostly white. He threw a desperate look around him. Lionel stepped forward, bringing his face into the light. Benny did the same.

Neave was surrounded.

A cry came from inside the coach. Amelia appeared in the doorway. Everyone turned towards her. ‘Look out!’ she said. ‘He’s armed.’

In the split second during which their attention turned towards her, he had whipped out his pistol.

‘Nobody move, or I’ll shoot her,’ he said, pointing the muzzle at Amelia. He backed up steadily towards the inn.

Lionel, who had started to move stealthily towards him, came to a standstill. The three men stood immobile in the courtyard, dark
statues
under the grim light.

Neave continued to sidle towards the building. Julia expected him to make a sprint for the alleyway beyond the inn, where a number of warehouses were located. Her mind raced frantically, wondering what
she could do to foil his escape.

The static courtyard suddenly sprang into action. Lionel, who was closest to Neave, rashly tried to throw himself at Neave. The pistol went off.

Julia started to run out, to see if Lionel had been wounded. But she did not have time to see if the shot had found a mark. Now that the pistol was empty, the courtyard turned into a blur of figures
converging
on Neave.

The window was suddenly wrenched from her hand, and Neave hauled himself inside. Hannah screamed. Remembering his knife on the day he had tried to abduct her, Julia jumped aside quickly just as he reached out to grab her. She knew he would use her as a shield.

Her mind cleared as everything seemed to slow down. She tore off her paisley shawl and threw it at him, making sure to cover his face. She gripped the two ends as hard as she could as he struggled to break free. He pulled at it aggressively. She would not be able to hold him for long.

She signalled to Hannah, who was by the fireplace. The poker was in plain sight. She nodded towards it. She did not want to alert him by speaking.

Hannah looked at the poker uncertainly. Julia gritted her teeth. In a few seconds more, Neave would be free. His strength was superior to hers, and the delicate material of the shawl was ready to give.

Hannah picked up the poker.

‘Hannah! Now!’ she shouted, knowing he was about to get away. Hannah crept closer and raised it. She hesitated.

The edge of the shawl was torn from Julia’s hands. She dived for the poker, wrested it out of Hannah’s hands, and with a quick
movement
brought it down on to Neave. He saw it coming and raised his arm. But it slipped through, striking him on the corner of the
forehead.