Blood for Ink (The Scarlet Plumiere Series #1) (10 page)

He frowned. Apparently he was not going to say it. But even in her disappointment, it was all she could do not to burst out laughing. Not noticing that he’d nearly kissed her seemed to dent his pride.

Too bad she had not leaned toward him. He’d pulled on her hands; it would have seemed a natural thing to do. But too late did she realize what was happening, and yet another chance for a real kiss slipped her by. And this time, by a grown man—and quite possibly the most dashing man she had ever known. Strong chin. Serious brow, and a triangular plane below his cheeks that urged her to smooth her thumbs across them. But she would never have that chance.

It was certain he would never try to kiss her again, not with how he felt about The Scarlet Plumiere. And he would never find out who that was if his friend held his tongue. So again, no kiss.

North began to pace. He glanced up once, to see if she minded, but Miss Reynolds just smiled and waved for him to continue. He inclined his head, then did just that.

He could easily imagine how The Plumiere must have felt when this lovely creature was about to become the mistreated property of Gordon. The man was a scoundrel and all the
ton
knew it. Correction, all the
men
of the ton knew it, and yet no man had come forward to save the lass, leaving the saving to the women.

Well, one woman at least.

Thank goodness Miss Reynolds seemed not to have noticed how close he’d come to kissing her! He blamed it entirely on the fact that she so resembled the original image he had conjured of his future bride. Except for the over-large—

He shook the image from his head.

If she had not possessed dark hair, or been so lovely, he reasoned, he would not have been drawn to her side, drawn to her lips. He had been distracted, but what man would not be?

Yes, what man would not be?

An image flashed in his mind of a large barrel containing both The Plumiere and Miss Reynolds over which he stood, trying to cover the opening with his arms and shoulders so that other gentlemen could not drop in their lots as they passed.

It was only further confirmation that he was, indeed, losing his mind.

Since he had already promised himself to one woman, he had best create a bit of distance between himself and Telford’s daughter. And the best way to do that would be to attach her to the arm of someone else—and not one of his friends. Heaven forbid he should be tortured within his own circles! No. Better to get her back into the ballrooms and allow other gentlemen compete for her. If The Scarlet Plumiere had finished the job she started, and returned the woman to Society, North would not have found himself in such a predicament...leaning over barrels...

He stopped pacing and cleared his throat. “Did not I see you at the Sharpton’s fete the other night?”

“I am afraid not, my lord. I have not been to a fete of any kind since my broken engagement, what with the scandal and all. I hardly need to remind you of the scandal. Honestly, one day I bless the woman who saved me from Lord Gordon, and the next I curse her for it. How I wish I could undo the whole of it, take back the last two years of my life and live it over. Some days I even wonder if it would have been better to have married Lord Gordon. At least I would still be able to shop in public.” She smiled sadly.

Poor woman did not even go shopping? What was the world coming to?

He found himself next to her again, so he placed his hands on his knees and held tight.

“Never believe you would be better off with than man, Miss Reynolds. The Scarlet Plumiere did you a great service that day, believe me. Some of us men wish we would have been clever enough to bring his misdeeds to light and rescued you ourselves.” His voice had dropped dangerously low. What the devil was wrong with him?

In the silence, however, he heard her breathing pick up a pace. Was she affected by his proximity? He did not dare turn his head to see.

Face forward. Face forward.

“
I will try to remember that, sir. On sunny shopping days when I am feeling less than charitable.” There was something terribly honest in her statement and an honesty in her tone that demanded his attention. He could not help but turn and look closely. She was such a sweet thing he doubted her capable of strong resentment, but perhaps he was wrong.

“Well, perhaps I can mitigate the injustice done to you. Allow me to take you shopping tomorrow.”

It was she who jumped to her feet. He, of course, had to follow. He was a gentleman, after all. But now, blast it, they stood facing each other, only a step apart. And how easily he could cover that step.

“Oh no, sir. I could not possibly.” She brought a white glove to her mouth which only served to show the intensity of her blush. It was a clever maneuver, actually; it at least placed a barrier between his lips and hers. She’d known full well how close he had come to kissing her!

But then she bit her lips as if she had just let slip her darkest secret.

Interesting.

“May I ask why not? Surely The Scarlet Plumiere has written nothing incriminating about my past. I do not claim to have read her fiction before my friend became a victim, but surely I would have heard had I been slandered. And I assure you, I have given no reason for my name to be in the paper—well, until recently.”

Her glove fell away and her eyes narrowed. Perhaps she did not care to have her writer-friend referred to as a slanderer.

“But that’s just it. You are Mr. Lott. If I am seen on your arm when every soul in London knows you plan to woo and win the hand of The Scarlet Plumiere… Well, you can see who everyone would assume me to be, can you not? Every gentleman in town would shun me, if they do not already because of my unpleasant situation. And those who do not shun me might wish to murder me for the sins of my rescuer, thinking they are mine.”

Her nostrils flared. It was a small thing, but he had noticed. He looked in her eyes, to discover just how upset she truly was, but just as the door to her thoughts began to open, she stepped back and dropped her eyes. He would have given a hundred pounds for a trellis to have sprung up behind her so she could not run away.

Come back
, he urged silently.
Face me. Tell me everything! Do your worst!

Dear heavens, baiting Olivia Reynolds was as invigorating as baiting The Plumiere!

She suddenly pulled her cloak tighter around herself with shaking hands and he felt ashamed for even thinking such a thing. He gestured back to the bench, then stepped well out of her way. As long as she did not complain about the cold, he was determined to talk with her as long as possible. He could surely keep his distance.

“First of all, Miss Reynolds, had the gentlemen of the
ton
known you were here, hiding behind your door, they would have beaten the thing down by now. I assure you, Society awaits, and I can ease your return to it if you will allow me. And secondly, I would be sure to bring another gentleman upon whose arm you might safely lean.”

She considered the sky for a moment, then looked straight into his soul.

“I am sorry, my lord. I cannot accept, but you are gallant to have offered. After all, you would hardly be helping me to serve your own purposes.”

He waved away the compliment and her piercing gaze. Unable to look her in the eye, he wandered down the path to the right and took great interest in the denuded branches of an actual trellis. Miniature roses, no doubt. He wondered what color they would be in summer rather than examine the guilt lying heavy in his stomach. None of his motives could be considered selfless.

“I would like to tell you the identity of The Scarlet Plumiere, my lord. I would give you that gift, to help you in your suit for her hand...” Her voice sang through the garden.

He hurried back to her side. The prize! She was about to hand him the prize... But his first thought was whether or not it might be improper to thank her with a kiss. What the devil had come over him?

“That is, if I only knew.” She shrugged her shoulders. “But alas, I have no idea whom she may be. One day I was engaged and worrying myself ill over the rumors I had heard concerning my future husband, and the next I was free, Society demanding that I be released from any promise and assuring me of my clear reputation. It is entirely my fault I have not dared trust that reputation.”

He gave her his back to avoid showing utter frustration. But was he more disappointed she could not give him the woman’s name or that he had lost a reason to kiss her? The pretty little bird could not have teased him more painfully if she had tried!

That barrel popped into his mind again.

A small dog began barking. The barking grew nearer and around the edge of a leafless shrubbery, propelled by its inappropriately short legs, flew a pretty little dog with a red bow around its neck. Without slowing in the slightest, it flung itself at Olivia Reynolds. North smiled, expecting to see an unabashed display of affection, but soon realized the little beast was attacking the woman! No biting, however, just barking and rolling its eyes as if it were furious and trying desperately to convey it.

North stood at the ready to rip the animal away if necessary.

“Get off me, Rat!” The sweet voice of Olivia Reynolds had changed so completely, he expected another woman to be seated on the bench when she lowered her arms.

The dog flew sideways, landed on the bare branches of a hedge, and bounced back at the woman without so much as a yelp. Having little momentum, however, it failed to make the jump to her lap.

Then Telly’s daughter began to laugh.
Hysterically.

The little dog did not seem to be in on the joke and attacked her slipper, pulling it nearly off her foot. And still she laughed.

It was the kind of laughter he had listened for Saturday night. Well, without the hysterical edge of course. And then it struck him, like a club to his belly—

Here sits Cinderella
.

The beast growled and thrashed his head from side to side, determined to damage something at least. The sharp little teeth began to slide through the satin.

“Fine,” she said, composing herself. “Fine, I will take it off.”

The beast stopped thrashing about but held the slipper hostage while it watched the woman’s hands coming at him.

She untied the bow and pulled it free. The dog barked and snapped at her hand; she pulled back just in time. Still growling, the little monster walked away, sideways, keeping its eyes fixed on the woman who seemed intent on chasing the thing away with her laughter alone. Finally, she shook the crimson bow at the wee beast and it turned tail and ran.

“Serves you right, Rat,” Miss Reynolds mumbled. When she turned back to North, she paled before she could blink.

He could see her reverting back to the timid woman as if she had reached for a mask and was sliding it into place. Gone was the harrier of poor little dogs. Back was the pretty little bird. But he would hardly pounce on her. He would continue the game, pretending innocence. An unconsidered move with the clever Plumiere would be unwise.

“I must apologize,” she chirped. “My late mother’s dog hates me unconditionally. Sometimes I must revert to childish pranks to keep The Rat—that’s to say, the
dog
, from taking over the household entirely.”

“She dislikes bows?”

She grinned, tried to suppress it, but failed. “He.”

They laughed together for a moment, then he realized he was laughing alone. She was looking at him in an odd manner. He felt the need to apologize.

“I beg your pardon. I seldom laugh like that without my friends about. I quite forgot I was in the presence of a lady.”

“You flatter me, sir.” She did not look flattered at all as she reached down to shake her skirts over her damaged slipper.

“Oh, dear. I see what you mean. Perhaps I should take a lesson from the dog and attempt to stay in your good graces.”

“Or perhaps you will wake up from a nap with a scar—a crimson bow around your neck.” She turned a strained smile to the frozen flower bed to her right, as if admiring the ghosts of flowers past.

Surely she he had intended to say ‘scarlet’, but he pretended not to notice.

“How did you manage it? I have never known a dog that would sleep through such a thing.”

Her smile turned genuine once again. “The Rat is fond of sherry. Oh, he would never take it from my hand, of course, but if someone happened to spill a little in his water bowl...”

“I see. That explains why his own barking appeared to cause him pain. Remind me never to imbibe in your presence.”

That smile fell away. He took a hasty step forward, as if he might catch it before it was too late. How foolish.

“What have I said?”

She looked at her hands and shook her head.

“Please, tell me what I have said to erase your beautiful smile.”

When she looked up, she was the bird again. Two versions. Perhaps one was Olivia and the other was Livvy. Yes, she had worn that honest smile for her father, when he’d called her Livvy. Olivia was the bird.

“I must admit it has been lovely to have met you, my lord. But I am afraid our association must end here. I cannot risk the consequences. I am sure you understand.”

North understood but had no intention of ending their association as she put it. Of course he would keep her close. It was, after all, his duty to protect his wife.

His wife! His Cinderella. His little writer.

He’d done nothing in his life to deserve her. But he would.

Her butler hurried down the walk holding an envelope and gasping for breath. Surely there was someone younger on the staff who might perform the old man’s leg work.

“Hopkins? What is it?” She jumped to her feet.

The man shook his head. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but a messenger just delivered this. He directed me to deliver it personally and said a life hangs in the balance.”