Cupid's Dart (10 page)

Lord Warwick was not much interested in matters Italian. "Perhaps you would prefer the theater," he said politely. "I believe a performance of
Hamlet
is being staged at the Theater Royale."

Did Lord Warwick seek to change the subject? Mr. Sutton was not inclined to oblige. "I was a member of Lady Denham's party. Perhaps you are acquainted with her. Or the Hallidays. The brother seems a bit of an oddity, but Lady Georgiana is a charming female."

Garth did not care for this conversation, or for the suspicion that something else altogether underlay Mr. Sutton's words. Nor did he care to be reminded that he was in no position to accompany Georgie to the Promenade Grove to listen to a wretched Italian soprano, or for that matter anywhere, lest the gossips smear her good name with the same brush as had blackened his own. "I know of them," he said dismissively, and gestured toward the hazard-players. "You do not care to join in?"

Here was an odd husband for the volatile Catherine, Mr. Sutton mused. Not that marriage had much to do with compatibility, from what he could observe. "I'm not here to court Lady Luck," he replied.

Nor was Garth present at Raggett's for his entertainment. Not that he would confide his affairs to this stranger, or for that matter even to his friends. Mr. Sutton's manner puzzled him. Fortunately Garth could not guess that Carlisle Sutton suspected him not only of abusing his vanished wife, but also of wishing to mistreat Lady Georgiana. "Business, then?" he asked.

Carlisle contemplated Lord Warwick. "You might say so."

The tabbies would have also something to say about this conversation, Garth thought. The tabbies had something to say about anything Garth did, which is why he had not sought out Georgie, though he had wished to do so a hundred times. He hoped Mr. Sutton had not entertained Georgie with tales of Indian holy men. "Ah," he said.

Mr. Sutton reached a decision. The peahen had escaped the tiger, and like a tiger Carlisle would track down his prey. He would lie in wait, and then begin a slow and silent approach, until he drew close enough to charge. Then he would leap onto his quarry's back and pin her down with his powerful claws. A pity he could not skin the wench and hang up her pelt. Mr. Sutton, it becomes apparent, had during his years in India grown somewhat uncivilized.

Lord Warwick was quarry more worthy of his mettle. Not that Mr. Sutton had any particular desire to sink his teeth into Lord Warwick's neck. "It is an awkward business," Carlisle said abruptly. "I have been pursuing certain discreet inquiries. It occurs to me now that perhaps I have been asking questions in the wrong places. You are a man of the world, Warwick. Have you seen this woman?" He described his uncle's wife.

Guinea-gold hair? Periwinkle eyes? A voluptuous little person with a flair for dramatics? Garth knew her as "Mrs. Smith." "She sounds an unforgettable sort of female. A, um, friend of yours, perhaps?"

Friend?
A friend?
Carlisle snarled, "She's a conniving trollop whom I mean to run to ground. One who possesses a singularly ill-mannered canine."

Lord Warwick's apprehensions, already wakened, stood to rigid attention at mention of a dog. "What sort of canine?" he inquired.

"A damned troublesome canine." Mr. Sutton did not like to mention that the creature had dragged him through the zigzag alleys and gawky trees of the Promenade Grove until they landed finally in a ditch. "It is also very damp,
and has an astonishing number of teeth. The beast is nearly as big as a horse, looks like it ran amok through a number of paint pots—or had them thrown at him, which is more likely the case—and possesses not a lick of sense. So far it has terrorized everyone at the inn where I am lodging, from the stableboy to the cook, who was preparing a joint for dinner when he interfered. I expect momentarily to be asked to remove myself."

Garth had no trouble following these disclosures, nor envisioning the mayhem his companion described. "You took the creature home with you?" he asked.

"We locked him in the tack room." Carlisle fervently prayed to all the gods of India that the troublesome hound would stay there. "His mistress will come looking for him, I think."

His mistress would no doubt go looking, but not Mrs. Smith. Garth's bad mood returned. He had been avoiding Georgie in order not to involve her in his troubles, and in the meantime she had managed to stumble into a pickle of her own. Not that said pickle was of her making. Garth thought that he must have a word with Georgie about her houseguest.

Chapter Twelve

Georgie did indeed go looking for her missing pet the following morning, to no avail; and her Lump-less return was a matter of great if silent rejoicing among her household. The failure of her mission was not, however, as some might have hoped, because the hound had vanished off the face of the earth. Lord Warwick had been moved to take a hand. The dog's liberation from its prison had been no easy task, and had involved his lordship masquerading as a lowly groom, and talking a great deal of nonsense, and paying an amazingly stiff bribe.

Garth still wore groom's clothing. He hoped no one saw him in this rig. Although if they did see him they wouldn't recognize him and therefore wouldn't gossip about him, which would be a nice change. "Yes, yes!" he said to Lump, who he had on a stout string. "I know you're glad to be rescued, but I wish you would try and control these transports. No, you may not lick my face! Look, you wretched creature, here is your home." Quite forgetting his appearance, Garth knocked at the front door.

Tibble opened that portal, and stared, first at the groom-like figure who dared set foot on the front step, and then at the dog. Lump, who had not enjoyed being chased about and yelled at by strangers, drooled happily at sight of the butler. "Oh," said Tibble, without enthusiasm. "You have brought him home."

"Only because it would have caused even more trouble had I not," retorted Lord Warwick. "Stand aside, you nincompoop, and let us enter."

Tibble did not care to be called a nincompoop, especially by a groom. So he said. He also pointed out that servants, even when returning a lost hound, should more properly present themselves at the kitchen door.

Lord Warwick had been in no good mood to begin with—in point of fact, Lord Warwick had not been in a good mood for quite some time—and to be given instructions in decorum by a butler was more than he could bear.

"It's Warwick, you idiot!" he snapped. "Now stand aside and let me enter before we draw all the neighbors out-of-doors to gape."

Tibble might not know the name "Warwick," but he recognized the voice of authority. He opened the door. Miss Georgie was become quite the rage with all these visitors. First the gentleman whose name he could not recollect, and now a groom. Although Tibble was almost certain that a groom was not quite the thing.

"Tell your mistress that I am in the drawing room." Lump in tow, Lord Warwick pushed past Tibble, leaving the butler very confused as to how this stranger knew where the drawing room was situated.

Mere moments passed before Georgie entered the chamber to find a groom frowning at her partially embroidered slippers, and Lump sprawled upon the silk-striped sofa, to which he was expressly forbidden access. "Lump!" she cried, and rushed to hug her pet. Lump responded with great enthusiasm, to the detriment of Georgie's coiffure and pale blue muslin dress.

Laughing, she detached herself. "I am very glad to see you, too! Now get down from there at once."

So much for his homecoming. Lump would have thought the prodigal's return might result in the relaxation of a few silly rules. Perhaps there was a bone waiting for him in the kitchen. He slid from the sofa to the floor.

"I am very grateful to you, sir." Georgia looked more closely at her Good Samaritan, and gasped. "Garth! I wonder if I wish to know why you are dressed like that."

Lord Warwick elevated his attention from the dratted slippers. "I'm sure you would much rather not know! But I think you must." In a few pithy words, he informed her of Carlisle Sutton's search for Mrs. Smith, and his possession of the hound.

Mr. Sutton was most diligent. Georgie wondered how he had encountered Lump and additionally why Marigold was locked in her bedchamber, and refused to allow even Janie admittance.

"I had hoped Marigold's troubles would turn out to be a tempest in a teapot," she sighed. "Apparently they are not. Did Mr. Sutton tell you why
he wished to find our Mrs. Smith?"

At this reminder that Georgie was herself acquainted with Mr. Sutton, Lord Warwick scowled. Not that he experienced a pang of jealousy, of course. And if he did, he had no right to it, so he would pretend that he did not. "Did he tell you
about Hindu holy men?" Garth asked.

Georgie blinked. "I haven't the least distant notion of what you are talking about."

Again, he was making a Jack-pudding of himself. Garth said, "Sutton didn't say precisely why he wished to find her, and I could hardly ask." Georgie wore a guilty expression, he thought. "You must tell me what you know about this business, Georgie. After all, I did
rescue your abominable hound."

So he had. Fondly, Georgie regarded her pet. Lump wagged his tail. "I know very little, other than that Marigold was married to Mr. Sutton's uncle, who inconveniently died and left her penniless." Garth was already frowning, and Georgie decided not to inform him that Marigold feared being clapped into gaol. "And that for some reason Mr. Sutton wishes to wring her neck."

Mr. Sutton was not alone in that sentiment. Garth gripped the back of a silk-striped chair. "What the devil are you thinking, to allow yourself to be embroiled in such nonsense? You are a woman alone in the world, and must be above reproach. Don't you realize the consequences to you were the gossips to get hold of this business? How can you be so careless with your good name?"

Perhaps it was not surprising that Lord Warwick would be so concerned with preserving everyone else's good name, having lost possession of his own. Still, his good advice made Georgie very cross. "Has anyone ever told you, Garth, that you are become very
taken
with yourself? You speak to me as though I were the greenest girl. Which I am not! I do not expect you to understand this, but there is a certain freedom in being a spinster left upon the shelf, and I enjoy it very well. I have my own establishment, and my own circle of acquaintances, and no interest whatsoever in what the world may think."

Lord Warwick found himself accused of effrontery. Since it was perhaps not an entirely unwarranted accusation, he flushed. "Forgive me if I have offended you," he said stiffly. "My words were prompted only by concern that you are entirely too credulous in the matter of Mrs. Smith. Whatever you may feel about the matter, you remain the daughter of a baronet. Your family would not care to hear your name on every lip."

Georgie's temper had not abated. "My family
may go to blazes! And the scandalmongers with them!" She crossed the room to stand in front of Garth. "I don't care a fig about the gossips. What I
do
care about are my friends. Whether you approve of Marigold or not, she is my friend, as are you, and I will do whatever I may to get her out of this muddle."

She had said more than she meant to. Did Garth realize? Georgie stood so very close to him that she could feel the heat of his skin. Or maybe it was the heat of her own skin. Georgie knew her cheeks were flushed.

Did Lord Warwick look as if he wished to kiss her? He did not. Instead Garth looked very much as if he were about to scold her again. Georgie was very tired of being scolded. She stood on her tiptoes, grasped Lord Warwick's lapels, and pressed her lips to his.

It was not a skillful kiss, perhaps, but what Georgie lacked in experience she more than made up for in enthusiasm, and Lord Warwick possessed enough experience for them both. His arms moved to enfold her and draw her close. Georgie melted against him.

It was a most romantic moment. Or several moments. The kiss went on so very long that Lump grew tired of watching and lay down on the faded rug.

At length Lord Warwick's common sense asserted itself. He released Georgie and stepped back, appalled. Garth had come to remonstrate with Georgie about the reprehensible Mrs. Smith, and his own conduct had been much worse. A gentleman of conscience could not pursue a course of action that must only rebound to his discredit and the lady's own.

Still, he wished to kiss her again, and keep on kissing her until they were both nigh senseless with the wonder of it, which made him oddly irritable, because if Georgie had not come so suddenly back into his life he would not have these damned uncomfortable feelings plaguing him.

Georgie did not notice how quiet Lord Warwick had grown, so loudly was her own heart beating in her ears. Good gracious, what a talent the man had for kissing! Georgie looked mistily up at him.

And then he spoke. "My dear, this will not do. I think too highly of you to expose you to such tittle-tattle as must accompany my most casual acquaintance." His smile was rueful. "As yours and mine could never be."

A number of thoughts crossed Georgie's mind. "Pighead," "addlepate," and "paperskull" were among the fore. She wondered if Garth would consider it unladylike were she to box his ears.

But were she honest, Georgie had—or at least should
have had—similar reservations about her relationship with Garth; and if she had no care for her own good name, Andrew still had his own way to make in the world. Not that this realization made Garth's rejection any easier to bear.

"Ah, yes," Georgie murmured. "You thought so highly of me that you married my cousin instead. I think I understand the situation quite well. You may leave now, Garth."

Lord Warwick did not wish to leave, not now when Georgie was so cold toward him. He grasped her shoulders. She scowled. "I deserve that, I suppose," he said. "But know this, Georgie: I am your friend, your best of friends, no matter what you think."

What Georgie thought in that moment was that if she didn't remove herself from Lord Warwick's presence she would burst into tears. "I think you do not know me at all," she retorted. "I also think that with friends like you, I do not need enemies, m'lord."