Gayle Buck (5 page)

The gentleman raised his head. He stepped forward to take her hand, and with an awkward movement of his right arm he carried her fingers to his lips. “Miss Davenport, you appear in looks this afternoon.”

Lydia bestowed a constrained smile on him and drew forward her companion, who had unaccountably stopped a small distance away. Lydia wondered at her cousin’s queer expression. “Lord Randol, I would like you to meet my cousin. She has recently come to England from Brussels and shall be staying with us during the Season.”

Lord Randol turned his head. A livid scar ran down the entire right side of his face, lending him a fascinating sinister appearance. But it was not this that had caused Michele’s face to drain of color. Her eyes bore an expression of profound shock as Lord Randol’s gray eyes met hers. The polite smile on his lips froze. “Mademoiselle.” His voice was utterly cold.

There was a rushing in Michele’s ears and she feared she might faint. Certain that she must be seeing a ghost, she stared at the viscount. “My lord,” she whispered.

Lydia looked from one to the other, astonished. It was obvious that her cousin was somehow acquainted with Lord Randol. She was about to inquire about the circumstances when the butler announced a second visitor.

Lydia whirled about, all other thoughts flying out of her head. With a glad face she went quickly across the drawing room, her hands outstretched to the military gentleman who had entered.

He caught one of her hands and bowed over her fingers. “Miss Davenport, I was just inquiring about you of Lady Basinberry,” he said lightly.

Lydia’s eyes flew to her aunt, who stood just beyond the gentleman’s shoulder. “Captain Hughes, how kind of you,” she said primly.

Lady Basinberry was not fooled by her niece’s polite formality, but she allowed a tiny smile to play over her mouth. The chit at least made an attempt at discretion, she thought. Her gaze went to the other couple in the room and she was struck by their stiff attitude. At once she concluded that her elder niece was awkward in social situations, and she sighed. If that were true, it was going to prove difficult to establish the young woman.

Michele was unable to take her eyes off Lord Randol. “I thought you dead,” she said faintly.

Lord Randol gave a harsh laugh. His eyes were hard and mocking. “Did you, indeed? I am sorry to disappoint you, mademoiselle.”

The color was returning to Michele’s face. She put out her hand in an unconscious gesture. “Anthony—”

Whatever she meant to say died before the blaze of contempt in his eyes. “I have no desire to hear anything you might have to say, mademoiselle,” he said cuttingly. Abruptly he left her, without the courtesy of a bow, to greet Lady Basinberry. “My dear Lady Basinberry, this is an unlooked-for pleasure. I have not seen you in some time. I trust that you are as well as always.”

Lady Basinberry gave her hand to him. “Indeed, I go on quite well. I have put away black gloves, as you see, and I am returned to London for the Season. I am sponsoring my niece Lydia and her cousin. Mademoiselle du Bois. You have met my elder niece, my lord?”

“Indeed,” said Lord Randol. His voice held the slightest edge to it. He summoned up a smile of incredible charm. “The Season will prove a challenge, surely.”

Lady Basinberry laughed. “But one that I am well-prepared to meet, my lord. One does not launch three daughters creditably without learning a trick or two.”

Left standing alone, Michele stared at his lordship’s broad back. The tears burned in her throat. She was horribly hurt and humiliated by his cruel snub. Even so, her gaze hungrily traveled over his athletic figure, set off to perfection by his superbly cut dark green coat and the close-fitting pantaloons that were smoothed into high boots of soft glossy leather. Except for the wicked scar on his face and the coldness of his manner, he appeared to be the same gentleman to whom she had once promised her heart.

But when she saw the awkward way in which Lord Randol raised Lady Basinberry’s hand in greeting, Michele realized that he was marked by more than the facial scar. There was a stiffness in his movement that had nothing to do with lack of grace and Michele realized that he had suffered horrible wounds. She had seen enough of the damage that flying shrapnel could do to a man’s flesh to be able to vividly imagine what had happened to the right side of Lord Randol’s body. It made her sick to her stomach, and all at once she again seemed to smell the dirt and blood and to hear the pathetic cries of the wounded begging for aid and for water.

Michele gave a quick shake of her head. Those were memories only, memories that many carried. Her experiences of tending the wounded on the streets of Brussels were not unique. Many of the ladies had done so. And like many others, she had hoped and yet feared to find the one beloved face among all those others. She had never found him. She had subsequently been told by a mutual acquaintance that he had died of ghastly wounds in a military hospital tent before he could be gotten back to Brussels from the battleground.

Michele’s thoughts whirled in deepest agitation. She put one cold hand against her cheek, thinking confusedly that Lord Randol had not died. He had survived his wounds. He was here in London. And he despised her. She had seen it plainly in his arctic gray eyes. She wanted to burst into tears on the spot, but knew that she could not, and it was that thought that finally steadied her.

Michele raised her chin as she gathered her pride like a tattered cloak of protection about herself. It was ingrained in her that only the ill-bred indulged in public scenes. Despite the shock that numbed her, she must behave as though nothing was amiss. But she felt sick to her stomach at how horribly wrong had been his lordship’s greeting. In her wildest, most improbable dreams of finding him alive, she had never imagined that she would be treated with such brutality. Michele swallowed against the sudden closing of her throat, and deliberately she turned her thoughts away from the hurt she felt. There was no reason that he should despise her. She had done nothing to incur his enmity. A flicker of righteous indignation warmed her numbed misery, and she latched on to it gratefully. She fed her building anger until the threat of imminent tears was gone. She would not accept such callous treatment tamely.

Her eyes darkened nearly to black with anger, Michele sailed over to the small group and inserted herself at Lydia’s side. Ignoring Lord Randol, she smiled at the other gentleman and said in her throaty voice, “Pray introduce me, cousin.”

Lydia’s eyes were shining and her face held a soft bloom of color. “I shall be delighted to, Michele! This gentleman is Captain Bernard Hughes, who has become a close friend. Captain, may I present my cousin. Mademoiselle Michele du Bois.”

As Captain Hughes and Michele exchanged pleasantries, Lydia slid a speculative glance in Lord Randol’s direction. His expression was more forbidding than usual and his eyes dwelt on Michele’s animated face with uncommon intentness. Lydia smelled the unmistakable scent of a mystery. She said, “You have already met Lord Randol, of course.”

Still smarting from the viscount’s shocking rebuff, Michele spared a scant glance for his lordship. “We have met, yes,” she acknowledged coolly. She had the satisfaction of seeing a flicker of temper in his hard eyes. She turned her gaze once more on Lydia’s military gentleman. “I believe that you indicated you were in the 33rd, Captain. I met a few of the company before Waterloo. Pray do sit with me a few moments and tell me whatever became of them.” Michele drew the captain away, catching Lydia by the arm so that her cousin was made to accompany them to the settee. Lord Randol was effectively left to Lady Basinberry’s attentions.

That lady was astonished by Michele’s odd manners, but she marked it down to the influence of foreign society. She turned to Lord Randol and launched what she thought an unexceptionable conversational gambit. “My brother has confided to me that he favors your suit for his daughter. I am quite pleased, my lord. Lydia is a fine young woman, and for all her youth, she will be worthy of the position that you have chosen to bestow upon her.”

Lord Randol seemed disinclined to engage in polite conversation. Indeed, he seemed irritated by Lady Basinberry’s remark. “So I should hope, ma’am. Miss Davenport’s antecedents give me no cause for concern that it could be otherwise,” he said shortly.

Lady Basinberry was disconcerted. “Quite.” A short silence fell as she recovered from Lord Randol’s rude retort. She considered that his lordship was behaving rather haughtily, considering that the Davenport bloodline was an honorable one that stretched back hundreds of years. Indeed, when it came down to it, the Davenports could boast a few generations more than did his lordship’s own line, she thought with rising indignation.

With an effort, Lady Basinberry swallowed back a sharp set-down. Lord Randol was undoubtedly a good match for Lydia; moreover, one who had been given her brother Edwin’s stamp of approval, and must therefore be allowed more slack. She set herself to engage the dour gentleman’s interest, but it proved a task beyond even her formidable powers. At every outbreak of merriment among the trio opposite, Lord Randol’s oddly angry gaze shot again in their direction. His attention was obviously not on Lady Basin-berry’s increasingly labored conversation.

At some point Lord Randol actually broke across one of Lady Basinberry’s anecdotes to throw a question to Captain Hughes. “In the 33rd, I believe you said? I knew a chap by name of Weatherford whose brother was in the same company. Perhaps you knew of him?”

“Aye, a capital fellow,” Captain Hughes said. He began to share a reminiscence with Lord Randol, and his lordship maneuvered himself out of Lady Basinberry’s immediate sphere.

Lady Basinberry purpled with affront. Michele and Lydia, who, though they listened to the gentlemen, were not actually included in the conversation, heard their aunt’s muttered exclamation. “Well! I have rarely been more ill-used in my life. But we shall see who snubs whom.” Lady Basinberry raised her voice. “I think the gentlemen have bored one another long enough. Lydia, present your military suitor to me in proper form,’’ she said, irritation snapping in her eyes.

Lydia flushed. “Aunt Beatrice! I have never said—”

“But your father has, and therefore I wish to grill the good captain on his expectations.” Lady Basinberry inexorably carried Lydia away and a moment later had quite adroitly cut Lord Randol from the conversation.

Lord Randol found himself standing beside Mademoiselle du Bois once more. He did not seem to be affected by her lovely face, or by the fact that the soft green day dress she wore showed to advantage her curvaceous figure. Instead he regarded her with a chilling gaze. “It occurs to me that your presence here puts me in an awkward position,” he said.

“Indeed, my lord? I cannot imagine why. However, I must be candid and say that your own appearance has dealt me a grave shock,” Michele said quietly. She did not understand the palpable hostility that radiated from him. However, that in itself was far less important than the puzzle of why he had never attempted to get word to her. Surely he had known that she would have welcomed the news that he lived.

“That fact alone must give me cause for satisfaction. The question remains, however: what should I do next?” he said.

“I do not understand.”

His eyes glistened. “I have requested permission to address Miss Davenport, as you have undoubtedly been informed. However, her antecedents are not as spotless as I had assumed, since I discover that she is related to one whom I hold in acute antipathy. I must consider the wisdom of continuing my suit for her hand.”

Michele gasped, reeling anew at his heavy insult. Before she could gather her wits, his lordship bowed and walked away, ostensibly to take his leave of Lady Basinberry.

Lydia, freed at last of her aunt’s firm grip, seized the chance to speak to Michele. She had never before seen her cousin livid with anger, but Michele’s high color and the flash in the depths of her eyes impressed her. “Michele! Whatever did he say?”

Michele turned her angry eyes on her cousin. “Nothing of importance,
ma petite.
I shall say one thing only, and that is that his lordship is hard and arrogant and despicable. I do not know in the least what I found to like in him!”

Chapter Five

Lydia’s mouth fell open. She recovered quickly, all the more determined to discover the history that obviously lay between her cousin and the obnoxious Lord Randol. But before she could further tax Michele about it, Lady Basin-berry claimed her attention.

“Lydia, here is Captain Hughes preparing to wish us good day. Michele, I know that you will want to say good-bye as well, since you found so much in common with the gentleman,” Lady Basinberry said.

“Quite,” said Michele, pinning a smile to her lips and giving her hand to Captain Hughes. “It was enjoyable to talk of old friends, Captain. I hope that we shall soon meet again.’’

He bowed, expressing himself honored by her regard. He took a more lingering leave of Lydia, and though nothing but polite pleasantries were exchanged, their gazes communicated much more to one another.

The gentlemen had not actually tarried long, but Lady Basinberry said that she hoped there would not be another caller that day. She professed herself put out of all patience after attempting to entertain the glowering Lord Randol. “I mean to retire to my sitting room and swallow a headache powder,” she said.

Lydia waited impatiently until Lady Basinberry had exited the drawing room, and turned instantly to her cousin. “Michele, I simply must know where you became acquainted with Lord Randol. Why, I have never seen such a look of astonishment on his face as when he saw you.’’

“I do not know what you mean. His lordship did not seem at all put out of countenance,” Michele said evasively. She moved to the table and picked up a porcelain statuette, only to set it down again.

“Cousin! Pray do not tease me,” begged Lydia. “I perceived instantly that you had met him somewhere, and you have admitted to it yourself. Pray tell me, for I shall die of curiosity otherwise. Was it in Brussels?”