Lord Harry's Folly (34 page)

Damn him, she thought. It was nicely done. She said in a cool voice, “I’m not quite ready yet to say my farewells. It appears the marquess was a bit premature in announcing my leave-taking.” She turned before either Sir Harry or Mr. Scuddimore could offer any further comment and led the way to the table.

They were midway through the first course of a raised pheasant pie when Sir Harry asked her the inevitable question.

“I say, Lord Harry, will you tell us now just why the devil you forced the marquess to fight a duel?”

Hetty paused a moment and lifted her wineglass to her lips before saying with just the right dash of hauteur in her voice, “I certainly have no intention of telling you the cause of our disagreement. It wouldn’t be honorable to do so. Suffice it to say that the marquess and I have amicably resolved our differences. I now call him friend.”

“Well, I’m glad you decided against killing his grace. It would have been a messy business,” Sir Harry said. “I would have had to second you out of the country.”

“That was clever, Harry,” she said. She’d started to say that it had been the other way around that it had been the marquess who’d done her in, but she didn’t say that. What Sir Harry said was the truth. She could have killed him, perhaps, if she’d still had the strength. She’d felt invincible at the time, but now, she didn’t know what would have happened. “He took me to Thurston Hall and cared for me. I owe him a debt of gratitude.”

Scuddy said simply, “You deloped, Lord Harry. I was very proud of you.”

“Deloped? Come, Scuddy, one delopes with a pistol. Our duel was with foils.”

“No, Scuddy’s hit the nail on the head. Same thing, at least in principle,” Sir Harry said. “Damned brave thing to do. Like I’ve told Scuddy here countless times, you had the tip of your foil at Lord Oberlon’s chest could have sliced him up right then but chose to let him live. Yes, you deloped.”

“You can’t disagree, Lord Harry,” Mr. Scuddimore said. “The marquess himself could talk about nothing but your honor and bravery.”

“The marquess?” Hetty asked, at sea.

“Button your trap, Scuddy after all, they were my letters. Well, at least, they were my brother-in-law’s letters and I was the one who read them. You see, Lord Harry, while you were on the mend at Thurston Hall, the marquess kept Julien informed of your progress and also how he had developed the greatest respect for you, despite your wild ways and your tender years.”

She wished he hadn’t done it with such leveling sincerity, yet it warmed her to her toes. But enough of the marquess. She quickly turned to Sir Harry, “Enough of my affairs. Tell us, Harry, may Scuddy and I yet toast your impending wedding with the lovely Isabella?”

A deep frown settled on Sir Harry’s smooth brow.

“Proper mad, he is,” Scuddy said.

Sir Harry did look harassed. “Damned if I know what the chit’s about. Seems she ain’t so adverse to Sir William Filey’s suit anymore.”

“Sir William Filey is a disgusting old man. Explain yourself.”

“It’s just as I said. That old lecher is making himself very agreeable to Isabella. Showers her with flowers and silly notes praising the ribbons in her damned hair, even takes her riding in the park. He had the damned gall to approach me at White’s, smirking all the while, to lay a wager on which of us would win the chit.”

Hetty felt herself go cold. Did Sir William want to repeat with Isabella what he had done to Elizabeth? “Come, Harry, this is nonsense. Surely Isabella doesn’t welcome his attentions. If anything, it’s her damned mother forcing her to be pleasant to the satyr.”

“What’s a satyr?” Scuddy said.

“A very unlovable creature,” Hetty said.

Harry stared down into his glass of sherry.

“Damn you, Harry, answer me. Have you proposed to Isabella, told her of your feelings? Has she turned you down?”

Harry’s hand tightened around the crystal, and the stem broke. He looked up and said, anger filling him, “Oh very well, you interfering bastard. If you must know, she hasn’t given me the chance. And I’ve told her time and again not to be taken in by that old roué’s flattery. I’ve told her he just wants to seduce her, that he liked young girls, and he can’t be trusted.”

She stared at him thoughtfully. “So what you’re telling me is that when you’re with Isabella, you spend all your time raking her down and telling her how stupid she is. It’s you who are the stupid one, Harry. How can you be such an idiot?”

There was a sudden gleam of understanding in Mr. Scuddimore’s eyes. “By jove, Lord Harry’s right. A girl can’t like to be preached to all the time. Bet when you leave, Sir William comes by and tells her that she’s the light of his life. Deuced stupid, Harry, deuced stupid.”

Hetty knew Sir Harry was on the point of knocking over their dinner and smacking Scuddy in his rounded jaw. He’d already broken his sherry glass. She said quickly, “Harry, heed me. There is much that I know about Sir William, things that you or Scuddy would scarce believe true. Suffice it to say that Sir William need not necessarily have marriage to Isabella in mind. He likes young virgins, Harry. He likes to take their virginity and then leave them, perhaps even leave them pregnant. I know of one proven example.”

“Just how the devil do you know that?”

“It’s just as I said. The man is vile and he will do anything to achieve his ends. He is a man of much experience and Isabella knows nothing about the sordid world in which he lives. She is innocent and pure. If you don’t take action, she will be ruined. Even if it is marriage Sir William must offer, he will very quickly turn her life into a living hell. All he wants from her is her innocence, Harry. He doesn’t want her, not like you do.”

“Oh damnation. What if she won’t have me?”

Hetty regarded him steadily for a long moment. “If you care for her, Harry, then you must haul her off to Gretna Green. It would be an act of true chivalry.”

Sir Harry nervously gulped down a full glass of sherry. “I must think. Bedamned, I must think.” He rose unsteadily from the table, jerking at his cravat as if it were suddenly choking him.

Sir Harry suddenly crashed his fist upon the table, having reached the most portentous decision of his life. “By God, I’ll do it. Yes, I’ll marry her. I’ll haul her over my shoulder and carry her to Gretna Green if I have to. And you’re right, damn you, Lord Harry, I want her virginity and her purity, it’s true, but I do want all of her and I want all of her forever. I’ll do it. Listen, Lord Harry, if Isabella refuses me, will you help me? I will kidnap her if I must, but will you help me?”

Lord Harry looked at him and smiled. “Of course I’ll help you. First, Harry, you must press your suit to Isabella. Be all that is romantic, mind you. If she refuses, well, of course then we’ll do what we must.”

“I have more horses,” Mr. Scuddimore said. “Horses are always helpful, you know.”

“Indeed they are, Scuddy. We will need horses, won’t we, Harry?”

“Eh? Oh yes, certainly.”

Hetty said to Sir Harry, “Send me a note here as to the outcome of your proposal to Isabella. If she refuses you, I’ll come by to see you at your lodgings and we’ll make plans.”

“I’ll be there as well,” Scuddy said.

When at last she had seen them out, she leaned heavily against the closed door. She admitted to herself that she was weary, the wound in her side was aching dully. Her thoughts went inevitably to the marquess. She found herself wondering if it were truly possible for a gentleman to love a lady who was also a gentleman.

She gazed down a moment at her breeched, booted person. Lord Harry Monteith had granted her the greatest freedom, had allowed her adventures that no lady would ever experience. Yet, she thought, she felt now that Lord Harry was trapping her, holding her prisoner in a role that she no longer desired. She wanted out.

She walked wearily into Lord Harry’s bedchamber, wondering just precisely how one went about eloping to Gretna Green.

“Good morning, Grimpston. His grace is in the drawing room?”

“Yes, Miss Hetty. I offered him tea but he said he preferred to wait for you.”

“If you please, fetch tea now, Grimpston.” She went immediately to the gilt-edged mirror and looked at herself. Her blond curls were sparkling clean and brushed neatly into place. No pomade for Henrietta Rolland. She supposed she looked well enough. The blue muslin gown, though a trifle short, at least didn’t remotely resemble buckskin breeches. That in itself was an improvement over the last time he’d seen her.

She opened the door to the drawing room quietly and saw the marquess before he was aware of her. Bedamned but he was handsome, she thought, with the flavor of Lord Harry. She didn’t realize it, but the marquess had dressed himself with rather more care than usual this morning, the powder blue coat of broadcloth having just yesterday arrived from Weston’s, and his hessians polished to such a bright shine that he could see his reflection. He stood by the tall bow windows, his back to her, gazing out onto the square.

“Good morning, your grace.”

He turned quickly and for a long moment said nothing, but merely stared at her.

She stared back at him. “Good God,” he said slowly, whistling under his breath. “Louisa was really quite right.”

“Right about what?”

His dark eyes twinkled in amusement. “What is this? You sound as though it must be an insult. You’ll get no answer from me. You must ask Louisa. I do wonder, though, where your spectacles are. And do not let us forget that hideous pea green gown and cap. A lasting effect. If I close my eyes and think bilious thoughts, I swear I can still see it.”

He advanced upon her and lazily lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. “How are you feeling?”

“A little sore, that’s all. Your cravat is really quite well done.”

“It’s my own design. Lord Harry may disabuse himself of the notion of copying it.”

“I daresay Lord Harry does just fine for himself. Actually, it’s the Mathematical he aspires to. It’s not as easily achieved as it looks. My lord March does it nicely.” It didn’t occur to her to remove her fingers from his hand. His fingers were strong and warm and she wished they were on her arm, perhaps on her face, her throat. She sighed. It might even be nice to be back in his bed again.

Things seemed so very different now that she was a female and in a gown and in her father’s drawing room.

She retrieved her hand when Grimpston, bearing tea and morning cakes, loudly cleared his throat upon entering the drawing room.

“Ah, sustenance. Please set the tray upon the table. I shall serve his grace.”

Grimpston did as he was bid and during his placement, he managed to study the marquess quite thoroughly. Before he left, he nodded to Hetty.

“It appears your butler finds me acceptable husband material,” the marquess said blandly.

“You’re male, of the nobility, not doddering toward the grave, you have all your teeth, so yes, he approves of you.”

He grinned at her. “I don’t carry extra flesh either, though a butler would scarce consider that, I doubt. Grimpston has been with your family forever, am I right?”

“I sometimes think he’s been with the family since the seventeenth century. He seems to know everything about every ancestor. Cream, your grace?”

“Yes. Thank you for pouring it, Hetty. Is that a simper I hear? No, certainly not. Incidentally, do call me Jason. I don’t like this withdrawal of yours. It makes me feel insecure. It makes me feel like you no longer regard me as your white knight. It makes me think you don’t want me to kiss you again.”

“I feel the same way, sitting here just like a proper young lady.” She laughed. “My life has been so very odd for the past five months. Tell me, Jason, are we really betrothed?”

“Yes, but I will speak to Sir Archibald. We don’t want to shock him, Hetty.”

“I agree,” she said. “I should like to kiss you though whether you’re a Jason or a your grace. Perhaps at Thurston Hall it was just my weakness that made me want to kiss you so very much and all of the time. Do you think that’s possible?”

“No, it’s not. I will kiss you, but not just yet. Tell me, dear one, how did you enjoy your evening with Sir Harry and Mr. Scuddimore?”

“They were much pleased to see me. Oh, the devil. How did you know I’d seen them? I would have told you without you having me followed by one of your minions.”

“I quite understand, but a little prodding never hurts. Pottson was understandably concerned and practically begged me to ‘break you to the bit,’ I believe was his colorful way of putting it.”

“I can’t believe he’d betray me to you,” she said and slammed her teacup into its saucer. “I knew that he would take it upon himself to interfere. He always gives me those wounded looks of his, no matter what I wanted to do as Lord Harry. I even saw him praying once. Breaking me to the bit? How very gothic that sounds and well, maybe lots of fun, but just with you.”

“Does it really? Be careful what you say, Hetty, else I just might leap on you right now, right here in your father’s drawing room. Now, forgive me but I did ask him to keep an eye on you. I found a gray hair in my head yesterday morning. Since I want to be with you for the next fifty years or so, I had to do something. Also, you must know that Pottson rather has to obey me since he’ll be in my employ for many years to come.”

That sounded very nice to her and she gave him a smile that hit him down to his toes. God, she had a wonderful smile, a very female smile. He couldn’t imagine her as Lord Harry, he truly couldn’t. She was beautiful, her breasts full and soft. Lord, he wanted to kiss her and hold her, perhaps even cup her buttocks in his hands and raise her against him. He nearly groaned at the thought. He saw her naked so clearly, so beautifully naked and white and soft and his dark hand in the hollow of her belly and the contrast between them, ah, it was too much. He would surely expire on the spot if he didn’t elevate his thoughts immediately. He pictured her breasts and choked on his tea.

“Shall I hit you on the back? You’re all right? Of course you are and now you’re giving me one of your wicked looks that I like very much. But enough. I find it odd, your grace, that you were so very adamant in sending Lord Harry back home on the one hand and praising him to London society on the other. I find your actions difficult to fathom.”