Miss Mischief - A Regency Romance (26 page)

‘For God’s sake Johanna, be still!’

That voice.
His
voice. Johanna sucked in a quick breath and looked upwards. Dim as it was in the narrow corridor, there was enough light to see the familiar outline of the man’s face and she gave a small yelp of delighted surprise.

‘You!’

‘Me,’ he agreed grimly. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I… yes, but -’

‘Where is he?’ Each word was bitten off, indicating that somehow, miraculously, he knew of her current circumstances. And just who was responsible for them.

‘He is in there. I hit him with a bottle but he is still conscious. Unfortunately.’

This made him pause for a moment, then he put her to one side. ‘Stay here.’

‘Don’t kill him,’ she begged, clutching at his coat sleeve. ‘There would be
such
a scandal.’

‘I don’t intend to kill him,’ Lord Hathaway returned, voice even. ‘But by God, I have every intention of making sure he doesn’t try this kind of trick again!’

He strode into the parlor and Johanna heard an exclamation from Mrs. Gordon and a groggy curse from Mordern. Ignoring his instruction to stay where she was, she hastened to the door in time to see Lord Hathaway advance across the room and pick Mordern up by his jacket lapels, drawing him upwards roughly as if he were no more than a featherweight.

‘Well, well,’ Mordern slurred, squinting at his assailant. ‘The hero has ridden to the bloody rescue once again! But you’re too late. She has been in my company for too long for you to -’

‘Be damned to that!’ Marcus Hathaway snarled and, drawing his fist back, he planted a solid right to Mordern’s jaw, so forceful that the man’s head snapped back, his teeth coming together with an audible click. It was not enough to render the man unconscious, apparently, for Mordern raised his head again blearily.

‘The devil with you Hathaway,’ he rasped feebly, hanging limply from the younger man’s grasp. ‘That damn well hurt.’

‘Stop that!’ Celine Gordon was standing in the middle of the room, her face very pale, still clutching the shawl she had brought in. ‘He is quite right, my lord. Miss Claybourn is compromised. When people hear that she has been here with my brother all this time…’ She trailed off as Lord Hathaway dropped the barely sensate Mordern and turned on her. He took a step in her direction and the woman bit her lip, looking very much as if she would like to retreat.

‘If any word of this gets out,’ he said, voice steady and hard, ‘I can promise you that you will live to regret it. Unless I am much mistaken, you and your brother are sailing very close to the wind, Madam. It would not do, perhaps, for the authorities to take an interest into the untimely death of your husband. Who can say what they would discover?’

Johanna watched with interest as Celine swayed on her feet, just a little. A hand had crept up to her throat and she seemed to swallow convulsively.
Good heavens, I do believe he scored a hit!

‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’

‘Of course not. But we both know the truth of the matter, do we not? I have a suggestion to make to you, Mrs. Gordon. Leave the area immediately and do not return. This place has suddenly become very unhealthy for you and your brother.’ His lordship glanced at Mordern, who was trying without success to get his legs under him. That blow and the wine he had taken so liberally seemed to have momentarily rendered him incapable of exerting control over his limbs. Hathaway shook his head regretfully. ‘As for you, my lord, your condition seems to suggest that I cannot give you the thorough thrashing you so richly deserve. But if I ever see you again, let me assure you that I will. It will give me enormous satisfaction to do so.’ The longing behind those words was obvious. Nobody doubted that he meant every word.

He scowled when he saw Johanna in the doorway. Taking her arm in a firm grip, they headed down the corridor. Johanna had to trot to keep up with his long strides. It was clear that he was in a state of considerable agitation.

‘I must thank you, Sir,’ she said, rather breathlessly. ‘You have come to my aid yet again.’

‘If you value your skin, you will not speak,’ he said, almost under his breath. ‘For God’s sake, I have never met anybody who can get herself into such diabolical situations!’

‘It was not my fault!’ she protested indignantly. ‘I was abducted. Mrs. Gordon took me by the arm and led me out a side door and… and I was so surprised to see her that I did not think until… and then he was there and I had no choice but to get into the carriage and… well, I had a plan you know. I hit him with a bottle!’

‘For God’s sake!’ They were at the foot of the stairs now, heading through the lobby towards the front door. It was late and there were few people about, although Johanna could hear the sound of voices from a room beyond. The taproom was doing excellent business. He paused to take his cloak off and put it around her shoulders, then taking her firmly by the wrist, he led her outside where a horse was tethered to a post.

‘Oh,’ she said in some surprise. ‘You have Mr. Atterly’s horse.’

‘So I’ve heard. You’ll have to ride in front of me,’ he informed her, before swinging her up into the saddle. She had barely had a chance to settle herself before he was up behind her, arms coming around to take the reins.

‘Will you take me home first?’ she inquired as he urged the bay stallion forward. ‘Because it is closer than the Leythams and I doubt Brutus will enjoy the extra weight for long. He looks well enough but he hasn’t the stamina one might think.’

A warm breath huffed against her cheek and she realized he had laughed. This, at least, was encouraging. Perhaps he was no longer mad at her? Perhaps he might even be willing to overlook her earlier
faux pas
. His next words seemed to dash her hopes, however.

‘How typical that you would know which wretched horse I have stolen to pursue you with. Yes, I am taking you home. The sooner you are returned there, the sooner disaster might be averted. I refer to any further disasters, incidentally, not just tonight. If I were planning to stay, I would have an earnest conversation with your father about the advisability of keeping you locked up because frankly, you seem destined to fall from one scrap right into another.’

Johanna stared ahead of her, her heart plummeting at the words
if I were planning to stay
. She knew he was leaving, of course. He had told her so in no uncertain terms. But she did not want him to. In fact, she would have given a large portion of her much-vaunted dowry for just another week with the man.

He felt wonderfully solid against her back, warm and reassuring. It was extraordinary how much she had come to depend on him in just three days. Indeed, the prospect of no longer seeing him at the breakfast table left a hollow, miserable feeling somewhere in the region of her heart. She knew that she no longer wanted just a kiss from him; she wanted so much more. She wanted Marcus Hathaway, now and for all time.

Unfortunately, it seemed he did not feel the same way.

They spoke little after that and arrived back at Cloverton Hall in good order. Lord Hathaway dismounted first then helped Johanna to the ground. When he would have released her, she tightened her grip on his hand.

‘You’re leaving, aren’t you?’

‘I have to take Mr. Atterly’s horse back and retrieve the carriage.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘I know it isn’t.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘I
am
leaving. When I return I shall gather my things and be on my way.’

‘You could wait until after breakfast?’ She tried not to sound too wheedling, too desperate. There was nothing worse than a wheedling, desperate female.

‘I have made that mistake before,’ he replied quietly and gently tugged his hand free of her own.

‘Wait!’ She racked her brain, trying to think of something that would keep him there but there was nothing. Fabrications would not do now. Indeed, anything of the kind would only leave him with a greater distaste for her. ‘My lord, I do not want you to go.’

He was silent for a moment; then she heard a sigh. ‘I know you do not. But I am going, just the same. I cannot give you what you want, Miss Claybourn and I most certainly cannot give you what you need.’

‘And what is that?’ Did she really have to sound so breathless?

‘A lesson in life.’ He sounded unusually grim. ‘You are far too used to having your own way. Nothing but experience will teach you that it is not always possible. Sometimes, it is easier just to give in gracefully.’

‘That might be true,’ she allowed slowly. ‘But why do you refuse to be the one to teach me?’

‘I am not the man for you.’

‘So you have said. What I cannot understand is
why
you are not the man for me?’

‘Because I am entirely without funds, without estate, without anything that could support you,’ he said, clearly exasperated. ‘And I’m damned if I am going to marry an heiress!’

‘So you have said,’ she repeated, taking a small step towards him. ‘But do you know what I think? I think you are just being stubborn. You have met a girl who you want but you will not marry her because she is too rich. It sounds utterly absurd to me. You are burdened by a lack of funds but I am burdened by my blood. Or would you refuse to have me because of Grandma?’

‘What? No, of course not!’ he snapped, sounding harassed. ‘Your grandmother is a fine woman.’

‘I knew you thought as much. That is one of the reasons why you are so perfect. Unless you are the kind of man who would kiss a girl and not offer marriage?’ she added indignantly.

‘Curse it, no! That is… Dear God Johanna, you would drive most men to the bottle. We are not talking about marriage. That is to say, we have not been talking of marriage and there is no reason to suppose we are
going
to talk of marriage.’

‘Only because you’re too stubborn to admit that you like me.’

For a long moment he did not speak, did not move, seemed hardly to breathe. Then abruptly, he stepped forward and dragged her into his arms. This kiss was just as fierce, just as flammable as their last had been but this time he did away with gentleness. His arms crushed her against him until she felt as if she could barely breathe but she didn’t care. Instead she wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with all the enthusiasm of somebody who had found their calling. Marcus Hathaway was her calling and she reveled in every moment of his embrace. When his tongue slid along her lips she parted them eagerly, allowing the sweet, heady warmth to flood her mouth while her body ached with a kind of longing she had never felt before this night but which she knew, instinctively, only he could assuage. Her breasts were suddenly tingling, her stomach filled with fluttering birds while a languorous heaviness had settled between the apex of her legs in a most disturbing way. He could make all these things happen and she knew he could make a great deal more occur, if only he would lay her down and do what she desperately wished him to do… whatever that was!

He did not oblige, however. It seemed that kiss went on forever but it was no time at all before he brought himself under control. He thrust her backwards with a groan before turning on his heel and almost flinging himself back up into the saddle. She reached out a hand but she knew it was pointless.

Johanna watched mournfully, her body on fire, as Marcus Hathaway rode back down the driveway. She wondered if she would ever see him again.

Chapter Nine

‘Is it my imagination?’ Isabella Carstairs said thoughtfully to her mother and her sister Audrey, ‘that our estimable brother seems a little out of sorts tonight?’

It was June and the Season was well and truly underway. Every night held a dozen possible entertainments and the
ton
were busy, exhausting themselves with their revels and their endless gossip.

Marcus had been back in London for two weeks but this was the first event he had allowed his sisters and mother to drag him to. It wasn’t simply because he was disinclined to be the center of tiresome gossip, for his reemergence into London life would raise no more than a few ripples. The return of the Hathaways after the scandal of his father’s suicide was old news; there had been dozens of juicier disasters to titillate the jaded palettes of Polite Society since then. No, his reluctance to go about had to do with something else entirely. He knew he was being ridiculous. He knew that the current situation was entirely his own fault. But there was no getting around the fact that Marcus knew he had probably made a monumental mistake back in Yorkshire and that it was entirely too late to fix it, even if he had been so inclined.

He was no longer sure what his inclinations were in certain matters.

‘I just don’t feel comfortable in crowds,’ he muttered, tugging at the snowy neckcloth that Figgins, a substitute valet in Harry Carstairs’ London household who had attached himself to the valet-less guest, had taken such pains to arrange. Harry, in the opposite corner, grinned amiably. He was holding the hand of his wife and even after eight months of marriage the two were inclined to stare soulfully into each other’s eyes. Before they had left for the evening, Millie had told the lovebirds in severe tones that they must stop making such a spectacle of themselves.

‘For really Isabella,’ she had observed, tossing an apple up and down while she contemplated the group that had been about to venture forth, ‘you and Harry have both been married far too long for such maudlin stuff.’ Her advice had clearly been ignored for the pair appeared inclined to continue their maudlin behavior, touching each other whenever possible. Their obvious happiness had been both a pleasure and a pain to Marcus since his return. He looked at them and wondered if he had passed on that particular kind of happiness. He suspected that he had, for the exasperating Johanna Claybourn seemed to have wormed her way into his head and refused to be ejected. It was odd, how his journey had taken such a twist after he had left Cloverton Hall. At first he had been too irritated to think too closely about what he was leaving behind. Miles had passed swiftly with his thoughts dwelling on the shocking behavior of Miss Claybourn; her presumption, her outrageous behavior and her unfortunate tendency to manipulate those around her.

It had taken a little time before he had recalled
other
aspects of his brief relationship with the girl; the way she had laughed at the ridiculous, her courage and her indomitable spirit, the softness of her mouth beneath his own… It would have been far too convenient to dismiss Johanna as a spoilt little mischief-maker – he suspected a great many others had done exactly that – but he knew there was a great deal more to her than that. And he had walked away.

No, his time on the road had not been the same after Cloverton Hall and he had cursed his loss of serenity. It was all Johanna Claybourn’s fault. It must be, for she had changed everything.

‘Most men feel uncomfortable in crowds,’ Mr. Carstairs said now. ‘But we continue to escort our womenfolk in noble, silent suffering -’

‘You weren’t so silent earlier in the evening,’ his wife reminded him.

‘That’s because the event is going to be a ghastly crush,’ he returned promptly. ‘Couldn’t we have gone to the theatre instead? It would have been practically empty as everybody will have turned out for this wretched ball.’

‘Audrey particularly wanted to go,’ Lady Hathaway said comfortably. ‘And
why ever not? She looks entirely delightful.’

Marcus gave Audrey an accusing look. ‘You see? This is all your fault.’

Beside Harry, Audrey grinned, entirely unrepentant. She did indeed look delightful in a pale blue gown with matching gloves. There was a glow about her that made Marcus think there might be somebody in particular his sister was interested in seeing tonight. He would have to keep an eye on her to see who it might be. ‘You did not have to come,’ she pointed out.

‘Yes I did. Mother told me so.’

‘And she is
such
a brute to you,’ Isabella murmured.

‘You might as well get as much of the
ton
out of the way with as you can,’ Harry pointed out. ‘It won’t be nearly so bad next time.’

‘Honestly,’ Audrey sounded both amused and exasperated. ‘You men make it sound like you are being subjected to a form of torture.’

Harry met Marcus’ eyes for a moment. It was a mutual decision to say nothing incriminating or inflammatory.

Marcus had tortured himself wondering if a certain somebody would be there, He knew that it was very likely. As he had predicted, the arrival of Johanna Claybourn on the London scene had caused something of a sensation and her name had come up frequently over the course of his stay in town. Even his own family had mentioned her, which had been something of a shock and had almost made him drop his teacup. He had not been expecting it, although he knew he should have been. It had been quite a casual reference but it had been a shock, nonetheless.

‘Did you see the gown that Johanna Claybourn was wearing last night? It was divine.’ This had been from Isabella.

‘Miss Claybourn would look very well in anything,’ his mother had responded placidly. ‘I have never seen a more striking girl.’

‘One cannot even hate her for it,’ Audrey had dimpled, ‘for she is very pleasant. Do you know, she particularly sought me out at the Havershams to compliment me on my own dress? She’s extremely unaffected, don’t you think?’

‘I do,’ Lady Hathaway agreed. ‘Very well brought up indeed. From Yorkshire, I believe. I am not acquainted with the family.’

Marcus was. Hearing Johanna’s name had been like being doused with a bucket of icy water but he had said nothing about knowing the girl because he was at a loss to know what to say.

I met her, I rescued her, I kissed her?
All true, but hardly something to be tossed around the breakfast table. He could have mentioned Sir Antony or the delightfully forthright Katherine Howeth but the words were simply not there. He might be quizzed about it later; Johanna herself was likely to ensure that. But right at that moment, he simply could not discuss the girl and his brief time with her family.

After that, the subject of Johanna had come up regularly. Her suitors, her clothing, her pleasing manners… Marcus would have preferred to hear nothing on Johanna’s progress through Society but it was inescapable as she was a hit and on everybody’s lips, even his own family.

And tonight, he was likely to see her for the first time in several months.

The knowledge made him feel as if he were running a fever. Perhaps he was. It was a preferable explanation to the alternative.

The Matchams’ ball, a much-anticipated event as it was being held at the enormous, stately home of one of England’s oldest families, was just as crushingly popular as Harry had predicted. It took some time to arrive at the door, thanks to the line of carriages waiting to disgorge their elegant occupants. Harry and Marcus escorted Lady Hathaway, Isabella and Audrey up the wide front steps in a small crowd, which swelled considerably when they entered the spacious rooms within. There were two magnificent ballrooms and both had been opened to accommodate the throng that was already dancing. The June warmth, exacerbated by so many bodies in one place, was mitigated by opening the rows of French doors leading onto terraces, which had been lit with Chinese lanterns and here, too, small groups of people spilled into the soft evening air. It was, Marcus reflected, quite a scene. He could not recall ever seeing so much satin and silk and brocade. Everything – and everybody – looked resplendent in their finery.

Almost as soon as they had greeted their host and hostess, Lady Hathaway was waylaid by a small group of friends and Audrey pounced on by girls in her own particular set. Harry led Isabella towards the dance floor and Marcus found himself at something of a loss. He had been away from all of this for years and in truth, he found his skills rather rusty. He glanced around, searching for some old cronies he might engage with but instead, with an inevitability that should not have surprised him, his gaze settled on the slim, glowing form of Johanna Claybourn across the room and the breath caught in the back of his throat.

By God, but she was lovely! The dress that she wore was of some soft golden fabric and it seemed to sheath her in a soft glow. She was surrounded by admirers, more sophisticated than Mr. Esk or Mr. Warrington to be sure, but all wearing similar expressions of admiring idiocy. It was hardly surprising. If he had not had himself in hand he might have been wearing exactly the same expression. She had not seen him but was laughing at something one of the fellows was saying to her and so he could allow himself the pleasure of drinking her in and he did so like a man who was parched for water. Something deep within him twisted in recognition of a need he had spent long weeks doing his damnedest to ignore. Something poignant and sharp that told him precisely what he had feared the most.

That he had fallen in love with Johanna Claybourn, the girl he had rejected and who, even now, was well and truly beyond his reach.

It will all be different for her now, just as I said. She will have seen that she has the world at her feet and she will forget all of the things that she thought she wanted in Yorkshire. And isn’t it better this way? Nothing has changed. You have nothing to give her while she has a great deal too much to give you
.

The knowledge was painful but he tried to take comfort in the fact that she would have benefited from seeing how very different things were in London. She would be grateful that he had ridden away. It was scant comfort. But there wasn’t anything else to be taken from losing Johanna. Not when he’d never really had her to begin with.

Johanna had been stalking the Hathaways, in a nice way, since their arrival in town shortly after her own. She tried to ensure she and Audrey Hathaway were at the same events and, whenever possible, had struck up conversations with all three ladies; Isabella Carstairs, Lady Hathaway and Audrey herself. They were, she was relieved to discover, all very charming people. That was reassuring as she intended to marry their son.

Marcus Hathaway’s disappearance had been distressing, there was no doubt about that but after several days of moping she had rallied and set about making plans. He would be off riding the moors in a terribly romantic fashion for some weeks yet but he had confessed that he would be going up to town for his sister’s birthday in May.

Johanna was determined to be there when he arrived. He might have thought that he had eluded her but she had a completely different outcome in mind. Marcus had made her happy in a way she had not thought to feel. He treated her as if she were a person, not a pretty doll, with a brain in her head and opinions that mattered. He listened to her with a delicious gravity and appeared to respect her views and value her observations. And he could kiss like the very devil, arousing sensations that she had certainly never felt before. After eight long weeks without him she could still thrill at the very memory of his touch.

Johanna suspected (although she could not confirm until she had greater exposure) that she was in love with the man. Now all he had to do was turn up so she could confirm her suspicions and they could move on to the next part of the relationship. He might not want a rich heiress for a wife but sometimes a man just had to face the fact that he did not know what was good for him. Johanna was good for Marcus Hathaway and she was determined that he realized it before the Season was over.

She had learned that he had indeed arrived in May but, frustratingly, he did not immediately go about. Indeed, he refused to appear anywhere, apparently and she was beginning to think she would have to organize a morning call of some kind herself. This was not going to be easy. Her Aunt Agnes was every bit as tiresome as Johanna had remembered and disliked Johanna doing anything that even hinted at fun, while unconventional would have had the woman in a swoon of horrified disapproval. Even a visit to the museum was regarded with suspicion.

‘I cannot understand why you would wish to go,’ her aunt had opined when Johanna had outlined her intention, squinting sourly through her lorgnette.