No Marriage of Convenience (11 page)

Before she could struggle to her feet, she was swept up into a strong pair of arms and cradled in their masculine security. Her champion, her Geoffroi.

“You’re safe now,” a deep, soothing voice said too tenderly to be Lord Ashlin. “Your assailants are well away.”

She tried to open her eyes, but the lids were too heavy, and her head ached so that it made saying her lines back impossible, so instead, she raised her head as best she could and placed her lips on his.

The moment they touched her heart did a queer little flip-flop. His touch seemed gentle, and startled, and hungry.

Very hungry.

The kiss deepened and she poured her relief into her response. She was alive, so very alive, and this kiss seemed to show her just how much she would have missed.

“Geoffroi, my dearest Geoffroi,” Madame Fontaine mumbled in his arms.

Mason thanked his good fortune that she was not asking for another kiss, for certainly he was being tested. Riley’s sweet lips clung to his with a tenderness and trust he’d never experienced.

One that called on him to be there for her every time she needed rescuing.

Still, it was one thing to kiss a woman, but quite another when she kissed you calling out another man’s name.

He struggled along with her limp form in his arms, her eyes shut, her features pale. She wasn’t bleeding, he knew
that much, but she was dazed from the experience.

“Geoffroi,” she murmured.

He glanced down at his beautiful burden. Who the devil was this Geoffroi?

A lover, perhaps? Probably some
émigré comte
or
duc
who’d offered her his charm, and fine manners, and carte blanche.

Great, he thought. He’d risked his life to save her and her lover would get the credit.

Mason brushed aside the niggling jealousy that rushed out of nowhere. What did he care if Madame Fontaine had a lover? Or a legion of them, as gossip liked to favor her with? He certainly hadn’t rushed to her aid to gain her favor, he’d just been on the corner when she’d needed him.

Well, not him, exactly.

He supposed it could have been anyone, but it had just happened to be him.

And now that he’d rescued her, what the devil did he do with her? To his right he noticed a side door into the theatre. Nudging it open, he carried her down the short hallway, until it opened up into the orchestra pit.

On the stage above him, the rehearsal stumbled to a halt, the actors gaping at the sight of their mistress being carried in by a complete stranger.

For a moment a deadly silence held the room, until an older man wearing a loose shirt and black trousers stepped forward. “Great devils of misfortune,” he cried out in a booming baritone. “What have you done to my dearest girl?”

At this cue, the other actors and stagehands surged forward.

Mason held his ground, relieved to see Hashim at the
edge of the hue and cry. At least there was one friendly face in the crowd.

Perhaps not overly friendly, for Hashim’s murderous expression mirrored that of the rest of the company.

“Set her down, you villain, you knave, you heinous bounder!” the older man continued to rant. “And we shall deal with you as we would any other pestilence who would dare mar our Riley, our blessed muse, our virtuous queen.”

Mason shook his head. “You have this all wrong. She was attacked. I came to her aid,” he told them. Nodding over his shoulder at the door, he explained, “There were two men. They stole her off the street. I stopped them and brought her here.”

“A likely tale to cover your misdeeds!” the man who seemed to be the rallying point cried out.

Even more unnerving, Mason watched Hashim draw his sword. The theatre company parted immediately and gave the furious Saracen a wide berth.

Hashim stalked forward until he towered over Mason. The man glanced down at Riley’s inert form and then his piercing black gaze bore into Mason’s.

“She took a blow to the head, but doesn’t seem to be hurt anywhere else,” Mason told him quickly. “I thought it best to bring her here rather than chase them down and leave her alone.”

Hashim nodded and then raced to the alley after her attackers.

“‘And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?’” the older man quoted after Hashim’s departing figure. He turned back to Mason. “There you, what are you waiting for? Bring her up here.” He turned to a man dressed like a pirate and another in a white shirt and breeches and said, “Daniel, Roderick, bring that chaise over.” He turned back
to Mason. “Well? What are you waiting for?” The man sighed. “If that walking Persian carpet of ours thought you had anything to do with this, we wouldn’t be talking, but mopping the spot where you are standing. Now, bring her up here, gently.”

Relieved by this about-face, Mason followed the man’s directions, carrying Riley up the side steps and onto the stage, and over to the chaise the other actors had brought forward.

Gently he laid her down. Kneeling, he smoothed her hair back from her face. She was so pale, and at the same time, so startlingly beautiful. Her lips trembled for a moment and he recalled how it felt to have them pressed to his.

Why the devil would anyone want to harm her?

The company crowded around, the older man taking her other hand and patting it with great display. “Riley, sweet Riley, speak to me. Tell us what fiend did this to you.”

Her lashes fluttered open and she turned toward Mason. “Geoffroi, Geoffroi, you came for me,” she said, before her eyes closed once again.

“Huzzah!” the man beside him cried out. “That’s my Riley. Even in her distress, she remembers her lines. You there, Hortense, go fetch that wretched Nanette and tell her to bring down a basin of cold water and a cloth for her mistress.”

Mason was still stuck on the first part of the man’s speech. “Her lines?” he asked. “This Geoffroi is part of a play?”

“Well, yes. Our new play. Who else would he be?” He blew out an impatient breath.

“Then this Geoffroi is not her…her…?”

The man’s eyes widened at the implication of Mason’s faltering question. “Her paramour?” His surprise was now
replaced by a twinkle glinting in his sharp gaze.

Mason nodded, to which everyone in the company started to laugh. He didn’t know what he had said that warranted such hilarity, but he had the odd feeling the joke was on him.

“Oh, you are a rare one,” the actor said. He wiped at the tears streaming from his eyes. “Geoffroi is the hero from our new production. And this girl you brought in so gallantly is the leading lady of Covent Garden. Perhaps you have heard of her by her stage name, Madame Fontaine.” He paused for a moment, studying him, his gaze taking a none-so-approving glance at Mason’s poor jacket and cravat. “There now, I see you have heard of her. You’ll have quite a tale with which to regale your country neighbors.” He caught Mason by the arm and dragged him upward. “Now I must thank you for helping our dearest girl. If you are in town again anytime soon, do stop by the theatre and I will see about securing you a ticket to one of our performances. Our compliments. Just ask for me, Mr. Pettibone.”

“But…but…” Mason protested as he found himself being expertly evicted from Riley’s side. “I insist on staying and seeing that she is well.”

The man glanced over his shoulder. “Never you worry. Look there, she is opening her eyes as we speak. Right as rain, our Riley. Now off with you, Mr….Mr.—”

“St. Clair,” Mason told him, all the while finding himself being guided further and further from Riley’s side.

“Ah, a St. Clair, like our noble patron, the Earl of Ashlin. Perhaps you are related.”

“Aggie, you great oaf,” said the lady herself.

Mason turned around to find her up on one elbow, her other hand rubbing the back of her head.

She let out a great sigh. “That man you are about to toss out of here so indelicately
is
the Earl of Ashlin.”

B
efore Riley could make any further introductions, the door to the theatre burst open and to her surprise, Cousin Felicity came blustering down the main aisle.

“Murder! There is a murder being committed!” the lady cried, her handkerchief waving this way and that.

“Cousin,” Lord Ashlin said, taking the elderly lady into his arms. “All is well. There has been no murder. I was able to come to Riley’s aid.”

“No murder?” Cousin Felicity’s lashes blinked several times.

“No murder,” he told her again.

“Oh, bother,” the lady said. “And it would have made such a glorious tale.” She spied Nanette coming in with the cloth and basin and called over to her. “Miss, have a care. Bring that here straightaway. My head is all a flutter.”

Nanette glanced over at her mistress and Riley nodded for her to take the items over to Cousin Felicity, who had now sunk into a theatre seat and was fanning herself with more show than Aggie at a sold-out performance.

Riley got up, a little unsteady on her feet, and smiled
to her colleagues. The last thing she needed was for them to witness any discussion with Lord Ashlin or his less than discreet cousin, so she waved them away and said, “Perhaps we’ve had enough practice for the day. I’ll see everyone in their places tomorrow at eleven.”

The actors and hands dispersed, mumbling about the events and shooting curious glances at the Earl.

“Cousin, those were meant for Riley,” Lord Ashlin admonished his relative, as she laid the cold compress on her head.

Cousin Felicity glanced up. “She looks well enough. Not even a scratch. You did well, Mason. Leaping from the carriage like that, and drawing out that wicked-looking—”

“—There, there,” he told her, stopping her account of the events. “All is well now.”

“You sound as if you have suffered a terrible shock, my dear lady,” Aggie said, leaving Riley’s side so quickly, she nearly faltered. He was down the stage steps and up the aisle to Cousin Felicity’s side in the blink of an eye. “Allow me to be of assistance and comfort,” he said, taking the compress from her, dipping it into the cold water, and wringing it out. With great flourish and care, he replaced it on her brow and bestowed his best smile upon her. “If I may be so presumptuous, I am Agamemnon Bartholomew Morpheus Pettibone the Third, Master of the Finer Dramatic Arts, at your service.” He reached over, caught her fingers, and brought them to his lips. “I would be delighted if you, dear lady, would call me Aggie.”

Cousin Felicity tittered and cooed. “Oh, Mr. Pettibone, I couldn’t! It wouldn’t be proper.”

Riley moved to the edge of the stage and watched this sideshow with a bemused smile. If Aggie thought Cousin Felicity another of his dim-witted old widows to weasel
out of her pin money, he was going to be sorely disappointed.

Still, she knew she had best put a stop to it before it went too far. As she started for the steps, Lord Ashlin immediately came forward to offer her his arm.

“You appear a bit unsteady, Madame,” he said, helping her down from the stage.

As her hand touched his sleeve, the muscled strength beneath the wool surprised her once again. What was a professor doing with arms that could sweep a woman to safety?

“It
was
you,” she said, wishing her voice didn’t sound so astonished. It was probably rather insulting to a gentleman not to consider him capable of such an act.

“I did very little,” he said. “Dumb luck, really. Your assailants frightened easily—fortunately for me.”

She struggled to remember the events and reconcile the blurry images in her mind with the unassuming man before her. He’d had a sword, or she’d imagined one, which seemed more likely.

Lord Ashlin, with a sword at the ready?

Preposterous.

Perhaps she thought she’d seen the blade because she’d thought he was Geoffroi, and when she’d thought him the hero in the play, then she’d…

Oh, dear goodness. She’d kissed him!

“Oh, my,” she murmured, her fingers going to her lips, her cheeks growing hot. “I didn’t really, did I?”

He glanced down at her. “If you mean kiss me, well, yes, you did.”

The man needn’t sound so put out by it. She had been delirious after all. Besides, had her kiss been that offensive?

She straightened up and decided to restore a bit of decorum to their relationship—for her sake.

“My lord, I thank you for coming to my rescue.” He had led her away from the others, so she added quietly, “I don’t go about kissing men as a rule. A momentary lapse in my confused state. I mean, I thought you were—” She snapped her mouth shut before she said anything more to make the situation worse.

Oh, bother.
Here she was trying to make less of what had happened, and she was only making it worse. Why did this man leave her so tongue-tied?

“An aberration?” he suggested.

“Yes. That’s it. And I can assure you it won’t happen again.”

He nodded. “I think that would be the best course of action.”

Still trying to reconcile the conflicting images of her rescuer in her mind, she asked, “Whatever were you doing in that alley?”

“I’d come to see you.”

Riley took a step back. “Why?”

“To discuss Lord Delander.”

“Who?” she asked.

“The man you met this morning. Outside my house.”

“Oh, him.” She’d all but forgotten about the young Viscount.

“Yes, him.” Lord Ashlin shifted. “Apparently you made quite an impression.”

Aggie must have been eavesdropping, for he piped right up. “My Riley, make an impression? Of course she did. She’s a sensation wherever she goes.”

Lord Ashlin did not look pleased at that description. “That is exactly our problem. Lord Delander nearly recognized you.”

“Oh, Mason, I helped you there,” Cousin Felicity interjected. She turned to Aggie. “I was quite brilliant.”

“I am sure you were,” Cousin Felicity’s new champion declared.

Lord Ashlin’s response was an arched brow that said only too clearly that her help, then and now, was not necessary.

“While I agree that Cousin Felicity’s assistance wasn’t the most discreet,” Riley said, rising to the lady’s defense, “it seemed to stop him from making any further inquiries.”

“Quite the contrary,” he said. “Del intends to wed you.”

“I sincerely doubt Lord Delander wants to make me his bride,” Riley said, trying to lighten the Earl’s mood. “The man just met me.”

Lord Ashlin shook his head. “You don’t know Del. He has come to the conclusion that you would make a perfect wife. Especially with the generous dowry Cousin Felicity so graciously granted you.”

That, she conceded, was a problem, but she assured him, “I have been proposed to before and nothing has come of it. I will refuse him and that will end it.”

“Yes, that would be the simple solution, if Del was the sort to take no for an answer.” Lord Ashlin folded his hands behind his back. Riley had the distinct impression that he must have cast an imposing shadow over his students. He continued his lecture by saying, “I’ve known Del all my life. When he sets his sights on something, he is single-minded until he possesses it. He once saw a horse at Tattersall’s, and he would not—”

“Lord Ashlin,” she interrupted. “I am not a horse. Nor am I a plaything to be passed around. If this Lord Delander is such a close friend, perhaps you should consider telling him the truth and be done with the matter.”

At this, Cousin Felicity intervened. “Oh, no! That
would never work. Lord Delander is not known for his discretion.”

Riley would wager that if Cousin Felicity dared call a man indiscreet, the situation was probably as bad as Lord Ashlin was saying. “Then I will just have to avoid him.”

“I doubt you’ll be able to. Especially since he is planning on sending his mother over to call.”

“Lady Delander?” Riley shuddered. She had no desire to meet the harridan who’d stormed Ashlin House yesterday.

“And if Del is considering you as a potential bride,” Lord Ashlin said, continuing his lecture, “the old girl will examine you with a fine-tooth comb and she won’t be looking for your better qualities. Especially if she sees you coming and going at odd hours.”

“And then the cat will be out of the bag,” Aggie commented.

The four of them stood silently, considering their options.

Riley came to a rather alarming one. “You mean to call off our agreement. You dishonorable—”

He held up his hand and she stopped before she got to some of her better insults.

“Yes, that was the conclusion I came to at first,” he said. “That is, until I found this.” He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a bit of paper. “Can you explain it?”

She opened the note for a second, saw what it was, and crumpled it closed into her fist. How the devil had he gotten his hands on…then she remembered. “My reticule!”

“You left it at the house.”

“But how did you find this?” she asked, holding up the scrap. “That note was inside and private.”

“It’s not what you think,” he protested. “When Belton found your purse, the note fell out—”

Fell out
, she just bet.

“—And when he saw the contents, he brought it to my attention.”

“What note, Riley?” Aggie asked, coming forward. “What is he talking about?”

She crushed the horrid threat in her hand, not wanting to show it to her partner, not wanting to believe the ugly truth that her encounter in the alley had only confirmed.

Someone wanted her dead
.

“Nothing, Aggie,” she told him. “A bit of dialogue I wrote down for a future play.”

The skepticism in the Earl’s expression mirrored Aggie’s. Obviously, they both found her explanation lacking.

“Give it to me,” Aggie told her, holding out his hand.

Riley clenched the note tighter. She didn’t want to involve any of them in this.

“Oh, I can tell you what it says, Mr. Pettibone,” Cousin Felicity blurted out.

Riley turned an accusing gaze at Lord Ashlin. Had he let his entire house view the contents of her reticule?

He shrugged. “She got ahold of it before I got home.”

Much to Riley’s dismay, Cousin Felicity gave her rendition of the contents just as Hashim returned. His furious expression said two things—that he hadn’t caught her assailants, and that her deception regarding this latest threat on her life was inexcusable.

Lord Ashlin turned to her, his voice low and rumbling with emotion. “How long has this been going on?”

“It isn’t any of your concern,” she told him.

“It is now.” Lord Ashlin made an impatient noise in the back of his throat.

Aggie stepped forward. “I think you should tell him.”

She shook her head.

Lord Ashlin turned to Hashim. “Then I will get the story from him.”

“My lord, he can’t talk,” she said, for once relieved of Hashim’s silence.

“Yes, but I can.” And with that, Lord Ashlin began to speak in a language she’d never heard. But apparently Hashim had, for his eyes lit up at the sound of what must have been his native tongue, and through nods and shakes of his head and holding up his fingers, in no time the Earl had the entire story.

“What did he say, Mason?” Cousin Felicity demanded when they finished their odd conversation with a bow to each other.

“He said that the lady is in grave danger, and that every day she spends here puts her life in greater jeopardy.” He turned to Riley. “Would you say that is a fair account?”

She nodded, shooting an angry glance at Hashim, who stood shoulder to shoulder with the Earl, his arms crossed over his bare chest, utterly ignoring her.

The turncoat!

Cousin Felicity pulled out her handkerchief, worrying the poor thing between her fingers. “Then there is only one thing to be done.”

“And what is that, Cousin?” he asked.

Riley was sure she wasn’t going to like the answer.

“This dear girl must move in to Ashlin House so we may keep her safe.”

Shooting a glance at Lord Ashlin, she thought for sure his face would reflect the same shock she felt at such an outrageous suggestion.

But the man’s jaw set in a line of grim determination. “For once, Cousin, you and I are of the same mind.”

Riley’s head still spun at the speed with which her move to Ashlin House had taken place. Once the Earl had set his mind to changing her residence, there was no countermanding the man’s order.

Not that she’d had any help from Aggie or Hashim. Both had firmly set their feet in Lord Ashlin’s camp and refused to surrender to her arguments that the move was unnecessary.

She didn’t want the Earl’s protection, and she certainly didn’t want to be living under the same roof as this enigmatic man who found her tolerable…especially when she found him…well, she didn’t know how she found him.

Vexing, most decidedly. And when he’d kissed her…

She shook her head. The last thing she needed to be doing was thinking about the Earl’s kisses.

But there were other matters that needed to be settled, her attendance at rehearsals for one thing. Gaining the girls’ acceptance for another. Especially since they hadn’t taken her temporary arrival in their midst very well.

Leaving her room, Riley made her way downstairs in search of Lord Ashlin. When she reached the entrance foyer, she froze at the sight of the man Belton was escorting out.

As the door closed, she asked the butler, “What was
he
doing here?”

The man gave her his usual pained expression, as if talking to her was truly beneath his station. “You know that person?”

“Yes,” she said. “What was he doing here?”

“Why does it not surprise me that he is acquainted with you?” he muttered more to himself as he turned away and started down the hall.

“Fine,” she muttered, her temper rising at the man’s imperious treatment. “I’ll just ask
Mason
.” This brought
the butler to a halt. He slowly turned around and stared at her.

She winked at the crusty old Scot and bustled past him toward the Earl’s study. “I’m sure
Mason
will tell me everything.”

She glanced over her shoulder and watched the butler’s mouth fall open at her familiar use of Lord Ashlin’s Christian name, a freedom she had no right to, but let the butler determine that on his own. It would probably put his overly tight drawers in a knot for the rest of the day.