Rhyme and Reason (13 page)

“Damon—”

“Tell me
now
, if you will find it in your heart to forgive me.”

She understood him. To thwart the Loungers at their own game, she must play her part in the masquerade he had devised with a few words. Pasting on a pout, she said, “I thought you had forgotten me.”

“Forget you? Impossible!”

The Loungers edged aside as he walked to her as if he had taken no note of anyone but her.

“My darling,” he gushed, “I would as soon forget to breathe.”

For a moment, she thought the most ill-bred of the Loungers would refuse to move away, but Damon did not slow. She suspected Damon would have trod right over the sad vulgar if the Lounger had not back-pedaled. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips exactly the same as the Lounger had.

Yet it was not the same, for she was caught by the glow in his eyes which suggested he longed to enfold her to him. The warmth of his lips seared through her glove, threatening to leave her so weak she would have no choice but to fling her arms around him if she wished to remain on her feet. His gaze enthralled her when he lifted his head.

“Damon,” she whispered, delighting in the sensation of his name on her lips but wanting his mouth upon them.

Again his eyes slitted as he looked past her. He squeezed her fingers in a silent order to remember their charade.

“Do not be so late next time,” she said loud enough so every Lounger would hear. “You know how I hate to wait.”

“As I do, darling.” His drawl sent a heated shiver through her as she abruptly wondered where the line was between their masquerade and the truth.

A slow smile tilted his lips, and she tried to guess how he would accept such a scold that was not a jest. Not well, she suspected.

As he raised her hand to his lips again, she drew away before his touch ignited that bewitching fire anew. “Then let us be on our way before we are late again,” she said.

Damon chuckled and said, as if he were noticing the Bond Street Loungers for the first time, “Take care, my friends, not to give your heart to a woman who watches the clock.”

He offered Emily his arm. Putting her fingers on it, she let him lead her to her carriage.

She began, “Thank—”

“Shh,” he warned. Raising his voice, he added, “Go along, my good man. I shall see her home.”

“Miss Talcott?” Simon asked, his eyes wide with dismay.

Against her ear, Damon murmured, “Do not put a pox on this now. If you try to leave alone, they will halt your carriage.”

“But Simon could be hurt if—”

He interrupted her in the same tense whisper, “They have no wish to abuse him. They seek their prey in women who are want-witted enough to be alone here at this hour.”

Emily nodded, taking no umbrage at the demure hit. She deserved a scold. Looking up at the coachee, she said, “Simon, please take the carriage home, and let Miriam and Papa know I will be there in odd-come-shortlies.”

“Yes, Miss Talcott.” The coachman tipped his hat to her, gave the Loungers a scowl that brought a few halfhearted chuckles, then whipped up the horses.

Because Damon said nothing more, Emily remained silent. The Loungers fired some remarks in his direction, but Damon acted as if the boors had vanished from the street. She did the same. It was easy to be courageous now that she was no longer alone. The Loungers wandered away, looking for other quarry for their hard-faced roasts.

She walked by Damon’s side, no faster than an egg-trot, and tried to relax. “Thank you.”

“For rescuing you again?”

“I needed rescuing today.”

He stopped before a handsome white phaeton with red wheels. As he handed her in, he winced as her reticule struck him. “What do you have in there? One of Homsby’s volumes?”

“Just a small notebook.” She could not own the truth that her fear of the Bond Street Loungers discovering the book with the first drafts of several poems frightened her as much as their salacious comments. “Mayhap I should have used it to teach those blocks a lesson or two.”

“Just as well that you did not. They do not appreciate being shown for the dolts that they are.” He took the reins that had been lashed around a lamp post. “Are you unhurt?”

“Save for my dignity.”

“You should know better than to come here now.”

“I know that.”

His voice became less hard when hers quivered. “Surely your errand could have waited.”

Staring at her clasped hands, she shook her head. “It was quite urgent.”

“So urgent that you let yourself be the victim of the Loungers? If I had not come along, they would have insulted you nineteen to the dozen.” He put his hand over her clenched fingers. “Emily, I was sure that you, of all your family, would think before you jumped recklessly into something.”

“I should have thought first, I realize, but I had to get out of there before I strangled that man.”

“Homsby?”

“No. Marquis de la Cour.”

Damon glanced at her, surprise wiping away his irritation at the Bond Street Loungers. “He was at the bookshop?”

“Yes.”

“That is most interesting.”

“If—”

“One moment. Let me get us away from this dray which seems determined to run us down.” Damon drove with the cool confidence of a man undaunted by the crush of the traffic, but he looked at her as he said, “I can understand why you took your leave from de la Cour, but you still have not explained what was so important that you could not delay until an hour when it was safe for you.”

“I wanted to discuss the reading with Mr. Homeby.”

“Reading?”

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the invitation.

“I recognize it,” Damon said, “for I have its twin waiting on my breakfast table, although I have not opened it. What is it?”

“An invitation to a poetry reading by Marquis de la Cour.”

Emily was taken aback when he let loose a laugh that caused heads to turn in all the vehicles around them.

“To be sure,” he said, “I would hazard Lady Fanning was generous enough to provide our peerless parleyvoo marquis with the names and addresses of her guests who were awed by his magnificence.”

She replaced the invitation in her reticule, resisting the yearning to shred it. “That does not explain why
you
received one.”

He laughed. “Nor does it explain why you decided to call upon Homsby this afternoon. I cannot believe it is because you cannot wait to hear Marquis de la Cour read his poetry.”

“When I was at his shop last, I forgot to ask Mr. Homsby to hold for me that book on roses you pointed out.” That much was the truth.

“What does that have to do with de la Cour?”

“Nothing.”

“Then what does it have to do with your sister and how she monopolized the frog’s attention last night?”

“How—?”

“
On dits
are most efficient, darling.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He smiled. “I was just trying to tease you out of the doldrums.”

“You could do that by not repeating poker-talk about my sister.”

“I was speaking of de la Cour, I believe.”

“Miriam likes his poetry. Nothing more.”

“Are you certain?”

“Most certain.” The banger was acidic on her tongue. As they turned onto Picadilly Street, she frowned. “This is not the way to Hanover Square.”

“That is true, although I am uncertain how much else you have told me is.”

“Where are we going?”

“Do you still fear for your reputation with me?”

“Should I?”

“Do you always answer a question with a question?”

“Do you?” she fired back.

“
Touché
.”

“That is not an answer.” She fought to keep the alarm from her voice. “Damon, where are we going?”

She got her answer when he turned into Green Park and drew back on the reins to slow them to a walk. Other carriages drove past as a fine rain began to fall.

“Damon, we should not be here like this.” Riding with him without a duenna would bring about her ruin as completely as having the Polite World discover she was the true Marquis de la Cour.

“I had thought we might walk about and enjoy the flowers, but the weather is not favorable. This may be for the best. No one is taking note of us as we take the long way back to Hanover Square.”

“How can you say that when people noticed Miriam and the marquis last night?” She put her fingers to her lips. “Oh!”

He chuckled. “I thought that was just poker-talk.”

“Damon, please take me home.”

“I am, so do not fuss.” He smiled and rested his arm along the back of the seat as he steered the phaeton through the mist. “Even if I am not lauded as a hero for saving you from those blind buzzards, my reputation will protect yours. Nobody would imagine the feminine occupant of ‘Demon’ Wentworth’s carriage at this hour could be of quality.”

“You are outrageous!”

His smile broadened. “Outrageous, but honest. Can I believe you might consider being as honest with me?”

“The truth is, I am pleased you chanced along.” Folding her hands in her lap, she smiled. “I hope your gallantry has not kept you from your own errands.”

“It was not critical that I complete my tasks this afternoon.”

Emily bit back her next question. She was curious what business had brought him to Old Bond Street. He might have been on his way to visit Mr. Homsby’s shop, too. To buy another copy of her book?

Do not be absurd!
But she could not keep from wondering who had been the recipient of the book he had bought. A book was not a gift a man took to his convenient. Or did he? She knew nothing of such things.

Realizing she must say something, she asked, “Do you often have critical business?”

“By Jove!”

When she looked at him, sure he was furious with her prying, she saw he was grinning. Hastily, she turned away before he could see her confusion. He never acted as she expected. She gasped when his finger beneath her chin brought her face back toward him.

“Emily,” he said softly with his lips only a whisper away from hers, “I am beginning to understand why we get along so well. You play the rôle of a dutiful daughter and kindly sister, but there is a bit of wanton mischief within you.”

“I have never done anything wanton.”

“But your eyes suggest you might.” He laughed as he put his shining boot on the dash. “Your eyes glitter with devilment, inviting a man to savor thoughts that would earn him a slap across the face if you were privy to them.”

“I have never slapped anyone.”

“Of course not, for that would ruin the perfection of your guise.” His finger tapped her cheek. “Yet, despite the dressing-down I am sure your sister has given you because you have not given me my
congé
, I am flattered you have continued to treat me as a friend.”

“Sometimes I wonder why,” she returned with a laugh she hoped would conceal the pleasure that flew through her at his touch.

“You shouldn’t.” He stared out at the rain as he turned the phaeton toward Hanover Square. “I had planned to give you a look-in today or tomorrow.”

“Why?” When her voice rose to a squeak on the single word, she hastily looked away. She did not want to own that Papa had forbidden her from receiving Damon.

“I have to leave in a few days for Wentworth Hall.”

“Oh.”

“Is that the extent of your regret at my leavetaking?”

“I trust you shall be returning for the rest of the Season.” She despised the trite words, but they kept her from revealing how her heart cramped at the idea of not seeing him again. She should be pleased, for that would keep Papa happy. She was not.

“Undoubtedly.”

She smiled. His answer contained the dread of a schoolboy told the next session was about to begin. “Why are you going there now?”

“Obligations. Traditions die slowly in the north, and Wentworth Hall’s master has duties to his tenants.” His gray eyes twinkled as he smiled. “I have just the jolly, Emily. Why don’t you join me?”

“At Wentworth Hall?” She faltered, sure he was jesting. When his smile did not waver, she gasped, “Damon, I could not do that.”

“Don’t say no so quickly. I plan to invite a large group to travel with me. You are simply the first I have asked.”

“But why are you taking the
ton
with you when you have said more than once that it bores you?”

“I cannot play cards alone.”

Emily laughed. “You are inviting the wrong person. I detest the card table.”

“’Twas not to play cards with you that I asked you to travel with me. I think you shall find a few parts of Wentworth Hall very much to your liking.”

“Which ones?”

“Dare I say its lord?” With a laugh, as she stared in amazement at his bold question, he added, “I wish to keep some things a surprise for you. So will you and your family join me?”

“I shall ask them.”

“Do that.”

When he did not press her as he drove back out into the day’s traffic, she wondered if he had heard her despair. Taking Papa away from the temptations of London would be a grand idea, but she knew how much he could lose to someone with Damon’s reputation as a card-player. She needed to devise an excuse to turn down this invitation and not let her heart tease her into agreeing to what could be a disaster for her family.

Damon waited for Emily to speak, but she remained silent. What had he said now to unsettle her? He could not understand this woman. Other women had always been easy to comprehend. Some wanted the title of Lady Wentworth. Others were willing to forego the title for some of his blunt and a place in his fine townhouse and his bed. Emily Talcott seemed to want nothing of him. Instead, she challenged him with her wit and won his admiration with her devotion to her garden and her family. He could not understand her at all.

He was shocked when she put her hand over his on the reins. The caress of her fingers tempted him to toss aside caution and pull her back into his arms. What a gull he had been to kiss her! His attempt to tease her had become a craving to savor those sweet lips once more. No, not once more. He wanted to kiss them again and again until his thirst for them was sated.

“Damon,” she whispered.

Even though he feared he would not be able to perceive a single word she spoke past the thunder pulsing through him, he asked, “Yes?” He paused. “I like the sound of that word. Can I hope you will say the same thing to my invitation to visit Wentworth Hall?”