Stroke of Genius (6 page)

It was usually a simple matter for Pygmalion to keep folk at a distance. All he had to do was beat them away with his scowl.

The four upright ruffians leaped to do their fallen leader’s bidding. They circled Crispin, looking for the right opportunity. Grace’s hand flew to her lips. If she cried out, she might distract Crispin, and he needed his full attention on the fellows darting in to take punches at him.

Each time one of them tried, he received a smart rap on the knuckles from Crispin’s walking stick.

“Told you he were no easy mark,” one of them said, shaking his stinging hand. “Let’s shove off, Doyle.”

“No, he gots to pay for damaging Cooper there,” the one presumably named Doyle said. He was a big hulking brute, easily Crispin’s match for height and weight.

“But I think the bastard broke me hand,” the first one said. “I’m no giving him a chance to break the other one.” He loped away into the shadows, cradling his injured paw.

Doyle and the downed Cooper shouted threats after their retreating friend and called his parentage into question for several generations.

“I likes the look of his cuff links meself,” Doyle said, turning his attention back to Crispin. “Toss ‘em over, cripple, and we’ll leave you and your doxy to go free.”

“Doxy!” Grace exclaimed. She’d intended to remain quiet, but honestly, she couldn’t let a slight like that
pass unchallenged. “I am no man’s doxy, and even if I were, I assure you I wouldn’t be his.”

There! That should disabuse Crispin Hawke of any notion that she’d given a second thought to that kiss he’d pressed on her.

“Suit yerself, luv,” Doyle said with a shrug. “We’ll take ye with us when we go, then.”

“You most certainly will not.” She scrambled to her feet and gave the still-groaning Cooper a swift kick. “I’ll have you know that I’m Miss—”

“Missing a bit of her brain pudding, but I like my women a little on the bovine side with respect to intellect,” Crispin interrupted, drawing their eyes back to himself. “Mistress Vache and I will be leaving this grove together and with my cuff links still in place, thank you, gentlemen. However, if you are adamantly determined about trying to remove them from me, might I suggest you make a concerted effort?”

The trio blinked at him stupidly.

Crispin sighed and shook his head. “Come at me two at a time.”

“Oh, right,” Doyle said. “Get ‘im, lads.”

Two of them rushed Crispin and Grace gasped, her heart pounding in her throat. Why had he egged them on? But at the last second, Crispin took a quick step back and the men butted noggins with each other with a loud thud. He whacked them both on their bottoms with his walking stick as they crumpled to the grass.

Then he feinted a swing at Doyle. When the man moved to intercept the strike, Crispin whipped his cane around and jabbed the head of it full on the man’s breastbone, knocking all the breath from his lungs in one deft blow. Doyle sank to his knees, sucking wind.

Grace blinked in surprise.

“Come, Mistress Vache,” Crispin said, moving to her side with more speed than a man with a perpetual limp ought to possess. He offered her his arm. When she didn’t take it, he grasped her hand instead and pulled her along the path back toward the well-lit part of the park. Even though he leaned heavily on the cane now, his canting stride was long enough that she had to trot to keep up with him.

“I don’t appreciate being called a cow,” she said between huffing breaths.

“So you do command a modicum of French,” he said with a scowl. “If you don’t wish to be taken for a cow, then don’t act like one,
vache.
Are you truly so stupid you’d have given those miscreants your real name? Have you any idea what happens to well-heeled heiresses in certain parts of this city?”

No, she didn’t, but she suspected she wouldn’t like it.

“You might at least say ‘thank you,’” he said, still dragging her along.

“I will if you will.”

“And why should I thank you?”

“Because I distracted those men for you when they had you surrounded,” she said, huffing to keep up. “I offered you help before I even knew who you were, so you have several reasons to be grateful.”

When they reached the group frolicking around the Maypole, he stopped and released her hand. Her heart pounded against her ribs, whether from the excitement of her adventure or their mad dash away from it she wasn’t sure.

“I had planned to talk my way out of the situation without resorting to violence, but your intrusion made that impossible.” Crispin raked a hand through his hair. “Did it look as if I required your help?”

“No, you acquitted yourself quite well,” she admitted. Even a man without a cane might not be able to best five who were determined to take him down.

Grace looked up into his face. He didn’t seem angry now. The scowl lines around his mouth faded, but his eyes glinted with the remnant of something like fear.

“You were afraid,” she blurted out.

“Yes, you little ninny, I was afraid for you,” he said. “What if they’d been smart enough to realize you were worth far more than my cuff links? I knew I could take those clods, but if they’d decided to snatch you and run off, I wouldn’t have been able to catch them.”

He looked away from her, back up the dark path. He’d obviously honed his self-defense skills despite his infirmity. She suspected it cost him dearly to admit there were some things he couldn’t do.

“May we sit for a moment?” she asked, settling onto a nearby bench without waiting for his answer. When he plopped down next to her, she noticed the long muscle in his thigh twitching beneath his skintight trousers. He laid a heavy hand on it to still the spasm.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” she said, glancing sideways at him, “what happened to your leg?”

“How convenient polite discourse is. Even if I do mind, you’ve already asked your question.”

“Pardon me.” Grace worried her bottom lip.

Her mother would say she’d committed two faux pas just then. Minerva Makepeace wouldn’t dream of asking a personal question. Conversing about the weather was always safe and recommended.

And she’d never be indelicate enough to use the word “leg” instead of the more ladylike “limb.”

“I don’t wish to pry.” Grace folded her hands primly on her lap.

“Like hell you don’t,” he said with a laugh. “You’re
burning with feminine curiosity, so even if I don’t tell you, you’ll ferret out the tale some other way.”

Grace flinched. Not because of his casual swearing. Her father’s speech was always peppered with rude words and mild blasphemies that agitated her mother into near incoherence. Grace suspected that was precisely why he used them.

No, she flinched because Crispin seemed to be able to hear exactly what she was thinking. How did he know her mind so well?

“Ask anyone. They’ll tell you.” Crispin stretched his lame leg out to its full length and grimaced. “No doubt when you inquire around you’ll hear that my lover’s husband came home unexpectedly and I injured myself leaping from a second-story window.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised.” She curled her lip at him in disgust. Private immorality was one thing. Making a public virtue of it, quite another.

He laughed. “I started that rumor myself because it’s far more entertaining than the truth.”

She rolled her eyes. “One wonders if you’re capable of the truth.”

“When it suits me.”

She shook her head at him. “You are without doubt the strangest man I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or sorry that you’ve met so few men.” He leaned toward her and she caught a whiff of his clean, masculine scent.

Her toes curled inside her slippers.

“On the grand scale of things, I’m really not so strange. Believe me, Grace, the world is filled with people who would permanently cross your eyes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Take that gang around the Maypole, for instance.” He smiled indulgently at the bacchanalian-style revel.
“Just to look at them, you’d think they haven’t a care in the world.”

Grace nodded. In fact, her feet itched to join their dance on the broad green lawn. Could she ever be that wild and free?

The amused grin faded from his lips. “But I’d bet my favorite chisel every one of them bears a secret that, if you only knew it, would break your heart.”

They sat in silence for a few moments and Grace wondered what heartbreaking secret Crispin bore. He made her feel terribly…young. She’d experienced no real heartache, known no grand passion or loss.

She’d never even remotely considered leaping from a second-story window.

Her run-in with those scallywags on the Dark Walk was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her. The trembles in her belly still hadn’t subsided. Now that she realized how much danger she’d actually been in, she was beginning to think adventures were not nearly so fine to
have
as to read about.

“About my leg,” he said softly. “The truth is, I had an argument with a large block of marble. The stone teamed up with gravity and won in a rather unfair fight.”

“Oh, my.” Her imagination painted a lurid picture of Crispin pinned beneath one of the monoliths she’d seen at his studio. If that’s what happened, it was a wonder he wasn’t killed outright. She glanced at his thigh and was glad to see that the tremors in his muscle had stopped. Then she pulled her gaze back to his face before he could notice she was taking an inordinate interest in the state of his trousers. “I’m sure it was horrible.”

“And stupid. Not at all the thing one expects from an acknowledged genius.” He shrugged. “You see why I had to invent something more in keeping with my public image.”

“You think leaping from an upper window to avoid your lover’s angry husband sounds less stupid?”

“Less stupid? I assure you it’s nothing short of brilliant. The tale secures my reputation as an incorrigible rake. It’s more than enough to earn the respect of my fellows and the fear of virgins and their mamas.” He chuckled. “How little you know of people.”

“That’s what you think,” she said. “I happen to know a great deal.”

He cupped her cheek suddenly and tipped her face up to his. “Do you know when a man is about to kiss you?”

A soft gasp escaped her mouth.

Instead of their usual burnished pewter gray, his eyes had gone dark as he looked down at her. Black as the most wicked sin. Memories of his kiss flooded through her body and a delicious shiver tickled her spine.

Actually, if she were being fair, Crispin had rescued her on the Dark Walk and even if he wasn’t the right sort to be named a hero, he still deserved a small reward. She hadn’t actually thanked him properly yet. A chaste kiss should do the trick.

The principle was clearly stated in all the best sorts of books.

Her eyelids fluttered closed and she waited for his mouth to descend on hers, warm and demanding. Her belly turned a slow flip.

Would it be as shockingly delicious as that first kiss?

She waited.

Would his tongue slide between her lips this time to search out her secrets? That’s what happened in the more wicked books.

She still waited.

What the devil was keeping the man?

She slitted one eyelid to find him smirking down at her.

“No, Grace,” he said softly. “You don’t know when a man is about to kiss you.”

Embarrassment and fury vied for first place in her heart. Fury won. Grace hadn’t wrestled and roughhoused with her older brothers as she was growing up for nothing. She pulled her arm back, ready to slap him into next week.

He caught her wrist without effort.

“So predictable.”

Grace wrenched herself away from him and stood.

“Good-bye, Mr. Hawke,” she said through clenched teeth, meaning every word. She never wanted to lay eyes on Crispin Hawke again. Somehow, she’d convince her mother that she didn’t need a sculpture of her hands to be accepted by the
ton.
No title, no adoring husband, not even satisfying her mother was worth putting up with this insufferable man.

She stomped away in the direction of the statue of Handel, but Crispin Hawke fell into halting step with her.

“One moment, Grace.”

“What now?” She stopped, hands fisted at her waist.

“You don’t want to rush back to your family just yet.”

“I don’t?”

“No, trust me, you don’t.”

“Trusting you is not something I’d remotely consider.” She sighed. Then bald curiosity made her ask, “Why don’t I want to return to my family now?”

His lips twitched with amusement. “Because…how does one put this delicately?”

“Mr. Hawke, you wouldn’t know delicate if it bit you on the ar—” She caught herself before one of her father’s favorite naughty sayings flew out her mouth.

“Ah, that’s it. You’ve hit the nail right on the…arse,
as it were,” he said. “The back of your gown is dusted with…well, see for yourself.”

She twisted her neck around and saw that grass clippings and leaves were clinging to her derriere. “Oh!”

“Indeed,” he said, removing his handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket. “If I may?”

Before she could protest, he pulled her off the path behind a large lilac bush. Then he turned her around and brushed her bottom with his white hanky in long, hard strokes.

Grace had never been paddled by her parents. It was humiliating to be swatted on the backside by this man. Especially since her bottom warmed strangely under his intimate touch.

“There,” he said, giving her derriere a final dusting with his handkerchief. “That should do it. There may be a grass stain or two, but nothing discernable in this light. Your appearance, and thus your honor, is once again unimpeachable.”

“The gown is probably ruined,” she said with a scowl. “I hope you’re satisfied.”

“Not yet, Grace,” he said with a wicked grin. “But you do show promise.”

Pygmalion saw “ghosts in the stone.” The figures were there already, encased in marble, just waiting for him to free them. Then one day, one of the ghosts began to free herself.

Crispin wasn’t exactly sure why he continued in Miss Makepeace’s wake once she stalked from their lilacscented bower and back to the path. She strode away from him with single-minded determination, her little bottom twitching beguilingly beneath that thin silk.

Ah, yes. That’s the reason.

He lofted a silent prayer of thanks to whatever horned deity listened to the prayers of the lascivious. It was good to be a man when women no longer enhanced their figures with cork bum rolls and wire panniers.

I don’t care if Bonaparte is a madman, God bless the French.

The Frogs led the charge toward the current classical fashions in women’s gowns. Simple. Honest. Nearly naked in the right light. When he was dusting off Grace’s derriere, his fingertips brushed the sweet curve of her bottom with such intimacy, it was almost as if she were bare as Eve.

She was as soft and rounded as he’d imagined.

His cock cheered this information with a standing ovation.

But since Grace was walking away from him, not toward him, he forced his attention to other things.
Besides, she was still not his type. Virgins had never interested him.

Of course, he hadn’t realized what fun they were to play with before now.

So long as a man keeps his head
—
both of them
—
where they belong.

It drained every ounce of willpower he possessed not to take the mouth she so sweetly offered. But it was worth his sacrifice to see the fire in her eyes when she realized she’d been duped.

He’d string her along a bit and hopefully teach the little minx something in the process. She needed not to be so trusting. If he were a different sort of man, he’d have had her maidenhead already. She was fortunate that he possessed a few scruples.

Very few.

Pity she was so gullible. So kissable. So
swive
able.

When they reached the fashionable part of the park, she stopped and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, peering this way and that. She stood tiptoe a few paces ahead of him, trying to see over the heads of the crowd. Even though Grace was tall for a woman, the sea of top hats and the even more outlandish feminine headgear blocked her view.

Crispin was tall enough to locate Grace’s mother without straining. Minerva Makepeace was seated in one of the best-placed supper boxes. He assumed the bewhiskered gentleman next to her was Grace’s father.

“I believe your parents are over there to the right,” he said pleasantly from behind Grace.

She startled and then turned around to face him. “I didn’t know you were following me.”

“Following you? Nonsense,” he said.

“Then you must be here to rub shoulders with your betters.”

“If such exist,” he said with a slight inclination of his head. “My status as a genius makes it hard to find even my equal.”

She gave a decidedly unladylike snort. “I’ve heard rumors that your origins are humble, Mr. Hawke. Pity it didn’t take root in your character.”

“Humility is impossible when brilliance is hung about my neck by others at every turn.” He was delighted she’d decided to play. A verbal joust was no fun if the other party refused to pick up the thrown gauntlet. “But even we salt-of-the-earth types like to crawl out from our hovels from time to time to see how the upper crust lives.”

“Well, I suppose it’s to be expected. You did warn me Vauxhall admits all manner of riffraff.”

He chuckled and put a hand to his chest. “Touché, mademoiselle.”

“I think I’ve heard enough French from you for one night,” she said irritably.

Clearly, she was still smarting from being called Miss Cow. He wondered if he could turn it into an endearment of some sort.
Ma petite vache,
perhaps.

That should curdle her cream good and proper.

“I can’t see anything in this crush.” She turned away from him, gave a little hop, but landed with a disappointed squeak. “My parents, do you see anyone with them?”

When he didn’t answer right away, she turned back to face him again.

He glanced toward the supper box. “A lady in a green gown and ridiculous feathered turban.”

“That’ll be my mother’s cousin.” She shrugged. “My cousin, too, I suppose, another time removed. But I seriously doubt Miss Mary Washburn would wear anything that could be termed ridiculous.”

“Wait till you’ve seen it before you defend it, Grace. I believe some poor peacock must be running around naked,” he said.

Since swiving Grace was not a viable option, irritating the fool out her was the next best thing he could think of to keep his mind off the pain in his thigh. He had to up the ante in their game.

“Come. Let us not keep your aristocratic cousin or her formidable plumage waiting.”

She shook her head at him. “I don’t recall sending you an invitation to sup with us.”

“My dear Grace, Vauxhall is a place for folk to meet and become better acquainted without all that social folderol.” Crispin shot her a wicked grin. “After all, there were five fellows on the Dark Walk who seemed quite eager to make your closer acquaintance.”

“Can we please dismiss that unfortunate incident? I believe I thanked you already.” Her tone was brittle as blown glass.

“No, you only offered to thank me with a kiss, but I declined for your own good.” The gaslight diffused around them bright enough for him to see a livid blush heat her cheeks. “However, a little Vauxhall ham should settle your debt nicely.”

She glared at him. “You rank my virtue low indeed.”

“On the contrary, my dear Grace,” he said with a parody of a courtly bow. “You’ve obviously never had Vauxhall’s ham.”

He thought he detected a wisp of steam escaping her ears. How delicious. It was time to unleash his big gun.

“Your mother will think me rude if I don’t at least say hello.”

“All right, but not until I find my other cousin.” She lifted her chin and gave an injured sniff. “He’s a baron, you know.”

“Which explains why he’s lost,” Crispin shot back. “Most noblemen haven’t sense enough to come in from the rain.”

“He’s not lost.” Her teeth were clenched so firmly, her jaw looked permanently locked. “I meant to say I just haven’t met up with him yet.”

Crispin snapped his fingers. “So that’s what you were doing on the Dark Walk. Looking for your cousin the baron. Well, that shows intelligence,” he said with an arched brow. Then he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I daresay most of the fellows grunting in the bushes were earls at the very least.”

“Must you be so vulgar?”

“Probably,” he admitted, raising his gaze over her head, presumably scanning the crowd for the missing fellow. “What does your cousin the baron look like?”

“Will you stop saying that?”

“Stop saying what, Grace?”

“ ‘Your cousin the baron.’” She dropped the pitch of her voice in a fair imitation of him.

“Suit yourself,” he said, pleased that she’d decided to take another swipe at him. It would make the game last longer if they both continued to play. “You’re the one so taken with titles. I thought you’d appreciate that I’d taken such careful note of his. So, how will you know your cousin the—I mean, how will you know him?”

“I’ve never actually met
Lord Washburn
,” she stressed his name and title, “though we corresponded a few times. We share a passion for mythology.”

“My faith in human nature is restored. Contrary to popular belief, Bostonians
are
capable of passion.”

“From an Englishman, that’s scarcely a low blow.”

“There’s a myth I can happily debunk,” he said, taking one of her hands between both of his. “Let me assure you, Grace, some Englishmen are very passionate.”

He’d meant to awe her, to catch her in his gaze like an adder does a hare. He intended to watch her squirm uncomfortably in his heat. More than one of his past amours had told him his intense gaze was like a lover’s hands on her body. But Grace didn’t seem to feel a thing.

Instead, a strange thing happened.

When her mild amber eyes widened, he was the one who was caught.

Her lips parted softly and the wicked fantasy he’d concocted about her that morning rushed back into him. Now that he’d actually felt her ripe bottom, imagining her with it tipped up to him was even more potent.

If he flipped her over, her sweet little mound would be slick and glistening. She’d smell like some exotic flower, spicy and pungent and the scent of her arousal would go straight to his cock. Grace would make a little helpless sound while she waited for him to claim her and then he’d—

“Bloody hell,” he whispered and dragged in a deep breath to shake off the effects of his fantasy.

She gave a little choking cough.

“There’s no need for profanity,” she said, breaking off their intense gaze. “I’m sure we’ll find my cousin if we keep looking. I can’t say what he looks like, but he’s wearing a red boutonniere.”

“How very imaginative of him.” Half the men milling around them sported a sprig of something red on their lapel.

Next to the pavilion decorated with murals depicting fauns and satyrs, Crispin noticed a boutonniere-wearing chap trying to hold the attention of an exquisite woman whose use of paint only accentuated already phenomenal features. Not all courtesans were so beautiful, but this high flyer truly belonged to the top tier.
While she laughed musically at whatever the man was saying, she flirted with her fan, but her gaze darted away, flicking over the crowd.

A predator on the prowl for the fattest antelope,
Crispin decided. The fellow was presentable enough, but unless the gent had exceedingly deep pockets, he was destined for disappointment.

And if he’s Grace’s cousin the baron,
Crispin thought with a grin,
he won’t appreciate an interruption from his American relations right now.

Grace loosed an exasperated sigh. “Oh, I give up. My cousin the—” She clamped her lips tight for a moment. “Lord Washburn can find his own way to our table.”

She grasped his arm and began threading her way through the crowd.

“Our table,”
Crispin repeated with amusement. “I’m delighted you’ve come round to my way of things.”

“I’m only inviting you to supper because you’d invite yourself if I didn’t,” she said over her shoulder as she squeezed between two knots of revelers. “Then I will consider my obligation to thank you for your assistance this night fulfilled.”

“You know, I’ve never been to Boston.” He pulled her up short. “Do men there appreciate being dragged about by their women?”

“I thought you wanted to sup with us.”

“I do, but I also want to render assistance to one in desperate need of it,” he said. “I know you’re an American, but if you don’t wish to be thought hopelessly bumptious, you might want to take your cue from the ladies around you.”

Grace frowned. “So now I can’t even walk across a courtyard in a manner that pleases you?”

He smiled down at her. “Unless I’m mistaken, pleasing
me is not your goal. You walk enthusiastically, and personally I like enthusiasm in my women.”

“I’m not at all enthusiastic about your likes or dislikes.”

“Good. If there’s anything Polite Society disdains, it’s enthusiasm. One must seem not to be enjoying oneself in the slightest if one wants to be considered sophisticated.” He tucked her hand neatly in the crook of his arm. “Now, let your fingers rest gently without grasping at my sleeve as if you hoped to dislocate my shoulder.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Perhaps not consciously. I will allow that I can be trying at times and you didn’t truly mean to yank me along like a recalcitrant poodle.”

She laughed and eyed the dark curls that brushed his shoulder. “If you were a poodle, you’d be in serious need of a trim.”

“Yes, well. See to it you don’t do it again.” He patted her hand at his elbow as if that might keep it in the proper place. “Now if you would be seen for a lady of fashion, you must wait and allow a gentleman to part the crowd for you.”

“I see,” she said with a wicked glint in her eyes. “But where ever shall we find a gentleman?”

Crispin grimaced. She was getting too good at this game for his comfort. “That is a bit of a problem, but perhaps I can serve in that capacity for the length of this short lesson.”

He threw the tip of his walking stick ahead of him with each jaunty stride and, as usual, the crowds parted. Some moved aside because they recognized him and admired his talent.

Some moved because the stick wasn’t just a fashionable accessory.

“And here we are, Grace,” he said, stopping a few yards from the supper box. “I’ve delivered you safe and sound to the bosom of your family.”

“So you have.” She turned and laid a hand on his forearm. “I do wish to thank you, in all seriousness. Heaven only knows what might have happened to me on the Dark Walk without your assistance.”

“I doubt they teach that sort of thing in heaven, but I, however, have a pretty good idea.” He brought her knuckles to his lips and gave them a soft kiss.

She pulled her hand away and gave his chest a swat. “Must you make light of everything?”

“Indeed I must,” he said. “I’ve seen the dark side of life, Grace. I want no part of it for you.”

She studied his face for a moment and he realized he’d said more than he ought. It wasn’t like him to let his guard down so.

Then she cocked her head. “Very well, let us banish the dark for the next few hours. Come. I’ll introduce you to my father and Cousin Mary.”

“And don’t forget your cousin the baron,” he said as he followed her toward the Makepeace box. “Mustn’t deny the riffraff the fun of mingling with the high-in-the-instep crowd.”