Surrender the Stars (19 page)

"I don't know if it's safe to turn you loose on the streets of London," she teased. "Respectable matrons will be throwing themselves from speeding carriages without a second thought, driven simply
mad
by the vision of such hitherto unimagined male beauty! Perhaps you ought to conceal a weapon to protect yourself."

"Only from you, Lady Brandreth," he shot back with cool amusement. "I'll take my chances with the rest of London's women."

"You look splendid, Ryan," Devon said, looking him over carefully. "The cravat is impressive, but are your collar points high enough for a true dandy?"

"Probably not, but I've heard tales of young swells cutting their ears on their collars, and I like my ears too much to risk doing them injury." His tone was light but distracted, and his gaze sought Lindsay and lingered. She was curled in a tub-shaped lemon brocade chair next to the window overlooking the sun-drenched square. An open book lay in the lap of her simple, high-waisted muslin gown, and burnished tendrils fell from a loosely wound Grecian knot atop her head.
"Childe Harold?"
he inquired softly.

Lindsay blushed.
"Sense and Sensibility."
She strove for a casual tone. "Are you waiting for me to join in this chorus of compliments? It's very bad for you, of course, but I suppose that this once it wouldn't do any harm to puff up your consequence since you're off to White's to face the mighty Mr. Brummell."

"Please don't compromise your principles on my account," Ryan said dryly.

"I don't mind. It's for a good cause." A dimple winked beside her mouth. "You look very handsome. The bucks of St. James's will pale in comparison."

"You'll never know what that means to me, coming from
you,
dear sister!" Good-natured sarcasm infected his tone, but he softened it with a smile and then bade them all farewell.

Ryan went downstairs and found Raveneau in his study, sifting through papers on his desk.

"Are we still off to White's, or has Harry changed his mind?" Ryan asked, wryly hopeful.

Andre glanced up distractedly and murmured, "No, he's around somewhere. In the kitchen, I think. I was just wishing I had those maps with me here. They would help me to better visualize the current naval battles...."

"It's just as well, sir. The possibility that those maps could fall into the wrong hands here in London is terrifying. Can you imagine what the British would do with
your
maps of America's eastern seaboard?"

Raveneau nodded. "Doubtless the city of Washington would be raided immediately—" He broke off at the sight of Harry crossing the hall and entering the study.

"Secret charts?" Harry inquired, approaching the desk. "May I have a peek?"

Looking irritated, Andre slipped the papers on his desk into the top drawer and turned the key. "There's nothing to see, Harry. Shall we go?"

Ryan lounged against a bookcase and proclaimed, "Gad, sir, let's be away. I've been waiting my whole life to go to White's! I'll be in my element at last, what?"

* * *

Once the front door had closed behind the three men, Lindsay felt anxious. What if Ryan's first foray into fashionable London went badly? Chances were that Beau Brummell, society's arbiter of style who had popularized the same blue coat with gold buttons that Ryan had rejected, would be presiding over the bow window at White's. If he greeted Ryan's pale yellow coat with disdain, he certainly had the power to bar him from the club.

At teatime, distraction appeared in the form of Devon's, and now Lindsay's, couturiere. Dolly Jones was a stately, white-haired woman who had been making gowns for Devon for thirty years. An American, she had married a British soldier during the Revolutionary War and returned home to England with him. Today she came to Grosvenor Square to fit the evening dresses Lindsay and her mother had ordered, but first Devon insisted that she join them for tea and gossip.

Eventually, Mistress Jones joined Lindsay in her spacious bedchamber, which was charmingly decorated in shades of rose, cream, and china blue. Standing near the Sheraton field bed with its curved canopy, Lindsay held her book out in front of her and tried to read while Dolly tucked and pinned the bodice of her gown. Though some details remained unfinished, it was already exquisite. The white lace dress over a satin slip was trimmed at the bottom with a drapery of white lace entwined with pearls and roses and edged with a rondeau of satin. The bodice, cut low over Lindsay's bosom, was fashioned of rose-colored satin with a row of blond lace falling over the top, and the gown's short puffed sleeves were also of rose satin, slashed with white lace and finished with a fall of blond lace.

Glancing at her reflection in the pier glass, Lindsay murmured, "I must tell you, Mistress Jones, that this is the most beautiful dress I've ever owned. It makes me feel like a woman!"

"I would have been glad to reassure you on that point," a dry voice said from the doorway.

"You're back!" Lindsay exclaimed in surprise, barely catching herself before calling him Ryan.

Dolly Jones, her mouth full of pins, made a muffled sound of exasperation at Lindsay's sudden movement. "You musht hode shtill!" she commanded unintelligibly.

"I'm sorry, truly! Mistress Jones, have you met my brother Nathan? He's just made his first visit to White's and some of the other clubs and I'm most anxious to hear how it went. Nathan, dear, do sit down and tell me everything!"

Tossing his hat and gloves onto a chair, Ryan crossed the room and kissed Lindsay on the cheek. Then, when Dolly's head was turned, he stole a glance down the rose satin bodice and grinned. "I agree with my sister, Mistress Jones. This evening dress is a fine piece of work."

"Shank you," she muttered, managing a pin-filled smile.

To Lindsay's further dismay, Ryan then threw himself down on her bed and folded his hands behind his head. The pale yellow coat fell open to reveal a hard, tapering chest that was impressive to behold and accentuated by the white shirt, starched cravat, and snug gray waistcoat that covered it. Lindsay stared for a moment, thinking how appealingly clean and strong he looked.

"White's went well," Ryan was saying, his eyes closed. "I met Beau Brummell, as well as Lord Alvaney, Byron, Colonel Dan McKinnon, Sir Lumley Skeffington, and Lord Wellesley Poole, just to name a few. The bow window was a positive gallery of dandies."

"You met Lord Byron?" Lindsay gasped in disbelief.

"He was eating cheese." Ryan opened one eye, watched her, and raised the brow above it. "Hard to believe that he eats and drinks like other mortals, hmm? One can only wonder what other bodily functions he performs. The possibilities are fascinating."

Dolly made a choking noise while Lindsay's face turned pink. Ryan closed his eye again and tried not to smile. "Careful, Mistress Jones," he cautioned. "Don't swallow the pins."

"Fortunately, Mr. Raveneau, I believe I'm finished. If you'll just remove the gown, Lindsay, I'll take it with me and finish it tomorrow. No doubt you'll be needing it for the round of parties that'll be given for the visiting royalty." As Lindsay disappeared behind a painted Chinese screen, Dolly looked at Ryan. "Are you looking forward to the celebrations, Mr. Raveneau? Perhaps you'll get to see Lord Byron drinking champagne!"

He grinned appreciatively. "Or burping."

"Nathan, stop being vulgar!" Lindsay cried as she reemerged in her simple muslin gown. "You'll give our family a bad name!"

He rose up on an elbow and pretended to ponder her words. "It's probably too late."

Laughing, Mistress Jones bade them farewell and left the room with Lindsay's evening dresses. Ryan resumed his supine position and had just closed his eyes again when he felt a poke in his ribs. "What now?"

"Tell me the truth. What was he like?"

Through his lashes, he saw Lindsay perched beside him on the rose counterpane. "Brummell?"

She poked him again, frowning. "Lord Byron!"

"You're dangerously close to becoming a bore, my dear." He sighed. "Oh, all right. He's handsome enough, I suppose. Thin and very pale, with soulful eyes and hair that I'd wager he curls at night. We didn't form an intimate acquaintance, and if I have anything to do with it we never will, but he seemed agreeable enough. Clever but conceited. Just as Byron is unable to write a poem or a drama without making himself the hero, he makes himself the subject of his own conversations."

Lindsay made a moue. "I think you're just jealous."

His eyes opened. "Of
what?"

"Well, of Lord Byron's celebrity. And his title, his aristocratic background, his education—"

"Let me bring this list of my shortcomings to a close. If I harbor any jealousy toward Byron it's because of the place he holds in your heart."

Startled, she stared at his face. Ryan could have been asleep for all the expression he betrayed. "Don't tease me."

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly, but he said nothing.

Casting about for another topic of conversation, Lindsay discovered one instantly. "Tell me about Beau Brummell, then. He approved of you?"

"I'd say so. There's a certain air of humor, of mock solemnity attached to his preoccupation with clothes. I think he sensed that I had purposely broken one of his fashion rules with this coat and rather liked me for it. He said to Andre, 'Have you not instructed your son that the severest mortification a gentleman can incur is to attract observation by his outward appearance?' " Ryan paused to chuckle at the memory. "Then, Brummell felt the cloth of my coat, looked me up and down through his quizzing glass and said, 'I see you've been to Weston. That's a start, and I'll have to admit that the thing don't look bad on you. Do you truly like it, young Raveneau?' I assured him that I did, and he very nearly smiled before replying, 'Well, I do believe that what pleases is allowed.'"

"What a relief!"

He laughed. "Later, when we were leaving for Brooks's, the Beau approached me and suggested that I come to his house tomorrow at ten o'clock to watch him dress, thereby learning the proper way to tie a cravat. I accepted with pleasure but not too much pleasure. He's used to being fawned over, and my attitude must have piqued his interest. He said, 'You're like your father, I see! That's good. I'll take you round to Watier's and introduce you to Mildmay and Pierrepont.' "

"What does that mean?" Lindsay wondered.

"Watier's is the club formed by Brummell, Lord Alvaney, Henry Pierrepont, and Sir Henry Mildmay—the four most prominent dandies. It's become even more exclusive than White's, and Byron calls it 'The Dandy Club,' claiming that they persecute literary types." He paused, shutting his eyes again for a moment. "You know, all of this business goes against the grain for me. It's mildly diverting, as long as I tell myself that it won't last and that it's necessary for the success of the project your father and I are involved in. The sad fact is, though, that the cornerstones of London society are selfishness and snobbery. It's best to remember that this is not our real life, nor should it be."

Lindsay pondered this for a few moments, leaning back beside him and staring at the high, arched canopy. She wondered how Ryan had gained such insight into these people after only a few hours and if he might be right. What did that say for her own sister? Mouette did seem alarmingly frivolous these days, not at all the wise older sister she had expected to look up to.

Suddenly it dawned on her that she and Ryan were lying together on her bed, alone in the room. When his fingertips brushed her bare wrist, a shiver ran through her body. What if he rolled over right now, pinning her down and kissing her until she couldn't breathe or think? The possibility made Lindsay's heart pound with excitement. It seemed so long since they'd touched, since that night aboard
La Mouette
when they'd seen the shooting star and she'd been locked in his embrace...

"Mmm-unh."

It was a sleep sound, bordering on a snore! Lindsay stiffened and sat up, raging silently as she stared down at Ryan's slumbering form. The fact that he looked boyish and vulnerable only increased her fury. How dare he? She very nearly shook him and shouted the question aloud but realized that she would end up looking like a lovesick fool. And that she most surely was not!

Rising, she threw him one last contemptuous backward glance, then strode into the corridor. Her parents were emerging from their suite of rooms at that moment and smiled at her in greeting.

"Have you seen Ryan?" Andre asked. "Things couldn't have gone better at White's. Harry says that his membership is certain since Brummell made his approval clear. Your friend handled himself magnificently; it was quite a performance!"

"He's not
my
friend!" Lindsay shot back, her gray eyes smoldering. "I detest the man!"

Devon and Andre glanced at each other, blinking in surprise. "Darling, what's brought this on?" her mother asked gently. "Did Ryan do something to insult you?"

"He fell asleep on my bed!" The hot words poured out even though she knew how silly they must sound.

"What's wrong with that?" inquired a baffled Raveneau.

"He's acting just like a
brother
!" Lindsay cried. Turning on her heel, she started down the hallway toward the stairs, adding over her shoulder, "I can't explain; you wouldn't understand."

When their daughter was out of sight, Andre looked down at his wife. "Do
you
understand?"

"I'm afraid I may." Devon sighed. "I'm going to give this situation the benefit of the doubt, however, and keep my own counsel for the moment."

"Thank you." He bent to kiss her lightly. "I was hoping you wouldn't tell me!"

Chapter 14