The Indomitable Miss Harris (27 page)

“Indeed, minx,” he responded in an undertone. “Do you think me so blind as not to recognize a damsel in distress?”

“Ah, of course,” she retorted sweetly. “My knight in shining armor. ’Twas the dark coat that put me off, my lord.”

“Nevertheless, Lady Impertinence, I quite look forward to our dance.”

He disappeared into the crowd, leaving her to stare wide-eyed after him. His voice had been low, nearly gruff, but there could be no mistaking the ring of sincerity in his statement.

Her spirits seemed to take wing. She saw her brother in a corner talking avidly with Lady Sybilla and beamed at them just before her first partner came to claim her. As the evening wore on, it seemed to Gillian that this was one of the finest parties she had attended in London. Everyone seemed so relaxed and gay.

There was a flurry at the main door just before the dancing couples adjourned with the rest of the guests to partake of a light buffet supper. The reason was quickly ascertained. His highness the Prince Regent had deigned to put in an appearance to honor Lady Jersey. He moved from group to group, gathering an entourage as he went, and Gillian saw soon enough that Landover had been correct, for although the Regent came to an abrupt halt just in front of her, she might just as well have been so much air. As she sank into a low curtsy, he turned pointedly to the tall, thin gentleman at his side and spoke as though he were continuing a previous conversation.

“Petersham, I tell you I am the victim of bedevilment. Throughout this sorry season, I’ve been dogged by one ill-fated circumstance after another, but this last has been by far the worst. With the damned Whigs to brand me monster, who knows what unspeakable brutalities I stand accused of? Cruelty to a helpless child, they say. Helpless! Ha! My own daughter, sir, and they make me sound as ogreish as Caligula. Now, I ask you!”

Lord Petersham—it would be Petersham, she thought—made soothing noises and glanced accusingly at Gillian, which did nothing to reduce her blushes. Nor did his words seem to quell the Regent’s whining, although he did, thankfully, move on at last. Gillian had do doubt that Prinny had staged the scene for her benefit. He quite obviously knew exactly what role she had played in his daughter’s flight, and she was certain now that if she was ever to further her friendship with the princess, the chance would come only when her highness finally came into her own. With a sigh of relief, she rose slowly to her feet and saw Landover watching her. Her chin went up immediately, at which he smiled so encouragingly that although her earlier sense of gaiety had completely evaporated, she couldn’t help but smile back.

Her supper partner materialized out of the crush a moment later, and the evening went on. At last, it was time for the quadrille, and Darrow found her quickly, although she had scarcely laid eyes upon him since he had signed her card.

“I confess I am not much in the mood for
coupes
and
entrechats
at the moment, Miss Harris,” he said with a smile as he adjusted a fold of his intricate neckcloth. “Will you be vexed if I suggest we sit this one out?”

“Only if you try to drag me off into a private chamber, my lord,” she teased, taking his arm. Despite her attempt at lighthearted banter, however, Gillian realized that she was decidedly nervous. Darrow seemed to know it, too, for his tone was gentle.

“I’ll not deny I’d like a private chat, my dear, but a pair of empty chairs will do as well as a withdrawing room. May I fetch you some refreshment first?”

She was tempted, simply because it would delay their conversation, but she shook her head. Better to get the first awkwardness over as quickly as possible. They found a group of empty chairs and sat down.

Darrow wasted no time coming to the point. “I have recently been engaged in much quiet reflection,” he said somberly.

“I, too, have been thinking, sir.”

“Was it true what Landover said? Do you truly wish to marry me, Gillian?”

She hesitated, but his question was too blunt to be parried with anything other than an outright falsehood, and she liked him too well for that. “Not … not exactly, sir. You are a dear friend, and I would do nearly anything to protect that friendship. But—”

“Nearly
anything,” he repeated pointedly.

“Only that, my lord.” She looked down at her fingertips, unable to meet his eyes. “I … I am most sincerely conscious of the honor you do me, and I am most frightfully sorry if my actions or attitudes led you to believe—”

“Rubbish. Put a sock in it, my girl.”

She stared at him. He was smiling, a sad smile, but still a smile.

“You don’t mind?”

“Of course I mind. I mind like hell. I cannot imagine anyone I’d rather have for my lady wife. But you are not to blame yourself for the fact that I jumped to a hasty conclusion. It was my own wishful thinking led me on, not you. I knew by your response when I kissed you. You behaved as though you were performing an interesting experiment. There was nothing more, save what my imagination provided. You’ve no reason to feel responsible.”

Her throat seemed suddenly tight. “Shall we still be friends?” she muttered.

“Always.” He spoke gruffly. “But I hope you will understand if I take you back to Mrs. Periwinkle just now.”

“Of … of course.” They skirted the dancers rather quickly, and Darrow made his farewells with more speed than charm. Gillian found to her dismay that she was watching his departure with tears streaming down her cheeks. She felt a gentle touch on her arm.

“Come with me. ’Tis my dance, so no one will miss you.”

Landover led her quickly to a curtained balcony overlooking the back garden. As she stepped through the curtains, the soft night air touched her cheeks, chilling them slightly. Then Landover took her by the shoulders and turned her around.

“Let me see.” His handkerchief was soft linen, his touch gentle. He chuckled when she sniffed. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you. You seem always to be mopping me up lately.”

“Nonsense. That little scene must have been very difficult.”

“What would you know about it?”

“You were hardly falling into each other’s arms, my dear, and I know for a fact that this is the first time you’ve seen him since he offered for you. There is only one alternative.”

“I told him I had made a mistake.”

“Exactly.”

Gillian sighed deeply, finding it very comforting when he put his arm around her. She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Landover, am I fickle?”

“Very likely. It has been my experience that most females are.”

“Your
vast
experience.”

“Precisely.”

She grinned. A comfortable silence fell between them while they watched a crescent moon that seemed to dive in and out of scudding black clouds. Gillian shivered slightly in the chilling breeze, and Landover sensed it, drawing her closer as though to share the warmth of his own body.

His hand moved up until it was just beneath her breast, and the movement created a sudden, mad wish that she could throw herself into his arms, to surrender to a burning assault on her body similar to the one she had experienced the night he caught her with Darrow. She looked up at him, and he smiled. There was a warmth in his expression that she hadn’t seen before. Her lips parted. Suddenly breathless, she was not at all surprised when he bent his head, capturing her with a kiss so gentle, so tender that it seemed almost to be a figment of her imagination.

Her reaction was not nearly so mild, however. Every nerve responded. It was as though his very tenderness teased her senses, provoking a passion deeper than anything she might have imagined. She pressed closer, lifting her arms to return his embrace, driving him to greater urgency. He held her more tightly, and her conscience stirred even as she returned the embrace. His hands began to move, caressing her, first gently, exploringly, then more firmly, sending her feelings to even greater heights.

Gillian told herself that she had no business to allow such behavior, that she must be wanton to enjoy it, but it was no use. She reveled in it, delighting in each new sensation, gasping with pleasure as his fingertips brushed the tips of her breasts. Really, she thought to herself, she had been absolutely right about his expertise. It was a prodigious shame he wasn’t the sort of man she wanted for a husband. But despite his good behavior these past days, he was entirely too overbearing and dictatorial. Not at all the proper husband for a girl who knew her own mind as well as she did! She sighed, and Landover set her firmly back on her heels. This time, however, he looked down at her with a rueful little smile.

“Forgive me. I should never have allowed that to happen.”

“Why not?” she demanded.

“Because you are entirely too vulnerable tonight. I wouldn’t want you hurt by these little games we all play.”

“Games! Why, you insufferable—Ooh!” Too angry to think of anything sufficiently rude to say to him, Gillian turned on her heel and flounced back inside, blinking furiously in the sudden blaze of light. She avoided the marquis for the rest of the evening and was perversely gratified when Darrow, with a rueful smile, showed up to claim her hand for his waltz.

The following day she continued to ignore the marquis and made a point the day after that of not asking how Wellington’s reception had gone. She was naturally curious, but she didn’t have to suffer long, for she met Mr. Brummell at the Berry sisters’ that very afternoon, and he was only too pleased to describe the affair.

“Prinny’s usual deep planning, of course. And the usual outrageous expenditures,” he added wickedly. “Everything was white. He built a great brick thing in the garden and swathed the whole in white muslin. It held two thousand guests, they tell me. All I know is it was a sad crush. There were mirrors all over the place, so it looked like a multitude, and everything was so hideously
virginal.
Busts of Wellington all over the place, of course, but even so, one had to keep reminding oneself that one was attending a fling for a rugged military hero and not the Princess Charlotte’s come-out. Of course, the new duke made the rounds, and there was no missing that stupendous nose or his abysmally foul language. All in all, I suppose I should call the evening a qualified success.”

Landover, who had uncharacteristically chosen to accompany Gillian and Mrs. Periwinkle to the little house in Curzon Street, had been watching her while she chatted with the Beau, so Gillian was not particularly surprised when he made his way to her a few moments later. She wanted to ask him if he had actually spoken with the national hero, but she was still angry and would not allow herself to be more than civil to him. And she was just as glad she had not when he demanded to know what she and Brummell had been discussing so avidly.

“Mr. Brummell was kind enough to tell me about Wellington’s reception, my lord,” she replied, carefully polite.

“Well, if he expressed them, I hope you were not so unwise as to agree with any of his opinions regarding the Regent,” he replied sharply. “To do so would only arouse George’s contempt, you know.”

Gillian controlled her temper with difficulty. “I am confident, my lord,” she replied in chilling tones, “that Mr. Brummell would never be so rude as to express such opinions to me.” Then, before he could contradict her as she knew he would—and with excellent reason, since she had just spoken a great piece of nonsense—she gave him a fine view of her back by turning to speak to Mrs. Periwinkle, who stood just behind them. Therefore, she did not see Landover’s slight, mocking bow, but moments later, she realized he had gone. In the next few days, Gillian watched as his reaction to her continual snubbing passed through mild amusement to irritation, and was oddly satisfied with the change.

T
HE MORNING OF THE
Grand Jubilee dawned through a thin drizzle of rain, but the people of London, having long anticipated the treat, were not about to allow such a minor detail to damp their holiday spirit. Even the servants at Landover House went about their duties humming and laughing, and when the sun’s rays began to slip through the clouds at noon, Gillian could have sworn she heard cheers from the kitchen. Nearly everyone was to have a half day off, and the house rapidly emptied after luncheon. Only a skeleton staff remained, including Jason, who would drive the Landover party to the parks.

They began with Green Park, where a mysterious structure known as the Castle of Discord had suddenly appeared with a round tower and ramparts a hundred feet square. The fortress had been made to revolve so that it could be viewed from every angle, and at midnight it was to be transformed amidst flames and smoke and thundering artillery in a symbolic destruction of the horrors of war into a beautiful symbol of peace, the Temple of Concord. Booths and flying barracks and open stands of a more humble description had sprung up everywhere, with all sorts of refreshments, and the atmosphere was similar to that of Bartholomew Fair, with great crowds everywhere.

From Green Park, they went on to St. James’s Park, where they met Lord and Lady Harmoncourt and Lady Sybilla. As they wended their way through the crush toward the canal in order to view the magnificent Chinese bridge designed especially for the occasion by John Nash, the Regent’s favorite architect, Lady Harmoncourt, now fully recovered from her illness, took her brother’s arm and leaned toward him confidingly. Her voice carried easily enough, however, to Gillian’s sharp ears.

“I have a special treat for you tonight, Landover.”

“Indeed?”

“I daresay you will remember Lady Henrietta Armitage?” Her tone was nearly coy, her eyebrows lifted teasingly.

“Don’t be silly, Abigail,” Landover replied, glancing at her quizzically. “But I thought Hetta meant to spend the Season in Paris now that peace is at hand.”

“Perhaps she said as much,” Lady Harmoncourt chuckled, “but she must have got bored, because she is back in town. She called upon me only yesterday, and seeking to surprise you, I took the liberty of inviting her to join us for dinner. We are engaged to collect her on our way to Vauxhall. But I shall let you have the honor, for I know she would prefer to go by water with the rest of you, whilst I shall, as always, take the land route.” She turned, smiling, to the others. “I knew Landover would be pleased. He and dear Henrietta have been
such
good friends for such a long, long time.” And to Gillian’s astonishment, her ladyship actually winked at Sybilla.