The Scoundrel's Secret Siren (21 page)

They were on the subject of brothers. Lady Gilmont named hers the very best of his kind for having got them a box with such excellent views of the house. Julia complained that her own brothers could never be persuaded to escort her anywhere at all, and were generally the worst pests a sister could have.

“My eldest brother, George, once spent a whole summer hiding out in the empty old games keeper’s cottage,” Julia told them as they took their box.

“Why did he do that?” Constance asked. “It seems a peculiar thing to
 do – and a terrible waste of a perfectly good summer.”

“Well,” Julia replied thoughtfully, “he claimed that he was writing poetry and attending to his bird-spotting journal. He would get very snippy whenever we did not believe him, only it was too much to credit. Mama was terribly proud, you know, to have a poet in the family, because he is my father’s heir and so would not expect to make his fortune with his pen. And so, all summer, he sat locked up in the cottage, scribbling furiously away – or so we thought!”

“And wasn’t he?”

“No! I doubt if he has ever written a single line of poetry in his life. George is not very literary, you know, though very sporting. Our governess had a dreadful time getting him to do anything
at all! I had thought it quite suspicious, but Mama believed him, and Papa did not care so long as he could be left in peace and allowed to wear his slippers and mind his turnips. Oh! Mama is dreadfully embarrassed by the turnips, and we are never to speak of them in public. She says it isn’t suited to a peer to be digging in the dirt and getting excited over root vegetables.”

“But what had your brother been up to?” Con prompted eagerly, full of curiosity.

“Well! As it happens, my brother had somehow found a pig that must have escaped from a near-by farm – Mr Silas’s in fact - and had decided to train it up, so that he might somehow smuggle it into Eton with him when summer was over, and have races! It is exactly like George to think of such a dreadful thing. And I must confess, I can’t imagine how he meant to smuggle it past Mama, or to hide it at Eton, for that matter! Such a hare-brained notion. But there he was all summer, trying to train the pig, and sneaking it food when no one was watching, until Isabelle, one of my sisters, followed him and discovered the whole. Being only eight at the time, she wasted not a moment declaring it in the schoolroom, and George got quite terribly roasted for it.”

“Oh!” said Constance in awe. She had always wondered what it would be like if she and Lorelei had brothers – she was convinced that brothers were bound to be the best kind of fun.

“Of course, George was mostly disappointed because the pig was taken away – he never did get to hold his races, and just when he’d spent all summer training it, too. Spent the rest of his holidays moping about. He’d called it Algie, he says. Papa was most put out about having to send it back to Farmer Silas’s. Mama is still excessively sorry that in all that time George hadn’t written a single verse.”

“What fun it would have been if he’d been allowed to keep it,” Constance said with earnest wistfulness.

“Oh, I don’t think that it would!” Julia exclaimed. “George was utterly intolerable as a child – I hate to think how much worse he might have got had he been allowed to keep Algie.”

Once they were seated in their box, which was very lavishly appointed, Lorelei realised how excellent their seats truly were. They were in the very centre of the house, with an unparalleled view all round. She had not been at Astley’s in many years, but it was as marvellous as she remembered.

There was gilding, and the walls were covered in painted murals and polished mirrors. A rich curtain hid the back of the arena from view, and a smell of horses and sawdust hung in the air, promising a night of marvels. Musicians were occupied with tuning their instruments, creating a sense of anticipation in the audience.

“How do you like equestrian drama, Miss Constance?” asked Lord Gilmont, giving Lorelei’s sister a warm smile. Constance had been watching the crowds below as they began to take their seats for the forthcoming entertainment.

Constance, so eager to go out into Society, suddenly found herself a little shy in such august company. She blushed a little. “Oh, very much! I have not been since I was too young to remember much of it. Only, I remember that I enjoyed it excessively,” she replied artlessly.

“You did!” Lorelei laughed. “I remember you saying to Papa that you wished to be an equestrienne yourself when you grew up.”

“Did I? I can’t imagine having said that.”

“You did – you liked the music, I think, and the costumes. And the audience had been very adoring,” Lorelei teased her sister.

“Do you dislike horses, my dear?” asked Lord Gilmont.

“Not at all! I think them very handsome creatures, and I have a very gentle one, myself. But they are very tall and I have a horror of riding
faster than a trot: Lorelei utterly despairs of me. I am afraid that I would have made a terrible equestrienne. ”

A chandelier was slowly raised, lighting the auditorium, and a bell began to ring clearly, indicating that the entertainment was about to begin. It was not long before the music started in earnest and all eyes were riveted on the story unfolding below.

*

Winbourne caught Lorelei alone a minute during interval, while the others stood talking in the foyer. “It is very good of you to come tonight, Miss Lindon, despite your obvious reservations about my character,” he said coolly. She had, after all, ignored him throughout dinner.

“Fiddlesticks,” she declared, face flushing in anger and embarrassment until she was certain it was a perfect match for her burgundy gown. “If I did not wish to be here, Lord Winbourne, I assure you I would not be! I would appreciate it if you did me the honour of not treating me like a silly female who does not know her own mind.”

Winbourne looked at her consideringly a moment. The colour of her gown, so unusual when most ladies saw fit to dress only in cream and white, made her hair look like polished gold and her skin like rich cream. Her demure pearls were certainly enough to drive his senses wild. She did
not
look uncertain, nor like she wished to make good her escape, though she did look as if she would have liked to give the earl a good telling off. It made him smile involuntarily, which only made the lady angrier.

“I beg your pardon,” Lord Winbourne said. “I have made you angry, and quite accidentally this time.”

“Yes, I had a notion you were doing it on purpose up till now,” she murmured, meeting his eyes with her own, which now brimmed with laughter. “You are quite impossible, to rile me as you do!” The entire situation suddenly seemed too absurd for her to be able to stay angry.

“You make it very easy.” He wistfully touched one of her golden curls, which shimmered in the soft candlelight. All words were gone as their eyes met.

A breathless look hung between them a moment – a silent communication that no words could ever hope to encompass, and then she reached out to brush his sleeve with her hand and sealed their fates with that one little gesture. His eyes flamed at the touch.

The bell rang again, and the rest of their company returned to the box, dissipating the tension. Gilmont sat next to Lorelei and asked her what she thought of the first act, while Lord Winbourne once more assumed his expression of polite ennui.

*

After the main show, there followed comical interludes and musicians, some with horses, others without. Three hours later, the company emerged into the foyer, all well-pleased with the night’s entertainment and discussing the finest establishments where they might partake of a light supper.

Lorelei was caught up in conversation with Mr Hunter, who was full of generous praise for the last comical interlude. Even as she continued her discussion with the gentleman, Lorelei was aware of the controlled rage in Winbourne’s eyes, and it gave her a jolt of excitement.

He seemed to take it very badly every time she spoke to the
man, which was utterly absurd. There was something in his gaze that put her utterly on edge. She did not think she could sit through supper with Winbourne, and so decided to take the coward’s way out and plead a headache in order to be permitted to flee.

“Poor Lorelei – such entertainments always give my mother the headache also,” Julia said sympathetically.

Before any of the other gentlemen could speak and offer to escort her back to the Gilmont townhouse, Winbourne volunteered for the task. Her plan had gone terribly wrong!

Lorelei knew instant panic. Her eyes flew to his knowing ones. “I would not wish to put you out so!” she exclaimed.

“You wouldn’t be. I have suddenly recalled that I have business at the club tonight, though I quite forgot all about it,” he drawled, still sounding bored. He was lying. She could tell. Perhaps she had spent too long watching him, but she found him surprisingly easy to read.

“Oh, it is a great shame, but if you feel unwell, sister, then we had much better go back.” Constance looked reluctant to leave.

“Nonsense. You had much better stay here and enjoy your evening, Miss Constance. I am quite capable of ferrying Miss Lindon to my sister’s house,” the earl said, peering at her through his quizzing glass.

Con was both relieved and a little concerned that they were being a nuisance to the man. However, she dared not risk Lord Winbourne’s scorn, only wishing her sister to call for some laudanum and go directly to sleep, which Lorelei promised to do, suddenly looking extremely pale.

After Lorelei had bid good night to the company and told the ladies that she would see them in the morning, apologising for the trouble, she was handed up into Winbourne’s carriage by a groom. Lorelei sensed something strange in the air and it only added to her unprecedented sense of doom.

She did not wish to go back with the earl. It was plain to Lorelei that to be alone with Winbourne was utter madness – especially after she had read the jealousy and love on his face. She did not trust herself. Either they would quarrel, or they would do much worse and she could not bear to find herself in his arms again only to be forced to leave them for the sake of propriety. Or to be dishonoured for surrendering all to his eyes, and remaining with him. No, it was a very volatile situation indeed.

“I am glad that we are alone, Lord Winbourne,” Lorelei stated as the carriage rattled on through the foggy London night. She had come to the conclusion that she may as well make the best of the unpleasant situation. She did not look at him, instead straightening one of her satin gloves.

“Are you, Miss Lindon? I am certainly very flattered to know that.” He gave her a devious smile. “I confess
my
sole intention is to make certain you arrive home in one piece.”

“How kind,” the young lady said drily. “I wish to speak to you of the matter of Julia and Mr Hunter.”

“What a peculiar choice of subject! I own I can’t imagine why you would, when I have already told you I have not the slightest interest in my niece’s affairs.”

“
You are being very cruel,” Lorelei said simply. “What’s worse, you are doing so on purpose. No doubt it would amuse you to have your niece make a run for Gretna Green.” She inhaled sharply, ready to embark on a long telling-off, when he had the audacity to calmly agree.

“Certainly,” Winbourne said, inclining his head politely. “I find that the notion of my ineffectual niece and her lacklustre swain eloping to be a veritable comical masterpiece. If you do not find it highly ridiculous, then I am seriously concerned for your sense of humour, Miss Lindon.”

Lorelei waved him away impatiently “Certainly it would look that way to you, but perhaps you’ll be so good as to allow that I know your niece a little better than you do yourself. Let me assure you, my lord Winbourne, that if Julia sees no other option available to her, she will bolt, though it will hurt her very much to do so. And Mr Hunter loves her enough that he will bolt with her if she asks it of him.”

“And what is it that you wish me to do about my niece’s tendency to flight? It is in the nature of womankind to be flighty – you’ll allow I have rather personal knowledge of the fact. Certainly I am sorry to hear that my own niece is so unreliable as that. I understand my sister Bassincourt expects her to make a much better match than Mr Hunter. A ducal coronet, wasn’t it? Though I must admit there is nothing which I find unsuitable in Hunter’s character as such, if you discount a marked tendency to fall under the cat’s paw.”

Lorelei decided to throw caution and breeding to the wind. “I do not like to bring this up, you understand, but whatever else may be between us, I
did
save your life, and I think perhaps you can do me this one kindness.”

Winbourne gave her an uncharacteristic look of surprise. “Undoubtedly, my life is in your hands, Miss Lindon. Are you so very certain you wish to throw away your one kindness on such a dull, uninspiring pair? I will grant anything you like, if it is within my power.”

Not anything,
thought the young woman.
Not anything, by far.
She could not, after all, ask him for his love, or for his name, or to have him spend the rest of his life by her side. Such a request would be unthinkable. It would never answer to tie him to her by force, and she could not press him to admit, or even recognise, his own attachment – certainly the world would be a happier place if that were possible.

And there was nothing else she would ask of him in all the world: she had no need of money or connections. But she did want to see her dear friend happy, even if that same bliss were to remain forever out of her reach. She thought it would do Winbourne good to get to know his niece as more than just an annoying relation or a ceaseless bore. He did not know Julia for her hidden strength or her surprising whimsy. And Julia knew him only as a cold, fashionable creature, a legend rather than a living man.

Lorelei met the earl’s eyes squarely, despite the painful longing of her heart, and nodded.

“Oh, yes. I am very sure. I can think of no better use for this favour you owe me than the happiness of a dear friend. There is nothing else I could ask, except that you stop being so condescending to your relations. I daresay if you did not speak to Julia with such icy poise, she would not be so utterly intimidated by the Earl of Winbourne. Your ages are not disparate enough to warrant such distance – it is an absurdity.
It is fairly obvious that Lady Gilmont is the only relation you actually like.”

“Well, my dear, we cannot all be friends with our relations – what would the world come to? One would be obliged to attend all the inane little parties and dinners, to untangle all their absurd little tragedies as you are now doing for my niece, and to tolerate a constant invasion of one’s home.” He shuddered at the thought, looking quite alarmed. “And then it is only a matter of time before one ends up in Bedlam. It is much better this way.”

“You are being odious, and I know that you are doing it to vex me.”

“Vex you? But it is I who am vexed by such an alarming notion. Your poor husband, Miss Lindon shall have quite the strained existence – you are bound to flood his halls with all your friends and relations, and be forever involved in helping them make sense of their own ridiculous problems. Why, he would be signing up to marry the lot of you. I dread to think it: you would still persist on this intimacy with all your relations, and spend every moment having to attend to one or another of them.”

“Perhaps – and I should be the happier for it. I could never live in isolation,” she said fiercely.

There was a flash of something in his eyes that was almost warmth, except she was certain it was an illusion cast by passing street lamps and the dark carriage.

“You are a most unusual creature Miss Lindon. Lorelei. It shall be as you have asked, though only because you have asked it: I will speak to my sister. As to my niece, I am convinced you ascribe to her such a meritorious character solely because of your own amiable nature. She is a harmless girl, but an original she is not.” His eyes were blazing at her now. “Are you very certain there is nothing else you would ask of me, favour or no?”

Lorelei felt a little short of breath. “No. No, there is nothing else,” she answered faintly.

“Your character, then, Miss Lindon is much more worthy than my own.”

“Careful, Lord Winbourne, or you shall set me quite to the blush,” she replied tartly.

He gave a velvet chuckle. “I do not pretend to understand the peculiar obsession women have with securing husbands.”

“You will find, I think, that many women have no other choice,” Lorelei said a little sharply.
“Julia, however, is not trying to secure a fortune, Lord Winbourne. She has no
need
of a fortune. She wishes to marry the man she loves: solely that. It is all anyone can hope for in this world.”

“Then you wish to marry?” Winbourne asked with derision. “Is it the sole hope of your life?”

“Yes, I do. Eventually. Though matrimony would not be the
sole
felicity of my life. You need not laugh. I know that such a union is most unlikely and that, once married, I shall probably have to play a part for the rest of my days until there is little of me left. ”

Winbourne looked at her as though she were the one who belonged in Bedlam.
“But you wish for it all the same?”

Lorelei looked at him contemplatively. “No, not for that. But for felicity, and a happy matrimony – I wish for something better.”

“Better? Perfect happiness, then? You are a child, Miss Lindon. Perhaps indeed you ought to search for some suitably naïve fellow to complement your aspirations.”

S
he did not react with anger as he had expected. Lorelei gave him a pitying smile that set his teeth on edge. “Does daring to hope for something more than the world would have me accept make me a child?”

He did not reply for a moment.
Lorelei took one look at Winbourne and knew that hers was a solely Pyrrhic victory. Winbourne gave her one of his slow, devastating smiles.

“I was under the impression,” he began, “that you wished for much more out of life than that. Adventure, wasn’t it? Ghosts and such?”

The carriage drew to a halt outside the Gilmont townhouse not a moment too soon, because the strange tension between them was becoming quite intolerable.

Lorelei wondered if they were about to quarrel, though she could not imagine what could have made Lord Winbourne angry, if ‘angry’ was the right word. She was utterly at sixes and sevens, for she had not been particularly vitriolic to him and certainly she had not asked him to curtail his evening to accompany her home.

She wanted very much to leave the carriage in a huff or tell him off. She had not actually done anything to warrant his ire, or at least nothing she could point a finger at. This only served to annoy her further.

“Miss Lindon, it seems we have arrived,” Winbourne stated politely by way of alerting her to the open door and the waiting groom. Lorelei shook herself out of her thoughts.

“So we have.” She allowed the groom to hand her down onto the cobbled street.

The night smelled strongly of rain.
Lorelei shivered a little, as the weather had turned decidedly cooler. Her light summer cloak did little good in warming her.

“You are cold,” Winbourne observed
with what sounded perplexingly like concern. He stepped instinctively closer. “Come, we will have some chocolate at the house before I depart. My sister would not forgive me if I let you succumb to a chill. I understand the arrangement is for you to stay here?”

Lorelei gave him a startled look, for she had been sure that he was angry.

“Only a little chilled,” she replied politely, because she did not know what tone to take. “It is nothing.”

“Nevertheless, we must hurry inside so that your maid may fetch you something warm to drink.”

“I have told Nell to go to bed once she had set out my things. It isn’t worth waking her up over so trite a problem as a chill – especially at her age. I shall be just fine unassisted. I am not some milksop miss.”

“No, you are not,” the earl replied with wonder in his voice. “Forgive me. I forget that you are a lady much in the habit of attending duels and other such unmissish pursuits.”

“Which you must find appalling,” she said, as they reached the front door.

“Must I? I shouldn’t think so.”

They were let in by Lord Gilmont’s valet. Lorelei could not help but feel his bewilderment and disapproval at the arrangement. He took Lorelei’s cloak and then Winbourne’s, handing them to the waiting footman.

“Some hot chocolate for the lady, Bertrand, and a fire in the library. I shall have a bourbon – the fine stuff Gilmont likes to squirrel away in his cabinet. And send for a maid to warm Miss Lindon’s rooms for her.”

Bertrand could not see the look in Winbourne’s eyes when he said that, but Lorelei could and it thrilled her to the bone and frightened her all at once. Her stomach clenched with nerves and something else, a warm giddy sensation that flooded her entire being. She didn’t know what to make of it.

“Very well, my lord.” The servant was gone in a moment.

“Come, Miss Lindon, let us warm you up and see if you can’t thrill me with more absurdities about my niece’s marriage prospects.”

Lorelei bristled at his imperiousness and would have given him another well-deserved set-down, only his hand alighted for the slightest moment on the small of her back as he led her towards the library and her mouth had suddenly gone dry.

Whatever ravishment she might have expected once they were alone, Lorelei found herself sorely disappointed. Or, rather, it was only her expectations which were disappointed, because surely a lady did not
hope
for ravishment.

A footman came to light the fire and Bertrand followed a short while later with the hot chocolate and a plate of biscuits, and then left them alone with the door decorously open. All the while they sat in silence, as Winbourne poured himself a snifter of bourbon.

The fire played off his sharp features and golden hair, making him look carnal and predatory in a way that could not be at all
de rigeur
.

Lorelei poured herself a delicate cup of chocolate. Her hand shook a little but she couldn’t guess why. She only knew that somehow something had shifted between them and she couldn’t seem to regain her equilibrium.

“Won’t you have one of those chocolate biscuits you enjoy so much, Miss Lindon?” His voice was low and husky and she felt herself flush. “I recall you were very fond of them at Gilmont.”

“Thank you, I am still quite sated from dinner.” Her voice came out formal and polite, which seemed somehow wrong.

“Are you? Well then. And how did you enjoy the outing? You did once say I should go to Astley’s for horse spectacles. As I recall it was when we were teaching my niece to handle her horse…”

“I enjoyed it very much, thank you. It was so good of you to invite us. You have earned my sister’s eternal devotion – she will be speaking of it for the rest of the year, no doubt.”

“She seems a likeable child.” His voice was cool and unruffled, belying the searing way his eyes skimmed her figure.

Lorelei’s voice shook a little. “She has always been very good, aside from when she must study her French.”

She wondered how it was that their conversation had meandered into such banal territory, proper though it might be. Especially given his earlier display of what was unmistakably jealousy, and the way his eyes were ravenously tracing every inch of her. It was as though he was toying with her.