Brighton Road (23 page)

"Your chances have been quite scotched in any
case, old boy." Skeffington spoke up. "I happened upon Ravenel
myself while traveling to Brighton last week. He was in the company
of some pretty little thing making the journey with her aunt. When
I uttered a few pleasantries to the lady, he behaved very much like
a jealous lover. Nearly gave me a leveler."

Skeffington's companions gasped.

"Dear me!"

"Extraordinary!"

Gwenda thought so herself, and the book
nearly slipped from her grasp a second time. Ravenel, a jealous
lover? She had never considered his actions in that light. But she
immediately quashed the tiny flicker of hope, telling herself
Freddie Skeffington was a great dolt.

She leaned up against the bookshelf, waiting
anxiously to hear what else might be said. The three men had fallen
so quiet, she began to wonder if they had moved on. She peeked
cautiously around the side, then choked back a small outcry as she
saw the reason for the dandies' sudden silence.

The object of their conversation himself had
just walked through the library door, Belinda Carruthers draped
upon his arm. Gwenda's pulses gave a leap, part joy, part dismay,
as her hungry gaze drank in the sight of Ravenel. Every detail of
him, from the broad outline of his shoulders to that overstarched
collar, from the brilliant dark eyes to the stubborn line of his
jaw, seemed so inexpressibly familiar and dear to her heart.

She looked for some sign of the change in him
that the dandies had been discussing, but she could detect nothing
odd in Ravenel's manner. He stood as stiffly, as formally erect as
ever. If anything, his reserve appeared more pronounced, his
movements more perfunctory, as though he was not capable of taking
pleasure in anything.

It hurt Gwenda to see that as much as it did
to watch Belinda cling to Ravenel in that proprietary way. Gwenda
swallowed the lump rising to her throat and shrank back behind the
shelves.

The baron did not notice her skirts whisking
from sight as he nodded his head in curt greeting to Freddy
Skeffington and his two companions. They barely acknowledged it,
smiling nervously and skittering by him as though he had the
plague. Ravenel gave a slight shrug. Skeffington and his lot had
always been a parcel of fools.

With great effort, Ravenel kept his gaze from
sweeping about the rest of the library. He could not help telling
himself that if there were any chance of encountering Gwenda in
Brighton, it would most likely be here at the circulating library.
But even if he chanced to see her again, what would that do but
make him feel more empty and lonely than he already did?

"My lord?"

He felt Belinda tug at his sleeve and glanced
down at her with some impatience.

"I would far rather have gone to the card
assembly at the Old Ship. But since you insisted upon coming here,
are you not going to at least select a book?"

There was a certain waspishness in Belinda's
usually dulcet tones. As though she realized it herself; she was
quick to flutter her eyelashes and add, "I know what a busy man you
are. Indeed I was surprised and so flattered that you were able to
spare the afternoon to escort me at all.'

It would have been difficult to do anything
else, Ravenel thought. He had been deluged with missives from
Belinda ever since her arrival in Brighton, assuring him that he
was quite free to call upon her any time he wished.

As she flitted away from him to effuse
greetings over some portly dowager and her freckle-faced daughters,
Ravenel noted the high bloom in Belinda's cheeks. He thought
sardonically how remarkable the sea air in Brighton must be for
mending broken hearts. Belinda had never looked better and had not
mentioned anything more about being in mourning. Perhaps the cure
came less from the sea than from the tidings being bruited about
that the Earl of Smardon had become engaged to his second
cousin.

Ravenel checked his cynical thoughts. In
truth, he didn’t give a damn about any of it. While waiting for
Belinda, he ran his fingers listlessly over some volumes arranged
on a shelf, barely registering the titles until he came to one
neatly tooled in red leather.

The Castle of Montesadoria by G. M. Vickers.
Ravenel eased the book almost reverently off the shelf, then
thumbed through the pages, one particular line catching his notice.
He couldn’t help smiling as he read, "
The count was a gentleman
of most noble mien with handsome dark eyes."

What a flood of memories those words
unleashed, memories that were dispelled by the sound of Belinda's
voice close by.

"Ravenel!"

The petite blonde peered past his shoulder.
and cooed, "What have you found that has you so absorbed?" When she
saw the book, she broke into tinkling laughter. "My dear Ravenel,
you surely don't read that sort of book?"

He glared at her. "What, pray, is wrong with
this sort of book?"

"Why, It is the most arrant sort of rubbish
about ghosts and—"

"Until you are clever enough to write one,
you should not feel so free to criticize."

Belinda's violet eyes widened. She looked
momentarily taken aback by his rudeness, but she made a quick
recovery. "Naturally I would never do anything so vulgar as to
write for money." She added with a self-deprecating smile," Of
course, I do dabble a little with poetry."

"I detest poetry." Ravenel closed the book
with a snap and replaced it on the shelf. What was wrong with him?
It was as though he were deliberately trying to provoke a quarrel
with Miss Carruthers.

Not that there appeared any likelihood of
that. If Belinda was offended, she quickly concealed it behind a
coaxing smile. She tucked her hand through his arm, gushing, "Much
more pleasurable than any sort of literature is music. I do so dote
on music. Let us see what new songs there are."

She swept over to the pianoforte, quickly
sifting through the sheet music, asking for Ravenel's opinion of
which she should try. She could have played "Rule Britannia" for
all he cared. He scooped up one sheet and handed it to her, having
no idea what he had selected as she arranged her skirts on the
bench.

Belinda played well, or so most of society
would judge, Ravenel mused. But he found her performance wanting in
any spark of genuine feeling for the notes she thumped out with
such precision. She knows nothing of enthusiasm and dreams, Ravenel
thought, recalling Gwenda's words. Miss Carruthers appeared far
more concerned with how well she looked seated at the instrument,
tossing her golden curls, her dainty fingers rippling down the
keys.

In that instant Ravenel knew he would never
marry Miss Carruthers or any other society miss like her. His duty
be hanged! He had cousins enough to make up for his own lack of
heirs. He would spend the rest of his days alone. On a cold
winter's eve by the solitude of his hearth, he would take out the
memory of three glorious days in his life spent in the company of a
green-eyed sprite who both vexed and amazed and made every moment
one of wondering surprise. The baron doubted that he would ever
experience anything unexpected again.

This dismal thought had no sooner occurred to
Ravenel when the door swung open, nearly slamming Freddy
Skeffington against the wall. An officer in a cavalry uniform
swaggered through the door.

"So sorry, old chap," he said, doffing his
cap to the outraged dandy.

Freddy, prepared to sputter and take umbrage,
stopped in midsentence, gaping at the soldier. Ravenel could not
blame Skeffington. The colonel was a most extraordinary-looking
individual. His hair appeared darkened with some strange substance
that plastered it to his skull. A mustache of the same startling
shade of black appeared shoved beneath his nose. His shoulders,
which Ravenel could tell had been padded with buckram wadding,
shifted, becoming uneven.

With a final nod to Freddy, the officer set
some young ladies by the watercolor books to giggling when he
paused to shoot them a smoldering glance. Ravenel had an odd
feeling he had seen this person somewhere before. But surely he
would have remembered anyone who looked that peculiar.

The soldier halted in midstep as he spied
Miss Carruthers at the piano. He clasped one hand to his heart and
strode over. "Belinda, my darling. It is you!"

Belinda's playing stumbled to an abrupt end.
She stared up at the officer bending over her and said in affronted
accents, "Sir! I do not believe that I have the honor of—"

"Belinda, it is I. Percy!"

"P-Percy?" Miss Carruthers said faintly.

"Aye. Your lost love, Colonel Percival Adams,
whom you believed killed in the wars."

Belinda shrank back, turning as white as her
muslin gown. Ravenel, equally astonished, stared at this apparition
supposedly returned from the dead. So this was Belinda's Colonel
Adams, he thought with a shake of his head. He had never thought
Miss Carruthers a brilliant woman, but he had given her credit for
having some discernment.

"There—there must be some mistake," Miss
Carruthers babbled.

"The only mistake, my dearest, was my taking
so long to rush back to your side," the colonel declared. He seized
Belinda's hands and planted a fervent kiss upon each of them, which
had the effect of knocking his mustache slightly askew.

Peering closer to look beneath the soldier's
downswept lashes, Ravenel glimpsed mischievous green-gold eyes. As
the jolt of recognition flashed through him, his lordship
straightened, groping frantically for his handkerchief. He doubled
over, apparently seized by a fit of choking.

By this time most of the other occupants of
the library realized that something strange was occurring. Some
listened with their heads discreetly averted, while Skeffington and
his cronies gawked shamelessly.

Yet huddled behind the encyclopedias, Gwenda
wondered in despair if she would ever be able to escape without the
pain and embarrassment of encountering Ravenel and Miss Carruthers.
At the last glance she had stolen, they had seemed rooted by the
pianoforte for the remainder of the afternoon.

But it gradually became borne in upon her
that the music had stopped, that the hum of conversation in the
library had grown strangely quiet.

"No!" Miss Carruthers's shrill outcry split
the air. "You stay away from me."

"Forgive my impulsiveness, Belinda, my
darling," a man's upraised voice said, "but we have been separated
for so long."

A most familiar man's voice, Gwenda thought,
freezing. With a feeling of dread, she inched out from behind the
books and stared toward the pianoforte.

It would have taken more than boot blacking
in the hair and a false mustache for Gwenda not to have known her
own brother. A soft groan escaped her as she watched Jack pursuing
the frantic Miss Carruthers around the pianoforte where she sought
to take refuge behind Ravenel.

"I've been a prisoner of the French. With
amnesia," Jack declared. "But as soon as I got my memory back, I
escaped and returned so that we could be married."'

"I am not engaged to you! I have never been
engaged to anyone," Belinda shrilled. "I don't even know any
Colonel Percival Adams." She appealed desperately to Ravenel. "My
lord, save me from this madman."

But Ravenel seemed strangely quiet, muffling
his face behind his handkerchief.

Gwenda had no difficulty guessing what her
brother was attempting to do. Her face heating scarlet with misery
and humiliation, she rushed forward to stop him.

"Jack!" she said, jerking roughly at his
arm.

Her brother paused in his pursuit of Miss
Carruthers to glance down at her. He pulled a fierce face,

"You are mistaken, miss. I am Colonel
Percival—"

"Stop it!" Gwenda reached up and wrenched off
the false mustache.

"Ow!" Jack cried, clapping a hand to his
upper lip. He eyed her reproachfully. "This would be the one day
you'd decide to come out of your room—just in time to be here and
ruin everything."

Gwenda turned brusquely away from him. She
could not raise her eyes to face either Ravenel or Belinda. "Miss
Carruthers. I am so sorry for what my brother---"

But she got no further, for Belinda expelled
her breath in an angry hiss. "Then this has all been some sort of
horrid prank at my expense." She whipped about, clutching at
Ravenel. "My lord, I have been insulted. I demand you call this
rogue out at once."

Up until this time, Ravenel had been trying
most heroically to contain himself. But Belinda's final dramatic
appeal put the finishing touch on this farce. The laughter erupted
from him until his eyes watered. His mirth spread quickly among
many of the other library patrons who had been staring until the
entire room seemed to ripple with laughter.

Belinda's face stained scarlet. She slapped
Ravenel hard across the cheek with the full force of her palm.
"You! You are as vulgar as that scoundrel."

Her venomous glare shifted toward Gwenda and
her brother. "And—and as for the pair of you, you should both be
flogged and never permitted near decent society again!"

She whirled on her heel and stormed from the
library, nearly oversetting Frederic Skeffington, who had the
misfortune to be lingering in the doorway.

Ravenel could not seem to stop laughing, even
while rubbing his stinging flesh, until he focused on Gwenda's
face. One sight of the tears streaking down her cheeks put an
abrupt end to his merriment.

"How—how could you, Jack!" she choked.

Jack Vickers crossed his arms over his chest,
looking somewhat abashed but defiant. "What did you expect me to
do? I couldn't let my only sister die of a broken heart. I thought
if I could only get rid of that Carruthers wench, all would be
well." Jack glanced earnestly at Ravenel. "My lord, surely you can
see that you oughtn't to marry a lady who has already begun to tell
you lies. I know my sister can be a bit of a nuisance at times, but
at least she is honest and she loves you."