Edith Layton (24 page)

She nodded, swallowing hard. “Aye, and I don’t blame you.”

“But I’ll always stand as your friend.”

“I couldn’t ask more,” she said, and knew she lied. But she didn’t know what more she could ask.

They still stood close, and she remembered his firm clasp, the security of his embrace, the excitement that was always to be found in his arms. She still felt a tug of attraction for him—more than that. She took another step backward, before she could think about it too much. He was, after all, as handsome as he was good, and good with his hands and that well-shaped mouth of his, and that warm strong body….

But see what she’d done? He was kind, handsome, bright, and entirely worthy. And she’d just given him up for all time, for the sake of a dream that might not
fade when she finally awoke. Or might, as it always had.

Lord Wycoff left the dance quietly and made his way swiftly and silently out the long doors to the garden, with an ease and stealth born of years of practice. He saw the woman who had requested his presence standing alone in the moonlight, the way he always wanted to meet her. But he didn’t take her in his arms immediately, as he would any other lady who asked for such a clandestine rendezvous. He knew her too well—and not well enough. He was a man of discernment and patience but he had to search for the right thing to say to please her and yet not break the mood he hoped she was in.

“Don’t ask,” Gilly said, before he could say a word.

“Of course not,” he said, resting his hands on the marble rim of the balcony she stood beside, gazing out into the darkened garden as she was doing. He couldn’t see anything but the shapes of trees there. But he stared as though there was something to look at, too. “It’s perfectly natural for an engaged woman not to speak to her fiancé all night,” he commented mildly, “or even look at him. And for her not to spare a glance for her oldest friend so recently returned from abroad, either. And then for her to steal out of a party and into the garden—after giving the most vile reprobate in all of society enough signals to follow her to call in all the ships at sea.”

“Not the most vile,” she muttered. “There’s worse.”

“Thank you,” he said pleasantly.

“Me,” she said.

He looked at her. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to interest me more tonight. You’re a constant surprise. Am I to hope you’ve decided to throw over young Ryder, cast off the elegant earl, and run off with me?”

“No. But I wanted to talk with you. You make perfect sense when you care to.”

“God!” he said, genuinely surprised. “Never say I’ve grown old and toothless enough to become the perfect confidante! I think it may be time for me to stir up some hemlock for myself.”

“I like you, too,” she said, as though she hadn’t heard him. “And I’ve no one else who seems to care for me. At least, not here in London, right now. Well, no, that’s not true either. There are other people who care for me. But I care too much for them to discuss this with them.”

“Thank you,” he said, turning his dark face toward the garden again. “Keep flattering me like that, and I’ll use a pistol as well as the hemlock. What are you talking about, my dear?”

“You gave me advice the other night. I think I was thinking about it more than I knew. I acted on it. Now I don’t know what to do.”

There was a silence. He gave her a sidewise glance. She wore a pearl gray gown with a silver overskirt, and with her fair hair, she seemed to glow like a downed star in the deep night. But he knew the spirit that made her glow brighter. His hands clenched on the balcony rail and he felt his pulse beat heavy, like the thrum of the crickets in the late summer night. He couldn’t touch her. It occurred to him that his courtship of her had worked. But not in the way it usually did with the
females he pursued. Because she was not a usual female. He’d won perhaps more than the use of the body he’d lusted for. He’d won her trust. There was enough gallantry left in his soul for him not to abuse that trust, much as he wanted to. And he very much wanted to.

“What do you want to do?” he asked, keeping his voice level.

“I don’t know,” she said dully. “Not anymore. I think…do you know what I most want to do now?”

“I confess I have absolutely no idea,” he said honestly.

“I’d like to sail away to the New World, like Damon did,” she said dreamily. “Only not like he did, but in the way the others he told me about did. Right now, I’d like to take a new name and a new life for myself, too. He said there are people who leave here and leave their whole lives behind, even the memories of it. They go places like Boston, Philadelphia, Delaware. Such exotic names…places like here, only different. And they shed their lives and make themselves whatever they choose there. It’s such a big place with so little history, it doesn’t matter—a peddler’s widow can say she was a lady. And who can know? No one cares, either, because so few had their beginnings there and everyone wants to start over again. They take you as you say you are there.”

Her voice was earnest and full of longing as she tried to explain. “Damon says a wastrel lord can claim he got bored with his estates, and no one will know he lost them. A climbing boy can even say he was apprentice to a silversmith, if he wants to learn that trade.
Anything can be tried—you fail only if you can’t carry it off. Why, a married man can be single, a woman with a bastard child can say she’s a respectable widow. A bondsman can work back his freedom and become a master himself, and a gentleman, too, in time. The truth’s an ocean away, and there’s a whole new continent to lose themselves in. Anyone with the fare in his pocket to get there can say he’s anything he can pretends to be. And
be
that. They go and become something fresh and clean and new, and no one knows or cares what they were—no more than they themselves ever look back.”

They were both still then, each thinking about new beginnings with no memories to stain them.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, I see the lure. But I thought you had more than memories here.”

“Oh, I do!” she cried in vexation. She lowered her voice. “That’s it. I’ve got too many people here I love to ever leave. Well, only a handful, after all. Still, it would be like leaving my heart behind. But I’ve made such a muddle.”

“It’s over with Ryder?”

She nodded. “But no one’s to know yet, please. He saw what I was looking at. I can’t blame him.”

“No,” he said thoughtfully. “Nor can I. Good for him. Not that you’re not a tempting bit, my dear. But if he’s to remain a man, he had to, I think. But there’s still our friend, the earl, isn’t there?”

“Is there?” she asked sadly.

“Oho. I see. But you puzzle me. Why dream about shedding everything and starting anew? You’re free now, aren’t you? You ought to be excited at the chance
you have now. Or is it only remorse for what you’ve done to the fellow you’ve given up that’s turning you so glum?”

“I don’t know. I don’t understand myself anymore. That’s hard for me. I don’t know how much you
really
know about me,” she said, turning to him at last, “but I had to fend for myself a long time before I came to live with the Sinclairs. I depend on me.” She chuckled, then grew grave again. “More than most girls did, or do. I don’t like being unsure. It’s dangerous for someone like me.”

“I see. So, you’re not joking. You see me as a wise counselor? Gad! I am in my dotage unmanned. I am to assume the role of a trusted, older, wiser friend, am I? A departure for me, to be sure. And a challenge, certainly,” he murmured as though to himself. “Well, why not? In spite of the obvious loss of
my
possibilities with you. But I do like you, you fascinate me. You know what I am, but you don’t flirt or flutter—instead you confide in me.” He grew very still. “You don’t compare me with your father?” he asked with a kind of stunned horror.

“No, never.” She heard the undertone in his voice and was touched and amused, and honest. “Never. As I said, I like you, and if things were different…who knows? But they’re not, and I need advice, and you’re clever, and honest—if it doesn’t conflict with your plans. And since I’m being honest with you….”

“You’re astonishing,” he said, “but I wouldn’t value you so much were you not.” He shrugged. “So be it. You want me as a friend. A new role, indeed. Well, I’ve suffered losses before. I’ll try to leave you with a good
memory, like any good lover. Even if I’m not to be one.” He glanced at her again. She didn’t move, or speak. He sighed. “Right. I’ll cut line. There’s nothing more pathetic than a man who can’t take a resounding
no
. I’ll try to give you what you want. You want advice? From someone who’s made so many mistakes he’d need to go to
three
new worlds to forget them? Fine. I’ll try to fulfill the role you’ve assigned me.”

All laughter left his voice. “You say it’s dangerous for someone like you not to be sure of yourself? Listen. L
ife
is dangerous, my dear. You want to live safely? Find yourself a cloister and pray to God on bended knee every day that you meet Him quickly, because there’s no safety in any human endeavor. Not if you put your heart in it, and it’s no good—trust me—if you don’t.

“The thing is, my dear Miss Giles, that you ought do nothing without all your heart, soul, brain, and body. And your love. But few of us get to do that. So if you compromise, make the best compromise you can. One thing I will say, even if you don’t like it. If you really loved, you’d never be standing here with me right now. Yes, look astonished. It’s true.”

He let her think about that for a minute. When he spoke again the familiar curling smile was in his voice again. “No, a woman in love would never have to ask anyone what to do. Her only problem would be how to do it fastest. That gives hope for me, you see. But then, with all I know and don’t know, I never give up hope. Think on, my dear. If you choose to leave the two of them to the devil, you can always come to the devil himself. I’ll always take you, believe me.”

He bobbed his head in a mock bow and left her to the night. He stepped back into the house through the tall doors. Once his eyes adjusted to the light, he looked for the two men she’d been avoiding all night. They were both right there, looking at him.

The Earl of Drummond was standing by the doors, staring at him, murder in his startlingly bright blue eyes. Damon Ryder stood opposite the earl on the other side of the tall windowed doors, his usually pleasant face dark, his expression intent and troubled. Both men were near enough to the window to see out to the balcony. Both had obviously been watching. Neither man stepped nearer.

He shrugged to himself. Might as well play out his role, then, Lord Wycoff thought with sardonic humor, and if he was, then to the hilt. He took out his snuffbox, tapped it, and strolled over to Drum first.

“The dog in the manger,” he said pleasantly, “at least had a claim on the bone. You would do well to remember that.”

Drum stared at him in surprise and growing comprehension.

Then Wycoff sauntered over to Damon. “Dignity is all very well,” he said gently, “but a man ought to fight for what he wants, if indeed, he really wants it. Or needs it.”

As Damon began to frown, Wycoff bowed and added, “Good evening,” took a pinch of snuff, and walked to the door.

And so it was a good evening, in a strange fashion, Lord Wycoff thought as he waited for a footman to bring him his hat. It hadn’t been good for him in the
usual way. He had no one to go home with to help him through the rest of what he now knew would be a very long night. But even so, he was smiling as he left the party. Because though nothing had been found, all was not lost.

G
illy paced her room. She’d burned her bridges, all right. And now the smoke was choking her. It had been quiet in the Sinclairs’ townhouse lately, quiet for a full two days after the party where she’d talked with Wycoff. Too quiet for her conscience and her growing anxiety. Yesterday had been strange enough; Damon hadn’t come to call again. Today was odder still. A quiet morning had given way to a long silent afternoon. Damon’s father had gone to his club, his mama and sisters didn’t offer to take her shopping with them, and none of his numerous relatives had come around either. Gilly didn’t always go out with the family, and the family didn’t visit every day. But today she felt guilty and beleaguered and saw insult in every silence and felt a slight in the simplest words. It was so still in
the house, she hadn’t seen enough of anyone today to hear a single word spoken to her.

She paced. Neither Damon or Drum had come to call.

Damon’s absence she could understand. But she regretted it. She missed him. It was more than his beautiful smile or his jokes. More than his laughter and the warmth of his company. More, even, than his kisses—though she squirmed in the night remembering them. But she was used to talking with him every morning about the previous night, sharing observations and telling him snippets of conversations, and planning the coming night. She wanted to know what he was thinking…and didn’t. She had so many stories to tell him…and nothing to say at all.

Drum couldn’t know what she and Damon had decided. But the man had eyes and ears. He had to have seen the distance between her and Damon the other night. S
o then
, a little voice told her,
he had
. A
nd so then, so what
? Nothing had changed. Except her entire future.

Time to go back to Bridget and Ewen, then; they would be sad, but they’d understand. P
ast time to go back
, she told herself, fighting tears. A
regular watering pot you’ve become
, she berated herself. S
ee what happens once you let your defenses down
? N
ever again
! she promised herself savagely.

She wanted to go home. She missed Betsy fiercely, too, now. True, Betsy would be bitterly disappointed in her sister’s loss of the fairy tale husband she thought she’d almost netted. But she could talk her around it. Betsy believed in fairy tales and happy endings. She’d
tell Betsy she’d have that right enough, because she’d be happy enough with peace now. It was true. She wanted nothing more than to settle down into her old ways, the way she’d lived before she’d come to London to find a husband—and found more than she’d bargained for in every way.

She’d write the letter to Bridget and Ewen tonight. She’d ask their permission to come home straight away. When she got it, she’d tell Damon’s parents, and then she’d be gone, and it would be over, and she’d never talk to Drum again—or at least not until she got over this ridiculous sense of hurt and betrayal. She was the one who’d betrayed herself, after all. All he’d done was to look at her and say a few things that were a bit warmer than he used to do. B
ecause he thought he could—you dunce
! she scolded herself. Because he felt safe, sure she was promised to another man. A
ny dog may bark if it knows it’s held on a stout leash. You were the fool, my girl, and don’t you forget it
.

It was likely she’d never see, much less talk, to Damon again. Except he was a gentlemen through and through. He’d come to say good-bye at least…

A person could pace only so far and think black thoughts only so long until she had to get away from herself. Gilly picked up her chin, went out her door, and hurtled down the stair, looking for someone, anyone to talk with.

“Gillian!” Damon’s mother cried the moment after Gilly got to the bottom of the staircase. She must have been laying in wait, Gilly thought with a start. “I haven’t wanted to disturb you,” Elizabeth Ryder said, “but—there’s something I wanted to talk with you
about. Could you come into the front parlor with me?”

Gilly hesitated, guilty and wary. But no one knew what she and Damon had decided. He said he wouldn’t tell anyone yet. Whatever else in her life had changed, she’d bet her life on his absolute honesty with her. She nodded, and uneasily followed Elizabeth Ryder into the parlor by the front door.

“Now we can talk, and I think we must,” Elizabeth said, closing the door behind them. She motioned Gilly to a seat beside her on a sofa. “My dear,” she said as Gilly sat gingerly. “Oh, I’m not good at this…everyone in our family is straightforward to the point of insult, and I so do not wish to do that! The point is I want you to know you don’t have to hide in your room anymore. I ought to have done something long before this, I thought things would work out—but nothing works out by itself, does it? When Damon first mentioned it, I laughed it off. I can’t any longer, that’s why I acted. Your happiness is more important to me than an uncomfortable moment—or two, as it happened to be.”

“D
amon told you
?” Gilly gasped, appalled.

“Yes, and you mustn’t be angry with him,” Elizabeth said, taking Gilly’s hand, “How could he not, when he saw how unhappy the situation made you? He was thinking of your happiness, which is only right. So I acted, and I want you to know you won’t be having
that
problem again.”

Gilly remembered to close her mouth only when she realized she had to breathe in.

“You needn’t look
so
surprised,” Damon’s mother said. “Oh, I might as well be totally honest, I want nothing to cloud our friendship. When Damon first
told me about marrying you, I’d my doubts. Well, I didn’t know you or your people, and it was so sudden. We hadn’t seen him in years, and then here he was with a bride-to-be, a girl we’d never heard of before, not in his letters, and not of our acquaintance.”

Elizabeth patted Gilly’s limp hand. “But as I came to know you I came to see no one else would do so nicely. N
o
one. I should have trusted him,” she said with a fond smile. “More than that, I saw you’re perfect for him. We’ve grown so very fond of you…and Damon? I’ve never seen him so content. His restlessness sent him away from us, you know. Even after I heard he was coming home, I worried he’d soon be gone again, and become one of those world travelers, always roaming, never settling down. But now all he wants to do is make a home with you. S
o
comforting.

“So!” she said with decision. “I talked it over with my husband and my daughters, and some of my sons—we’re a close-knit group—and they all agreed with Damon! How sorry I hadn’t seen what was right under my nose.”

“The thing of it is…” Gilly said unhappily, trying to find the right words. She didn’t understand everything, especially about how the lady could be so pleased with Damon wanting her and the fact that she’d broken off with him at the same time. That didn’t matter. She had to try to explain herself now that the news was out. “I never meant to make anyone unhappy but—”

“I should say not!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Don’t bother your head about it a moment. You’re more sinned against than sinning. So. It’s done. She’s gone! She left this morning. I made up a story about how her
sister missed her, and I don’t know that she didn’t see through it, but it’s all for everyone’s good in the end.”

Gilly closed her mouth.

“Yes, I sent Felicity away because, to tell the truth with no bark on it, I always knew she liked to meddle. But I vow I never saw she had such a malicious streak. Annabelle, poor dear, told me Felicity was the one who wrote to her, urging her to come to London, encouraging her to the point of making the poor thing travel all the way here to ‘rescue’ Damon from your clutches! She said when she saw you and Damon she was appalled at what she’d believed. Well, at least your friend Lord Dalton seems struck with Annabelle, and maybe something good will come of it, in time. And it will take time, because she was so set on Damon…. But if you love someone, you only want what’s best for them, no matter the cost to yourself. Annabelle has a good soul, as Felicity decidedly has not. I’m glad I’ve seen it at last.”

She pressed Gilly’s hand. “And so I wanted you to know you’ve nothing more to fear from her. You may be comfortable again, and I’m sorry you had a moment of trouble. She’s gone to Devon and we won’t have to see her until the wedding. And then, only briefly. Now you don’t have to hide in your room anymore, and I can send word to Damon that he can return. Because I’m sure that’s why he’s stayed away. He must have been
so
annoyed with me.”

“Oh, I’m sure not,” Gilly breathed faintly, wondering how anyone could feel so good and so bad at the same time, wishing she could hide her face—so she wouldn’t have to look at herself again. And wondering how soon
she could get her answer from Bridget, make a clean breast of it, and slink home.

T
wo days
, Drum thought restlessly, gazing out the window of his club, his long fingers constantly tapping on the arm of the deep chair he sat in. It was the only thing about him that moved. He’d been sitting that way for hours today, and most of the day before. It was an effort. He was a man of action. But he was afraid if he stirred at all, he’d go charging off, and he wasn’t ready. When would he be? he wondered. Two days of thinking and brooding, and nothing to show for it. But he had to be sure. That might take two years, he thought gloomily. But what was he to do? His heart said go to her now. His body urged him to go to her yesterday. But his mind held tight rein on both.

So he sat, and thought, and twitched, but didn’t move. That was how Rafe found him an hour later.

Rafe sat down without invitation and looked at him. “Two days in the same chair,” he commented. “You’ll grow into it. Time to pick up and move out.”

“Indeed?” Drum said. “To where? We’ve no more enemies but ourselves now, Rafe. We won the war, remember? And the way we won, I remind you, was by thinking before we acted. Fools rush in. If you don’t want to become an angel, you don’t. You know that as well as I do.”

“But the war’s over, you just said so.”

“Yes. Now it’s not my life that’s at risk, only the rest of it.”

“Ah,” Rafe said, and nodded his fiery head. “Thought so. It’s Gilly. Saw the way you’ve been looking at her
lately, and I was shocked, I can tell you. Wasn’t going to mention it if I could avoid it, but I can’t, can I? I don’t blame you. She’s grown up to be a fine woman, and you’re only a man after all. But she’s promised to the lad. Nice fellow, too. Carries himself well and has a head on him. She’s not your concern anymore. Let it be.”

“Since you’re so observant, have you seen the way she’s been looking at me?”

Rafe fell still. Drum knew why. It wasn’t their way to talk about their women. At last, not good women. But the redheaded ex-soldier had been his friend so long, and his ally so often when they’d worked together in life-threatening schemes for their country, that it felt as though he was talking to himself now. He had to think things through, be rational, systematic, ignore his passions and add things up like a mincing, drywitted, bloodless clerk. Rafe could help him do that. He’d done it before, when it was their lives, the future of their country, or their countrymen at stake.

He was an intensely private man, but Rafe was like his second self. He felt he might only safely act one way or the other after talking it out with someone he trusted, trying to see all aspects of the matter. Even though he yearned to forget everything he knew about safety and prudence and fly to her now. Because shock had unsettled him, making him doubt his own wisdom. The shock of seeing Gilly come to such a radiant womanhood. The shock of realizing how much he wanted his hands on her.

“Well, I grant she has had her eyes on you,” Rafe offered, “but then she always did, you know.”

“I know. But then she was a girl.”

“Was a woman, strictly speaking,” Rafe argued.

“She wasn’t a woman until Ryder got hold of her,” Drum said, and winced, because it was true and the only other thing that was bothering him. He wasn’t sure he’d have seen her transformation to womanhood if he hadn’t seen her through the eyes of another man.

“Well, there you are. That should settle it,” Rafe said, sitting back.

“Should, but doesn’t. She wouldn’t be looking at me that way if it did. And if you’ll note, she has not been looking at Ryder—at all.”

“Not with you in the room, no,” Rafe said, troubled.

“Not with me in the room, no,” Drum echoed with satisfaction.

“Nothing wrong with Ryder,” Rafe said sadly. “Everything right, in fact. I’d be proud to own him as a friend.”

“Yes, I would be, too. If matters were different. They’re not.”

“He’s everything a female could want in a man, too,” Rafe argued. “He’s got money, family, and he’s sound to boot.”

“I know, I tested him, remember?”

“And it’s clear he’s mad for her.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” Drum said bitterly.

“But he’s mad enough to
offer
for her,” Rafe said quietly.

“Ah,” Drum said, closing his eyes.

M
arriage
? That was the sticking point. Gilly Giles was the most unusual female he’d ever met, and he’d known many in his work and play. He was of an age to
marry, but had never felt the need. The women he wanted in his bed were the only sort who could sport with him there—women of experience, who knew the game whether they were in it for amusement or pay. He didn’t trifle with innocents. And though he knew Gilly’s sad history—she had confided it to him long ago to show him how strong she was in the days when that meant something to her—she was an innocent in all the ways that mattered. In fact, when she gave herself, it would be a more profound thing for her than for most virgins in their marriage beds. Because she’d have to come further to give herself—and her trust—to a man. He knew that.

“Remember what a sight she was when we met?” Drum asked softly, his eyes closed, seeing her clearly again as he’d seen her then. “Scruffy—no,
filthy
, thin as a rail, swaggering, rough and ready. I never guessed she was anything but what she purported to be.”