Gareth: Lord of Rakes (23 page)

She was going to fire the gang of thieves whom Riverton had suggested should handle her business, buy a cottage, and retire from a life that put her in hackneys late at night with the likes of present company. Even in these confines, the viscount’s breath bore a stench she could not stomach.

“Riverton, what are you planning with respect to Heathgate?” Because an inquest had been held after that ghastly boating accident, and nobody had proven Gareth guilty of anything. If Julia Ponsonby had been on that yacht, then she’d jolly well chosen—and probably schemed—to be there.

“I’m planning a serving of justice for Lord Heathgate,” Riverton said, all smugness gone from his tone. “Justice for me and for those who can no longer seek it for themselves.”

The notion that Riverton could be an instrument of justice might have been laughable but for the cold—mad?—certainty in his tone.

“Leave me out of your crusades, your lordship. I’m taking a repairing lease before my debts become ruinous.”

Heathgate had forever been telling her to take her finances in hand. Edith had admired even that about him, though she had never deluded herself that he was courting her. He hadn’t allowed her such delusions, a backhanded kindness on his part.

“You must be carrying,” Riverton observed. “A woman like you does not leave Town at this time of year unless she’s made a significant mistake and must hide the consequences. You will miss what I have planned for your handsome marquess, but one understands your need for discretion.”

Another pat to her knee, and she really was going to be sick. Alas, she was not carrying. According to the physicians and midwives, she would never be carrying, something Heathgate had probably known when he’d deigned to consort with her.

Perhaps she should warn Heathgate he’d made an enemy, though Riverton was hardly a match for the marquess.

“Play whatever little games you must,” she said, opening the slot that communicated with the driver. She gave the man her direction, then sat back, letting a chilly, marginally fresh breeze into the confines of the coach. “I’m going home to Cornwall, there to stitch samplers and gossip in the churchyard.”

Riverton laughed, a nasty, rusty sound that made Edith want to bolt from the hackney. Her decision meant she’d have to pawn the bracelet too, but she was not selling the necklace. The gem was beautiful, she’d earned it, and when she was an old woman kept warm only by a handful of memories, she’d be glad she’d not sold Heathgate’s beautiful parting gift.

“What time did you say Heathgate would be here?” Astrid asked.

“Around two.” Felicity turned so Astrid could do up the hooks on the back of her gown, but Astrid had flown to the window to peer down into the street.

“Well, somebody’s carriage is pulling up, but it isn’t Heathgate’s,” she said, scampering toward the door.

“Astrid! Do me up before you go haring off, please.”

“Oh, of course.” Astrid made short work of Felicity’s dress before dashing from the room.

Felicity went to the window in time to see David Holbrook alighting from a quietly elegant uncrested town coach. He spoke to his driver before opening their front gate, and the driver set the horses to ambling around the block.

A gentleman caller was not convenient, particularly not at this moment—and yet, it was interesting. Felicity put the last touches on her hair and checked her appearance in a mirror before following Astrid down the stairs. Today, she’d dressed with particular care in anticipation of going driving with Gareth, but the thought that two gentlemen might have occasion to admire her finery was pleasant nonetheless.

Astrid was admitting Holbrook into the foyer when Felicity came down the stairs.

“Mr. Holbrook, this is a lovely surprise,” Felicity said, offering him a respectful curtsy. He bowed with equal courtesy and came up smiling.

“The pleasure is mine, Miss Worthington, Miss Astrid. I hope I am not too forward to be calling on you without warning this way? I was perfectly willing to leave my card if the timing wasn’t convenient.” His smile was that beaming, charming benevolence Felicity had seen once before, a smile that suggested his soul glowed with a warmth his expression could only hint at.

“Let me take your hat,” Astrid offered, holding out her hands.

“We are delighted to have your company,” Felicity said. Holbrook had a quiet, solid quality that appealed to the quiet, solid part of her. Unfortunately, she couldn’t imagine ever doing more than liking him.

Holbrook glanced around the entryway, trying to be discreet.

“This is a lovely house,” he remarked as Felicity led him to the parlor, and Astrid—with a timely display of maturity—ducked back to the kitchen to fetch the tea.

“This used to be a lovely house.” If the man was fortune hunting, he’d best be aware the Worthingtons had nothing to offer. “Now it’s a little worn, though Mrs. Crabble battles relentlessly to restore it to its former grandeur. We’re comfortable here, though.” Particularly now that the marquess’s personal army had put the place to rights.

“It’s a pleasant neighborhood,” Holbrook said, though he had to know there were more pleasant neighborhoods for families with more pleasant finances. “The park would be even more pleasant.”

“You are about to invite us to go driving with you.”

Holbrook’s smile became muted, retreating mostly to his mismatched eyes. Despite those eyes, he was a handsome man, handsomely attired. “I am found out. The park beckons, as does your company.”

“You should smile more often, Mr. Holbrook,” Felicity said as Astrid reappeared with the tea tray.

“Perhaps,” Astrid said as she set the tray down, “the man needs a reason to smile. Shall you pour, Felicity?” Felicity watched as Astrid took her seat on the settee, close to Mr. Holbrook but not touching. The china on the tray all matched, another indication of improved circumstances, though it was merely Jasperware.

“Astrid, why don’t you do the honors?” Pouring out would give Astrid something to do besides aggravate their guest.

“I would smile,” Mr. Holbrook said as he watched Astrid arrange the teacups, “were you ladies to accept my invitation to go driving.”

“Oh, that would be lovely,” Astrid crowed, replacing the lid to the teapot with a loud
plink
! “I’ll just go get my bonnet—”

Astrid was halfway off the sofa before Felicity could catch her eye.

“Though first, perhaps we should finish our tea,” Astrid said.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Holbrook, my afternoon is already promised to another, though I appreciate the invitation.” Felicity expected Astrid to expire from frustration, but Astrid apparently understood that to go driving with the gentleman alone would not do.

“Perhaps another day?” Holbrook asked as he accepted his tea from Astrid.

“Perhaps,” Felicity demurred as the sound of carriage wheels halted before their gate.

“Uh-oh,” Astrid said, popping up halfway through preparing Felicity’s tea. “Heathgate is here.” She went to the window and reported over her shoulder. “He’s driving a pair of handsome bays today. I don’t think I’ve seen this team before.” Astrid was out of the parlor without a hint of a curtsy, leaving Felicity equal parts embarrassed and amused.

Holbrook set his tea down untasted, a reflection of manners, because Felicity had not been served. “Heathgate is your regular driving partner?”

“He is my escort for today.” Had the question been about her availability in general, and not merely for outings to the park? She sensed Holbrook wanted to interrogate her further, but the sound of Gareth’s voice in the foyer spared her.

“Felicity!” Astrid called with an excess of cheer. “Look who’s here!”

Heathgate loomed in the doorway, looking coldly beautiful and entirely unhappy to see their guest. Holbrook rose and offered him a perfectly correct bow.

“Lord Heathgate.”

Gareth nodded, barely civil. “Holbrook, I thought you were rusticating.”

“Gareth!” Felicity expostulated, too surprised at his rudeness to remember his title. But Holbrook smiled—a smile unnervingly devoid of charm.

“I have plenty to occupy me in Town, at least for the present.”

Why
don’t you be about it
, Gareth’s expression suggested, which was just brilliant, when Felicity hadn’t had a caller in ages, and Astrid was taking in every word.

“Town does have its appeal,” Gareth responded, “such as the opportunity to take a lovely woman out for a drive.”

“My very own thought,” Holbrook said, “though I see you’ve beaten me to the invitation, and my presence has become
de
trop
. I will take my leave, Miss Worthington, Miss Astrid, and thank you for a pleasant visit. Perhaps on a future call, my timing will be more
opportune
.”

Amid more proper bowing and curtsying, he took his leave, though Felicity noticed both men wore a similar fragrance: rich, exotic, and spicy. Heathgate’s choice tended toward sandalwood, while Mr. Worthington’s leaned in the same direction but included a hint of cinnamon.

“Astrid,” Felicity said, shooting Gareth a warning look, “would you be so kind as to take the tea tray back to the kitchen?” Astrid, after one glance at Gareth’s scowl, picked up the tray and took her leave.

“You have frowned my sister into submission. That is no small feat.”

Gareth had the door closed and his arms around Felicity before the words were out of her mouth.

“What was Holbrook doing here?” he asked as he buried his lips against Felicity’s neck.

“I’ve missed you too,” Felicity said, for it was only the truth. “Mr. Holbrook paid a simple morning call, and followed up on the invitation he issued when we met him at the ball. If he was up to more than that, you will have to query him directly. Shall I get my bonnet and wrap?”

Or should she do as she’d prefer, and linger in his embrace?

His arms slipped away and he took a step back. “Soon. We need to talk about tomorrow.”

For once, Felicity did not want to
talk
. Gareth still looked tired and harried to her, perhaps even a trifle gaunt, and she wanted to cling to him.

“We can have this discussion in the sunshine and fresh air. Will I be coming back here after our drive?”

“I don’t know.”

Felicity regarded his reflection in the mirror as she settled a pretty green toque on her head. “Gareth, what do you
want
to do with me?”

He flashed her a grin of such pure, wolfish lust, she couldn’t help but feel a thrill of alarm—and pleasure.

“Besides that, which we will get to in a couple of days.” Less than two days, really. Forty-five hours and—she glanced at the clock—twenty minutes, give or take.

“Perhaps we could make our plans en route?”

“Fair enough.” Felicity would have swung her cloak over her shoulders, but Gareth took it from her grasp, draped it around her, and stepped in close to fasten the frogs.

Felicity bore up under his manners, even when he lingered a moment to kiss her cheek.

“This is new, too,” he said, stroking a hand glancingly over her chest. He withdrew his hand before his fingers glided over her breast.

“The cloak is new.” That her finery was a result of funds received from her cousin’s brothel only diminished her enjoyment of it a little.

“Shall we be off then?”

“We are fortunate in our weather today,” Felicity remarked as Gareth settled beside her—close beside her—on the bench of the phaeton. What did it say that she was reduced to platitudes with him, when they had only hours left to be together?

“In our weather, yes, but not so your recent company,” Gareth groused. “My men told me Holbrook has not been in Town for the past several days, and then he pops up on your doorstep. Do not get into a carriage with him, Felicity, and tell Astrid she is forbidden to do so as well.”

Felicity treated him and his commands to a trenchant silence.

He sighed hugely, a put-upon male sigh. “I am
asking
you ladies to deny him an opportunity to whisk you away to parts unknown. Your cooperation with this request would be appreciated.”

He was making an effort, at least. For her. “I wouldn’t let Astrid go anywhere with any man alone, except perhaps you or Andrew. As for me, I will respect your request until such time as you’re satisfied I am safe.”

“Thank you,” Gareth replied, sounding more pained than grateful. “Now, about Mother’s at-home tomorrow.” He paused to feather the vehicle around a flower seller’s wares, a moment of rare, colorful fragrance amid the street’s other offerings. “You are to give me a clear set-down, if you please. This will be difficult, because you don’t want to insult your hostess, but you do want to insult her son. Can you manage, or should we plan something specific?”

He’d discussed the Latin names for intimate body parts in the same brisk, businesslike tones. How she wished…

“I can manage.” She hoped it was the truth. To offer Gareth insult before his peers would break her heart. “I don’t relish the prospect, though.”

This earned her another smile, not quite as buccaneering as the previous version.

“Felicity, I will know you don’t mean it, and you will know you don’t mean it. You mustn’t let this subterfuge trouble you. By next week, Society will have found plenty of fresh game to dine on. It means nothing.”

“I know.” To him, her set-down would mean nothing, Edith Hamilton meant nothing, his title meant nothing… “Gareth, is there no other way I can secure the income from that brothel?”

He drew the coach to a halt right in the middle of the street to allow an elderly crossing sweeper time to complete his task.

“It would not matter, Felicity, if your objective was to secure the income from your business or not. After accepting my escort in public venues, you must be seen to spurn my advances in a convincing, public manner if gossip is to be scotched. Gentlemen, walk on.” The horses obliged, though Felicity noted the sweeper had failed to gather up all evidence of the previous team’s passing.

“I will decline your advances,” she said as they rolled through the crossing, “because you say I must.”

“Certainly, you must. Beyond a certain point, no matter how properly we behave in public, if we continue to spend time together without announcing a betrothal, you will be assumed to have surrendered your virtue to me. I don’t think you want that,” he finished with surprising gentleness.

“I do not want to hurt you. Not even fictionally.”

“Love,” Gareth said quietly, “you will hurt me if you
don’t
do this. I could not bear to see your reputation in tatters, your company limited to your sister and your servants, your hope for a decent future turned to bitterness. You deserve more, Felicity.”

The marquess, with his calculation and lectures, had departed, leaving Felicity on the bench with the man she loved and would not hurt for the world.

She wanted to rail at him that the company of her sister and her servants had been more than adequate for the past five years, but she knew what Gareth was trying to do: he was trying to preserve for her the hope—ephemeral, but real—that she would someday have good companions, as Lady Heathgate did. That she would someday have gentlemen callers who took her driving, as David Holbrook seemed inclined to do. That she would someday see her sister happily wed.

Did a gallant knight ever bring his lady anything more precious than hope?

Gareth flicked his whip at a hovering pigeon, sending the bird flapping away into the trees. “Stop brooding, Miss Worthington. Will you have dinner with me?”

He was apologizing for their quarrel, and his charm plucked her composure far more effectively than his difficult moods.

“I would enjoy that, Gareth.”

The more memories with which to break her heart, the better. Truly, being in love was a sort of sickness of mind and heart.

Gareth allowed the horses to complete their circuit of the park, but when they regained the street, he put them into a brisk trot and was soon escorting Felicity through his back gardens.

“May we linger here?” she asked. Behind his house, the walled garden was sheltered and private. Bulbs of every description were putting on a show of color that begged to be appreciated. Daffodils, narcissus, tulips, hyacinths… Whoever had planted this garden had intended for it to be enjoyed.

“Let me alert Cook to the addition of a guest for dinner. You don’t mind waiting out here?”

“I will enjoy it.”

And she did. The sun was warm, the air redolent with the scent of daffodils, and the scenery lovely. In a few more weeks, lilacs and early roses would bloom in profusion, rhododendrons would blaze. Somebody had loved this garden, and were it hers, she would love it too.