Kathryn Caskie (10 page)

“That’s just it, you see. Lady Viola wishes to allow the house staff a day off—which is well earned after all of their hard work in preparation for the soiree. But Lady Letitia and I will be away this eve, and Lady Viola, despite her courage, is far too weak to join us—”

Edgar tipped his head at Hannah, understanding her request before she could make her plea. “I shall be honored to remain in the house to see to Lady Viola’s needs. You needn’t say any more or worry on it any longer, Miss Chillton.”

“Oh, thank you, Edgar. You are a dear, sweet man.”

Hannah nearly skipped up the stairs. Her plan was falling perfectly into place.

When she reached the drawing room again, she informed Lady Viola that Edgar was indeed on his way above stairs. But as she turned to leave, she stealthily drew the drawing-room door key from its lock and tucked it beneath the rose-hued ribbon tied around her bodice.

It was difficult not to laugh with delight as she reached her chamber and withdrew the key from its hiding place beneath her belted ribbon.

The simplicity of her matchmaking scheme was perfect.

For tonight, she would employ a tried-and-true Featherton matchmaking maneuver.

And the inducement would work, too; Hannah was sure if it. For in her hand she held the key to unlocking Lady Viola’s and Edgar’s hearts.

It just happened to fit the drawing-room door as well.

Chapter Eight

L
ady Letitia, who was enthusiastically greeting the earl and Mr. St. Albans in the entry hall that evening, was making far too much noise. Hannah was sure the old woman would wake Lady Viola, who was napping in the drawing room, and she could not have that.

It would ruin her plan completely.

“Everyone, please. Shhh.” Hannah raised a gloved hand and positioned her index finger before her mouth, then gestured to the drawing room.

Silently, Hannah grasped the brass handle and drew the door closed, and while concealing her doings with her body, she quickly locked it and deposited the key in her reticule.

She turned back around with a smile. “I believe Lady Viola’s cordial has set her to sleep in the drawing room. I only just sent Edgar inside with a counterpane for her.”

“Aren’t you a sweeting, looking out for my Viola?” Lady Letitia took a step for the door, making Hannah suspect she would wish to bid her sister good eve before they left for the Octagon—and would find the door locked!

She grasped the elder woman’s arm. “We must away at once. Miss Herschel’s discussion this eve was announced in the
Bath Herald
this morn, and I daresay, if we do not hurry, there will not be an open seat to be had.”

Lady Letitia moved toward the drawing-room door once more. “It will take but a moment to—”

“My lord”—Hannah frantically turned to the Earl of Devonsfield for assistance—“your carriage must have passed the Upper Assembly Rooms. No doubt the road was clogged with conveyances.” Lud, she only hoped she was right!

The earl, who seemed to quite like being the center of attention, raised his head, making it almost appear that he had a neck. “I fear Miss Chillton is correct, Lady Letitia. We risk standing throughout the eve if we do not away at once.”

“Oh.” Lady Letitia’s eyes grew wide. “With my . . . condition, standing is not my first preference.”

The condition her ladyship spoke of, yet did not specify in the company of the two gentlemen, was her gout.

It was also the very reason the Featherton sisters returned to Bath each season, eager to partake of the spa city’s famed curative waters.

How fortuitous for Hannah that the earl had led Lady Letitia down that particular avenue of thought.

“Shall we go?” Mr. St. Albans opened the front door, as Lady Viola had graciously allowed the entire staff leave, save Edgar. With a smile to Hannah, Mr. St. Albans indicated the way to the carriage with a grand sweep of his hand.

Lady Letitia snared the earl’s proffered arm and caned her way through the door and down the steps to the carriage with all the enthusiasm of a girl first out.

Thank heavens.

Hannah looked back over her shoulder at the drawing-room door. Any moment now, she was sure Edgar would find the door locked and begin pounding upon it for immediate release.

And so, she made for the carriage in such haste that it completely escaped her that Mr. St. Albans had offered his arm to her and was now standing on the top stair of the porch alone, with a despondent expression pulling at his handsome face.

Griffin could not believe his fortune. He was about to hear Miss Caroline Herschel’s discourse on the Bath Comet.

Just one month ago, he would never even have dreamed of such an opportunity.

While his gaze reached the heavens, his place on this earth had always been limited by his pocket to the confines of Cornwall’s Kennymare Cove. And so he believed it would always be.

Yet here he was, standing inside the door of the Upper Assembly Rooms’ famed Octagon, with a stunning beauty on his arm. Griffin doubted there had ever been a moment when he’d felt more content.

Though he might feel more confident that Miss Chillton truly wished to come to the oration with him had he not strongly suspected that Garnet had somehow used intimidation or trickery to convince her to attend the event.

As the earl and Miss Chillton had predicted, the Octagon was brimful with scholars, scientists, and well-dressed members of Bath society.

Miss Herschel’s discussion was not scheduled to begin for a quarter of an hour, yet every bench was more than occupied. If even a hand’s width of wood peeked out from beneath a coattail or skirt, someone hurried to squeeze into the space.

Then there was a great commotion in the center of the front row. Griffin edged forward for a better look.

Standing a full head above any other man in the room, Griffin saw quite clearly that the disturbance was being caused by none other than Mr. Pinkerton.

A young man, his less-than-new coat labeling him a student or possibly a scholar, rushed through the burgeoning crowd and straight up to Griffin. “Sir, the gentleman in black asked me to fetch your party. I am to bring the four of you to the seats the man has procured on your behalf. Will you come? I shan’t be paid, unless you do at once.”

Griffin grinned, and within two minutes they were sitting directly before the lectern in seats the earl had evidently paid dearly for through his man, Mr. Pinkerton.

Almost at once, the diminutive Miss Caroline Herschel appeared in the chamber to a round of roaring applause. Because of her advanced years and short stature, she was assisted up three wooden steps, and a moment later, her rather stern-looking face appeared over the edge of the lectern.

All those who had the privilege to have made their way inside the Octagon before the doors were closed fell silent as the tiny woman opened her mouth to speak.

But Griffin, who had so looked forward to Miss Herschel’s oration this eve, could not focus upon a single word. Not a one.

Because of the tight seating arrangements, Miss Chillton’s thigh was pressed against his own, and, indeed, her arm was wedged slightly behind his, causing her breast to brush his biceps with her every breath.

He could press the gentleman to his right aside an inch or two for a little more room. He should do just that.
Should.

But he wouldn’t.

No, that feeling of contentment he’d had when they’d first entered the Octagon had transformed into an altogether different sensation, and truth to tell, he wasn’t content anymore at all.

Even through the fabric covering his thigh, he could feel the maddening heat of Miss Chillton’s body. His heart quickened, and he wanted to feel more.

He leaned his body toward her, ever so slightly, and savored the softness of her breast against his arm.

He knew what he was doing was wrong.

In fact, it was exactly the sort of rakish behavior Miss Chillton had accused him of as they danced at the ball, but he did not draw back. He pressed his thigh harder against hers and savored the sensation.

And suddenly, for the first time in his life, he truly understood his decadent, womanizing brother, Garnet.

They were more alike than he ever would have believed.

More than he ever would have admitted.

Until tonight.

Hannah was quite glad that she didn’t give a fig about comets—even the one scheduled to whoosh right overhead, sprinkling glittering dust from the heavens over the whole of Bath.

Yes, she was relieved, because there was no way in the universe that she could possibly concentrate on anything being said about the comet this eve.

How could she, with the wickedly attractive Mr. St. Albans practically sitting in her lap?

Not that she was interested in him. Because she wasn’t, a fact she found herself constantly having to remind the Featherton sisters of . . . every day.

She wedged her eyes as far to her right as she might, secretly working to peer up at the gentleman without his being the wiser.

He was striking. She could admit that much, for his manly beauty was not a subject for debate. It was a clear fact. The man was perfectly, indisputably, handsome.

But he was also arrogant and rakish . . . most of the time.

This was
not
one of those times, however, though Hannah wished with all her being that it were. When Mr. St. Albans played the cad, she had no difficulty spurning his advances and spitting bile.

Then there were other times.

Times like this eve, when he looked at her so tenderly, treated her like a lady. And it was those moments Hannah rued. For then, she needed only to look in his eyes, feel his gentle touch, and her heart was set to pounding like rain upon the earth.

She wished, too, that the room was not so stacked with humanity. Though the night was cool, the Octagon seemed void of air. Hannah could not even move without pressing into Lady Letitia on her left or Mr. St. Albans on her right.

At first, she thought she imagined the heat that seemed to radiate between her and Mr. St. Albans, but soon it was evident that wherever their bodies touched, no matter how lightly, a firestorm raged.

He shifted on the bench, then, and now Hannah felt the tip of her breast rubbing against his arm whenever she drew in a breath. Lustful thoughts immediately leaped into her mind, to her private mortification.

She tried to stop breathing, if only for a moment so she could gather her wits about her, but that wasn’t going to work. Holding the air in her lungs only made her breathe harder when she released it.

No, there was nothing to do but excuse herself for some cool night air.

When she stood and whispered her apologies to Lady Letitia, Hannah should have realized that retiring from the Octagon would not bring about the result she desired.

She should have anticipated that Mr. St. Albans, feeling gentlemanly this eve, would have her elbow . . . and would be touching her . . . even as they quit the oration.

“Sir, I only wish to take some air.” Hannah unobtrusively slipped her arm from his and hurried through the column-framed doors to Bennett Street. “I know what wonder the study of the comet holds for you, and I do not wish for you to miss a single word of the oration.”

Mr. St. Albans took a step toward her, closing the distance between them. “I will not leave you alone, Miss Chillton.”

Hannah swallowed and retreated, until her back was pressed against one of the columns. She gazed into his smoldering eyes and felt just a little dizzy. “Please, I will return in but a moment. I am already feeling quite revived.”

“Then I shall wait.” He moved closer still, and now he stood only the span of a hand from her.

She could feel his breath on her face, and her own breath came faster. This wasn’t at all how she had planned for this evening to progress. She only wanted to learn more about the man.

Instead, she only learned that Mr. St. Albans, despite being the arrogant, self-important buffoon . . . could make her pulse quicken with but a glance.

Oh, her brain was so muddled, and it was all Mr. St. Albans’s fault. The best thing to do, nay, the only thing to do, was to put some distance between them. Only then might she regain her senses.

Instantly, Hannah spun to her right, deciding to walk home to Royal Crescent. But then she realized she couldn’t.

Not yet.

Blast!

Lady Viola and Edgar had not been left alone together nearly long enough.

So, Hannah dug into her mental book of matchmaking trickery until she came upon a solution.
Question him about his passions and reduce the physicality of the moment. Yes. That was it.

She turned back to face Mr. St. Albans and gazed up through her upper lashes. “Sir, would you care to take a stroll? Walking in the cool air always revives Lady Viola when she has one of her spells. No doubt it will do the same for me.”

Without a word, Mr. St. Albans offered his arm, and they set off in the direction of the Circus.

“Are you planning on attending the comet-viewing party on the Royal Crescent lawn? I have heard that the view from there is to be most spectacular.”

Mr. St. Albans huffed at that. “For the
ton,
perhaps. I have not yet decided where best to view the comet. I am in the process of conducting sweeps in a list of locales, and only when I have completed my surveys will I select the best vantage for my equipment.”

“What can you see through your telescope? Are the stars truly blue and sparkling, as they appear to the naked eye?”

He stopped walking then and stepped in front of Hannah. His eyes were wide with excitement. “Do you really wish to know?”

“Yes. Certainly. Who would not wish to view the stars as if you were one of them?”

Mr. St. Albans looked into the sky, then sighed and returned his gaze to Hannah’s. “Too many clouds this eve. But tomorrow eve should be much clearer. Join me after dark. I shall send a card to tell you where I will be.”

Hannah gulped. She knew she ought to beg off, but she could not resist such an offer. And so she excitedly accepted his invitation.