Love Lessons at Midnight (13 page)

Rob bowed politely and placed her arm over his, leading her out as the music resumed, relieved that her escort made no objection. “The wig fooled me for a bit, but now that I’ve scented your rose fragrance, I know we have met, m’lady,” he said as he took her in his arms and they began to waltz.

She glanced about the room. “Where is your baroness?”

He chuckled. “So you do admit we have met. As to that lady, she has gone home with her ailing father.”

“You must know the gossip will reach her.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps. I could always say I recognized my distant cousin from Kent. It would be rude not to ask you to dance, after you have just come out of mourning.”

“But only one dance. We would not wish to give the appearance of impropriety, after all,” she replied, charmed by his teasing.

“Do you think the duchess would force us to wed if we danced a second time?”

“No, she would simply have me tossed out, once she learned my identity.”

“If Her Grace learned your identity, she would know more than I do.”

Ignoring his barb, she said, “Your friends in Parliament will be scandalized.”

“Those who attend soirees such as this are not counted among the Saints.”

“My, you have fallen from grace, then, to no longer consider yourself one of them. Should I feel guilty?”

“Not at all. I never counted myself among them, but came here to discuss Mr. Peel’s police proposals with Lord Treving and Sir Philip Ridgeway. That done, how could I resist the opportunity to learn more about you?”

“You know where we met, m’lord. That is sufficient,” she replied. To deflect his probing questions about her past, she
asked, “How did such a serious reformer learn to dance?” She sensed the stiffening of his body before he replied.

“It was to please my first wife, who is now deceased.” His voice was flat.

Only Gaby knew of Credelia. Amber said, “I am sorry, m’lord. Please accept my apology for bringing up such a sad matter.”

“It was a long time ago,” he replied thoughtfully, realizing that memories of his dead wife no longer had the power to wound him. Was it because he had cleansed his soul with Gaby? He held Fantasia in his arms, not Gaby, he reminded himself. But some connection between them niggled at the back of his mind. He tried to focus on the way she moved with him through the waltz, wishing he could close his eyes and savor the feeling of holding her. But that was something he could not do on the crowded floor.

I dare not stay in his arms a moment longer.
Amber could sense that he was comparing her to Gabrielle. He had never held Fantasia this way. Her relief was palpable when the dance ended. “Let us speak of happy things such as what a splendid group of musicians the duchess has employed,” she said as he escorted her to back to her elderly companion.

Ignoring her gambit, he asked, “Happier things such as why you are here, surrounded by drooling young pups?”

“As long as the drooling young pups can dance without giving me fleas, they are tolerable enough,” she replied.

“You counter every move without giving away anything. I should think you would be a formidable chess player, m’lady.”

“I am. Would you like a match, Barrington?” some insane urge made her ask.

“Yes, I would enjoy that a great deal.”

“Shall we say tomorrow…at one?”

He had a political meeting in the morning, but it would end by midday. “I will see you at one, then.”

She attempted to take her leave, but he insisted on
returning her to Burleigh. There was no help for it. She would have to introduce them and hope for the best. The baronet bowed politely to the earl after being presented, one white eyebrow raised subtly.

Knowing from Grace exactly who Barrington was and how Amber came to meet him, Chipperfield remarked, “You have previously met…” He leaned forward and added in a very low voice, “At the House of Dreams.” His eyes twinkled.

Rob did not know whether to be appalled or to laugh out loud. He chose the latter. “Are you a patron living out a fantasy here, perchance?” he countered.

“What better one could there be for a crusty old fellow like me? I am the envy of every man in the house. I have brought the most beautiful lady in London to the ball.”

“Spanish coin, Burleigh,” Amber protested. “Consider all the young ladies in the bloom of their first season.”

“He does not give you false flattery. None compare to you,” Rob said. “You are the most beautiful lady in London—in spite of a wig concealing your magnificent hair.” The moment the words escaped his mouth, Rob knew he had revealed too much…and betrayed Gaby, whose face he would never see.

As Lady Fantasia, Amber had schooled herself never to blush, but she could not control the heat tingling on her face. “Now we move from Spanish coin to court holy water,” she said with a low chuckle. But her gaze locked with his and she saw the blaze of desire in his eyes. They played with fire…and both of them would be burned before this was finished.

Burleigh watched their exchange with a troubled expression. He would have to discuss this with Grace. Unless his eyes were deceiving him, the two young people were falling in love. And neither was free to love the other.

Rob finally broke away from her and turned to the older man. “A pleasure to meet you, sir. Enjoy the evening and
your fantasy. You could not have chosen a more worthy lady to share it.” To Fantasia, he said, “Until tomorrow at one?”

When she nodded silently, he kissed her hand and walked away.

Burleigh watched her stare after the earl.
Perhaps my little joke on the ton has proven more costly than either of us imagined, child.

R
ob spent a restless night filled with strange dreams that awakened him repeatedly. At one moment he would feel Fantasia in his arms as they glided in a waltz, the lights blazing all around them. Next, he would be loving Gaby in the darkness. Next he would light a candle and find Fantasia’s cherry-red hair spread across the pillows…as if they were the same woman. The images twisted and merged over and over until he finally tossed aside the covers and got out of bed. He paced across his large bedroom, naked in the moonlight that poured through the open draperies.

He had never slept without a nightshirt in his life until he made love to Gaby. Now he could not sleep with one. He pulled on a light robe and stood staring out at the small courtyard fountain in the rear of his city house. Combing his fingers through his hair, he cursed, trying to sort out the dreams. What the hell did they mean—if anything?

His French lover was nothing like the cool, calculating madam. Whatever her mysterious past, Fantasia was English to her fingertips, keen witted, practical, even lethal when the need arose. If she knew a word of French, she had most probably picked it up from that French courtesan he had encountered in “Sherwood Forest.”

Gaby’s French was far too natural for even the most exclusively educated English finishing school miss to emulate. Her gentle spirit had been grievously wounded, yet her inherent sweetness and honesty shone through. That could be no act. Fantasia parried every question he asked with another
of her own. She traded barbs with him rather than exchanging confidences. On the other hand, Gaby invited open conversation, speaking of her tragic past and drawing out his own unhappy experiences. She healed. Fantasia, he was certain, could wound. She would fight like a wild creature and give no quarter if cornered.

Then why did he suddenly feel as if they were the same woman? How absurd to flatter himself by thinking a woman who had built such a lucrative business would choose to bed him when she had dozens of employees to perform the task. No, Fantasia had selected Gabrielle because he and the émigré had both been scarred by their first sexual experiences. He, not Fantasia, had proposed that the lessons be in darkness. She had only agreed that Gabrielle would probably be more comfortable that way, too.

He knew the scent of each woman intimately, Gaby’s soft lilac, Fantasia’s much bolder attar of rose. Even more primal, he knew the female essence that defined each, something intangible but most certainly distinct. It made no sense for Fantasia to perform such an elaborate charade. What possible motive could she have?

“None,” he muttered. “’Twas nothing more than the nightmare, making you muzzy-headed.”

Below the open window, the fountain tinkled musically, as if laughing at him.

Amber knocked on Grace’s door discreetly, knowing that Burleigh had spent the night. But he never dallied once the sun rose. Grace had requested that she come here at ten. Her mentor called out for her to enter. After her night with Burleigh, Grace had a satiated glow about her, but Amber could see that she felt troubled in spite of it.

“Please have a seat. I had Bonnie send up a tray for us,” Grace said, gesturing to the comfortable rose damask chair
across from hers. Between them on the low table sat two pots, one of tea, one of coffee, and a basket filled with the cook’s delectable croissants.

“Have you summoned me to account for how I cavorted with Burleigh last night?” she asked, smiling as she sat down and poured herself a cup of steaming coffee.

“The dear man told me everything,” Grace said, her expression devoid of all humor as she sipped her tea. “You waltzed with Barrington.”

“The earl recognized me and whisked me onto the floor before I could protest. There was no harm in it,” she replied.

“You know otherwise. I can see it in your eyes. Burleigh, bless him, is a very shrewd judge of people, one reason he has sat on the assizes for so many years. He is certain that you and the earl are in love.”

Amber almost dropped the cup. Instead, she set it in its saucer with an unseemly clatter. “That is absurd. If he’s in love with anyone, it’s Gaby, not I.”

“The earl could tell from across the crowded ballroom that you were the woman he knows as Fantasia. He came directly, as you put it, to whisk you onto the floor because he could see through your very good disguise. Burleigh observed the way the two of you laughed and talked and danced…how you exchanged glances when you parted. You are in love with him. He with you.”

“We already discussed this when you convinced me to invite him riding. I admit that I am guilty about deceiving him as Gabrielle…and, yes, I have come to greatly enjoy
making
love with him. But I have no illusions about a permanent relationship. Nor does he, either with Gabrielle or Fantasia.”

“But you are in love with him.” It was not a question.

Amber sighed. “Yes, I suppose I am,” she finally admitted aloud. “There is nothing to be done about it. You of all people understand that.”

“Will he marry his baroness?” Burleigh had also observed a bit of interplay between Barrington and a woman wearing “a turban larger than herself,” as he described the widow.

“I am no longer certain. Ironic that he should have come to Gabrielle to learn how to please the woman he intended to court. Now it seems he finds her less than a paragon. But that does not mean he is in love with Gaby.”

“He has confessed this dislike to ‘Gaby,’ has he not?”

“He merely told her—me—that they have little to discuss besides fashions and ton gossip. She has no interest in his work.”

Grace brightened. “Yet he delights in verbal fencing with you, and you’re certainly in agreement about political reforms.”

“With the exception of bordello closures,” Amber replied wryly, rubbing her temples as a headache came on.

“Can you not see it? His Gaby is the perfect lover and confidante in bed. You are the perfect politician’s wife, an informed, witty English noblewoman. Such a combination is every intelligent man’s dream.”

“Are you not leaving out one or two small problems—such as the fact that I am already married and the proprietor of a notorious house of courtesans? Not to mention that if he ever learns how I have deceived him, his male vanity will make him hate me.”
No, not his vanity, but the violation of his very soul!

Grace leaned back in her chair. “I doubt he could ever hate you once he understands the reasons you became Fantasia and Gaby.”

“But I am Amber Leighigh Wolverton. Not Fantasia! Not Gaby!” The headache throbbed wickedly now, in full bloom. “We can never marry.”

“Not as long as Eastham is alive…”

Amber’s head jerked up. “What are you suggesting—that we murder him to free me?”

“He has attempted to kill you twice in the past fortnight. Now that his spies have found you here in London—”

“We do not believe there is any choice,” Jenette said as she stepped into the room silently and closed the door. She was still dressed in dusty travel clothing and appeared to have been in her coach through the night. “As soon as I returned, I spoke with Grace. We have decided what should be the plan.” She walked over to the table and took a croissant, biting into it with gusto.

“I suppose I was not to be consulted about this ‘plan’?” Amber asked.

“Do not be the foolish one,
ma coeur.
Of course, that is why you are here,
oui
?” She daintily wiped a crumb from the corner of her mouth with a napkin, then pulled up a small Louis XV chair and sat down.

Grace rang for her maid, requesting a fresh pot of coffee and a third cup as Jenette, like Amber, favored the vile stuff. They were likely to be locked in debate for some time. Burleigh had been wise to take his leave. Of course, he did not know about Jenette’s plans, nor did Grace intend to tell him. He would only insist on being part of it, and that would never do.

The three women sat facing one another. “As the eldest, I imagine it is my place to moderate this discussion. First, Jenette, please tell Amber what you have learned in Northumberland.”

“Eastham has had you declared dead. There is a body beneath a headstone with your name on it in the family cemetery.” Jenette could see a shiver run down Amber’s back as the implication sank in.

“Some poor girl from the countryside was killed because she bore a passing resemblance to me,” Amber said, clutching her cup so tightly she almost snapped the delicate handle. “I see Mrs. Greevy’s hand in that. She is as evil as the vile
beast she adores and she has charge of all the household help. She probably selected the victim herself.”

“Most likely. No one would speak of it, but all in the village fear her. With you dead, the
batard
no longer had to explain your absence. If anyone suspects you ran away, no one speaks a word. I and my servants made friends with the villagers. From them we learned much in the past weeks. Your grieving widower,
le cochon
, wed another young girl the year after you ‘died.’ She, too, died when his heir was born.”

Amber shuddered, remembering how Eastham had tried to get an heir on her. “I am so grateful that I was not that poor girl, may God forgive me.”

“Only thank
le bon Dieu
you were not she. There are the rumors as well that she did not die in childbirth.”

“Why would Eastham kill her? He should have wanted a spare to his heir, would he not?” Grace asked.

“He would not bother if she did nothing to anger him,” Amber replied. “But Mrs. Greevy…” She looked over to Jenette.

“
Oui.
Such is the gossip. The housekeeper buys poisons from the village apothecary…for rats, she tells him. He does not believe her.”

“She was once Eastham’s lover, long ago. I believe she would kill any woman who stood between her and the marquess.”

“So,” Jenette said, wiping her hands on a napkin and crossing her arms over her chest. “We have two vipers to…how do you say,
exterminer
—exterminate.” She sounded out the verb carefully.

“Ten years ago Grace sent good men just to investigate. Some died,” Amber said to Jenette.

“But they were mere men. And now Eastham has an heir—a son who would be declared a
batard.
”

“If word got out that you were still alive, the unfortunate
child would be illegitimate and unable to inherit the title,” Grace said to Amber. “That is why, now that he has found you, he will not rest until one of you is dead. I would prefer that it be him.”

“
Oui
, he will stop at nothing to protect the boy’s legitimacy. We must strike first.”

“What do you propose, to raise an army?” Amber asked. “There is no way into Wolf’s Gate.”

Jenette smiled but her eyes were cold. “I have myself been inside, and needed no army. Eastham wishes a second son…now that he meets me. I will find the best time…to deal with him.”

Amber jumped from her chair. “No! It is far too dangerous! Mrs. Greevy must already be mixing her poisons. If Eastham does not kill you, she will.”

Jenette shrugged. “I am careful to eat only what she serves her lord. Now I make him wait while his greed and desire grow. I am all alone in this world, with much wealth and a fine title. Even I tell him I have a son who is with tutors. When I return, he eats, how do you say it? Out of my hand?”

“Jeni, no! I will not permit it. You cannot just—just murder him,” Amber said, appalled and frightened for her audacious friend.

A shadow fell over Jenette’s face. “
Ma amie, alors,
I have killed many times before.”

“In self-defense or to save a life, not this way,” Amber protested, grasping Jenette’s hand.

“This
is
to save a life—yours,” Grace said.

“But he has a child now.” The moment she mouthed the words, she realized that they rang false.

Jenette gave voice to Amber’s thoughts. “He would make the poor
enfant
into a monster like himself.”

“Eastham’s young brother and his wife have been given charge of the boy until he is out of leading strings,” Grace interjected.

“Lord Oswald attended our marriage. He and his wife were kind to me,” Amber admitted.

“He would become the child’s guardian. And be a much better father,
oui
?” Jenette asked rhetorically.

“The matter is settled, then,” Grace said. “Jenette will take Villiars and as many other of our servants with military background as she requires. They will pose as her retinue. Once she takes up residence at a small country estate that I am negotiating to rent, Eastham will leave that hellish fortress of his and pay her court. Then“—Grace gave a shrug that was almost as fatalistically Gallic as Jenette’s best—“we shall let matters take their natural course.”

“I cannot permit it. ′Tis like walking into the jaws of hell itself! I of all people should know.” She shivered, biting her lip until it bled. “No, you
will
not do this.”

“Ah,
cherie
, how are you to stop us? Warn Eastham?
Non
, I think you will remain here in London and, as Grace has said, let matters take their natural course…”

She and Grace exchanged a quick glance. Anticipating Amber’s reaction, they had already arranged with Clyde Dyer and Boxer to watch so that Amber could not foil their plans.

Rob had just returned from a gathering at Brooks with several members of Commons to discuss legislation that would create a citywide police force. When his footman answered a knock at the front door, the earl immediately recognized his mother’s voice as she greeted his elderly butler, Settles. “What the devil is she doing here?” he murmured aloud.

Abigail St. John was the dearest, most gregarious, and quite alarmingly keen-witted woman he had ever met. If she knew nothing about the House of Dreams yet, he would have to tread most carefully to keep her from finding out. He shuddered at the prospect, then quickly jotted a note to Fantasia, offering his apology for having to postpone their
afternoon chess match. As he rang for his valet to send it out, he realized that he should also cancel his assignation with Gaby tonight. No, perhaps he could make it after his mother retired. She always kept country hours. If he stayed out after his political meeting this evening, she would be none the wiser. Donning his jacket, he headed downstairs to meet her.