Surrender the Stars (35 page)

* * *

As it turned out, the dawn brightened Lindsay's world. While bathing and dressing in a pretty heather-tinted round dress decorated with ribbons of ivory satin, she looked out over the park surrounding Grimley Court. A plummy-orange sun shone through misty clouds, spreading its glow over rich green hills that shimmered with dew. Birds sang in the hedgerows and from the shelter of weeping willow, oak, and sweet chestnut trees, while stags and rabbits appeared in search of a leafy breakfast. Beds of jewel-toned flowers decorated the lawn; there were delphiniums, pansies, stock, lavender, and many more that Lindsay couldn't name, all basking in the peaceful beginnings of the new day.

Cassie had informed her that there would be a large breakfast served downstairs, and Lindsay was summoning up the courage to emerge and face the others when a knock sounded at her door.

"Who is it?" she asked, while her heart seemed to skip alternate beats.

"It's your papa,
cherie.
Do you remember me?"

Throwing open the door, she went straight into his comforting, familiar embrace, pressing her face against the broad expanse of his chest. "Oh, Papa, I've missed you. There are always so many other people about!"

Raveneau chuckled and held her away from him. "Hopefully all of this will be over before very long and then our lives can return to normal, hmm?" He flashed a white smile. Clad in a perfectly tailored blue frock coat, cream-colored pantaloons, and an impeccably tied cravat, Andre was handsomer in his sixties than most men decades younger.

Lindsay smiled with a touch of irony at his words.
Normal
, she thought, suspecting that her own life would never be the same again. That was fine, though. At least she was experiencing it firsthand these days rather than vicariously through her books. "You're looking splendid today, Papa." She reached up to brush back a stray lock of his silvery hair. "Have you come to escort me down to breakfast?"

"May I?" Raveneau gazed down at his younger daughter. She was acquiring a womanly glow that made her look more than ever like her mother. How quickly they grew. "England seems to agree with you. I believe you're becoming a woman at last."

"Had you given up hope, Papa?" Her great gray eyes met his.

"Never. A rose that opens slowly is the most exquisite." Raveneau pressed a long kiss to her brow, then gave her his arm and they walked toward the sweeping staircase.

Entering the salon with her father gave Lindsay courage. Everyone else, except for the Earl and Countess of Chadwick, was already present. Devon got up to kiss her daughter, and when Lindsay saw the love in her eyes, she wanted to weep. Dudley, behaving in the proprietary fashion of a man who has finally won a private kiss from the girl of his dreams, rose to pull out the chair next to his. She spoke to the Earl and Countess of Grimley, who looked pale and pinched in the early-morning sunshine. Mouette called to her and Lindsay leaned forward to send her sister a smile. Finally, unable to avoid it a moment longer, she glanced at Ryan.

The sight of his dark blue eyes staring at her over the rim of his teacup sent a flush spreading over her body and reminded her of the dull ache between her legs.

Suddenly, she felt hot there, too, stingingly so. For one involuntary instant, Lindsay remembered the two of them naked and straining together; remembered his damp, chiseled face above her; remembered the sensation of being filled, the rhythm of his thrusts and her answering hips, the abandon of their kisses....

"Will you have tea, miss?" It was a footman at her elbow.

Somehow Lindsay managed to refrain from flinching in surprise. "Yes, thank you."

Next to her, Dudley solicitously added lemon, knowing by now exactly how much she liked it. She gave him a smile.

"Have I done something to offend you, dear sister?" Ryan asked quietly from across the table.

Feeling her mother's casually watchful gaze, Lindsay mustered a bright smile. "Certainly not, Nathan! What a question!"

He helped himself to a mutton chop and some herring as the platter was presented to him. "Well, I
am
your only brother and you
were
ignoring me... but perhaps that's to be expected now that you've ventured out into the world of other men." Ryan looked at Dudley with sleepy eyes and drawled, "Are you aware, Fanshawe, that my sister's only passion was books until she came to England?"

"Something of the sort," Dudley muttered.

"You'd better help yourself to breakfast," Ryan remarked, turning his attention back to Lindsay. He buttered a muffin and dipped it into his egg yolk. "Have a sheep's kidney; it'll do you good. You look as if you didn't sleep much last night! Fanshawe, I hope you were a gentleman and returned my sister to her rooms at a respectable hour. It would be such a bore if I had to call you out in defense of Lindsay's honor...."

Dudley couldn't speak; his mouth was full of quail pie, but his eyes bugged out, betraying his reaction to this speech. Lindsay, on the other hand, wanted to laugh with joy. The sight of Ryan, so gloriously male and handsome, lifting his quizzing glass to survey her erstwhile suitor made her heart sing.

"Nathan, do stop." She tried to sound stern. "You are the outside of enough!"

The quizzing glass turned in her direction and his black brow arched above it. "Am I?"

Lindsay prayed that she wasn't blushing as she bit into a strawberry and returned Ryan's secret half smile.

Part Four

True love's the gift which God has given

To man alone beneath the heaven:

It is not fantasy's hot fire,

Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly;

It liveth not in fierce desire,

With dead desire it doth not die;

It is the secret sympathy,

The silver link, the silken tie,

Which heart to heart and mind to mind

In body and in soul can bind.

-Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832)

Chapter 25

June 20, 1814

Glancing at the notes of hand that were accumulating at Michael Angelo Taylor's pudgy elbow, Ryan let out a sigh of consternation and put down the dice. "You've won far too much of my father's money, Taylor. Why don't we end this now and you can buy me dinner with your new-found wealth?"

The influential member of the House of Commons smiled good-naturedly, which accentuated his permanent port-induced flush. More fond of gossip than gambling, he took pity on Andre Raveneau's son. The boy seemed a good sort, even if he wasn't very well endowed in the top story. Taylor figured that Captain Raveneau wouldn't give his son money and turn him loose in White's if he didn't expect him to drop a few quid, but it didn't seem altogether sporting to win every last shilling. No need to draw blood, after all!

"Right-o, young Nathan! I hear there's a tolerable dish of boiled fowl with oyster sauce being served to night. We'll share a bottle or two of claret to console you."

When they were seated in the dining room and Michael Angelo Taylor had drained one glass of claret and poured another, he smiled at Ryan. "Who's your tailor, boy?"

"Weston." Ryan glanced down at his honey-colored jacket and cream and gold brocade waistcoat, biting back a smile. "He doesn't entirely approve of my orders...."

"Dark blue's the style, you know," Taylor advised him confidentially. "Blue coat with brass buttons and buff-colored pantaloons. Coming from America, you may not be aware."

"I appreciate your telling me, sir." To cover his amusement, Ryan ceremoniously took snuff, offering the Sevres snuffbox to Taylor.

"I hear you were in Oxford with the Regent and all the others. Tell me about it!" Taking a pinch, he snuffled loudly.

Ryan was rather taken aback by the older man's unabashed curiosity, even though he had been forewarned. He gave him as colorful an account of the events in Oxford as he could muster, then Taylor leaned forward.

"Did you hear that Prinny tried to keep the czar from attending Lady Jersey's midsummer ball Wednesday last by seeing to it that he dined at Christ Church that same night?"

Studying his boiled fowl, Ryan allowed, "Yes, I believe I did."

"Then perhaps you
haven't
heard that the czar took his leave in the middle of that dinner, drove through the night, and arrived at Lady Jersey's ball at three in the morning—"

At that moment, Lord Byron, who was being seated at a table next to them, leaned over and declared, "I saw him there myself, Taylor, in a starless blue coat and kerseymere breeches whisked round with the Jersey, who, lovely as ever, seem'd just delighted with majesty's presence as those she'd invited!" The poet chuckled and reached up to smooth his carefully waved hair. "Do you like it? I vow, these foreigners inspire me no end!"

Ryan tried to smile but was certain his expression betrayed his true opinion of Lord Byron. Meanwhile, Brummell had been standing in the shadows waiting for the poet to finish before joining him at the table. Now he sauntered forward, his brows elevated slightly.

"Old story, George," he murmured. "You're becoming quite tiresome. In fact, if you do not promise to cease reciting that boring verse, I shall have to see to it that you are expelled from the club." The Beau glanced over at Ryan and Taylor. "You shouldn't encourage him, you know. He's far too conceited as it is." He paused for one beat, then added, "Hello."

Ryan couldn't help smiling even though he knew that the gleam in his eye betrayed more of himself than he ought to show. "Good to see you, Brummell. You're well?"

"Tolerably." Lifting his quizzing glass, he appraised Ryan's coat. "Hmm. It's nothing I would wear but not altogether offensive to the eye. At least you rebel in a tasteful manner, young Raveneau." One nostril flared as he surveyed their meal. "I must speak to Raggett about the menu. That looks
deplorable
." Bending at the knees, Brummell sat down gracefully and turned his attention to the wine.

Michael Angelo Taylor's white hair glittered in the candlelight in contrast to his rosy cheeks. Leaning forward, he whispered, "Did you attend the Guildhall banquet on Saturday?"

Barely suppressing a sigh, Ryan replied, "Yes, I did."

Taylor beamed. "I was ill. Do tell me about it! Is it true that the grand duchess insisted on accompanying the czar, thereby forcing Prinny to go alone rather than sharing a carriage? And that they were an hour late? And that there were crowds lined up along the route who shouted to the Regent, 'Where's your wife? Love your wife!'?"

Ryan longed to cut the conversation short, but he hoped to lead Taylor into other areas and didn't want to offend him. "So I heard."

"Well? Tell me about the rest of the evening."

Gritting his teeth, Ryan strove for brevity. "When Czar Alexander and the others arrived and started into the banqueting hall, the czar stopped in the middle to speak to Lord Grey and Lord Holland."