The Baron and the Bluestocking (12 page)

“I cannot help myself, I am afraid. Ever since I first saw you this morning, I have been able to think of nothing else but kissing you.” Before she could offer consent or objection, his lips were on hers, and his arms were enfolding her until he held her against his muscular body while he plundered her mouth.

Hélène regarded the situation objectively. She had never been kissed before, but she had always imagined that it would involve powerful emotions and attraction. She felt nothing except a bit of claustrophobia at being so powerless and so dominated by a large male.

He drew away. “You did not enjoy that?” Though she still could not see him clearly, his voice told her he was annoyed.

“I am very inexperienced,” she said. “I have never been kissed before. I would have preferred it if you would have asked my permission.”

“Would you have granted it?”

“I do not know,” she said. “Perhaps if I were better acquainted with you, it would make a difference. But I scarcely know you at all.”

He resumed their walk. “What would you like to know? I am an open book.”

“Am I right in supposing you to be a Tory?”

He laughed. “What do my politics have to do with kissing you?”

“Politics are very important to me. I am a passionate Whig.”

Again, he laughed. “But women do not have the vote!”

She thought of Samuel. How different these two men were! And yet, if she had her choice, she would choose the slight, plain Samuel. “Nevertheless, I have influence. And if I marry a member of Parliament, I will have a great deal of influence, indeed.”

“I have a seat in the Lords. If you were to marry me, what kind of pressure would you bring to bear on me? Would you barter your favors for my vote on key issues?”

Her face heated, but she continued in earnest. “I would educate you on the issues before Parliament. I would help you draft your speeches. I would research facts.”

“Insupportable! What man would stand for that?”

“There is such a one, believe it or not.”

“So you are affianced already?”

“As good as,” she said, feeling sure Samuel intended to marry her.

“I do not believe it,” the baron said, amusement tingeing his voice.

“It is true!”

“What kind of man could possibly be courting you without kissing you? You’re irresistible.”

“A very honorable one. Now, I suggest we get back. Ginny must be wondering where we’ve disappeared to.”

“If you would wait a moment, I have something to say.”

Impatient to be back in company, she said, “Can you not speak while we walk?”

“Not this.” He held her shoulders again. “Suppose I wish you to educate me in your interests?”

“There is not sufficient time. I leave in three days.”

“Your interests must be extensive, indeed.”

“I cannot spend every minute of the day with you, even if I wanted to.”

“I find I am quite bored with London already. Where is this orphanage of yours?”

“Chipping Norton.”

“And where the deuce is that?”

“About a day’s ride northwest of Oxford.”

“Does it possess an inn?”

“Yes.” He was proposing to follow her? Why could she feel nothing for this man? Surely this was devotion, indeed!

He brought her gloved hand to his lips and kissed it. “I vow I will go to this place at the ends of the earth and be educated by you.”

“If it were not night, I would vow you have had a touch of the sun.”

“Believe me, moonlight is far more intoxicating.”

Speechless, she allowed him to put his arm about her shoulders and lead her back to the others.

{ 11 }

CHRISTIAN COULD NOT SETTLE TO ANYTHING.
The fact is, I’m deuced worried.

He could not stop thinking about Hélène, as he was beginning to call her in his head, and how Delacroix might have behaved toward her at Vauxhall. His opinion of the man had veered back to his initial assessment that he was untrustworthy.

Surely he could make a call on Lady Clarice this morning. Confound it! He would call on Hélène herself. Enough of his shilly-shallying.

When he arrived, Hélène was still sitting at breakfast, according to Bates, Lady Clarice’s butler. He was left waiting for her in the navy blue, nautically-themed parlor for gentlemen callers. Lady Clarice was well-known for her fondness for interior decorating, and he tried to amuse himself by studying a new collection of seascapes she had mounted above the sofa.

When Hélène arrived at last, she seemed almost relieved to see him, rushing into the room with both hands outstretched in welcome. He took her hands and squeezed each one.

“You have forgiven me for my cursed officiousness?” he asked.

“I had forgotten it completely. But now that you have reminded me of it, may I please have my hands back?”

He released her. She sat in an armchair. “I suppose you have called to reassure yourself that I was not attacked by ruffians after my supposedly ill-advised junket to Vauxhall last evening?”

“As a matter of fact, that is just it. I can see you are unharmed. Did you have an enjoyable evening?”

“I did, my lord. It was the first time I had danced outside of the vicarage.”

He remembered that she had said she had learned to dance in the vicarage, but he found he could not imagine such a thing.

“My mother was always a little bit too optimistic about our futures. She was certain a miracle would occur, money would fall from the sky, and all of her daughters would have a Season.”

“But you enjoy dancing? I would not have thought it.”

“Because I am so politically earnest? Perhaps I have a more complex character than you imagined.”

The next words were out before he could stop them. “There is a ball tonight at the Weatheringtons. I have an invitation. Perhaps you would care to accompany me?”

She sat quite still as though his invitation had shocked her. “But . . . what of Ginny . . . uh, Lady Virginia?”

He began to pace the room. “Lady Virginia has no exclusive claim on my affections. We are friends, that is all.”

“I fear Lady Virginia is not of that opinion, my lord. She believes you to be courting her.”

“I have never given her the least reason to believe that,” he said, irritated.

“Do you really want to take me dancing?”

“Yes. I do.” And he did. Very much. Too much, in all likelihood. Christian had really not thought it through. What was he doing?

“Very well, my lord.” She gave him a prim smile. “As you wish.”

“You need not simper. It does not become you.”

“You are always telling me what does not become me. I find it vastly irritating.”

He ignored this complaint. “We will need a chaperone.”

Hélène rang the bell. When Bates appeared, she asked him if he might ascertain the availability of his mistress to chaperone that evening.

While they waited for him to return, Hélène asked, “Do you know Baron Delacroix at all well?”

Irritation mixed with dread instantly seized him. “I lunched with him yesterday. Why?”

“I find him a great puzzle.” Her face echoed the sentiment with its scrunched brow.

“What puzzles you about him?”

“He seems given to extravagant gestures, or perhaps I should say schemes.”

His dread deepened. “I would not have thought him that type of man at all. I would have said he never did anything unless it was of benefit to Lord Delacroix first and foremost.”

“You know he is a Tory?”

Ah, this was better. They were talking politics. “Men of his stamp usually are.”

“But he says he is willing to change his position. He has asked me to educate him.”

Christian did not like this at all. He began pacing again. “He is very shrewd, as I suspected.”

“You do not think he is sincere?” A note of annoyance had crept into her voice.

Bates reentered the room. “Her ladyship will be available this evening, Miss Whitcombe.”

“Excellent!” said Christian. “I will call for you at nine o’clock, Miss Whitcombe-Hodge, and will leave now before we can argue.”

*~*~*

Shrewsbury paid careful attention to his appearance that evening. He did not know what Delacroix was up to, but he suspected it to be seduction, pure and simple. For all her outré political ideas, Hélène was an innocent. He intended to keep a close eye on her while she remained in London so that she might not become an unwitting victim.

That meant he must observe every nicety and not give her cause to fly out at him. Delacroix had the dangerous looks that appealed to strong women like Hélène. He evidently had given her reason to think she could change him, most likely tame him.

Christian was familiar with that gambit, and imagined it could very well lead to Hélène’s ruin. He did not believe himself to be a match for the man in looks, but he must at least make an effort.

He wore his emerald green evening jacket with a black velvet waistcoat, black breeches, white linen, and a ruby stick pin in his cravat. Satisfied that he looked his best, he dined briefly at home and went to collect Lady Clarice and Hélène.

When he arrived at Blossom House, however, it was to find an unexpected and unwelcome situation. Bates informed him that Miss Whitcombe-Hodge and Lady Clarice were dining with Lady Virginia and Lord Delacroix at Rose House, where he was to collect them. What the devil?

Christian fumed all the way to Rose House. If he had thought that Hélène was apprised of proper manners among the
ton,
he would have been deeply insulted. But he would not start their evening with a quarrel. This was Delacroix’s doing, he was certain.

When he was announced to the after-dinner party in the drawing room, he kept his countenance, greeting everyone cordially.

Lady Clarice came up to him and put her arm through his. “Christian, I know you will not mind. I have invited Lady Virginia and Lord Delacroix to join our party tonight.”

His friend looked up at him in all innocence. No doubt she had deduced Delacroix’s interest in her protégé and was trying to help it along. They would have to have a serious talk, he and Lady Clarice.

“The more, the merrier,” he said with false cheer. “Shall we be on our way?”

They proceeded to the ball together in his carriage.

*~*~*

The evening could scarcely have been worse. Delacroix bespoke Hélène’s two waltzes upon arrival, and Christian was left with a country dance and a minuet, during neither of which would he be able to converse. The rest of Hélène’s dance card was promptly filled, as she looked more elegant than ever in a ruby satin gown with rusched sleeves and a gathered bodice.

While she was enjoying the attentions of a small court, he took the opportunity to lead Lady Clarice aside.

“My lady, I feel I must put you on your guard.”

“Against what?” asked that lady, fanning herself. “Why is it always so close at balls? I never feel as though I can breathe.” She was dressed in her normal outré style with several peacock feathers in her headpiece.

“Are you all right, my lady?” he asked.

“Yes. I
am
still breathing in fact. Now, what is this about a warning?”

“Against Delacroix. I worry that he is not quite a gentleman. We do not want him playing fast and loose with Miss Whitcombe-Hodge’s reputation. It does not do to encourage him.”

Lady Clarice looked at him with a peculiar light in her eye. “He seems a very nice gentleman to me. And he would be an excellent catch for our schoolteacher, though I should hate to lose her.”

“I do not think such a man as that has marriage in mind. He is too hardened to be swayed by emotion, and what can Miss Whitcombe-Hodge add to his consequence? She has neither money nor title.”

“That may be of concern to you, my lord, but you must not make the mistake of thinking that everyone judges these things as you do.”

She looked very arch as she fanned herself. He was becoming impatient with the lady. “You are scarcely new to the
ton,
my lady! I cannot believe you to be taken in by him.”

“That was dangerously close to an insult, my boy. I suggest you examine yourself to find why you are so out of temper.” With those words, Lady Clarice glided away, still fanning herself.

His suspicions about the baron were confirmed. Though the man appeared distant in Hélène’s company, when he followed them out onto the balcony, it was to find Delacroix urging a kiss upon Hélène.

His instinct was to call the man out, but a scene would be the worst possible thing for Hélène. Christian’s voice was low and dangerous as he said in the man’s ear, “I say, Delacroix, I will not let you compromise Miss Whitcombe-Hodge. She does not understand London manners.” Taking Hélène’s hand, he led her away from the baron and back into the ballroom, where he took her into a corner.

“If you had been discovered out there kissing Delacroix by anyone but me, you would have been obliged by society to marry him or face ruin. And I do not think either of you has marriage in mind.”

She looked confused and her face was flushed deep red. “I . . . I guess I have to thank you, then. I did not know.”

“Are you in love with him?” he demanded.

“Of course not!” She drew herself up. “I hardly know the man!”

“Well, take care. I do not understand his motives, but I think he is determined to have you.”

“How graceless you are! I do not pretend to understand
ton
matters, but I do know when I have been insulted! Can it not be that he is in love with me?”

“I do not think so. Men like him have only one use for women. I should think with your claimed ‘sixth sense’ you would be able to detect that, at least. He cannot have marriage in mind. You are a penniless daughter of a vicar. When he marries, it will be to his social and financial advantage—a dynastic marriage with little or no sentiment. Anything further from that equal partnership you envision, I cannot imagine!”

“You are horrid! It is certainly clear that you feel me to be of little worth! I believe you attribute your own standards to him!” She looked down and twisted the fan in her hands. “What if I told you that I, like Miss Woolstonecraft, am of the opinion that a double standard should not be applied to sexual morality?”