The Bridal Season (28 page)

“Damn it, Letty, there is
no
woman like you,” he said,
suddenly savage. “How am I to follow some template of behavior when everything
in me urges me to act from the heart? Do you know,” his gaze speared her where
she stood, “that since I have loved you, I have not regretted one word, one
glance, one touch? And I am so certain in loving you, so sure of it, of us,
that I cannot conceive that you regret any of these things, either.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “Loving you has made me a monster
of egotism, my dear. But there it is. I am fearless of misstep, unable to
conceive that I could err so gravely that you would turn from me.” His voice
strained with his need to convince her. But she needed no convincing. She knew
he loved her.

“I could never turn from you,” she breathed. He did not hear
her. He’d paced a few steps away from her, once more raking his hand through
his hair before turning back. When he next spoke his agitation had vanished;
his voice was deep and ardent and clear.

“A heart filled with such conviction cannot exist independently.
I could not be so certain without your love, Letty. All I ask is that you give
me a chance to woo you. Tell me what you want and I will do it. But do not run
from this. Do not deny it. Do not deny us.”

Dear God, when he spoke like this she could almost believe
that he did not care for convention or dignity or Society, and that loving her
was the most important thing in his life. She trembled on the cusp of hope.

“I don’t dare. Things are much more complicated than they
appear and I am... I am ashamed.”

Darkness flooded his face. His gaze sharpened. “I never
expected things to be easy, Letty. Only confide in me and I swear I will make
things right. As for shame, I am convinced there is nothing you have done that
is unforgivable.”

She believed him, God help her. She only needed to tell him.
She held out her hand and instantly he was by her side, wrapping her hand in
his and raising it to his mouth, kissing the back of her hand before turning
her fist over and uncurling her stiff fingers and pressing his lips to the
center of her palm.

Without quite meaning to, she raised her free hand to his
bowed head. Her fingers shivered a fraction of an inch above the dark, silky
locks she longed to caress.

“Letty,” he murmured against her open palm, “Please, trust
me.”

“I do. I want to. I—”

“Lady Agatha!” Cabot’s voice boomed anxiously from the
doorway. Letty looked about in confusion. She hadn’t even heard him knock and
he stood in the open doorway, his face filled with horror.

Elliot straightened slowly, his expression taut with anger as
foreign to his face as humility was to a lord’s. “What is it, Cabot?”

“A gentleman to see you, Lady Agatha.”

“A gentleman? What gentleman?”

A figure appeared behind Cabot. Of medium height, the man was
barrel-chested and heavy through the shoulders. He doffed a smart bowler as he
entered, and his thick blond hair shone like guineas in the late afternoon
light. He spied her, and his square, bluntly handsome face bloomed with an
expression of undeniable pleasure.

“Why, Letty, my dear,” he said in an accent that had never
quite lost its Cockney tang. “None other than your fiancé, Nick Sparkle.”

If a man brings a cabbage to

the theater, he
is
going to throw it.

“QUITE A PLUM SETUP YOU ‘AVE ‘ERE, LETTY-me-love,” Nick said.
He strolled restlessly about the library with his hands clasped lightly behind
his back, gauging and evaluating the contents.

Letty could not take her eyes from him. It was as if she’d
wakened to a nightmare. She could barely breathe. Her pulse hammered thickly in
her temples.

Elliot had left within minutes of Nick’s entrance. There had
been one instant when his gaze had swung on her and she had seen his betrayal
and shock, and then Nick had been in front of him, pumping his hand and
introducing himself. Elliot had responded in kind, every vestige of the emotion
he’d revealed erased from his face as though they’d only been figments of Letty’s
imagination. He’d not looked at her again, not even when he’d bid them
good-bye.

Something died within her. Something precious and fragile and
essential was irretrievably lost.

“Done well this time, Letty. Small wonder you come over all
high-minded and moral. You had other plans. Better plans than mine.”

“How did you find me?” she asked tonelessly.

“Old Sammy here tipped your hand, love,” he said motioning
toward where Cabot stood miserably.

“I’m sorry, Letty,” Cabot said. “I didn’t realize when I wrote
Ben that he’d say anything to
him.”

“Well, now, Sammy, you mustn’t blame the old bugger. He weren’t
exactly forthcoming with the information. Needed a spot of encouraging, he
did.”

Cabot’s face flamed with anger and he took a step forward. The
pleasant facade dropped from Nick’s handsome face like a cheap mask, revealing
the pitilessness that was the true reflection of his nature. “I wouldn’t, if I
was you, Sammy. You’d be heaving your guts up inside a minute.”

“Listen to him, Cabot,” Letty cried, putting herself between
the two men. “He’s right. You’ll only get hurt.”

Nick watched Cabot hopefully. When it was clear the older man
would not fight, he sneered and turned to Letty.

“Ah, relax,” he sneered. “I didn’t touch the fool. I only told
him he was gettin’ a bit long in the tooth to be blown across a stage, and a
word in the manager’s ear would have him out in the streets by nightfall.”

His expression turned offended. “Whatcha think, Letty? That I’d
hurt the old codger? You oughta know I’m not that sort. Or do you think a bloke
has to have a silk cravat like your gentleman friend there in order to have
fine feelings?” he sneered.

She wouldn’t discuss Elliot with him and turned her head. He
grabbed her arm and she winced. Once again, Cabot tensed. “It’s all right,
Cabot,” Letty said quickly. “If you would go into the hall and keep an eye out
for the Bigglesworths, I’d appreciate it. I need to talk to Nick.”

Cabot didn’t look happy about it, but he did as she asked. As
soon as he was gone, Nick flopped down on the chintz-covered settee, his
checked suit and gaiters as out of place in these surroundings as a ... as a
music hall singer, Letty thought morosely.

Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face, for
Nick’s grin widened. “There’s my girl. A little bitter to counter all that
sweet.”

“You have to leave, Nick. This isn’t what you think. I didn’t
plan on this at all. I just found a ticket and arrived here and the folks
thought I was—”

“This here Lady Agatha,” Nick interrupted, nodding. “Yes. I
know all about it. Ben showed me Sammy’s letter.”

“Cabot,” Letty corrected in a low voice. “His name is Samuel
Cabot.”

“You can call him whatever you like. To me and the rest of the
world, he’s Sam-Sam, The Spaniel-Faced Boy. Just like you’re Letty Potts,
sometime musical artiste, but much more often an artiste of a different
persuasion, eh?”

She felt ill. Hearing it said out loud, she knew exactly what
she was and always had been. She’d thought of con games as nothing more than a
laugh and a wink at people who could afford it. It had never seemed wrong. It
did now.

It wasn’t the money. The Bigglesworths and their sort could afford
to have a few pieces of silver nabbed from them. It was that other theft that
mattered, the theft she’d never recognized before: stealing their trust and
abusing it. The victims of that sort of theft always got hurt.

Nick shook his head. “I got to hand it to you, Letty. You
always did have a knack for falling into the slops and coming up smelling like
roses. And you’ve done so this time, too.”

He wagged a finger at her. “But don’t try and tell me you
weren’t thinking to take advantage of your good fortune, ‘cause I know you,
Letty. Never let an opportunity pass without milking it for all it’s worth, and
never will. So out with it. What’s the dodge?”

She regarded him with repugnance. He was wrong this time. She
couldn’t hurt these people. She wouldn’t.

“There is no scam, Nick. I’m just helping these folks out in
exchange for a soft bed and some nice meals. As soon as I’m done, I’m leaving,
and that’s the gospel truth, take it or leave it.”

The cockiness faded in his expression along with his smile. “I’ll
leave it.”

He pushed himself to his feet and came to her side. He tilted
her chin up with a blunt, stubby finger. “Don’t think I don’t understand, me
girl. You come ‘ere, get treated like royalty, everyone all sweetness and
light, and pretty soon you’re thinking what decent sorts they are and what a
shame it’d be to hurt their feelings. And you like it that you’re feeling all
expansive and treacly. Makes you feel good about yerself.”

She stared at him in fascinated horror. His words came too
close to the truth. What if it was all self-delusion? What if she’d only
convinced herself she’d changed because it didn’t cost her anything, or anyone
else, either?

He read the confusion in her eyes and smiled. He’d always been
a baffling combination of perceptiveness and brutality. It was what made him so
good at his job.

“It’s easy to be pious when you got a feather bed to sleep in.
But this ain’t real, love. It’s time to wake up, Letty.” He moved closer. “How’s
it go in all those fairy tales? You wake the princess with a kiss.”

He clasped her shoulders and leaned toward her. She stood
very, very still, willing herself not to cringe when his lips met hers. He’d
kissed her dozens of times, but this time it felt awful, not only a violation
but a betrayal. And not only of Elliot, but of herself.

He drew back. His face was ugly, his voice rough. “So that’s
the way it is, eh? You and that black-haired sap. I shoulda known it would take
more than a feather pillow and a butter cake to make you forget what’s what.
How much more?
How far has it gone between you and him, Letty?”

“You’re talking nonsense,” she said stiffly. He’d always been
jealous. Once he’d even beaten a particularly persistent admirer. She didn’t
dare think what he could do to Elliot if he wanted.

His eyes narrowed. “Lookit you. Pissed as poison that I should
even sully ‘is name by speaking it.”

“You’re being silly. He’s a knight.”

“And he thinks you’re a duke’s get. And a good thing, too. ‘Cause
if I thought ‘e had enough red blood in him to do anything with you, I’d kill
him. God! Don’t look at me like that on some other man’s account!” Real hurt
flared in his bright green eyes. His skin grew mottled with blood. “Damn you,
Letty. Damn you! Think you’re too good for the likes of me, do you?”

“No, Nick,” she answered, reaching out to clasp his forearm.
“No, it isn’t—”

“Shudup!” He flung her hand away with such violence she
staggered back. He reached for her as though he regretted his act, but then the
ugliness flowed back into his face and his hand dropped to his side. “I loved
you, Letty. No man loved a woman as much as I loved you.”

“Nick—”

“Treated you like a queen, I did. Like a bloomin’ lady. I
never pushed to get you into bed, never asked more than you were willin’ to
give, because I always figured someday we’d get wed and you’d be mine and you’d
appreciate the time I took with you. Because I cared what you thought, Letty. I
cared about what
you
wanted.”

The rims of his eyes had grown red. “I never hurt one person
you cared about. Not even when I was trying to get you to seeing things my way
with that little job I’d planned. I could ‘ave. I could ‘ave brought you to
heel, by just breaking someone’s leg or arm. But I didn’t. Because I didn’t
want to hurt
you,
Letty.”

He had loved her. At least, as much as Nick could love, and he
really believed that stopping at burning down her house and only threatening
theater managers were acts of charity on his part. And because Letty loved just
as hopelessly as Nick did, she understood his pain.

“Nick,” she said. “I am so—”

“Don’t you say it!”
he broke in violently. “No one’s
sorry for Nick Sparkle.
No one.
‘Specially not some daft cow wearing
airs. Think
‘e’ll
want you when ‘e finds out you’re just a skirt-wearing
dodge?” He laughed nastily.

“I know,” Letty said. “I know. But it doesn’t make any
difference, Nick. I still won’t help you.”

“Listen,” he said, ignoring her. “I got my own plans and you’re
part of them. You just keep these Bigglesworths happy for a few days and leave
the rest to me.”

“And if I don’t?”

“And if you don’t, well, I guess I’ll just have to leave.”

She looked up, suddenly hopeful. “Oh, Nick!”

He stroked the side of her cheek with his thumb. “Course, I’ll
have to write a little note to this Sir Elliot and these Bigglesworths. A
little note that says just what ‘Lady Agatha’ is been up to these past five
years. You know. A few details about a mind-reading scam down Kensington way,
and a bean-and-cups game—”

“I get the idea, Nick. No need to continue.”

His caress turned into a pinch. “Good. Then, like I said, you
just keep on doing what you been doing and I’ll take care of the rest. That
sound good to you, Letty?”

She stared at him with disdain.

He chucked her lightly under the chin. “I thought so.”

Atticus’s guests had left. Outside the French doors, the garden
was blanketed in warm, perfumed night. A perfect evening for courting a woman,
which is exactly what Atticus had assumed Elliot was doing when he disappeared
from the party. He’d thought Elliot had gone after the fleeing Lady Agatha. But
perhaps he’d been wrong, because certainly Elliot hadn’t been absent long.