Twice Tempted (12 page)

And now Alex was back. What was she to do? How was she to keep him at arm’s length? How was she to survive the hope that had already begun to bloom in her chest? Pointless hope. False hope.

But false hope tasted no different than real hope, which meant it was going to hurt even worse when the disappointment inevitably came.

So she lay on her back out in the cold night and watched the immutable stars, calculated their paths, and reminded herself that if nothing else, she would always have them. She would always have the stars, and she would always have Mairead. And since she would, she could deal with anything else.

She wasn’t quite so sanguine two hours later when she found herself in the throes of one of Mairead’s episodes.

Episode.
A kind name for a tantrum.

“They’re my things!” Mairead screamed, red-faced and weeping, her arms windmilling as if she might fall. “You can’t touch my things! Nobody can touch my
things
!”

They were in the dining room where Mairead had laid out her work in precise bundles, one for her own calculations, one for Mr. Pond, and one for Mr. Gauss. Only the stack meant for Mr. Gauss was out of order. And the compass and ruler Mairead had left at precise right angles to the papers were off by about ten degrees. Someone had touched Mairead’s things, just as she said.

“I’ve been with you all evening, sweetheart,” Fiona said, catching Mairead’s hands in their mad arc and holding tight.

Mairead was trembling as if she had a fever. She kept tapping her toe on the groove she’d worn in the old rug. “Mrs. Quick, then. Mrs. Quick touched this. She
knows
, Fiona. She knows I cannot work in disarray. Did she do this to torment me? I need to speak with her, Fee. I need to speak to her
now
.”

Fiona sighed. “Mae, it is four in the morning. Even if Mrs. Quick set your papers on fire, I would not wake her. If we do, there will be no breakfast in the morning. No fresh bread and jam.”

Just as she knew it would, that brought Mairead to an abrupt halt. “Oh.”

“Can I let you go now?” Fiona asked.

Mairead closed her eyes and nodded. Fiona let go of her sister’s hand and quickly restored the table to order. “There, now. Let’s go up to bed. We have children coming in a few hours, and it would not aid our reputations at all if we slept through Globes.”

Without opening her eyes, Mairead grinned. “Maybe not our reputations,” she said, turning for the door. “But it would certainly make the children happier.”

With the ease of long practice, Fiona slipped an arm through Mairead’s and guided her up the stairs. It was probably a good thing to happen, she thought. At least it put a quick halt to the dangerous memories that had plagued her up on that hill.

Even so, as she climbed the stairs, she laid her fingers across her lips, where four years ago Alex Knight had kissed her, and with tears in her eyes, she smiled.

Chapter 7

T
uesday came, and so did Lord Wilde. Chuffy, he kept insisting every time Fiona tried to be polite. She was on her way to the dining room with a pile of newly washed curtains in her arms when she came across him in the front foyer.

“Nobody answered,” he said, spinning his hat in his hands. What hair he had stood up in little peaks all over his head, which he attempted to pat down. “Wilson’s despair, don’t you know.”

Fiona smiled. “Your valet?”

“Since I was breeched. Excellent man.”

Poor man
, she thought, noticing that the little baron’s waistcoat had a loose button and his pantaloons bore evidence of the street. She imagined he was one of those people whose pristinely ironed attire rumpled the minute he stepped through his front door.

“With your permission,” Chuffy said, “come to get your sister.”

Fiona smiled. “You truly know the Astronomer Royal?”

“Mr. Pond?” Chuffy gave an enthusiastic nod. “Was at Trinity with the Pater. Gave him his first telescope.” He shrugged. “Never rubbed off.”

Fiona tilted her head. “Then why should you go out of your way for Mairead?”

If she hadn’t seen it, she wouldn’t have believed it. Chuffy didn’t simply smile. He seemed to glow, as if his happiness radiated outward. “Deserves it, doesn’t she? Brilliant. I can tell. Shouldn’t have to worry about day-to-day things.” He shrugged. “Day-to-day my forte, ya see? Nobody notices, but it is.”

“And do you know mathematics?” she asked. “Mairead won’t let you help her do anything if you can’t even discuss her work.”

“Your housekeeper know math?”

“My housekeeper is a housekeeper, Lord Wilde. You are not. Mairead sees absolutes.”

Chuffy nodded. “No worries. I can keep up. Does she like phaetons?”

Finally Fiona smiled. “She adores phaetons. She’ll demand you let her drive. Don’t, please. We don’t need to terrify the population of Greenwich.”

Chuffy pressed a hand to his heart. “Word of a gentleman.”

For a second Fiona was afraid she would make a rude noise. She had never had good luck with the word of a gentleman. But then, she thought, none of those gentlemen had been Chuffy. One look at this small, innocuous, bespectacled man told her he was as innocent in his way as Mairead was in hers. He meant what he said.

“If you insist on being Mairead’s white knight,” she said, turning, “come into the dining room. I believe she is working there.”

“No white knight. That’s Alex.”

She halted. “Pardon?”

“His nickname. White Knight. Too perfect for his own good.” Chuffy beamed again. “Or ours. Hard to live up to.”

“I imagine.” She could also easily imagine how Alex had earned his moniker.

She let Chuffy open the door for her and entered the dining room, her footsteps echoing briskly across the parquet floors. There, bent over a collection of papers on the scarred oak table, sat Mairead, chewing the end of a pencil. Not a hair was out of place from her tight bun, and her bishop’s blue roundgown looked as if Mrs. Quick had just taken a hot iron to it. She was mumbling and tapping her fingers on the table.

“Look who has come to call, Mairead,” Fiona said, depositing the pile of maroon drapes on the empty end of the table. “Chuffy is here for your excursion.”

Mairead startled to attention, blinking as if she’d just faced a bright light. “Is it Tuesday?”

“It is,” Fiona said. “Why don’t you get your pelisse, sweetings? It seems nippy outside.”

Beside her, Chuffy stepped up to the table, his attention focused on Mairead’s work. “What do you have there?”

Mairead pulled the paper closer to her. “Word puzzles. The last one from the castle.”

His expression was odd. “Word puzzles?”

“Grandfather used to share these with Mairead,” Fiona said. “Just games.”

“They look like codes.”

Mairead stood, her hand still on the paper. “I enjoy frequency analysis. It clears my head for more difficult mathematics.” Quickly she looked down at her work. “Although I can’t seem to figure this one out.”

“Do you accept help?” Chuffy asked diffidently.

Mairead glared. “No.” And then, gathering the papers to her chest, she stalked off.

“She’ll be getting her outerwear,” Fiona assured him.

She looked up from where she was gathering the curtains to find Chuffy jotting notes in a little notebook, letters collected into groupings of four, very much like Mairead’s puzzle. He was moving his lips.

“You remember the puzzle?” Fiona asked, surprised.

Not looking up, he nodded. “Like to take it with me. Finish it. Rather a hobby with me as well.”

Fiona went back to her curtains. “Please don’t tell Mairead if you are. Especially don’t tell her if you figure it out before she does.”

“Doesn’t like the competition?”

Fiona smiled. “Oh, no. She really doesn’t notice competition. She simply can’t abide missing out on the thrill of discovery.”

Bobbing his head, Chuffy shoved his glasses up his nose. “Quiet as the grave.”

Fiona nodded and pulled the stepladder up before the window.

“Wouldn’t you like to come along?” Chuffy asked. “Nice day out.”

Fiona collected the drapes and climbed. “Oh, no thank you. I have an appointment this afternoon. The parent of a new student, I hope.”

A widow with a bit of extra money, which would help add a bit of a cushion.

Still peering down at the puzzle, Chuffy nodded absently. Conversation died until Mairead returned, straw bonnet in hand, buttoning her pelisse one-handed. Seeing her, Chuffy grinned in delight and held out an elbow, which she took.

“Don’t forget to thank Mr. Pond,” Fiona told her sister. “Do you have the orbital equations I finished for him last night?”

Spinning around on Chuffy’s arm, Mairead nodded. Fiona knew that was as good as she was going to get and turned back to the drapes.

*  *  *

Alex Knight had not had a good few days. He kept waiting for another missive and spent the rest of the time searching for Lennie Wednesday, who seemed to have gone to ground. Which meant that Alex spent his days culling gossip from his clubs, evenings at paralyzingly boring
ton
events, and nights giving every appearance of being cup-shot and seeking low play at the Blue Goose. Which left him tired, lighter in the purse, and fighting a chronic headache.

He didn’t even have an excuse to visit Fiona Ferguson. Finney sent Thrasher with regular reports from the men who watched Fiona’s house, ex-fighters like Finney, who were finding the job pretty boring. School for the nippers in the morning, working at the table or cleaning the house in the afternoon, and lying out in the cold on the ground in Greenwich at night. The women didn’t see any men but the butcher’s boy at the back door, didn’t go out except to market and church, and didn’t seem to have acquaintances except for the tykes and their parents coming in and out. Queer as Dick’s hatband, the men said, but light enough work for the pay.

Alex couldn’t imagine how Fiona could prefer such a restricted life to the one her standing could afford her. He couldn’t bear to think of her living in a self-imposed exile like this, with only tradesmen’s families for company and a distracted astronomer for mental challenge. She needed more. She
deserved
more.

Why did she refuse it?

He wouldn’t know until he saw the Bow Street Runner, but that gentleman was out of town.

Alex knew he should wait for concrete information before approaching Fiona again. It could be disastrous to promise what he couldn’t deliver. And yet here he stood on her doorstep, his tiger behind him walking his bays in the damp chill of another overcast day. He knocked on Fiona’s door and waited. He knocked again. Unsettled by the silence that met him, he looked around. He didn’t see Finney’s man, but he didn’t expect to. The street was busy with everyday traffic, the walkways a river of pedestrians taking advantage of a fog-free day.

He should knock again. He took one more look around, realized no one was taking any notice of him, and opened the door.

The house smelled of baking and beeswax. The entry was empty, the sunlight slashing across the oak floor. And then Alex heard the sound of singing. Closing the door behind him, he removed his hat and caped greatcoat.

He stopped a second just to listen to Fiona’s scratchy soprano and smiled. Finally, proof that she was human. The girl had no clue how to stay on pitch. She did know Gaelic, he realized. Even off-key, she made it sound soft and hushed. Setting down his outerwear, he followed her voice down the hallway to a door that opened into a dining room of some kind with a sadly battered oaken table covered in open books, papers, inkpots, compasses, and an azimuth. Three hardback chairs surrounded the table, one adorned with a cast-off gray woolen shawl, and a beautifully painted star chart covered one wall. And there, perched on a stepladder at one of the windows, was Fiona, dressed in a spring-green gown, her hair beginning to slip from an untidy bun. Stretched on tiptoe, she was reaching up to hang a panel of heavy velvet curtains.

He almost groaned out loud. Stretching up like that, she elongated her sleek silhouette and placed the sweet sweep of her bottom right at face level. Raw lust clawed at him. He briefly closed his eyes, fighting the urge to grab hold of her. Knowing damn well that no good could come from staying. He should just run for the door.

And yet, he didn’t.

She went on to the next verse of her song, completely unaware he stood in the doorway.

Noble, proud young horseman

Warrior unsaddened, of most pleasant countenance

A swift-moving hand, quick in a fight,

Slaying the enemy and smiting the strong.

Alex opened his eyes and stepped into the room. “Singing about me?”

It was a stupid thing to do. Fiona shrieked in surprise and spun around, overbalancing herself. She shrieked again and dropped the drapes. Alex leaped across the room just in time to catch her as the ladder tipped her off.

“Oommph,” he grunted, catching her before she landed on the floor.

Suddenly his arms were full of delicious woman. He could smell cinnamon and vanilla and warm female. He could feel the silken slide of her hair against his mouth, and he found himself starving.

“You great lummox,” she snapped, wiggling free. “You scared the life out of me.”

Before she could feel just how strongly she affected him, he set her on her feet. “My apologies. It just seemed as if you were calling me.”

Her hand to her chest, as if calming her heart by force, she straightened, making it a point to brush down her dress. “I was not,” she retorted, her voice shaking just a bit. “If I was calling anyone, it was Bonnie Prince Charlie.”

Alex arched an eyebrow. “A little late for that, isn’t it?”

She didn’t smile. “If you must know, it was a lullaby my mother used to sing to us.”

He arched an eyebrow. “About Bonnie Prince Charlie?”

“Why not?”

He chuckled. “Usually mothers in England prefer to sing to their babes about angels and moons and stars and such. Not doomed rebel leaders. I wouldn’t think the latter would be particularly restful.”