Page 38 of To Catch a Lord
It was no consolation, or very little, to know that she desired him too. She’d made that plain enough in those few precious moments when they’d held each other. They had a physical bond, they shared that much, and it was all too easy to imagine what might have happened if their time together had been prolonged, and if one of them – he could not remember who it was now, but he thought it had probably been him – had not called a halt to their dangerous moment of intimacy. He did imagine it, over and over again, imagined reaching ecstasy with her. But he must be glad that it had not happened, because the last thing in the world he wanted was for her to be obliged to marry him because he had compromised her honour. Well… that wasn’t true. The last thing he wanted was to lose her, or – hellish thought – for her to marry someone else, some oaf who didn’t deserve her. But he couldn’t bear to have her forced into his arms. She was too open, too honest, to be able to conceal her regret, and he thought that it would slowly kill him. Imagine if they’d even conceived a child, and that had tied her to him forever when she wanted to be free.
He should, he supposed, himself raise the subject of parting, as a matter of honour. Give her the opportunity to reject him that he knew she wanted. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it, because he knew that when their engagement was over, they would meet in the future as no more than awkward semi-strangers. What a hideous thought that was; he found it close to unbearable.
And it was his own fault. He’d shared all the disreputable details of his involvement with Lavinia with her, and revealed to her all the shoddy, painful secrets of his past. He’d had to do it, in common decency, so that she knew exactly what she was involved with, but it was impossible to blame her for wanting rid of it all, and of him. She must think him a heartless rake, a man without morals, like her father. That stung, but he could see that it could be so. Maybe she hadn’t even believed him when he’d told her he’d only lain with Lavinia once. She knew that Priscilla could be his child, so why should she believe him when he tried to minimise his transgression? She must think he was desperate to play down his involvement with Lavinia so that he looked less ramshackle in her eyes. Men lied to women, and women knew they did. Her father’s daughter of all people had every reason to be aware of this.
And it was impossible to forget that the disorder of his private life had nearly killed her. She had not asked for nor anticipated that added complication, he would have cut off his right arm to spare her it, and every moment she was still publicly tied to him, she was still in danger. For that reason, if for no other, he should set her free immediately.
It did no good to imagine what might have happened if he’d had as much chance to woo her and win her love as any other man; his foolish, reckless actions at the age of eighteen had made sure he could not come to her with a clean conscience now. Lavinia was like a ghost from his past, haunting his present, tainting his future. And after all Amelia had suffered because of her father and his dirty reputation, did she not deserve a man who had no such sordid ties? He knew the answer well enough. No wonder he was miserable.
His mother was resting in her room that evening after a shopping trip earlier in the day had over-tired her, and his sister Helena was attending some damn dreary, pointless ball or other with the chaperonage of a friend’s grandmother. Marcus had been intending to go with her, but his interest in dancing and making conversation on this occasion had plummeted dramatically when he had discovered that the Wyvernes did not mean to be there. Neither Helena nor Lady Thornfalcon had been so inconsiderate as to laugh at him or otherwise mock him when he said that, as it happened, he really didn’t feel like going, though he didn’t suppose that they had missed the significance of his volte-face. They might have mentioned that his engagement was not, in fact, genuine, and teasingly said that it was therefore odd that he should so burn to meet his faux fiancée and be despondent at her absence; he could only be grateful that they had not.
He was sitting in his library with Jeremy Gastrell then, a not particularly welcome visitor who did not seem inclined to take a hint and go away. Thorn was aware that he was very poor company indeed tonight, gazing gloomily into the depths of a brandy glass as though he might find some solution to his predicament there, when a note was brought in to him on a silver tray. He didn’t suppose it could be from Amelia, but still, he tore it open with pathetic haste, ignoring his friend’s ironically lifted brow. Marcus then sat staring at the paper in a manner that had the footman who had borne it in to him shifting uneasily in his buckled shoes, probably wondering if his master had run mad, and what if anything he might be expected to do about it.
The missive read, in an antique, wavering hand with many blots:
Lord Thornfalcon
I write in great urgency, and have no time to explain how it comes about that I know all of your ridiculous doings – be satisfied to know that Sophie told me. I have just discovered that Amelia has gone, alone, to the Opera House Masquerade this evening. She claimed to be unwell after dinner, and I sent my maid up to her room to see if she could make her a tisane, but helas, she was gone. My woman found a note discarded there – anonymous, but plainly from your sister-in-law – telling Amelia that you were in terrible danger if she did not attend. It must be a trap, and I expect my poor granddaughter knew as much. But she has put herself in danger in this reckless manner because she loves you. Perhaps you do not care for her in the same way, since in my experience, most men are fools, and I am sure that you cannot deserve her, but even if you do not love her, please find her and make sure she is safe.La méchante follesurely means to hurt her. Do not delay, or you will have me to answer to, and when I die, I will come back and haunt you in the most disagreeable manner possible, I promise.
Delphine Wyverne
Marcus dragged himself out of his reverie and jumped to his feet, startling the waiting footman further, and Mr Gastrell too. ‘Come, Jeremy!’ he barked. ‘I may need you.’ There was no time to get a mask or domino – she could be in terrible danger, in pain, even now. He must go. As the footman stood staring, Lord Thornfalcon ran out of the room in the direction of the stables, following by his vainly expostulating friend. A door banged, and they were gone.
37
It was not usual for a peer of the realm to drive to London’s Opera House late in the evening in a curricle drawn by a pair of fine bays, still less to do so at reckless, breakneck speed. Nor was it at all the done thing to leave such a two-wheeler waiting right outside the august institution – minded by a reluctant and most self-conscious gentleman who was trying very hard to be expressionless as he waited and not entirely succeeding – while one dashed inside, hatless, pushing through the crowd willy-nilly and shoving a handful of guineas into the hand of the protesting attendant. That puzzled individual, who had barely recovered from the recent excitements of Runners, accusation and arrest, eyed the Major’s tall, muscular frame and agitated mien, and decided that discretion was the better part of valour. He stepped promptly aside to let him pass, but pocketed several of the excess guineas for himself, as no more than his due.
Marcus stood just inside the entranceway, panting, brushing his dishevelled, auburn locks out of his eyes and using his superior height to survey the scene around him, first swiftly and then more slowly. She wasn’t here, or not that he could see. But then she’d surely be disguised, probably in a plain domino, just one among many. She could be anywhere in the huge building. Or worse, she could already have been exposed to some terrible insult, or tricked somehow into leaving. He must find her and make sure she was safe. There was no time to dwell on what else Lady Wyverne had told him, to wonder if it could possibly be true. He had to find her directly.
Some tiny part of his watchful soldier’s mind told him that the people around him were surveying him with great interest, and whispering about him, and no wonder, as he was dressed in ordinary day clothes and boots, not sporting any sort of fancy costume nor even a concealing domino, and clearly in a state of great emotional turmoil. He could not know that they had already been greatly entertained, and were hopeful for more enjoyable scenes that they could gossip over afterwards.
She wasn’t here; he was almost certain of it. He had to go deeper into the building and look for her, and pray he was not too late. But which way should he turn in this enormous theatre? It would be all too easy to miss her. She surely wouldn’t be dancing, not of her own free will, not after receiving such an alarming missive, but she could be in any of the many boxes on different levels, or in one of the corridors that led away on either side, or in the supper room, supposing there was such a place. Marcus cursed, for the first and probably the last time in his life, his complete and lifelong lack of interest in opera. He’d never been here before, had strenuously avoided coming here, and yet if he’d know the place, he might be more confident of finding her. But he must choose a side to start searching…
He went left, since he had to go somewhere, moving through the staring crowd with muttered apologies, but he had not gone five yards before a hurrying young woman in a black domino collided with his chest. He looked down, impatient with this fresh delay, and then froze. Incredibly, it was her.
‘Amelia!’ he cried. ‘My God, I have found you! Are you well?’
She looked up at him in astonishment. ‘I… I am. I was just leaving. But what in heaven’s name are you doing here, Marcus… my lord, I mean.’
He reached out, almost unconscious that he was doing it, and held her by the shoulders, as if to assure himself that she was real. Having once made certain of that, he did not let her go – perhaps he could not. ‘Your grandmother sent me a note in desperate haste. She said that you had been tricked here by Lavinia, that she was sure she meant to do you harm once more, and that I must come to rescue you. Of course I rushed here immediately, almost out of my mind with worry. But was it untrue – some devilish ruse?’
‘No,’ she said shakily, ‘no, it was all true, though I have not the least idea how my grandmother of all people came to know of it. Lavinia had set a trap for me – she had arranged that my stepmother, Rosanna, the actress, should be here, and meant to use her presence to destroy my reputation forever in a huge public scene that nobody could fail to notice. Some of the Friends were here with Lavinia to watch, so they could spread the gossip all the better. But Rosanna had instead made another plan with Mr Pennyfeather – I am sorry if I am not explaining it clearly; it is all so fantastical – and Lavinia herself was exposed, and then – yes, I see you stare – arrested! And I have something even worse to tell you…’
He was astonished, and could hardly take in the full import of her words. ‘What has Pennyfeather to do with it, and how could he have enough evidence to take her in charge? I can’t make head or tail of this, my dear.’ He was still holding her, he might never let go, and the crowd perforce had to part around them, with many a curious glance. Marcus and Amelia were oblivious to them, and to their muttered comments. They could have been quite alone in some quiet, private place, not surrounded by dozens of curious and noisy onlookers.
‘I’m not surprised you’re puzzled; I was too. I still am. He has been investigating her all this time, he said, and discovered at last who pushed me, and that she had been blackmailed and threatened into it by Lavinia, out of fear for her own safety. But Marcus, there’s more…’
‘I hope there is, my dearest!’ Now that he knew she was unharmed, now that she was warm and real under his hands, the rest of it, including Lavinia, didn’t matter – and he could turn to the revelation that had broken on him like a glorious dawn. ‘The Dowager Marchioness told me you had been lured here because you thought I was in terrible danger, and you needed to save me. Is that true?’
Amelia blushed adorably and looked down. ‘That was what the note said, to make me come here. It was a trick, of course, and I knew as much as soon as I saw it. I’m not a complete idiot.’
‘You’re wonderful in every respect. I shall plant a facer on anyone who dares to call you an idiot. You knew it must be a trick then, and yet you still came.’
She had no answer for that. Something was clearly troubling her, and he had a vague notion that she was trying to tell him some fact or other, and that it was probably important. He would gladly hear it later, but just now, one thing alone had possessed his mind to the exclusion of all else. ‘My darling, my angel, the note I received said you came here because you loved me.’
She was instantly scarlet. ‘My grandmother said that? Sophie must have… I’ll kill her!’
‘I don’t care whether you do or whether you don’t just at this moment. But with all my heart and soul I need to know if it is true. I’ve never asked anyone a more important question in my whole life, nor been so desperate to hear an answer, and at the same time terrified, in case that answer is not what I hope and long for. Do you love me, Amelia?’
