Chapter 18
18
A s Martin drove his phaeton with a matched pair of black thoroughbreds along the Serpentine in Hyde Park, he tipped his hat at everyone he passed. Though when in London he oft rode through the park, ever since the masquerade, he’d done so with more purpose, especially paying attention to petite women with chestnut locks curling from beneath their bonnets. To his chagrin, the gossip columns had caught wind of his excessive congeniality and now Mama was convinced he had begun seeking a wife in earnest.
He might be searching for a woman, but regardless of what his mother might think, he most certainly had no intention of finding a wife. He was merely curious, of course. Never in all his days had Martin been besotted. Presently, he might be a wee bit determined and perhaps a tad captivated, but he most decidedly wasn’t fool enough to whisk Her Ladyship up to Gretna Green and pledge his undying love.
He just needed the answers to his questions.
Damn it all, if only he could find her. But this outing proved fruitless, just as all the rest had done in the past week.
Tugging on the reins, he pointed the team toward Grosvenor Square. With luck, Smallwood would present him with favorable news this afternoon. But, by the saints, where women were concerned, the steward was obviously unschooled and daft. If Martin didn’t know better, he’d say the man was reluctant to find Lady Julia even though he’d admitted to knowing her well. Had they a rift, perchance? But wouldn’t Smallwood have owned to any ill will between them?
No, a disagreement couldn’t be the reason for Smallwood’s disinclination. The chap had spoken fondly of Her Ladyship and knew of her pastimes.
Indeed, Julia St. Vincent was a musical proficient. Och aye, how Martin would love to spend an evening listening to the lass serenade him on the pianoforte.
He also chuckled at the idea of a spotty cat. How easy to imagine Lady Julia pounding the point of her parasol on the ceiling of her carriage, demanding the driver stop to enable her to rescue a skinny, wide-eyed stray.
Furthermore, she was bashful. No wonder she’d seemed so flustered in the garden, especially after he’d acted like a stag on the rut. By the gods, what red-blooded man wouldn’t have acted on impulse given a moment with a goddess?
As he turned into the close and headed for the mews, his heart nearly catapulted out of his chest. A woman wearing a blue dress walked with her back to him, but by the hair standing up on his arms, his legs, his chest, the back of his bloody neck, it was she.
Martin knew he could count on Smallwood to find her. “M’lady!” he called, pulling the horses to a halt, and not giving a rat’s arse if he’d just defied a dozen rules of propriety.
The woman stopped but didn’t turn. Rather, her shoulders tensed while she clutched her hands to her chest.
Martin tied the reins and hopped down. “Lady Julia?”
As she glanced over her shoulder, he read apprehension in luminous brown eyes before she bowed her head, making the brim of her hat hide her features while she dipped into a graceful curtsy. “Your Grace, how lovely to see you.”
When she straightened and her eyes once again met his, he removed his hat and bowed. Good God, she was even more beautiful without a mask and, by the saints, the resemblance to Smallwood was uncanny. “How fortuitous to find you in this very close of all places.”
The lady glanced toward the entrance to the mews. “Yes, well, Jules explained that he is in your employ as a steward.”
“Aye, he is a fine man, I’ll say.” Martin tugged on his driving gloves. “You’ve met with him, then?”
“I did. In fact, I’ve just left his rooms.”
Martin puzzled for a moment because if she’d just departed Smallwood’s rooms, then she was walking in the wrong direction. Perhaps she might have been a tad confused, which mattered not in the slightest. “Please forgive my impropriety. I’d hoped to procure a proper introduction by having my sister invite you for tea.”
A darling blush spread across the woman’s cheeks. “I daresay, our brief interaction at Northampton’s ball ought to have sufficed for the necessary preamble.”
He chuckled at the use of the word. Indeed, he had misbehaved and must make amends before she dismissed him as an unabashed rogue. “I owe you an apology for my behavior that night.”
“Oh?”
Martin resituated his hat and slid his fingertips around the brim. “I am not in the habit of sweeping well-bred women into my arms and kissing them.”
Two delicate eyebrows arched with an expression of incredulity. “On the contrary, by your reputation, I understand you are quite adept at wooing women… ah …generally speaking, sir.”
Cringing, Martin patted the near horse’s shoulder. “Alas, my wayward youth has done me no favors. I assure you, madam, now that I have assumed my father’s mantle my carefree days have passed,” he said, wondering where such words had originated. He had no intention of giving up the pursuit of women. In fact, chasing women was one of his favorite pastimes. Which, come to think on it, he was presently doing exactly that, except this woman happened to be a lady.
She curtsied again as if intending to cut the conversation short. “Well, if you’ll please excuse?—”
“Would you do me the honor of accompanying me on a jaunt through the park?” He brushed his hand down the gelding’s white blaze. “The lads still have plenty of verve.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t.”
“Unfortunate.” Unable to help himself, Martin stepped a tad nearer. In the sunlight, her eyes were positively luminescent. And they weren’t simply mahogany, they were flecked by amber and encircled with chocolatey rings. “’Tis a fine day and I would dearly love to chat with you a wee bit more. Where else do you need to be at the moment, if I may be so bold as to ask?”
Cringing, she gestured to her skirts. “I’m afraid I am not attired appropriately. Earlier a carriage splattered mud on my dress and I look a fright.”
“How very impolite of the dastardly driver.” Not about to accept her refusal, Martin offered his hand. “Though I reckon one would need a quizzing glass to discern stains as unassuming as those. I assure you, not a soul will see your skirts behind the footboard of the phaeton.”
She glanced up at him through the fans of inordinately long eyelashes. “With an invitation such as Your Grace’s, I am powerless to refuse.”
Martin’s heart skipped a beat, or several as he hastened to hand her up to the seat. Now that Her Ladyship had agreed to a wee jaunt, he wasn’t about to give the woman a chance to change her mind.
“This is a fine carriage,” she said as he picked up the reins and pointed the geldings back to the park, certain the scandal sheets would be having a heyday with his return. But let them quibble. He’d never given the gossips a care, why start now?
Wanting the journey around the ring to take as long as possible, Martin opted to keep the lads at an ambling walk rather than their usual trot. By the way they tossed their heads, they weren’t happy about it at all.
“I say, your steeds want to run,” said Julia, the sultry tenor of her voice making his insides buzz akin to the reverberation of a bass harp string.
“They’re young and full of vigor. It’ll do them well to amble for a time.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Her Ladyship folded and unfolded her hands, then she brushed the dried mud on her skirts with quick flicks of her fingers. Honestly, once she’d drawn attention to it, she had been rather badly doused. The bloody careless driver. If Martin had been there, he would have given the man a firm talking to. “Smallwood tells me you’re planning to return to Brixham soon.”
“Indeed, I am. On the morrow to be exact.”
The reins slipped in Martin’s fingers. “The morrow? No, no, no, you canna leave so soon. Don Giovani is opening at the Theater Royal, and I have it on good authority it is not to be missed.”
She smiled up at him and dash it if he didn’t detect affection in those lovely browns. “Unfortunately, it will have to be missed by me. I’m afraid my father is in poor health and is reliant on my care.”
“But surely Willaby can look after the earl for a few days more.”
While the lassie’s lashes lowered, the corners of Her Ladyship’s mouth tightened, giving Martin a cue to change tack, though he wasn’t about to completely give up and let her leave town on the morrow. It might take a few more turns around the park, but he’d figure a way for her to agree to stay another week or two—at least long enough for him to get to know her, to kiss her again, to hold her in his arms. But when an opportunity again presented itself, he wouldn’t act on raw impulse, pull the woman into his arms and devour her. Clearly, she was every bit as shy as Smallwood had let on. Lady Julia needed to be handled with utmost care and respect.
The lass moved a bit nearer, or she leaned into him. Martin wasn’t sure which. “I must be firm on this, I cannot attend the opera. I brought no theater attire with me.”
A hundred solutions arrested at the tip of his tongue, the first being he’d take her to his mother’s modiste straightaway and have an entire wardrobe made. Of course, it would be gauche to mention anything about her father’s lack of funds. After all, the earl never would have parted with a man as shrewd as Jules Smallwood had he been able to afford him. “I’m curious,” Martin ventured. “How was it you came by an Aphrodite costume, stunning as it was?”
“To be honest, I’m so removed from society I had no idea Lady Northampton was hosting a ball until our paths crossed not long before. The costume I wore was hers. She and the marquess offered to be my chaperones for the evening.”
Good God, Martin had been so besotted, he hadn’t considered enquiring who her companions might be. “And who might your chaperone be elsewise?”
“I’m quite embarrassed to admit that I’m traveling unescorted, but it couldn’t be helped.” Lady Julia gripped her hands together while her face turned apple red. “I’m afraid my father had affairs in London that required my urgent attention.”
“What about Willaby?” Martin asked, truly concerned. When word spread that a lady traveled on her own it was only a matter of time before she was ruined. Perhaps it was fortunate Julia had faded from society’s notice, though with her return to Town, the vultures would pick up her scent in no time. “Could the butler not have traveled in your stead?”
“Alas, no. My father needs the fellow more than he needs me. Willaby is far stronger and more able to assist with…” She glanced aside.
“Forgive me.” Noticing far too many inquisitive heads turning their way, Martin turned down a less-traveled path. “I assume you wish not to be identified by the gossips.”
“That would be preferable. Though it is difficult not to draw attention to oneself when riding alongside a duke atop his shiny black phaeton.” Julia raised her palms in front of her face and opened them as if revealing a picture. “I can imagine the headlines on the morrow. The most eligible bachelor in London seen riding with a mystery woman.”
He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he steered the team around a bend. “Surely there are people in London who’d recognize you.”
The lady’s bonnet jostled with her nod. “Sophie for one.”
“Well, then, I will see to it that you have a proper escort for the duration of your stay.”
“Considering that I’ll be boarding the mail coach in the morning, my reputation ought to escape the notice of London’s busybodies.”
“That is if you leave on the morrow,” Martin said, watching her eyes widen, her wee gasp was like a tinderbox spark, igniting a flame in his heart. He let the notion linger for a moment before he continued chatting as if he hadn’t planted a seed, “I’m told you’re quite accomplished on the pianoforte.”
As she laughed, her shoulder brushed his, adding fuel to the flame. Aye she had the most adorable laugh that shook her body, not too high pitched, and it wasn’t tittering like most of the young women in polite society. The sound was genuine, making him want to throw his head back and join her. She tapped her fingers to her lips. “Pardon my outburst.”
“Not at all, I love to hear laughter. Especially your laughter.” He maneuvered the team around a group of ladies out for a stroll with their parasols. “Now tell me, did my steward misspeak when he said you were a proficient?”
She again attempted to flick away the dried mud on her skirts. “I do play, however, I would never refer to myself as anything more than middling.”
“Smallwood said you were a tad bashful, I’d venture to say you are a wee bit unpretentious as well.”
“I’d say I am honest,” she replied, primly folding her hands and sitting straighter. “To be a proficient, one needs to practice for hours every day. Since my father fell ill, I’m afraid I haven’t been able to dedicate the necessary time to the craft.”
Martin leaned just enough to brush her shoulder once more, the slight touch sending a thrill through him. “I’ll wager you are far better than you let on.”
“And I’ll wager you are often accused of being an optimist.”
“Accused?” Martin slowed the team as they approached a crossroad. “I see optimism as a virtue.”
“Case in point, Your Grace.” Lady Julia glanced up at him, her eyes hooded by those incredibly long lashes.
He arched a single brow. “What’s wrong with being an optimist?”
“Absolutely nothing. As a general rule, I prefer to look at things positively, though I’d say I’m a realist. I like to take things at face value and not project my paradigms upon them, optimistic or nay.”
“Hmm, then I suppose I’ll require a demonstration so that I may form my own unbiased opinion.”
Her Ladyship’s mouth dropped open—then swiftly closed. “If I were going to remain in Town one might be arranged, however, unfortunately my talent or lack thereof will remain to be seen.”
Oh, how he liked her banter. She was sharp, for certain. “If only my sister had invited you to tea this afternoon, I’d be listening to you play at this very moment.”
Lady Julia gave her shoulders a little waggle the shift which, to Martin’s delight, situated her arm flush against his. “I rather like being out. It is too fine a day to spend it inside listening to dreary scales.”
His muscle flexed with his sideways glance. “You would play scales for a duke?”
She laughed again, such an infectious, happy sound. “I might be able to recall a recital piece from finishing school, though I make no promises.”
As they came to the end of the pathway, a thunderous noise arose from the west. Out of the corner of his eye, Martin saw a carriage coming at breakneck speed with a wide-eyed youth cracking a whip, driving his team like a demon.
“Whoa!” he shouted, pulling on his reins.
Both of the phaeton’s horses reared, jolting the seat as the carriage roared past. Gnashing his teeth, Martin fought to bring the pair under control. With all his strength, he pulled on the brake lever and forced his heels into the floorboards to keep from being flung to his death.
Beside him, a shrill scream turned his blood to ice. As he battled with the reins, Lady Julia was no longer beside him.
“God, no!”
After quickly tying the reins, Martin leapt to the ground. “My lady!” he shouted, sprinting toward a jumble of blue skirts and white, lacy petticoats.
But the lass didn’t move.
“Lady Julia!” He dropped to his knees and pulled her into his arms. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment, then rolled back while a bead of blood ran from her temple. Brushing away the stream, he cradled her against his chest. “Please, please, please tell me you are unharmed!”