Chapter 17 #3
“How inconvenient,” Jem drawled. “Hera has just agreed to accompany me on a stroll through the gardens.”
He drew her hand into the crook of his arm, bringing him close to her body. Her glove extended over her elbow, leaving only a thin band of skin between it and her sleeve, but that skin erupted in gooseflesh as she recalled the last time she’d been this close to Jem.
Draped in gorgeous silk, caught in an embrace both reverent and hungry, feeling her world change and shift around this new information of what it felt like to kiss a man—not just any man, but Jeremiah Falstead, Smart Jeremy, Lord Rudyard. Jem.
So many names for him, and she still couldn’t be sure the man she’d seen—the man, God save her, she’d let herself grow attached to—was real.
The crowd outside had grown in size and boisterousness, and torches studded the tall, slender trees lining the path as Jem drew her along.
Light flickering over his face showed a set jaw, a muscle twitching in his cheek.
He was furious. With her? The wildness reared again.
Perhaps this was why proper young unmarried girls weren’t to kiss men.
That awakening, like the sleeping beauty stirred by the brush of the prince’s lips, brought all manner of hitherto unacknowledged desires to life.
Besides, she was the one furious with him.
“The evening is very pleasant, is it not?” he asked after they had walked a good distance in silence.
“Exceedingly pleasant,” Lucasta said in a stony voice.
The grounds were brightly lit and not extensive—one essentially circled the Rotunda when strolling through Ranelagh—but she was alone with him and unchaperoned.
Young ladies, so she had been instructed by her lady aunt, were never to be unchaperoned.
Not in the retiring room, not at the home of a friend, not ever.
Aunt Patience lived in a world where unscrupulous men waited in shadows to fall upon unsuspecting girls and spirit them away to ruin, like Barbary corsairs.
But Jem, it seemed, had contrived to ruin her in plain sight. She clenched her teeth.
“The musicians seem competent,” he remarked. “This group ahead, in particular, seems unobjectionable.”
Was he trying to send her up in the boughs?
“They are playing one of Haydn’s Russian quartets.” The bright, singing strings were the antithesis of her aggravated mood. “I am particularly fond of Haydn’s quartets. Four voices in counterpoint and harmony, blending together for a beautiful effect. How rarely one finds that in real life.”
He stopped and turned to face her. Her eyes were on a level with his mouth, set in a determined line.
“You seem to have another eager swain.”
“You are the one who set them upon me.” She lifted her eyes to his. “All of a sudden I became fascinating to those of ton, and now I have crowds of people who know nothing about me vying to admire and pet me.”
“You called me Smart Jeremy,” he said.
“You called me and my friends Gorgons.”
That muscle in his jaw twitched. “You accused me of thinking those of other races inferior.”
“You were the one who said Selina looked like a zebra.”
“Your uncle the baron threw his daughter at my head. For no reason other than that I am presumed heir to a marquessate, and the estate is known to be solvent.”
“None of that was my doing,” Lucasta answered, stung. “Perhaps you ought not so flirt so openly with Clara Bellwether if you don’t wish to be seen as available.”
“And now you’ve brought Bertie into your set.” His nostrils flared as he breathed heavily through them. “When she is at a vulnerable moment, still grieving her father and her loss of status, and living with my horrible Aunt Payne.”
“You brought Bertie to me.” Lucasta’s eyes filled with tears.
She hoped the growing shadows hid them. “That’s botched your plans, has it?
You meant to make a cartoon of me, to see if poor Lucasta Lithwick could become fashionable all at a word from Smart Jeremy.
Such power you have! Mongol kings and Chinese emperors now accost me wherever I go.
Just what was your aim, Rudyard? To toy with people’s emotions, simply because you can?
” She faltered there, and bit off the rest of what she wanted to say.
“You speak to me of toying!” His anger unleashed. “When you have poured Judith full of stories of parties and balls, made her long for a world she can never be a part of, and let her think—”
He clamped his lips together, nostrils flaring again, and spoke the rest through gritted teeth. “You tried to persuade her to perform at your benefit. To play for others. In public. Do you have any idea what they will do to her?”
“She will be admired, as is her right,” Lucasta retorted. “She has a skill she wants to share for a good cause, and she asked me—”
Abruptly she reined in the words. Just as she wanted to bring Judith out of the shadows, Judith was trying the same for her. She saw the shape of Lucasta’s dream and wanted that for her, wanted to share it with her, a truly generous, warm-hearted act.
“You are trying to persuade her to expose herself on a stage, in front of people who would gossip and judge her and examine her for flaws. They will cut her terribly, make her the target of their mockery, and you’ll give her hopes that she—when she can never—”
“She can do whatever she wishes, and much more, if you would allow her even the smallest breath of freedom.” Lucasta stamped her foot.
“Instead you keep her swaddled in cotton as though she is a fragile infant. She is a woman full-grown who knows her own mind. Why do you never let her make her own choices? You keep her on a tighter leash than you would a lap dog.”
“Because they will hurt her!” Jem shouted. “I will not have her exposed to such cruelty. You have made her your pet, like your poor little foundlings, that blind girl you’re so fond of—”
“Do not speak to me of making people projects! When you have played the Pygmalion with me, dressing me in gowns of your choosing, driving me about in your very smart and treacherous carriage, showing me in your box at the opera! For what purpose?” she cried.
“What could you possibly hope to accomplish?”
He loomed perilously close, nostrils flaring again. “I have played the what with you?”
“You know very well what I am talking about!” She fought back the tears threatening to spill over. Except Pygmalion fell in love with his creation. The man who had notoriously scorned women burned with such devotion that the goddess of love granted him his deepest wish.
It was the wrong parallel to make, of course. Rudyard had not been falling for her; he’d been plotting her ruin.
No doubt he meant for her to fall into the same trap he thought she was laying for Judith.
Become an object of fascination, all this attention paid to her, and turn into an object of pity and derision when the world saw the truth.
Why would he be so angry at a simple invitation unless he’d meant for Lucasta to fall, and now was furious that she might bring his sister down with her?
“It must stop now, Rudyard.” Her voice broke, and she cursed herself. She must keep control at all costs. The charade of his interest had to end, here and now, before she ended up heartbroken, wrecked by her own foolish hopes, gutted by his disdain.
“I agree,” he said coldly. “Thank you for your services in providing music lessons for my sister. But I’m afraid that association is at an end.”
He stepped back, the torchlight lending satanic shadows across his face, and Lucasta felt her heart break in truth.
“No,” she choked. “You can’t deny me Judith. She’s learning so much. And I care for her—”
“As her guardian and brother, it is my duty to protect her from influences that might lead her astray,” he said, and that voice she had thought sounded like velvet and brandy together had the quality of cold steel. “I am sure you can understand.”
A new horror froze Lucasta where she stood. “The concert—the foundlings? Are you going to tell the governors to—” She couldn’t even voice the idea.
“I think it is too late to change any plans.” His face was as unyielding as a wooden mask.
“I will not attempt to influence the board of governors in either direction. But I hope you will not count on my support or my contribution to the scheme. It will cause Judith distress if she knows I am involved when she cannot be.”
“Cause Judith distress,” Lucasta echoed. And Lucasta’s distress mattered not at all.
She turned away, blinded by tears, hoping the path she chose led to the safety of her friends in the Rotunda, and away from him.
This had been his plan all along: to hold out something tantalizing and exhilarating, to make her dream of something she’d never considered possible, then crush her dream in one careless fist.
“I shall escort you back,” he said sharply. “You can’t be left alone in this crowd.”
“As if you care for my safety,” she cried. “As if you care anything but your own pride.”
She plunged into the crowd, glad she didn’t have Minnie’s spear, for she would have been tempted to ply it on anyone who prevented her from fleeing Jeremiah Falstead as quickly as possible.
She felt him beside her, clearing the path as she fought her way back to the building and refuge, providing protection when he was the last person she wanted to be near her.
When he was the one responsible for shattering her hopes and grinding them beneath the heel of his gleaming boots.
“Lucasta! Dearest, what is the matter?” Cici stood with the Gorgons by the orchestra box, and she held out her hands as Lucasta rushed toward them. “Has someone hurt you?”
The urge to tell everything was overwhelming, but Bertie turned to her as well, watching with alarm as Jem, stone-faced, shouldered his way toward them. Trevor stepped forward to block his path.
“What have you done, Rudyard?”