Trapped by Scandal (19 page)

“Good afternoon, Hero.” Marcus bowed, his gaze running appreciatively over her. She wore a riding habit of deep bronze velvet edged with gold braid, the skirt swept up to one side, and a golden feather in her hat, its brim turned up rakishly on one side. He offered his arm and escorted her down to the pavement where her horse was waiting with a groom at its head.

“I must say, it's hard to imagine you as you were when I first met you,” he remarked with a laugh. “You clean up remarkably well.”

“I might say the same about you,” she retorted, taking the reins and bending her knee for the groom to hoist her up into the saddle. It was true. Marcus cut a very fine figure of an English gentleman-about-town in his dove-gray riding britches, close-fitting black coat, and immaculately starched white stock. His high-crowned beaver hat sported a black plume, and his boots shone like glass.

He laughed. “We've come a long way since then.”

“Yes,” she agreed, and for a moment, they were both silent, their expressions grave. The memories of those grim days were not easily banished.

“How are Marie Claire and the baby?” he asked after a while. “Alec must be over the moon.”

“He is, and they're all doing splendidly,” she responded, before adding, “I saw William yesterday.” She shot him a sideways glance as they trotted around the square.

“Ah.” His tone was noncommittal. “Yes, he's been in town for a couple of weeks.”

“I ran into him the other night at a ridotto at Ranelagh.” She paused for an instant before saying, “He wasn't best pleased. He seemed to think I should be living the life of a maiden on the marriage mart, which struck me as a little strange in the circumstances.”

Marcus's expression didn't change. “William has many different facets, I've noticed over the time I've known him. The Guillaume of Paris might view life and its rules very diffently from the Viscount St. Aubery in the midst of London Society.”

“I suppose so.” She sounded doubtful. “But can you think of a reason why he should become so exercised about
my
reputation?”

“He cares for you, Hero. You know that well enough.”

She was silent again as they started to leave the busy streets of the city behind them, riding alongside the Thames towards Richmond Park. “Sometimes,” she observed slowly after some time, “he makes it difficult to believe that.”

Marcus sighed. “Hero, my dear girl, I don't understand William very well, either. He holds his past and his secrets close to his chest, and he has never confided in me anything that was not related to the work he does.”

“I understand, and we'll leave the subject alone, unless, of course . . .” She shot him a mischievous glance from under her lashes. “You would care to tell me what business he has in London at present.”

Marcus laughed. “You really are an outrageous crea
ture, Hero. You know perfectly well I cannot divulge anything I know about that. If you want to know, ask him yourself.”

“I tried that,” she said glumly. “For some reason, he wouldn't tell me.” They turned through the gates of the vast expanse of Richmond Park. “Let us gallop. Petra has been itching to get her head since we left the roadway.”

“Then give it to her.” He held back for a moment as Hero relaxed the reins a fraction and nudged the mare with her heels. Petra shot off like a bolt from a cannon, and Marcus followed on his gray gelding, galloping along the broad ride between the trees.

The subject of William did not come up again during the three hours of their ride, and it was close to five o'clock in the gathering dusk when they returned to Grosvenor Square. Hero was exhilarated as Marcus helped her dismount, and she gave the reins to the groom, instructing, “Rub her down well and give her a bran mash. She's had a long and hard ride.”

“Aye, m'lady.” The man touched his forelock and led the horse away to the mews at the rear of the house.

Hero turned to Marcus with a warm smile, her hand extended. “Thank you for that, Marcus. It was just what I needed.”

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed. “Your company, as always, dear girl, was pure delight.”

“If you have nothing better to do this evening, would you come for dinner? William is joining us. We're celebrating the baby. Actually, we're celebrating the baby every minute of the day at the moment,” she added with
a laugh. “But if you would join us, it would be an even greater celebration.”

Marcus bowed. “I would be delighted. Are you sure I won't be in the way?”

“No, of course not. Aunt Emily will preside, of course, but she always excuses herself early, so we can have a cozy evening. Not quite the old days but . . .” She shrugged, her head to one side in a quizzical question mark. “At seven o'clock?”

“At seven o'clock. Give Alec and Marie Claire my congratulations until then.” He bowed again and remounted, waiting until Hero had vanished into the house.

Hero ran upstairs to her bedchamber, unpinning her hat, her mind occupied with thoughts of washing her hair in a hot bath before the fire. The ride had exercised rather different muscles from those that had been used to such good effect the preceding night, but her entire body craved a long soak in warm water.

EIGHTEEN

H
ero looked at herself in the cheval glass, extending one daintily shod foot to reveal her silk-stockinged ankle. Her gown was simple enough, silver-threaded rose-pink damask, caught under her breasts with a silver band, the little puff sleeves and low neckline edged in silver lace. The Directoire style suited her tall, slender frame better than the stiffened petticoats and tight bodices fashionable a mere ten years earlier, and her bosom was high and full enough to support the low neckline without additional corseting.

Maisie fastened the diamond collar around her throat as Hero screwed in the small diamond ear drops. Her freshly washed hair, fragrant with orange flower water, was drawn up into a rich knot on top of her head, carefully curled side ringlets clustered casually around her face, and a silver fillet banded her forehead. It was exactly the impression of artful carelessness she had been aiming for, she decided, smiling a rather complacent smile. Somehow it seemed very important tonight that her appearance be a statement both alluring and elegant.

She picked up her ivory fan, and Maisie draped a shawl
of gossamer silk over her elbows. The maid stood back to assess the effect and nodded significantly. “You look lovely, Lady Hero. There'll be lucky gentlemen downstairs tonight.”

Hero's answering grin was complicit. “There's only one I'm trying to impress, Maisie, and I think this might do it.”

Maisie grinned back. Over the years since she had started to wait upon Lady Hero, when they were both barely out of childhood, she had quickly succumbed to her mistress's easy ways and frank confidences. It had taken a while for the official constraints of the mistress-servant relationship to develop these deeper ties, but Hero still remembered how it had felt when she first realized how much she needed another woman of her own age to confide in. Maisie never overstepped the line, and Hero was always careful not to involve her directly in anything that would cause the girl trouble, but the company of a trusted confidante was something she treasured.

“You need not wait up for me, Maisie,” she now said. “But would you make sure there are plenty of candles, the fire is well lit, and there's more wood in the basket? Also decanters of port and cognac and a basket of those Florentine biscuits that Cook makes.”

Maisie's expression didn't change. She bobbed a curtsy with a murmured, “Of course, m'lady,” and went to open the door for Hero.

Hero hesitated for a moment at the top of the sweep of stairs leading down to the ground floor. Jackson was greeting the evening's guests at the doorway. William's voice
rose clearly, Marcus's an instant after, so they must have arrived together.

She laid a hand on the polished banister and began to descend the stairs. “Good evening, gentlemen. I bid you welcome.” She paused for effect halfway down.

“Lady Hero.” Marcus bowed deeply.

“Hero.” William's greeting was more amused than anything, an eyebrow raised, a twitch of his lips, as he moved to the base of the stairs and held out his hand to her as she continued her descent. “You look magnificent, my dear.”

“I was wondering if you'd notice,” she muttered, taking his hand, rather spoiling the effect of her splendid entrance.

He laughed, raising her hand to his lips. “How could I not?”

She gave him a mock pout and turned back to the stairs. “Alec and my aunt are in the drawing room. Won't you come up?”

Jackson moved ahead of her on the stairs and led the way, flinging open the double doors to the drawing room with a flourish. “Viscount St. Aubery and Sir Marcus Gosford, my lady.”

Emily fluttered towards the visitors, a welcoming smile on her sweet-natured face. “Gentlemen, I bid you most welcome.”

Alec moved to the sideboard and poured two glasses of sherry for his guests. The preliminaries over, he said, “Marcus, would you mind if I extracted William for a few minutes? Marie Claire wishes to see him, but she's not really up to general visiting yet.”

“Good Lord, no, not at all. Give her my best love.” Marcus took a seat next to Emily on a sofa. “Lady Emily and I shall have a most comfortable chat, shall we not, ma'am?”

Hero followed William and her brother from the drawing room. She knew what Marie Claire and Alec were going to ask William and was most curious to see how he would respond.

Marie Claire was propped up against cushions on a daybed beside the fire. She wore a loose embroidered dressing robe, a cashmere rug draped across her knees, the baby lying swaddled in shawls in her cradle beside her. Marie Claire held out her hand to William as he came in and went instantly to her side, kissing her hand and then lightly kissing her cheek.

“Congratulations, my dear. You look remarkably well.”

“Thank you. You're too kind, as always.”

“As always?” He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I dare swear there have been occasions when you did not believe that.”

She laughed a little self-consciously. “Well, perhaps once or twice. But I always knew there was no choice. Would you care to hold little Fleur?”

William looked down into the cradle at the baby, whose eyes were wide open, the bright blue of her mother's, but the scrappy fringe of hair on her forehead had glints of her father's chestnut. He bent and lifted the infant with a practiced ease that surprised his audience.

Hero watched, fascinated. William held the baby as if he had been holding infants for years. He gave her his little
finger, and her fat, dimpled fist closed over it. He smiled and lifted her, kissing the tip of her smudge of a nose.

“She's lovely, my dears. I congratulate you both.” His voice was warm, his eyes soft, as he smiled down at the baby. He held her easily in the crook of his arm, and she gazed up at him with a curious intensity.

“William, Alec and I would like you to stand godfather to Fleur,” Marie Claire said softly, almost hesitantly. “Would you agree? It would make us so happy.”

William's expression changed, became somber, the muscles of his cheek tightening. “You do me too much honor, Marie Claire. Be honest, now, do you both really think I am the right person for such a responsibility?”

“Without you, Fleur would not have been born,” Marie Claire stated with unusual stubbornness. “I would not have been alive. We
know
you are the right person. Hero has agreed to stand godmother, and we know that the two of you will protect her whatever happens.”

“Indeed, William, you
must
agree,” Alec said. “For friendship's sake. After all we have been through together, there is no one else but you we would trust to take care of Fleur.”

William held the child, looking down at her face, at the unblinking stare. And he fought the surge of emotion, of loss, of inadequacy, that hit him sometimes with breathtaking force. How could he possibly accept responsibility for this fragile life, yet another fragile life, when he had so little to give?

Hero put her hand on his arm. Her voice was soft. She did not understand the meaning of his expression, only
the profound emotional loss it showed. “My love, you and I together, we can do this. We can stand up for Fleur. It means so much to Marie Claire, to Alec.”

The silence seemed to last forever, and finally, William bent over and placed the baby back in her cradle. “Very well. If you trust me, then I must trust myself. I am deeply honored.” He kissed Marie Claire again and extended his hand to Alec. “I swear I will do everything in my power to honor my commitment to this little one.”

And once again, the ordinary burdens of an ordinary life settled on his shoulders, together with all the unordinary burdens of a dangerous and difficult existence, one that he had freely chosen. As he had freely chosen all his responsibilities.

Except for Hero. He didn't think he had had any choice at all when it came to accepting Hero as his love and his responsibility.

“We must go down to Marcus, my dear,” Alec said, leaning over his wife, adjusting the rug over her knees. “We cannot leave him alone with Emily for too much longer.”

“No, of course not.” She smiled up at her husband. “And thank him again for me for the beautiful flowers.” She gestured to the lavish display of winter jasmine on the mantelpiece. “So delicate and such a delicious fragrance. I did write to thank him, but if you could . . .”

“Of course. Rest now, sweetheart. Shall I ring for Nan to put you back to bed?”

“No, I shall stay here a little longer. I have grown tired of my bed. Tomorrow I shall come downstairs.”

“We'll discuss that with Nan and Dr. Barrett,” Alec stated firmly.

Marie Claire wrinkled her nose at him, and he laughed, blowing her a kiss as he followed William and Hero downstairs to the drawing room.

Aunt Emily presided over the dinner table with her customary air of bemused amiability. Her dining companions were scrupulously courteous, keeping the conversation as general as possible for such a close-knit group, with such a shared past. But it was with relief that Hero rose with her chaperone when Emily gave her a significant nod as the dishes for the last course were cleared away.

“We will see you in the drawing room for coffee, gentlemen,” Emily said gently, as William beside her rose to draw back her chair. “Thank you, sir.” She bestowed a smile upon him. “I shall seek my bed soon, so don't sit too long over the port, Alec.”

“We'll be in soon, ma'am.” Alec and Marcus both stood up, waiting until the ladies had withdrawn, not without Hero shooting her brother a warning look over her shoulder as she went out of the room.

“Ten minutes,” she mouthed at him.

“Hero is not going to be best pleased if we don't follow them quickly,” her brother remarked as he fetched the port decanter from the sideboard and filled his guests' glasses. “Do we have further news of the Lizard?”

“Not a sign of him since I saw him in White's.” William twisted the stem of his glass between his fingers. “And it's the oddest sensation, but I have no feeling whatsoever that I am being watched. What of you, Marcus?”

Marcus shook his head. “No, all quiet. If I didn't know better, I'd say he's not even noticed I'm back in England.”

“Oh, you can be sure he has,” William said. “After that narrow escape in Austria.”

“I don't know about that,” Alec said, leaning forward a little. “What narrow escape?”

“Yes, indeed, what narrow escape?” Hero's voice preceded her as she emerged from behind a tapestry screen that concealed the door to the butler's pantry beside the dining room. “You cannot have interesting conversations like this that exclude me. It's really not just.” She helped herself to a glass of port and resumed her seat at the table, looking at the three men expectantly.

“Have you abandoned Emily?” Alec asked.

“No, of course not. She decided she had a headache coming on, a touch of her neuralgia, so I persuaded her that you would not consider her in the least discourteous if she took herself to bed in the capable hands of Harper,” his sister informed him. “And since I have no interest in sitting alone behind the coffee cups, I came to join you.” She sipped her port. “So what happened in Austria?”

“The Duc d'Enghien is raising an émigré army to go back into France and attack the Directory,” William explained, reflecting that there was no time like the present to do what he had already resigned himself to doing. If Hero was going to be involved willy-nilly, then so be it. “We were in Austria, gathering supplies and revenue for the émigré army. The Lizard was not there, but his agents were all over Vienna, ferreting about for information about the size and efficacy of the army, whether it would
become strong enough to invade France. The Royalist uprisings in Paris were being put down savagely whenever one raised its head aboveground, so any force strong enough for an invasion had to be massed and supplied from beyond the borders.”

“French agents were crawling all over Vienna and the surrounding countryside,” Marcus put in. “William discovered a plot to capture the Duke and three other leaders of the army when they gathered one night in an inn close to the French border. We managed to warn Enghien and his men and got them out of the inn just as the French agents entered the inn through the back way. It was something of a mad scramble,” he added with a rueful headshake. “William and two others fought hand-to-hand while we got the Duke and his retinue into the surrounding forest. By the time I got back to help, the French agents had fallen back, licking their wounds, and we just made it out of Austria into Italy ahead of them.”

“I wish I'd been there,” Hero said.

“Well, I, for one, am very glad you were not,” William declared. “However, we could use your help now, but on one condition.” His golden gaze held hers with a hard steadiness.

“And what's that?” Hero asked carefully. She took a macaroon from a platter and nibbled its edge, returning his stare.