Chapter 8
Gloriana gaped at him, and their eyes met. It was dim in that tavern, but not dim enough. The awareness in his eyes sent a bolt of desire through her, top to toe.
“However, I am an honorable man. Unlike Lord Hythwick, I shall not act upon my desires, however tempted I may be—or have been in the past.”
Oh, how dare he? She surged up, gripping the tankard. “There’s nothing honorable about being a coward.”
His eyes flashed, but he slouched at ease in his chair. “Shall I call you a few choice names too?”
She flung the tankard at him. That was certainly the behavior of a doxy. Porter dripped down his waistcoat. He rose slowly to his feet. A babble of crude commentary broke out. Hands shaking, she dug in her reticule, dropped a shilling on the table, and stalked out.
The sounds of laughter and jests, Philippe’s among them, followed her out the door.
She hurried away down the street, fury giving her courage, but underneath she was afraid. She had never been alone in the London streets at night. Shadows loomed everywhere. She fumbled in her reticule and pulled out the pistol, but she hoped she wouldn’t have to shoot anyone.
“Attendez-moi, Gloriana.” Wait for me.
Why was he following, to insult her even more? “Go away. I don’t need your escort.”
Philippe came up beside her. With a sudden, swift movement, he removed the pistol from her hand.
“Give it back!”
He put it in his pocket. “When we reach your house.”
She clenched her fists and gritted her teeth. “I hate you.”
“I do not like you much either, but I am responsible for you tonight.”
“You wouldn’t be,” she snarled, “if you hadn’t gone to search for the book. If you would mind your own business, as I asked you to, we could avoid each other. We might be lucky and never, ever encounter one another again.”
“You should be glad I am willing to search for the book. If I get caught burgling Hythwick’s house, chances are we never shall meet again.”
“I don’t want you to get caught. What would happen to Sophie and the children?” She threw up her hands. “It’s simple. You don’t like me, and I don’t like you. Therefore, why do you persist in trying to help me?”
In the light of a streetlamp, she watched him shrug. It was an elegant, insouciant, very French shift of the shoulders. “Perhaps I like the prospect of foiling Lord Hythwick.”
She thought for a moment. “That is a motive I can appreciate. Nevertheless—”
He interrupted. “Then let us call a truce. I apologize for almost calling you names.”
“Apologies are useless when they are not sincere, and even if yours is, which I doubt, mine most certainly would not be. I repeat: stay out of my business.”
“Mordieu,” he muttered. “You are impossible.”
“Can’t you understand? I couldn’t bear it if you or anyone else came to harm because of me. I even worried about Mr. Cartway tonight. It is my fault the book was stolen.”
Philippe shook his head. “You provided him with the opportunity, but the theft is Hythwick’s fault and no one else’s.”
“That’s not the impression you gave earlier.”
“I was angry. I treated you harshly.”
She huffed. “And you’re not angry now?”
“I am fatigued, Gloriana. Weary to the bottom of my heart.”
She was weary, too.
“Come, let us cry truce. It is not far to your house.” He offered her his arm.
She hesitated, but took it. It seemed childish not to, and she wasn’t in danger of longing for his love after what he had almost called her tonight. Was that what he thought of her—that she was nothing but a wanton who would use her charms to lure any man?
Had he completely forgotten the vows of love they had shared so long ago?
Or did he not believe she’d meant them?
He had made it entirely clear that he hadn’t meant them, so what right had he to insult her?
“You kept the Book of Hours by your bedside,” he said after a while, and when she bristled and drew away, he put up a hand. “No, no, I meant no offense.” He tucked her hand in his arm again.
She complied stiffly, trying to keep her anger fierce and alive to combat the simple pleasure of his touch.
“I wondered why you seem so eager, even desperate, to retrieve the book immediately, since sometimes these matters take time. Perhaps it is because the book is valuable, or because it belongs to your brother. Or perhaps, given your talent in drawing and watercolors, it’s because you love the so beautiful illuminations. But neither of these explains why you kept it by your bedside for use at the time of day when one contemplates a little and says one’s prayers.”
Flabbergasted, she said nothing. He’d been thinking about her. How was she supposed to combat that?
“I am . . . curious to learn about the religious Gloriana,” he said. “The one who mentions the proper uses of such a book.”
Even worse. Why must he ask about something so close to her heart?
“There is nothing to learn,” she said. “It is true that I liked to look at the illuminations, but also to read about the saints and to repeat the prayers aloud. Sometimes . . .” She hesitated. She never spoke about this. It was too private, but suddenly she needed him to know that she wasn’t a wanton woman, but an honorable one. “Sometimes I just hold it in my hands and draw comfort and—and strength from it.”
Except that she’d been drawing strength in order to pretend to be someone she wasn’t. How foolish and useless and utterly wrong.
“A much better use than locking it away,” he said. “I am sorry.”
“I used to take it everywhere with me when I traveled.”
“But not when you left Lancashire last summer? Is that why you didn’t discover the loss at once?”
She sighed. “Yes, I decided not to bring it then. I felt . . .” Unworthy, but she’d had enough of confessing. Why had she thought explaining about the book would make him think better of her? She was too tired to think clearly. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Perhaps not, but I am willing to try.”
Why? She wanted to ask, but she wasn’t willing to risk any more of his disdain. And yet, he’d been thinking about her. She glanced up at him in the dim light of a streetlamp. “You are a Catholic, are you not?”
He seemed to ponder her question. “By birth, yes.”
“You are not a religious man?”
“Not in a traditional manner. If you had witnessed the corruption of the Church, the burden placed upon the people . . .”
“I remember seeing a French engraving,” she said, “of a noble and a bishop both riding upon the back of a peasant.”
“Exactly so, but the behavior of religious leaders does not negate religion itself. It merely obliges one to find one’s own way.”
The chilly night wind picked up, and they hurried along the last few streets to her house. What a strange conversation to have with Philippe de Bellechasse.
At the door, she groped in her reticule for the key, but before she found it, the door flew open. “Thank the Lord you’re home, my lady,” Elspeth said, holding up a lantern, her features tight with worry.
“You needn’t have waited up for me. I was perfectly safe with Mr. Alexander and then Monsieur le Marquis.” Gloriana turned to say farewell to Philippe and realized he was shivering. “Oh, drat, your clothing is wet. You must be so cold! Come indoors.” Before he had a chance to refuse, she tugged him inside and shut the door.
~ ~ ~
Philippe was bloody cold, but more than that, he was taken by surprise. He was suspicious of women by long experience. He hoped to God this wasn’t another attempt to entrap him. He recognized the maid—the same one who’d opened the door to him at the Dower House in Lancashire.
“Elspeth, I lost my temper and spilled a pot of porter on Monsieur le Marquis, and he is like to catch his death of cold,” Gloriana said. “Please find a spare shirt and breeches. Gregory is about his size.” She turned to Philippe. “Gregory is my footman. Come, let’s go to the kitchen, as there are sure to be some warm coals in the stove.”
The kitchen sounded safe enough, and the maid would be there, too—not that servants were much use as chaperones. According to gossip, Gloriana had dispensed with her elderly female companion. He shouldn’t have come inside.
“Don’t take this as an apology, by the way,” she said. “As I told you earlier, I don’t want your death on my hands.”
“Nor do I, but it is improper for me to enter your house when you have no female relative living with you. It was foolish of you to get rid of her.”
“That is none of your business!” she cried.
“It endangers your reputation and renders you vulnerable to unwanted advances,” he said as stuffily as possible.
“You’re as bad as my brother. Stop fussing. No one will know you were here.”
Perhaps, but he didn’t trust her. He wouldn’t remain here any longer than absolutely necessary.
The maid led them down a dark corridor and a flight of stairs to the kitchen. She lit a branch of candles and set it on the deal table. The kitchen was blessedly warm. A boy slept on a pallet in a corner, wrapped in a rug.
“No, don’t wake him, Elspeth,” Gloriana said. “I’ll poke the fire into life. Just get the clothing, please.” She opened the stove and peered inside. “I’ll need to add more coals.”
More surprised by the second, Phillipe found the coal scuttle and brought it over. He tried to take the poker from her. “Let me do that.”
“I’m perfectly capable,” she began testily, and then added with a huff, “but likely you need the warmth.” She relinquished the poker. “I’ll heat some water. A good cup of tea will warm your insides.” She lifted a kettle from the stove, testing its weight. “This won’t be enough.”
The boy turned over and muttered something, pushing himself up on an elbow.
“It’s all right, Tom. Go back to sleep,” Gloriana said. The boy subsided with a grunt and began dutifully to snore, and she disappeared into what Philippe supposed was the scullery. He added coals and got the fire going. After a minute, he heard voices—hers and Elspeth’s—and Gloriana returned with a kettleful of water and set it on the stove.
“I don’t need tea,” he said belatedly. “A change of clothes, and I’ll be on my way.”
“Elspeth says you’ll want to sponge down to get rid of the odor of porter. She’ll put you in the butler’s pantry for privacy.”
“How very kind of her,” he managed. And where would Gloriana be whilst he was half naked?
“Elspeth is the kindest, best person in the world,” Gloriana said.
The maid appeared with an armful of clothing and a frown. “Nonsense, Miss Gloriana, I’m only doing my job. Off to bed with you. I’ll get Monsooer taken care of and on his way.”
“Thank you, Elspeth.” Gloriana turned to Philippe. “My pistol, please.”
He handed it to her. “Promise you’ll let me find the book for you.”
“You’re the one who should be promising—to stay out of my business. Thank you for bringing me home.” She lit herself a candle from the branch on the table and left.
He blew out a frustrated breath, watching her fade into the dim corridor. He shouldn’t have reprimanded her. Nothing was more certain to put her back up.
Elspeth poured hot water into a jug and preceded him to the butler’s pantry. She set a basin, a washcloth, and a towel on a shelf. “There you go, sir. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Elspeth.”
“And by the bye, sir—”
“Yes?”
“Pray accept my apologies on my mistress’s behalf. She’s even-tempered most of the time, but when her feelings are hurt, she’s liable to lash out.”
“Ah,” he said.
“I don’t know if it was something you said, sir, but I can always tell when she’s sore to the heart, poor love.”
How could the damned woman’s feelings be hurt by the truth?
Unless what he had implied wasn’t the truth.
He made short work of dressing and found, upon returning to the kitchen, that the maid had not only brewed a pot of tea, but had fetched a decanter of brandy.
“Just what you need to warm your insides.” She dolloped some into his steaming cup.
He couldn’t bring himself to refuse. Besides, each encounter with Gloriana left him more baffled. Perhaps this was an opportunity to understand her—or more likely to find more reasons to avoid her. He took a chair and warmed his hands on the cup. “Does your mistress often get a fire going herself?”
“Often enough that she knows what she’s doing, sir.” Elspeth poured a cup of tea for herself and set the pot at the edge of the stove to keep warm. Then she sat across from him—as if she considered herself his equal! How astonishing, particularly in the household of Gloriana Warren.
“It’s an unusual accomplishment in a lady,” he said, once he had mastered his surprise.
“True, but she tries to be considerate of those who serve her.” She offered him a loaf of sugar and a pair of nippers, which he refused, and then nipped off a small lump for herself. “Sometimes she comes down in the night to make tea or hot milk. She refuses to wake anyone to help. She says we need our sleep, and right glad we are of that. You wouldn’t believe how many ladies expect service from before dawn until midnight, and sometimes in the wee hours as well. It’s right cruel, sir.”
He sighed internally at this second point in Gloriana’s favor. Elspeth seemed to expect a response, so he said, “My parents were just such people, which is one reason we became estranged when I was young.” He wasn’t about to explain the other reason—the one which had caused the permanent rupture of their relationship. “I left home at the age of sixteen and never returned.”
“Tsk,” she said. “All on your own, sir?”
“Not quite. I found work, and I had help from courageous friends, and then the revolution took hold. My parents had other matters to worry them after that.”
“Such as keeping their heads, sir?”
“Precisely.”
“Tsk,” she said again. “It’s barbaric, that’s what it is. Nor is it right that a young nobleman such as yourself was reduced to working for a living. Not that you aren’t able, sir, but you weren’t bred to it.”
“It was good for me.” Maybe Elspeth didn’t know about his career as a thief, for she nodded at this and serenely sipped her tea. Again, his suspicions poked up their heads like mushrooms, but he quelled them. He needed information more than he needed to protect himself. Far worse trouble hung over his head than what a night in Gloriana’s house might cause.
“It was not long after Lord Garrison’s scandal,” she said, as if he’d asked a question. “The present Lord Garrison, that is. And then came Miss Daisy’s scandal.” She shook her head at that. “But she’s Lady Kerr now and very happy with Sir Julian.”
“He’s an excellent fellow and one of my closest friends.”
She smiled. “Is that so, sir? I’m happy to hear it.”
This might be merely politeness, or it might conceal an ulterior motive. Sir Julian would consider him obliged to marry Gloriana if he compromised her. He shouldn’t linger here. He drank some tea, scalding the roof of his mouth.
Maybe he was being a coward right now, but that didn’t explain why Gloriana thought him one.
“With two recent scandals in the family, old Lady Garrison was beside herself with worry that Miss Glow wouldn’t marry well, or at all,” Elspeth said. “One day she caught her sharing a jest with a footman and flew into a rage. She dismissed the footman without pay for daring to smile at Miss Glow.”
This was the sort of senseless, cruel act of which he would have thought Gloriana capable. During the year after that incident in the summerhouse, she’d shown herself to be a copy of her mother and her equally haughty aunt.
“Poor Miss Glow was distraught. She begged and pleaded with Lady Garrison to keep the footman. It wasn’t his fault, she said. She’d been the one to jest. Lady Garrison wouldn’t budge. A footman who doesn’t know his place must be got rid of, and how did Miss Glow expect to marry well if she hobnobbed with servants? There was a rare to-do, and Miss Glow lost her temper, and Lady Garrison threatened to dismiss me if she didn’t shape up, and Miss Glow swore she would run away if I were let go.” Elspeth choked up a little on those words. “She’s a lovely, loyal lady, but I would never have permitted her to do so.”
“I don’t suppose she would have waited for your permission,” he said ruefully.
Elspeth smiled again. “No, sir, most likely not.” She had a friendly smile . . . But no, she showed no sign of wishing to beguile him. Come to think of it, he knew she had a sweetheart—a big fellow, solid and muscular by the look of him, probably one of Lord Garrison’s footmen. He’d taken an evening walk last summer at Garrison House and glimpsed them kissing under cover of darkness.
Damnation, he had become so wary of women that even a pleasant-faced lady’s maid had become a threat! More evidence of incipient cowardice—although, once again, nothing to do with Gloriana’s comment.
It still irked him. No man likes to be called a coward, but at least he should know why he is so accused.
Elspeth took up the tale again. “Her ladyship took to her bed—her usual method of expressing a grievance, but to be just, her health was poor by then—and Miss Glow sent me after the footman with all she had left of her allowance. She wrote secretly to Lord Garrison in London, who gave the man his full year’s pay—more than was owed—and wrote him a good reference. But after that, Miss Glow learned to pretend, for—” The maid paused, perhaps thinking better of what she was about to say. “She’s a good actress, sir.”
“Is she,” he said, but it wasn’t a question. It seemed he knew very little about the real Gloriana Warren.
~ ~ ~
Sophie’s lover arrived so late that she’d begun to give up hope of seeing him that night. “Ah, mon Dieu, I am so happy you have come, Eric.” She shut the door and hurried ahead of him up the back stairs.
“I’ve just got here, love,” he murmured, “but I’ll be coming soon, I hope.”
She laughed softly. She loved his vulgar jests. He did not pretend to be something he was not.
In her bedchamber, he shucked his overcoat and laid it on a chair. “I met your brother tonight.”
“What?” she squeaked and clapped a hand over her mouth. What if one of the children woke? She hurried over to lock the door. “When? Does he know about us?”
“No.” He grinned. “You did not tell me he was a thief.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. She couldn’t admit to Philippe’s criminal past.
“I see why you couldn’t,” he said. “It so happens he’s friendly with Cartway, a burglar I’m acquainted with. And you are correct—he is in love with Miss Glow.”
“Tell me!” she said, so while she undressed him, he told her about playing bo-peep with Miss Glow, who, he said, was the tensest armful he’d ever encountered. “At first, I thought it was because she is an innocent, not used to such close proximity to a man.”
“A man with a reputation,” she said wryly. A reputation which he had mended as best he could. He was a clergyman and a schoolmaster. If their liaison were revealed, the consequences would be disastrous. Miss Glow’s school was a respectable one, and Eric risked his livelihood every time he sneaked into Sophie’s house.
“But when your brother came into the tavern, I realized it was also because she is in love with him.” He chuckled. “He scolded her, and he was jealous of me. Called me a libertine.”
“How dare he!” But Eric was laughing, so she knew he didn’t mind. He was so easygoing, so forgiving, and so kind. What if she told him why they couldn’t marry, and he decided to end the liaison? She couldn’t keep refusing without a valid reason, or he would think she didn’t love him.
If she really loved him, she should send him away.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“Nothing, why should there be?” She unbuttoned the fall of his breeches. She kept her eyes downcast, for she could not meet his gaze.
He ran his hand through her hair and kissed the top of her head. There was a pause—a silence that frightened her. Don’t ask me to marry you again. Please don’t.
He didn’t. Instead, he said, “Between us, Cartway and I forced him to accompany Miss Glow home. We shall see what comes of that.”
“He refuses to take her to bed. He insists he does not love her.”
Her lover snorted. “He couldn’t keep his eyes off her.” Judging by the way Eric was looking at Sophie, he felt much the same way about her. “We don’t have long tonight, love. Let’s disport ourselves while we can.”
In other words, until it is over. She thrust that thought away and kissed him with all the desperate passion in her heart.