CHAPTER ELEVEN
BROMWELL WRAPPED HIS ARMS around her tightly. “Callie, what happened? What’s wrong?”
“Oh, Brom…” She clung tightly to him. “Nothing happened. There’s nothing wrong, really.”
And, strangely enough, she thought, it was true. Now that Bromwell was here, everything was all right. She no longer felt anxious or afraid, not with his hard chest against her head, his heart beating in steady rhythm beneath her ear.
“Where is everyone?” he asked. “Why the devil are you here by yourself?”
“I’m not,” Callie said lightly, releasing her hold on him a trifle reluctantly and taking a step back. With a wry smile, she gestured toward Mr. Swanson’s slumped form.
The earl turned to look at him, his frown deepening. “Bloody hell! Is the man incapacitated?”
Callie nodded. “I think everyone had too much of the punch, frankly. I feel a bit fuzzy-headed myself.”
“But where is my sister? Where are Lord and Lady Radbourne and the others? Why did they go off and leave you here alone?”
“I don’t know why Irene and Gideon are not here. They never arrived. And everyone else has gone to dance.” She gestured vaguely toward the promenade area. “I was beginning to think that you were not going to come, either.”
“Of course I was coming. Daphne said…” He stopped, his frown deepening. “How long have you been here?”
“I’m not sure. It seems like forever.”
“Obviously long enough for Mr. Swanson to be in his cups,” Bromwell added dryly.
“Yes. We were here well before ten, for Miss Swanson was very eager to arrive before the orchestra began its second performance.”
Bromwell gazed out at the promenade area for a long moment, then let out a sigh and said, “I cannot imagine what possessed my sister to leave you here with only Mr. Swanson. Was he like this when she left?”
Callie nodded and gave a wry smile. “He was not much protection.”
“I should think not.” He grimaced. “I apologize for not arriving sooner. I must have mistaken the time Daphne said. It will be a wonder now if Lady Haughston allows me to darken your door again.”
“It might be best if Lady Haughston did not know exactly what transpired here tonight,” Callie said. “She will only worry. And I am sure there is no likelihood of it happening again.”
Because she would never again make the mistake of accepting one of Lady Swithington’s invitations, Callie added silently.
Bromwell nodded, seeming a trifle distracted. “Well…I shall discuss this later with Daphne. Right now I think it would be best if I saw you home.”
“Yes. I would appreciate that,” Callie agreed. She hesitated. “Although Miss Swanson and Miss Turner are still here. We should make sure that they are all right.”
“Surely they are not alone, as well.”
“No, they went to dance with Mr. Pacewell and Mr. Sackville.”
“Pacewell and Sackville. Good Gad, those two peacocks?” Bromwell rolled his eyes. “They are fools, but the ladies are unlikely to come to any harm with them. The important thing is to see you home, and after that I will return and find the others.”
Callie smiled. “Thank you.”
He allowed a smile finally and his hand came up to cup her cheek. “I am deeply sorry, Callie, that you have been subjected to this debacle.”
“It was not so bad,” she lied. Indeed, looking up into his eyes, she found the memory of her earlier anxiety fading rapidly.
“It is good of you to say so, but I know full well that this evening was not the kind of situation that you are accustomed to. I shall speak with my sister about it.”
“I do not wish to cause any hard feelings between you and Lady Swithington.”
“Do not worry.” He smiled again. “We shall not disown one another. But I fear that Daphne has been too long out of Society. She does not, perhaps, recall, how restrictive the rules are governing the behavior of a young unmarried lady. Nor is she accustomed to the sort of strong punch they serve here. She clearly was not thinking. Now, pull up the hood of your domino and we shall brave the mad throng outside.”
Matching his deeds to his words, he reached out and took the edges of her hood in his hands, gently pulling it up over her black curls. His hands lingered for a moment on the material as he gazed down into her face. Then, as if coming to himself, his hands dropped away and he turned, politely offering Callie his arm.
She laid her hand on his arm, and they left through the back door, walking around to the wide promenade in front of their ornately decorated box.
They paused, and Callie gazed around at the scene. Now that her anxiety was gone, she was able to enjoy the way the gardens looked, and she wished that Bromwell had been there the entire evening. Then she could have enjoyed everything without worrying. She turned toward him entreatingly.
“Could we not just walk around a bit before we go? I have seen very little of the gardens.”
He looked torn. “It is not the thing, your being without a chaperone.”
“But I am not in any danger,” Callie protested. “You are with me.”
“There are those who would say that I am the danger.”
She smiled. “But we both know that you are not.”
Only minutes before, she remembered, she had wondered painfully if Bromwell would have acted in the same manner as all the others. But as soon as he had arrived, she had known that it had been foolish to even consider such a possibility. She was not exactly sure what had happened here tonight, or why. Lady Swithington’s actions had been exceedingly odd—more than she was going to admit to the woman’s brother—and Callie could not escape the suspicion that the way events had unfolded had been somehow calculated by Lady Daphne, though she could not understand her reasons for it.
But whatever Lady Daphne had done, whether by accident or design, Callie was positive that Lord Bromwell had had nothing to do with it. She was also sure that had he been there throughout the whole evening, he would not have permitted things to get out of hand. The astonishment, even anger, on his face had told her everything she needed to know.
He smiled back at her, his expression softening. “All right. We shall walk around a bit. It is time for the fireworks, and it would be too bad to miss that.”
Callie agreed, and they set off along the promenade. Bromwell left the main path, choosing one of the walkways branching off through the trees. Lanterns hung along the paths, illuminating them with a soft glow, and were scattered throughout the trees beyond, twinkling like little stars through the branches. Now and then they came upon a “ruin,” artistically lighted, or a sparkling fountain.
There was a pop, and they stopped and looked up to see the first of the fireworks splash across the sky. The fireworks continued, a dazzling display of colors. They strolled on, stopping now and then to admire a particularly glorious burst of light.
As they walked, the paths grew narrower and more empty of people, until they were by themselves. In the distance, Callie heard a female giggle, followed by the sound of running feet. After that, they were left alone in silence.
They reached a stone bench, set beside a small pond, and they sat down to watch the spectacular end of the fireworks. Then, finally, the display was done, leaving only silence and the acrid scent of gunpowder lingering in the air.
“It was lovely,” Callie told Bromwell. “Thank you for staying.”
“I am only sorry that the remainder of your evening was spoiled,” he replied, smiling at her.
She shook her head. “It does not matter.”
He reached out and stroked his forefinger down her cheek. “You are so beautiful. I wish…”
“You wish what?” Callie asked when he did not continue.
Bromwell shook his head. “I’m not sure. Only that things were different.”
Callie frowned a little. “What things? What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Do not listen to me. I fear I am in a mood tonight.” He stood up, going over to the edge of the pond.
Callie rose and followed him, reaching out to take his hand in both of hers. “What sort of mood? Can I help in any way?”
“Would that you could.” He turned and looked down at her, his eyes roaming over her face hungrily. “I have been thinking of you ever since our ride to Richmond Park. Indeed, ever since I first saw you. Sometimes I think you have bewitched me.” His voice was hoarse, the words seemingly pulled from him.
Heat spread through Callie, and she thought that he must feel it in her hands.
“I did not mean to,” she told him, her voice a trifle shaky.
“I know. That is part of your allure. You are unstudied, natural, yet you pull a man toward you with only a look.”
“I have never noticed that I was so irresistible,” she remarked, struggling to retain a light tone.
“Then perhaps it is only I who feels your power.” He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it. His lips were like velvet on her skin, sending a shiver through her. “In truth, I would be glad for that.”
He turned her hand over and laid a kiss in her palm. Unconsciously, Callie’s hand curled into a fist, as if enclosing his kiss there. She was very aware of the blood pulsing through her veins. She could feel it pounding from her heart and thundering through her.
She wanted his arms around her again. She wanted to taste his mouth, to be enveloped by the warmth and scent of him, to feel his hard body pressing into hers as it had the other day at the park. She had not known temptation with any other man, but with this one, she felt consumed by it.
He lifted his head and looked at her.
In the next instant Callie was in his arms and their lips were melded together. Fire flashed to life inside them, fierce and demanding. He crushed her to him, his mouth digging into hers, and Callie wrapped her arms around him, wanting only to be closer and ever closer. He groaned, and she could feel the tremor that ran through his hard body. His lips left her mouth and trailed across her cheek to her ear, nibbling at the sensitive lobe and teasing it with his teeth.
He murmured her name, his voice thick with desire, as he kissed her ear, her face, her throat. Her skin flamed to life wherever his lips touched, and she trembled, full of inchoate yearnings.
With some last vestige of reason, he broke their embrace and pulled her off the path and deep into the shadows. Callie went with him easily, driven by the hammering pulse deep in her loins. They kissed again and again, and his hands slipped beneath her domino, roaming over her body. She could feel the heat of his skin even through her dress, and when his hand slid up onto the rise of her breasts above her dress, his touch was searing. He caressed the soft orbs, his fingers sliding between her skin and her clothes, and Callie wished fiercely that she could feel his hands all over her body in the same way.
He spread the sides of her domino apart and laid his lips against the soft, quivering flesh of her breasts. Callie sucked in a quick breath of surprised pleasure, and she dug her fingers into his coat, holding on as though anchoring herself in the world that was now spinning around her. Her own body was a stranger to her—her loins throbbing, and a hot damp ache growing between her legs, so pleasurable that it was almost painful. She wanted to be with him, to know him in some deep primitive way. She realized that, shockingly, she longed to wrap her legs around him and press herself against him in the most intimate manner.
Bromwell’s hands went down her back and curved over her buttocks, his finger digging into the soft mounds of flesh and pushing her against the hard ridge of his desire. Callie trembled, her breath rasping in her throat, aware that she was teetering somehow on the brink of a precipice, eager and uncertain and just a little frightened all at once.
He made a low, frustrated noise and broke from her. “Sweet Lord, Callie…”
Wrapping her domino tightly around her, he pulled her to him and tightened his arms around her, leaning his forehead against her hair. She could hear his breath rasping harshly in his throat; she was enveloped in his heat. They stood for a long moment, their pulses gradually slowing.
“If we continue this,” Bromwell said at last, “I shall forget all honor entirely.” He pressed his lips into her hair. “I must take you home.”
He was right, she knew, and yet Callie did not want to leave. She wanted this moment to go on forever. She wanted to race onward to the finish that her body so ardently desired.
It occurred to her that she had been standing outside, hidden only by the shadows, kissing Bromwell in a way that anyone would label as far bolder than any of the behavior of the other women in the supper box tonight. It was hypocritical of her, she supposed, to have been so shocked at Lady Daphne’s public display with her swain, yet fling herself into passionate kisses with Daphne’s brother.
She had acted in a most immoral way, she was sure. Yet she could not bring herself to regret it. Indeed, at the moment the only regret she felt was that she could not continue to kiss him.
Callie opened her eyes and leaned her head back, looking up into Bromwell’s face. His lips were slightly reddened and sensually relaxed, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded. Just the sight of his face, so clearly stamped with desire, stirred her.
There was a difference, she thought, between her and Lady Daphne. Daphne had been playing fast and loose with a man she barely knew; Callie suspected that almost any man who had passed by would have served. But Callie could not imagine feeling like this with any other man in the world. It was Lord Bromwell, and he alone, who sparked this passion in her.
She took a shaky breath and let it out, feeling once again that she was teetering on the edge of something, and that, she thought, was even more frightening. For if she fell here, she knew, it was not her virtue that would be lost, but her heart.
BROMWELL AND CALLIE SAID LITTLE on the ride home. Uppermost in their minds was the passion that still hummed between them. It was not something that either wanted to discuss, and it required a careful concentration to keep it at bay.
He walked her to Francesca’s door, stepping inside only to take his leave of her. Then he turned and trotted back down the steps to the hansom cab, his face settling into grim lines. A few quick words to the driver sent them back to Vauxhall Gardens at a fast pace.
When they reached the gardens, Bromwell headed purposefully toward his sister’s supper box. He was greeted by the sight of several intoxicated young men, as well as the decidedly tipsy Miss Swanson and another young woman he had never met. His sister was sitting on the lap of a man he had never seen, the fellow boldly nuzzling her neck.
Once again he cleared the front wall of the box in a lithe jump rather than taking the time to enter through the rear door. Walking straight to his sister, he wrapped his hand around her upper arm and pulled her to her feet.
She let out a gasp, turning toward him with a snarl before she realized who he was. “Brom! Hello, dearest. I wondered where you were.”
“And did you wonder where Lady Calandra was?” he asked, his voice hard and clipped.
“I presumed…” A smile curved her lips as she cast him a sly upward glance “…that she was with you.”
“It is fortunate for you and for everyone else here that she was,” he shot back, his eyes bright with a cold, fierce anger.
Daphne blinked, stunned into momentary silence.
“I say!” The man upon whose lap Daphne had been sitting rose to his feet, swaying. “Who the devil do you think you are? I ought to call you out for speaking to…to…the lady that way.”
“I am ‘the lady’s’ brother, and I assure you that I answer only a gentleman’s challenge. Your sort I am more likely to take out back and thrash a little respect into.”
“What? By God, sir!” The other man raised his arms into a position that faintly resembled a pugilist’s stance. “Say that to my face! I dare you.”
“I believe I just did,” Bromwell replied. His lips curling in disgust, he grabbed the man’s lapels and yanked, pulling him off his feet and half onto the front ledge of the supper box. With his other hand, he grasped one of the man’s legs and shoved him up and over the edge, where he tumbled to the ground.
He then advanced toward two other men, who were sitting beyond Daphne, drunkenly gaping at him. At his approach, both took to their feet, stumbling hastily to the back door and out.
“Cousin!” Archie Tilford rose to his feet and executed a perfect bow, which was marred only by his tipping too far forward and having to grab the back of a nearby chair to keep from falling on his face. “Glad to see you. Good thing, sending those chaps off. Didn’t like them.”
“Bloody hell, Archie, why did you not do something earlier?” Bromwell asked in exasperation.
“Well…” Tilford considered the question. “Not the sort of thing I do, you see. Sort of thing you do.”
Bromwell grimaced and turned toward the elegantly dressed Mr. Pacewell and Mr. Sackville, now looking somewhat worse for wear. “And you two! Is everyone here completely foxed?”
They all glanced around at each other, as though unsure.
“Good Gad,” Bromwell said in disgust. “Archie, you and your friends haul up Mr. Swanson and take yourselves home. I will see that the ladies get back to my sister’s house.”
The men hastened to do as he said, pulling the limp form of Swanson from his chair, looped his arms over their shoulders and half walked, half dragged him from the supper box. Miss Swanson, now in tears, and Miss Turner gathered up their dominoes and masks, which they had long since discarded, as well as their fans. Miss Turner, it seemed, had lost one of her shoes and seemed to have no idea where it might have gone.
Bromwell shot his sister a fulminating glance. “Well, you will simply have to borrow a pair from Lady Swithington. When we get back to her house, she will write a note to both your parents—or whatever poor benighted souls have guardianship of you—and say that due to the lateness of the hour and everyone’s exhaustion, the two of you are spending the night with her. Hopefully that will serve to salvage your reputations—providing no one who knew you saw you here tonight out of your disguises.”
This speech sent Miss Swanson into further wails, and even Miss Turner’s foolish expression began to give way to trepidation. The earl ignored them, turning back to his sister and raising his brow.
“Very well, Brom,” she told him testily, grabbing up her own things. “I am ready. Goodness, but you have turned into a prim sort. Is that Lady Calandra’s influence? I must say, it is not appealing.”
“Stop.” His face was tight, his eyes hard. “Do not even mention her, or I fear you will hear much more than you wish to. We will discuss this later, after your charges have been put to bed.”
With a shrug, she wrapped her domino around her and swept from the box, the girls hurrying after her. Bromwell escorted them home in silence. Miss Swanson was still sniffling and dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, and Miss Turner seemed subdued and even, perhaps, a trifle ill. Lady Daphne kept her face turned to the window, even though the curtain cut off all view of the outside.
Once they were inside, Lady Daphne’s maid took the two girls up to bed, while Daphne sat down with a sigh and wrote out notes to their parents as Bromwell had instructed her. Once she had sent the notes off with a footman, she turned to her brother, crossing her arms.
“Very well. Out with it before you choke,” she told him shortly.
“What the devil did you think you were doing?” he burst out. “Leaving Lady Calandra alone like that? Don’t you realize what damage you could have done to her reputation?”
“Really, Brom, when did you turn into such a puritan? I was trying to help you.”
“Help me? By exposing Callie to drunken bounders? By abandoning her in the midst of Vauxhall Gardens?”
“Now that is doing it a bit too brown, don’t you think?” Daphne retorted. “You make it sound as though I left her in the middle of the promenade. She was inside a supper box.”
“Where any passing stranger could glance inside and see that she was alone,” he shot back. “Oh, except, of course, for the man who was dead drunk on the table!”
“I knew you would be along soon,” Daphne explained reasonably, “and that she would not be there for long. I did not intend for that foolish Swanson boy to pass out. How was I to know he could not hold his liquor? I simply wanted to arrange it so that you and she were alone together.” Her face softened, and she came toward him, holding out her hands to him. “Come, Brom, pray do not be displeased with me. I wanted only to aid you in your endeavor. I saw how close an eye that Haughston woman kept on Lady Calandra. I simply tried to arrange a situation where you could have her to yourself for a little while.” Daphne smiled a little smugly. “Long enough for you to accomplish your purpose.”
“What? Ruining her good name?” he asked, not reaching out to take her hands. “Daphne, how could you think I would want you to do that? I told you I had no intention of destroying her reputation. Why should she be harmed? It was her brother who hurt you. He is the one who should pay for it, not Callie.”
“What does it matter if she is hurt?” Daphne shot back. “She is a Lilles, just as he is, and I am sure that she is as haughty and cold as the duke. Or that bitch Francesca Haughston! They are as alike as two peas in a pod. Such fine ladies, such delicate airs, as if they had never had a wicked thought in their heads. Oh, no, they are far too refined to even think of lying down with a man.”
Her face was hard and bitter, and her brother regarded her with some shock. “Daphne! I have never heard you speak so…look so…”
“Try living trapped in Wales for the last fifteen years with some horrid old man!” she cried. “Never able to come to London or have any fun. A trip to Bath was considered his utmost treat! And all the while I was getting older, losing my looks….” Tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.
“Daphne…” Her tears touched him, dissolving much of his anger, and Bromwell went to her, putting his arm around her. “I am sorry. I hate that you had to marry an old man whom you did not love. And then to lose your unborn child after making that sacrifice…It was terrible, and you should not have had to do it. I wish that I had been older, wiser. I should have done something besides rush in there and try to call Rochford out. I wish to God that I had been able to help you. But you are not old, and you are still the most beautiful woman in London.”
Daphne relaxed against him at his words, and she turned her face up to him, smiling despite the tears glittering like diamonds in her eyes. “Really? Do you truly think I am the most beautiful woman in London?”
The thought of Callie flashed into his head, but he pushed the image aside, saying stoutly, “Of course I do. You are. You always have been. You know that.”
“There. I knew you could not love her more than you do me,” she said with satisfaction, wiping away her tears with her fingers.
“Love her more than you! Of course not,” Bromwell said, reaching into his pocket and handing her his crisp white handkerchief. He released her shoulders and stepped away. “How could you possibly think that? I do not love her at all. I simply do not want an innocent person hurt. The Duke of Rochford is the only one I care to harm. I told you that when we talked before. I never meant to ruin her. Only to bring Rochford out of his den and force him to deal with me.”
“And what did you think would happen to her?” Daphne asked. “How could you harm Rochford without harming his sister? If you dance attendance on a woman, she is bound to expect something of you. A gentleman does not lavish attention on a woman unless he is trying to seduce her or he expects to ask for her hand. It is certainly an embarrassment if he does not then make her an offer. All of the ton will gossip about it.”
“But I have only begun courting her. I have not—” He stopped.
“You have not what? Called upon her practically every day?” Daphne asked. “Invited her to go riding at Richmond Park or taken her out in your curricle? Or popped up at every party she has attended?”
Bromwell frowned. “I have perhaps hung about her more than I had intended,” he admitted. “I had not expected her to be quite so assiduously chaperoned, I think. I had thought I would be able to spend more time with her alone.”
“That is precisely why I arranged that little interlude at Vauxhall Gardens,” Daphne exclaimed triumphantly. “So that you could have the opportunity to be alone with her. If there is no whiff of scandal, why should Rochford be alarmed?”
He sighed and ran his hand back through his hair. “I don’t know what to say. If you are right, then I have already harmed her.”
“That is right,” Daphne agreed. “So…”
“Perhaps I should stop.”
“What?” Daphne gaped at him, thunderstruck. “You mean, end this? Do nothing to her? To Rochford?”
His mouth twitched in a grim semblance of a smile. “I have hopes I still will hear from Rochford.”
“But Lady Calandra? You are going to stop pursuing her?”
“I am not sure,” he said, looking distracted. “I must think on this.”
His sister opened her mouth to speak again, but he was no longer paying attention. Turning, he strode toward the door and down the hall, leaving Daphne staring after him.
Bromwell took his greatcoat and hat from the footman and went outside. He jammed the hat down on his head, and threw on his coat as he trotted down the steps and onto the sidewalk. A breeze fluttered at the edges of the fabric and stole beneath it, but he did not bother to do up the buttons as he strode along the street, scowling.
Should he stop calling upon Callie? Something twisted inside him at the thought, and he knew that he did not want to end this. He thought of her smile, her dancing dark eyes, the thick lustrous black curls that made his fingers itch to touch them. The idea of never seeing those things again, never again enfolding her in his arms or pressing his lips to hers as he had tonight, made him want to smash his fist into something.
Yet if he continued to see her, how would it end? In all likelihood with himself and Callie’s brother at each other’s throats. It would be pistols at dawn or, at best, them going at each other with their bare fists. The one way it was certain not to end was with what polite society would expect—Bromwell proposing marriage to her. He let out a snort at the picture of Rochford’s reaction should Bromwell ask him for his sister’s hand in marriage.
Rochford would never allow it. And, of course, Bromwell knew that he would never ask it. Ally himself with the family of the man who had disgraced his sister? It was unthinkable. It would be a betrayal of Daphne, a thoroughly dishonorable thing to do.
If he had no intention of marrying Callie, though, he should not continue seeing her. Daphne was right, of course. His pursuit of Callie had been determined. Everyone, including Callie, would expect a proposal of marriage from him if he continued to court her in this way. Even after the few weeks that he had been calling on her, it would cause gossip if he suddenly stopped seeing her.
The thought of Callie being subjected to the whispers of the gossipmongers twisted his gut, but he knew that it would be much, much worse if he waited. Every day, every nosegay delivered to her house, every dance they shared at a ball, would increase everyone’s certainty that he was on course to propose to her. Therefore, when he stopped seeing her, it would make the gossip all the stronger.
And if it ended with Rochford exploding in anger and rushing to town to confront him, then the scandal would be even graver. It would probably follow Callie all her life.
Bromwell’s scowl deepened. Why had he ever thought that wooing Callie would be such perfect revenge on Rochford? He should have just settled his account with the man with a swift right uppercut to the jaw then and there. After all, none of this had anything to do with Callie. She had done nothing to deserve it, and yet she would be hurt worst of all by it.
He remembered his words to Archie, how he had shrugged off the idea that Callie was an innocent and did not deserve to be hurt. He had gotten angry with Daphne just now for doing something that could hurt Callie’s reputation. Yet he had set out to get his revenge without caring at all how badly she might be hurt by his scheme. He had been a fool, he thought, a shallow, callous fool.
There was no way he could make up for the harm he had already done to her. The only thing he could do was to ensure she was not hurt any more. He would not call upon Callie again. But why did doing the right thing leave him feeling so empty inside?