Miss Pymbroke's Rules (16 page)

Lady Hyacinth drew all five feet two inches of herself up straight. She stared at Lady Iris while addressing Verity. “Never mind, dear child,
I
shall accompany you. I have a mind to see Vauxhall again.”

Lady Iris threw up her hands in defeat. “A pox on all sisters! Go then, but I’ll not be a party to such foolishness.” So saying, her ladyship retrieved her cane and stomped away.

The minute Lady Iris left the room, Lady Hyacinth seemed to deflate. “Oh dear. Perhaps it would be better if we had a gentleman to escort us. I’ll send a footman next door and ask the marquess—

“No!” Verity denied her. “Not him. I shall ask ...” Verity thought fleetingly of Cecil Sedgewick. But he had not called after Lady Lexham’s turtle dinner, and she shuddered remembering the censure in his conversation with her. She had only one other choice. “Lord Davies.”

* * * *

Verity hurried along the Grand Walk at Vauxhall desperately searching for her sister. The black gauze mantle, which she wore over a white muslin dress with a bodice of pale blue, flew out behind her.

By the time Lord Davies had been summoned and had conveyed them to the famous pleasure gardens, she had worked herself up into a frenzy of agitation. Certain Louisa needed her as never before, she rushed headlong to the Grand Cross Walk, which ran through the center of the grounds, unaware of her companions’ distress.

Lord Davies was heartily sick of the game. “My dear Miss Pymbroke, surely any sister of yours must be above reproach. Why, we are putting Lady Hyacinth’s health at risk by jaunting about in this manner.” Lord Davies congratulated himself on this thoughtful statement. In truth, he was obsessed with a fear his brand-new Hessian boots—which he’d picked up from Hoby’s only that day, being forced to fork over the blunt for a new pair after that contemptible cat had ruined his others—would be scraped during their mad dash.

“Indeed, dear child,” Lady Hyacinth gasped, trying to catch her breath. “I cannot go on. Why I expect at any moment to turn my ankle running about on this frightful gravel—

“There she is!” Verity exclaimed triumphantly. Leaving behind an open-mouthed Lady Hyacinth and a grim-faced Lord Davies, she ran ahead to where Louisa and Sir Ramsey were disappearing down the walkway.

“Oh dear,” moaned Lady Hyacinth to Lord Davies, who had raised his quizzing glass and was trying to discreetly inspect his boots for damage in the dim light. “What are we to do?”

At that moment Lord Killigrew appeared, his heavy jowls trembling as he walked down the path. “Your servant, Lady Hyacinth,” he said and bowed. “Charming to meet you again so soon after Lady Lexham’s turtle dinner.”

Something had been rejuvenated in the older man, that something being in his breeches, after his experience with Love’s Helping Hand. He had come to the gardens seeking female company and was not averse to assisting Lord Davies in taking care of Lady Hyacinth in her hour of need.

That lady quickly apprised the gentleman of their situation. Lord Killigrew appeared all concern. “Pray allow me to escort you to a supper box, Lady Hyacinth. I am persuaded you would be more comfortable with a bite to eat while Lord Davies follows Miss Pymbroke.”

Since nothing could be more to her ladyship’s liking, Lady Hyacinth accepted Lord Killigrew’s arm with a smile and the two moved away.

Lord Davies was left alone to brood in sulky silence. Lounging against a tree, he decided to wait where he was. He would not risk his boots by dragging them through the shrubbery. Eventually, the stupid girl would have to come back this way.

Meanwhile, Verity looked frantically for her sister. She dared not call out her name and thus reveal her identity. Following the couple who were ahead of her, Verity realized the walkway they were now on was quite narrow and dark. Quickening her steps, she experienced a shiver of fear and bit her lip to keep it from trembling. All at once she stumbled upon Louisa who was returning a passionate kiss from Sir Ramsey.

“Louisa, thank goodness I have found you!”

Swiftly, the couple broke apart. Sir Ramsey’s face held an amused expression. Louisa was breathless with rage. Rancor sharpened her voice. “Randy, my love, I wish to speak privately with my sister. Wait for me at our box.”

Sir Ramsey shrugged his shoulders and bowed, leaving the two women alone.

In the face of Louisa’s fury, Verity felt a chill run down her spine. Nonetheless, she forced herself to say the words uppermost in her thoughts. “My dear sister, please come home with me. Surely you see Sir Ramsey is not fit company. A gentleman never k-kisses a 1-lady,” she stammered, a sudden vision of Lord Carrisworth kissing her in his carriage forming in her mind, “unless they are betrothed and you have not indicated—”

“I shall kiss whom I please, where I please!” Louisa screeched. “How dare you follow me here, you interfering, moralizing, silly little fool,” she spat out contemptuously.

Verity drew in her breath sharply. “Louisa, I thought we loved each other. Could I have been mistaken?”

“Love?” the widow questioned derisively. “There is no such thing. Only lust.”

“But, your husband, Philip, you loved him,” Verity whispered, her brown eyes enormous in her face.

Louisa laughed briefly. “Of course not, though I didn’t know it at the time. I simply wanted him in my bed. But I am no longer a green girl. When I marry, it will be for wealth and position, and I shall seek my pleasures elsewhere. Oh, stop gaping at me like a stuck pig.”

“Louisa, you must not say such things,” Verity said faintly.

The widow took a menacing step toward her. “And you, my meddling Mouse, will keep out of my affairs from this second forward. Do I make myself clear?”

Verity felt sick. She realized that what Lady Iris had been telling her all along about Louisa was true. “I understand,” she replied sadly.

Louisa flashed her a look of disdain. “A martyr to the bitter end.”

At the look on her sister’s face, Verity took a step backward and stumbled. Her arms flailed out at her sides, and she landed in the gravel on her posterior.

At that moment, the nearby sounds of drunken male laughter floated on the air. Louisa’s stormy gray eyes narrowed. In a second they would be upon them. Without another look toward her sister’s plight, Louisa turned and ran away down the path, just as three very drunk young men, looking for a girl to drag off into the shrubbery, appeared.

Alarmed, Verity opened her mouth and called for help.

* * * *

At almost the same time Verity, Lady Hyacinth, and Lord Davies had first arrived at Vauxhall, the Marquess of Carrisworth had entered the gardens looking satanic. His hellish mood had nothing to do with seeing Miss Pymbroke riding off with Lord Davies. No, he told himself. He was no longer in the grip of jealousy that had sent him to his club to become foxed. That little episode over his frustrating landlady, so out of character for him, he chalked up to his body being unused to sobriety. He was quite himself again—carefree and in absolute control of his emotions.

Another matter was currently making him feel nettled. He had made the fatal mistake of going to Roxanna after hours of heavy drinking. Nothing had happened, and looking back on it now, he decided it had been simply boredom that had led him to her house.

In any event, the woman had clung to him like ivy ever since. For some incomprehensible reason, Roxanna had insisted on personally returning him to the house in South Audley Street, and had then remained with him, despite several broad hints to the contrary, once he had regained clear thinking. His temper had been tried beyond measure by the cunning actress’s blatant desire to reestablish herself as his mistress. Finally, he had decided that taking her out would be the only way of eventually ridding himself of her that night.

“Perry, darling, did you send a servant ahead to reserve a box?” Roxanna’s arm tightened on his and her blue eyes were like sapphires in the dark.

“Yes, though what Rupert will say if news of this outing reaches his ears, I cannot think. I would not countenance the defection of any lady under my protection,” the marquess answered resolutely, guiding her in the lamplight toward the South Walk. He led her into a large box, which was decorated with paintings, and ordered sliced ham and champagne.

“I swear I don’t care what the duke knows, darling,” she whispered, reaching across and placing her fingers on top of his. “I am the happiest of women when we are together and long to be joined as we once were.”

The marquess took his gaze from the invitation in her eyes. And found his friend, Sir Ramsey, at the entrance to his box. “Randy, well met. Do join us,” he said in a relieved voice.

Roxanna’s lips thinned at this intrusion.

Sir Ramsey gave the actress a brief bow and entered the box, signaling to a waiter for another glass. He sighed heavily. “I tell you. Perry, I’ve had the most devilish luck this night. I was engaging in a bit of dalliance on the Dark Walk, and right when things were getting interesting, the lady was pulled from my arms by an outraged relative.”

“You have my sympathy,” the marquess said and grinned wolfishly.

Sir Ramsey drained his glass, noticing the frustrated expression on Roxanna’s face. “Hey, now, I’m not playing gooseberry here, am I?”

“Not at all. I’m glad to see you,” Lord Carrisworth answered, ignoring Roxanna’s obvious anger. He sat back in his chair to relax, but immediately leaned forward, staring at the woman who’d appeared in front of them. A quick and disturbing thought presented itself in his brain.

“Good evening, Lord Carrisworth. How delightful to see you. Randy, I’m ready to leave now.” Louisa patted her pale blonde hair, totally at her ease after leaving her sister alone to be ravaged. She ignored Roxanna, perceiving at once the woman was beneath her notice.

Sir Ramsey rose. “We’re off then.”

As if holding a raw emotion in check, the marquess spoke stiffly. “Mrs. Barrington, is your sister here?”

A chill black silence ensued until Louisa found her voice. “Yes, Mouse, is with, er, a friend.” Looking into Lord Carrisworth’s furious green eyes, she felt as if a hand had closed over her throat. A nervous laugh escaped her.

“Where is she?” the marquess’s voice was icy.

Grabbing Sir Ramsey’s arm, Louisa pulled him from the box. “The Dark Walk, my lord,” she babbled, anxious to get away from what she feared might grow into a terrible scene.

But she need not have worried. At her words, Lord Carrisworth bolted out of the box shouting, “Take Roxanna home, Randy!” and, not waiting to see how Louisa would react to the insult of being conveyed in the same vehicle as an actress, raced down the walkway, deftly avoiding the couples strolling there.

Meanwhile, Lord Davies, lounging against a tree, had heard Verity’s cry for help. He made a move in her direction and then frowned. Perhaps it was not Miss Pymbroke’s voice he’d heard call out in distress after all. He ran a hand through his wiry red hair and considered the matter. A few seconds later, he decided that, indeed, it was most probably Miss Pymbroke’s voice, but, still, there was no sense risking his boots for any female.

Then he heard a strong masculine voice coming from somewhere to his right. “Miss Pymbroke! ’Tis I, Carrisworth. Where are you? Miss Pymbroke!”

Lord Davies’s brain worked quickly. Here was his opportunity to further Roxanna’s plan. Thinking ruefully of his precious boots, he plunged down the path and moments later, came upon the scene.

The three drunken bloods of the
ton
were taunting Verity. She had scrambled to her feet, with her back to the shrubbery, and was defending herself by kicking wildly at anyone who came close. One young man was clutching his leg while howling in pain.

At Lord Davies’s appearance, they apparently decided to look for easier sport, and with a few final suggestions as to what the gentleman could do with the lady, they ran off.

Lord Davies successfully hid his disgust. His manner all solicitous, he extended a hand to Verity. “Miss Pymbroke, are you all right?”

Verity accepted his hand and stepped forward shakily. Her eyes were still glazed with fear. “Lord Davies, thank heavens you arrived when you did. I do not know how much longer I could hold them off.” Her words ended with a tiny sob.

The baron put an arm around her shoulders to support her. Gad, when would Carrisworth find them? “I am all admiration at your bravery, dearest girl.”

Allowing him to keep his arm about her, Verity looked up at him. “I am not so brave, sir. I confess to feeling a trifle wobbly.”

Hearing the sounds of footsteps pounding down the walkway, Lord Davies pulled Verity closer and kissed her full on the mouth.

Sagging against him, Verity could not believe what was happening. Too shocked to move, she remained passive in his arms.

And that is how the marquess saw her, locked in Lord Davies’s arms, a seemingly willing participant to his lovemaking.

Chapter Eight

It was late. Thick bands of fog invaded Vauxhall, casting the scene on the Dark Walk in a murky yellow.

“Davies, it appears you have won the lady after all. I suppose I should not have warned you off that day in the Green Room,” the Marquess of Carrisworth drawled. His lazy voice was a contradiction to the blazing anger in his eyes.

Verity was barely aware of Lord Carrisworth’s arrival. She freed herself from the baron by pushing against his chest with all her might. Her eyes filled with tears of frustration and humiliation. “How dare you, sir?”

Lord Davies looked from Miss Pymbroke’s outraged face to the marquess’s dangerous expression. He evidently viewed the lady as less likely to do injury to his person. “Forgive me, my dear. You led me to believe my attentions would not be unwelcome.” With this whopping great lie, he made a jerking bow and disappeared into the fog.

Verity stared after him, unable to believe her ears. And only this morning, her trust in him had grown to the point where she accepted his escort on a drive to the Park.

“How fickle you are, Miss Pymbroke,” Lord Carrisworth said. “And how our roles have reversed. Here I am reminding you of the impropriety of bestowing your kisses haphazardly, while you behave like a light-skirt ... or perhaps I should say like your sister. It must run in the family.”