| |
Usually, Diablo’s speed gave Simon a sense of deep satisfaction, but not today. All his thoughts were focused on Victoria, her sadness, her pain. He’d been so unforgivably stupid.
A shout broke his reverie and he jerked Diablo in tight to the curb, avoiding a carriage by inches.
He glanced around. God. He’d never live it down if he ploughed into some dull matron driving sedately around Mayfair. He forced himself to calmness, relaxing his clenched hands, easing the urge to send Diablo flying to hell and gone. He maneuvered through the traffic, determined his inner turmoil would not gain the upper hand.
At his stables, he tossed the reins at the waiting groom and glared as the man hesitated. If the fool couldn’t stable his damned cattle, he’d no business in his employ. He cursed when a footman impeded his progress at the side door. “What do you think you are? A door?”
“May I take your hat and coat, sir?” the brawny young man asked.
Simon peeled off his coat and shoved it into the footman’s hands. “Wilson, isn’t it? Tell Benton to bring brandy to my study. Now.” He shouldered his way past the servant.
He thrust the study door open and pushed it shut with his heel, the force enough to rattle the porcelain ornaments in a glass fronted cabinet.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
He kicked a spindly Sheraton chair out of his way and paced the width of the room in front of his desk.
What the bloody hell was the matter with him? She said she didn’t like riding. She changed the goddamn subject twice. He’d been too busy fantasizing about riding beside her, her black hair blowing long and free in the wind, her face flushed with fresh air and her lips parted in enjoyment. He’d missed every sign of the depth of her distress.
Blast it all. He hadn’t been such an idiot with a woman since his misbegotten youth. He’d sworn never to let any woman get her claws in him again and here he was, almost thirty, for Christ’s sake, so wrapped up in his own pleasant dream, he’d been oblivious to her distress. She had him so tangled up, he could barely remember his own name, let alone how to play the game.
He flung himself in the brown leather armchair, staring blindly at the desk’s polished mahogany surface. He’d lost his grip.
A knock sounded on the door.
“What?”
Benton eased through door. “Your brandy, my lord.”
Simon jerked his head toward the desk.
“Will there be anything else, my lord?” Benton asked, setting down a square crystal decanter and one balloon glass on a silver tray.
Simon grimaced at the admonition in Benton’s tone. Having served Simon’s father and known Simon in short coats, the butler’s opinion carried weight. Embarrassment washed over him. He’d stormed into the house as if he truly was a devil. He abhorred rudeness to servants in others, and was now guilty of it himself.
He shook his head. “No, thank you, Benton. Apologize to Wilson for me, would you? I was a bit short with him on the way in. No fault of his.”
“Yes, my lord.” Benton bowed himself out.
Simon took a deep breath. At least Benton seemed mollified. What the hell could he say to Miss Victoria Yelverton?
He poured a brandy and stared into the depths of the glass. What must she have thought?
Last night, he’d decided to convince her to marry Deveril, but in his anger at her disappearance this morning, his purpose slipped from his grasp.
It wouldn’t have been quite so bad if he hadn’t found her with Ogden. She’d lied about not arranging the assignation. He’d seen it in the way her eyes refused to meet his. They were all the same, the ladies of the ton, liars and cheats. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Disgust for his odd feeling of disappointment in her gnawed at his gut.
Damn it. Deveril was right. The more he said against the viscount, the tighter she clung to the cur. Because she doesn’t trust you.
He’d done his best to win her over, burying his anger at her treachery, engaging her in pleasant conversation as they walked through the park. Seeing the smile dawn on her face and lighten her eyes from mysterious dusk to the color of sky just before dawn had rattled his composure. With success in his grasp, he’d badgered her to let him teach her to ride for no good reason at all. The hurt in her eyes and the tremble of her mouth when he’d forced her to admit the reason for her fear had twisted his gut and left him speechless.
Somehow, her anguish had pierced his carefully guarded defenses. Made him feel her pain. He remembered nothing of what he had said after that. Something idiotic from the expression on her face.
And then there was Ogden and his involvement with her brother.
None of Simon’s inquiries had provided more than vague hints of how the young nobleman had gone from carefree to desperate in the months after his father’s death, the months when the notoriously cash-strapped Ogden had become his closest friend. Without proof of any wrongful intent on Ogden’s part, Victoria would always hold Simon to blame for what happened.
Ogden was clearly playing some deep game, having first thrust Victoria into Simon’s arms then proceeding to meet with her in secret. One thing was sure, Ogden did not have marital intentions. His father, the Marquess of Northdown, would insist on Ogden marrying a girl who could bring wealth into the depleted family coffers and Ogden would never cross his father. Whatever he intended with regard to Victoria Yelverton, Simon doubted it would benefit anyone but Ogden.
Damn. Simon never should have brought her to his house. Why on earth had he let Ogden prick his ego? Icy fingers fisted in his gut. Ogden had nothing to do with Simon’s actions. It was that first impression of Victoria that had remained seared into his mind. Her vulnerability and the need to see her to safety.
It was hard to believe that at this stage of his life he could still make a fool of himself over a pretty face and a well-turned ankle. Ridiculous. He was simply doing what was right.
He got up and prowled the room, touching the Meissen china figures that adorned every available surface, calming himself with their intricate, cold beauty—so unlike the delicious warmth of the lady at the center of his thoughts.
Yet, like a piece of fine china, Victoria’s exquisite beauty tempted him. The way her expression changed with each new mood, the way her luminous eyes revealed her feelings, so openly and honestly. Or so he had thought.
Did he not know better? Were not all women the same? Liars. Betrayers. He needed rid of her, the sooner the better.
He glanced at his reflection in the gilt pier mirror between the windows. His hair showed signs of his raking fingers. He’d pulled his cravat askew. He took a deep swallow of the fiery liquid in his glass with a wry grin. If he didn’t watch his step, he’d be keeping Dev company in the worst possible way.
He summoned Benton.
“When Miss Yelverton returns from her walk, if she has not done so already, ask to wait for me in my study, would you please?”
“Yes, my lord.”
He hurried upstairs to change and on making his way into the library, he was gratified to find Victoria reading by the window.
Enchantingly, her lips moved slightly as her eyes skimmed the page. Her jet hair drifted in a cluster of luxuriant curls to her shoulder and rested on the gray silk of her morning dress. He paused, savoring the sight.
She must have sensed his presence for she glanced up. Her cheeks flushed at the sight of him, no doubt from anger at his earlier rudeness. He eyed her coldly. He would not allow her to throw him off balance again.
“Miss Yelverton,” he said with a deliberately cool smile. “If you wouldn’t mind stepping into my study.”
She rose gracefully and passed gracefully by him in the doorway, her skirts caressing his legs, her jasmine perfume drifting around him as he followed her down the corridor and into his domain.
She perched on the delicate Sheraton chair in front of his desk. He’d never liked that chair before today. Her glance wandered the room, her violet eyes widening at the sight of the porcelain ornaments filling every available surface: the console beneath the mirror, the shelves behind him, the mantle. Only his desk remained unadorned, apart from his inkwell, quills and the tray of brandy.
“I collect porcelain,” he said.
Puzzlement filled her expression. “The pieces are so delicate. I’m surprised.” She colored and looked away.
His short laugh sounded strained to his own ears. He forced himself to relax, to be in control. He knew what she meant. “So unlike anything you would expect me to appreciate?”
“Pardon me. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“It is you who must forgive me for leaving you so precipitately. I had forgotten Diablo’s visit to the blacksmith today. All our talk of horses reminded me.” A small lie, but it salved his pride, somewhat. He waived a dismissive hand. “Enough of my foibles. I have something more important to discuss.” He paused. How to say this?
Hope filled her expression. “You have heard from my aunt?”
“Aunt?”
“Yes, Aunt Gertrude. Has she replied to our letters?”
Too bad the aunt hadn’t replied. It would have been the perfect solution. He shook his head. “Not as yet.”
Distress filled her gaze and he stilled the desire to comfort her by taking in his arms and offering protection from what they both knew was a cruel world. “You are correct. We should have heard from her long before now. I will write to her again. But my desire to speak with you is about another matter entirely.”
Her gaze rested on his face, her fine, black eyebrows arched in question.
“I had a visit from Colonel Monteith yesterday afternoon, during your absence at the picnic with your friends.” He frowned. Her disappearance still rankled. “To cut to the chase, he made an offer. He asked for your hand.”
Thoughts traveled rapidly across her lovely face: confusion, comprehension, fear. Fear of what? That he had said yes? That he had said no? Wariness followed fear. Her hands clenched in her lap. “What did you say?”
“What did you want me to tell him?”
“You agreed not to make any decisions without consulting me.”
“I am consulting you now. What are your thoughts on the matter?”
She got up and strolled to the cluttered console by the window. Her delicate, white fingers traced the outline of an elfin piper perched on a fallen log. Tendrils of green ivy trailed around the artistic version of cracked and pealing bark. He drew in a swift breath, wondering what those exploring fingers would feel like on his skin. On his— Viciously, he cut the thought off.
She glanced briefly in Simon’s direction, then her fingertips continued their gentle stroking. He almost groaned his frustration.
“I don’t know him well,” she said. “We danced at Lady Corby’s ball and talked for a few moments only. I am astonished he would make an offer on such a short acquaintance.”
Simon compelled himself to stop watching her hand. “He informed me he’s been ordered back to India next month. He does not have the time for a lengthy courtship.”
“India?”
She sounded breathless. He could not see her face. Did the promise of exotic travel entice her? He kept his voice matter-of-fact. “Yes. I gather he wants the issue of a wife settled before he leaves. His children need a mother.”
“He has children, then?”
“Two. Both under five. A boy and a girl. His wife died in childbirth last year.”
She turned with an expression full of sorrow. “How sad.”
She had a kind heart. Would a sad story be the key to unlocking it? He shrugged. “Unfortunate. I agree.”
She hesitated. “He seemed pleasant, a man whom I could respect, but in truth, I do not feel I could agree to marry without knowing more of him, his character and nature.” She shook her head. “I must say no. I hope you will convey my regrets to the colonel.”
Simon breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief. He had not expected her to say yes, but her desperate circumstances and her desire to get out of his house might lead her into doing something she would regret.
No. Dev provided the best the answer to this dilemma. Simon could live with that. He froze at the mental image of his friend caressing her creamy skin, cradling her slender, shapely form. Simon could bear it, if he didn’t think about it. He spoke calmly. “That is what I told him.”
She frowned. “You had no business responding before speaking with me.”
“I reached the same conclusion you did, only earlier.”
She glared at him. “Still, you had no right.”
There he was, doing it again, saying things better left unsaid. He never usually explained anything at all to females, but with Victoria, he couldn’t seem to help himself. He raised his eyebrow. “I can tell him I was wrong if you like. Then you can give him the good news yourself.”
Anger flashed in her eyes and her hand clenched on the ornament. For one interesting moment, Simon thought she would throw it. He braced for impact. She, wouldn’t be the first woman to throw something at him for his arrogance and no doubt she wouldn’t be the last, much as he’d like her to be. The thought rocked him back on his heels, leaving him off balance. Yet again.
She slowly released relaxed her grip and assumed a calm, superior expression. No destructive tantrums for this young lady, then. He released his breath.
She tilted her chin at him. “Since you have done no harm, I will say no more. However, I would remind you, we have an agreement. You will not speak on my behalf without consulting me first.”
He nodded, relieved to be let off so lightly. “Agreed. Come, Miss Yelverton, a truce. We both know you prefer not to reside here. However, rest assured, I have nothing but your best interests in mind.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he raised a silencing hand. “Let me finish.”
He moved to stand in front of her, determined to hold her attention. Her gaze did not waver under his intense scrutiny. She had more courage than many men of his acquaintance, but she would not be pleased at what he had to say.
He softened his tone. “On several different occasions, I have found you conversing alone with Viscount Ogden.” He saw a protest on her lips and continued swiftly. “Almost alone then. My attempts to dissuade you from associating with him cannot have escaped your attention.”
“Dissuade?” she cut in. “You have been positively boorish in your demands.”
“No matter how you describe it, the results have been the same. You have ignored my instructions. I know he was welcomed in your home as your brother’s friend and while I cannot prevent you from speaking with him at social occasions, it is my duty to remind you that your search is for a bridegroom, not a protector. Ogden’s duty to his family is to marry money. Continue to welcome his advances in private and you will ruin your own chances of a decent match. This is simple common sense.”
She stepped closer to him, her expression determined. He imagined her slender body pressed against him, his hands exploring her curves. Need throbbed in his veins. He moved to the door and opened it.
She tipped her head on one side, clearly puzzled by his retreat. “Thank you for your warning, Lord Travis. The viscount also insists he has my welfare at heart. Finding me a bridegroom is your idea, not mine. I would prefer to live with my aunt, or find a position as a governess. Therefore, there is no cause for concern about the ton’s opinions of my friendship with Viscount Ogden.”
Her lips curved in the sweetest smile she had ever sent his way and it hit him like a blow to the kidneys. Left him breathless and aching and wanting something... He cut the thought off.
She arched an eyebrow. “Is there anything else you wish to discuss?”
Little wretch. She’d smiled at him that way on purpose. She was just like all the other females of his acquaintance, using her wiles to get what she wanted. Very well, if the stubborn wench refused to listen to logic, he would forget about using reason. He’d arranged things according to his preferences. “Not quite all. I will now take it upon myself to ensure you receive a suitable offer. To begin with, you will drive with me each afternoon in Hyde Park.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He smiled ruefully at the horror in her voice. “Not so distasteful, surely? You have been hiding your light under a bushel for far too long. From today, you can expect to be occupied, day and evening. Prepare yourself accordingly. Maria is well aware of my wishes, and she will provide you with a list of the entertainments she has organized. You won’t have time to slip away on picnics or assignations with Viscount Ogden.”
Let her make of it what she would. For the next few days, she was going to spend as much time with Dev as Simon could manage.
She opened her mouth to retort and anticipation coursed through his veins. Once more she surprised him. Instead of raking him over the coals, she curtseyed stiffly, a bare inflection of her knees, an imperceptible movement of her proud little head. “If there is nothing else, my lord?”
Unaccountably disappointed by her refusal to continue crossing swords with him, he shook his head. “Nothing at the moment.” He bowed her out.
The scent of jasmine lingered long after she vacated the room. He inhaled deeply. He would miss it when she left.
A pervading sense of loss chilled him to the bone.
A high-perch phaeton waited at the front door. Its black body, trimmed in silver, hung on the longest, most precarious, swan-neck springs Victoria could imagine. Four beautifully-matched, ebony horses sidled impatiently in the traces.
It reeked of danger. She hesitated.
Travis raised an eyebrow. “Does it scare you? Shall I request Maria’s landau be put to instead?”
She clenched her jaw at his goading. She might be afraid to ride, but she wasn’t going to let him think she was a complete coward. “Certainly not.”
His mouth flicked up at the corners in a brief smile. Sensing he mocked her, even as he tested her courage, she took a deep breath, tamped down her anxiety and strode to the open carriage door. Heavens. The step was at her waist. She glanced at Travis. Dark lashes swiftly covered a wicked flash of blue.
“Allow me to assist,” he said.
His hands encircled her waist. Victoria’s heart skipped and danced to an erratic rhythm.
Mere inches from her face, his broad chest in a snug black coat with gleaming silver buttons, radiated warmth. His sandalwood cologne filled her in-drawn breath. A frisson of awareness shivered through her at the invading recollection of his kiss. A kiss that had filled her dreams.
Dash it. After his coldness yesterday, she had sworn she would not let him affect her again. She must be suffering from spring madness. The only reason London’s wickedest rake had for taking her up in his carriage, was to display her like one of his fine china ornaments in order to auction her off to a husband. Then why on earth was feeling like a besotted schoolgirl because he had helped her into his carriage? No more.
Brilliant blue eyes in taut face focused over her shoulder on the groom holding his horses. She tried to ignore the large hands filling the hollow between her ribs and hips. She grasped his arms for balance.
Beneath her fingers, hard muscles tensed and his strength surrounded her. Her heart thudded in her ears.
The carriage shifted backwards an inch or two.
“Easy now,” Travis said to the groom. “Hold ’em steady.”
They waited, a frozen tableau, while the groom brought the horses under control. Travis’s chest rose and fell inches from her cheek. She sensed his heart’s rhythmic beating.
“Ready, Miss Yelverton?” His voice, soft and low, carried on a warm breath across her cheek. Sharp-pointed needles showered her skin, leaving her breathless. If only he would hurry up and place her in the blasted carriage.
Lifted as if she weighed no more than a child, she hung above him, gazing into his handsome face. The purple bruise on his jaw had faded. His lips, still bearing signs of battle, softened and curved seductively. The word handsome did not do justice to his dark, satanic looks. He was the epitome of male beauty. Her heart beat faster. She forced herself to meet his sapphire gaze and risked a smile.
Heat flared between them. He blinked and swept the fire away. “Up you go.” He deposited her on the high platform as if she weighed no more than a child.
The carriage rocked unsteadily beneath her feet and she dropped thankfully onto the seat. The vehicle pitched as Travis climbed up beside her and she grabbed at the side.
“Let ’em go,” he called out, gathering the reins. The groom stepped back and smartly leaped up behind them.
With a twist of his strong wrist, Travis flicked his whip above the leaders’ heads. The horses jostled a little, then settled into a smooth walk. He deftly eased them into the heavy London traffic. “Chin up, Miss Yelverton. Today you will experience all the joys of the afternoon ride in Hyde Park.”
“You do not sound as if it is something you enjoy.”
His expression remained bland. “It is well enough, I suppose, for those who like to gossip, to see and be seen. For myself, I’d sooner drive these beauties at speed down the long stretch of road between here and Brighton than dawdle slowly along Rotten Row.”
“Maria mentioned you might be going to your Hampshire estate next week.”
A muscle flicked tensed in his jaw. He guided his team around a coal-heaver’s dray. A muffin man’s bell and the clatter of horses’ hooves on the cobblestones drowned out his reply.
Victoria leaned closer. “I’m sorry, I did not hear what you said.”
The carriage jolted. She lurched forward with a small cry. He lashed out an arm and pulled her close, safe against his side, his lean hip pressed hard against hers. A strange, knowing feeling stirred in her stomach. Heat traveled from her throat to her hairline.
Pure wickedness gleamed in his quick sideways glance. “All right now?”
He’d done it on purpose, the odious man. She nodded, pretending not to notice his powerful grip around her shoulders. He released her.
“I said,” he continued, “Business there requires my personal attention. Maria knows how to reach me if necessary.”
For example, if Victoria received another proposal of marriage. Still, the prospect of his absence presented an opportunity. Allowed her the freedom to find a governess position. “You are going to see Diablo’s colt?”
“Partly for that,” he admitted. “You will be well entertained while I am gone. Deveril will be here to escort you about. My plan is to leave directly after our trip to Vauxhall next Tuesday.”
“How long will you be away?”
His expression became remote as if her prying annoyed him. “It will depend on my level of engagement with the planned endeavor.”
The wry tone sent warning bells clamoring in Victoria’s mind. His oblique responses seemed out of character. There was only one reason for his evasive answers. He was planning his rendezvous with Miss Eckford.
An unreasonable sense of disappointment churned in her stomach. How could that be so? She should be glad of his departure. She was glad. Very glad. Deliriously happy, in fact.
“And here we are,” he said, turning into Hyde Park. “London in all her myriad guises.”
All of Society indeed did seem to be walking or riding in the park. The fine afternoon had brought out half the population, it seemed. Flower sellers, ladies in elegant walking dresses, demi-reps, in silks and jewels, ogling those in passing carriages and strollers all mingled at the fashionable hour of five o’clock.
Travis bowed to a lady and gentleman in a landaulet heading in the opposite direction. “Lord and Lady Ralston,” he murmured.
Victoria wrinkled her nose at the noise and the smells. “It’s very crowded. I can see why you might prefer the open road. Goodness. Who on earth is that?”
Travis looked in the direction she indicated. “The mincing, elderly popinjay, you mean? Sir Giles Willowby. And over there—” he nodded at portly fellow with two white poodles on leashes following in his wake “—is Lord George Montmarcy with Romulus and Remus. Naturally all of London envies them their style.”
Travis’s quizzical expression made her smile. His cold demeanor hid a dry sense of humor.
“And over there?” she asked, indicating a handsome young buck attired in the height of fashion, strolling with a splendidly buxom female in a purple satin gown which concealed only a fraction of her generous curves.
“The Duke of Hawkfield and his latest inamorata, the incomparable Carmelita di Consuello of the corps de ballet, otherwise known as Betty Dodds from Wapping.”
Victoria stared, fascinated. The duke, as proud as a strutting peacock, displayed Betty Dodds like shimmering plumage. No doubt he would cast her aside when her feathers faded or some new bird of paradise caught his interest.
“It is all rather shallow,” she mused and only realized she had spoken her thoughts out loud when he gave a short laugh in response.
“Indeed, Miss Yelverton. But to some, its very shallowness is its charm. There is no need for a depth of understanding when the titillating whispers of hidden scandal can amuse one’s acquaintances for hours, if not days. No need for skill or art, when the tongue’s razor edge can shred a reputation in a sentence. No need for honor, when a man’s wealth is the measure of his true worth, no matter the means by which it was acquired.”
Puzzled she stared at his stern profile. On first acquaintance, he appeared to embrace all the aspects of the ton she despised: gambling, brawling and licentiousness. His words and manner told a different story. Strict with her, honorable too, for the most part, and terribly cynical about the ton. If this was a true indication of his nature, why did he not break free of the mold and undertake some worthwhile project? Something other than herself, that was.
More of a puzzle was the pull he exerted on her emotions. Never a moment passed in his presence when she wasn’t aware of his masculinity, his wide shoulders taking up more than his share of the carriage, his strongly muscled thigh pressing against hers on the narrow seat and the occasional waft of his sandalwood cologne. He flustered her and she did not like the odd sensations racing across her skin and along her veins.
The offside leader took exception to a strolling lady’s fluttering yellow ribbons. Travis’s arms flexed as he regained control and she found herself transfixed by the display of strength hidden by perfect tailoring.
“Shall I go to their heads, my lord?” the groom asked from behind them.
“Thank you, no. I have them well in hand.”
They followed behind the line of carriages parading along the Row. Some of the gentlemen passing in the opposite direction acknowledged them, while some, high-sticklers probably, refused to see them at all. Travis appeared unaware of any slight. Victoria noticed several ladies ogling him surreptitiously, before turning up their noses at Victoria. Like cats, their mean glances clawed at her and she lifted her chin. No doubt they were jealous because she rode beside one of London’s most handsome and eligible of bachelors, even if he was thoroughly disreputable.
“Well done, Miss Yelverton.” His soft murmur shimmered down her spine and sent heat flooding to her face. He knew the curious stares had made her squirm. While he seemed oblivious to all, apparently he missed nothing.
A rider caught them up and drew alongside. The warm, friendly smile of the Marquess of Deveril filled Victoria’s vision. Travis eased out from behind a smart, red Tilbury and pulled over onto the verge. A fashionable matron with two fair-haired daughters glared up at them from their barouche as their coachman maneuvered around the curricle.
Deveril bowed. “Good afternoon, Miss Yelverton. Travis.” The marquess looked over his shoulder. “We appear to be very much impeding progress here, Travis. Perhaps you should move?”
Travis shrugged. “If they are too cow handed to go around us, let them wait. Miss Yelverton, I’m not sure if I told you, Deveril is joining us for dinner tonight and will accompany us to the theater afterwards.”
Victoria smiled at Deveril. “How exceedingly kind of you, my lord.”
The marquess briefly rolled his eyes in Travis’s direction and grimaced. “No indeed, Miss Yelverton. The pleasure is all mine.”
He looked so out of countenance, Victoria couldn’t resist teasing him. “I’m sure Miss Allenby will be delighted to have another gentleman in the party.”
The marquess tugged at his cravat. “Allenby? Dash it, Travis, you didn’t mention your cousin.”
Travis cast a sharp look at Victoria. “I did. You must have forgotten. Would you like me to refresh your memory?”
The marquess’s fair skin flushed and he forced a smile. “Gad, no. If you say you told me, d’ye think I’m going to give you the lie?”
Victoria repressed her laugh at his obvious discomfort.
A shadow flitted across Travis’s face and disappeared in an instant. “I will be Miss Allenby’s escort tonight, not you. You will have the pleasure of bearing Miss Yelverton company.”
Deveril glanced down and pulled at his gauntlet like a man girding himself for an unpleasant duty. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Begging your pardon, gentlemen,” called a voice behind them, “you’re holding up the traffic. Let her ladyship pass, please.”
Victoria swiveled in her seat. She almost tumbled out of the carriage when she saw the woman driving the curricle trying to get by them. Lady Julia Garforth in a mannish green coat and with a jaunty shako perched atop her auburn curls, grinned and waved. Her vehicle, almost as high as Travis’s and pulled by a pair of handsome grays, squeezed in alongside. “Victoria. What are you doing here? I can’t believe I’m really seeing this. Let me in, Travis.”
Travis edged his horses closer to the verge. “Be careful, Lady Julia,” he called out. “You’ll turn that thing over.”
“Fie,” she retorted. “You’re not the only notable whip in London.”
“I don’t run my horses into the backs of others,” Travis muttered as he gave her space.
Victoria listened in amazement to their banter. The hard edges, which made Travis generally unapproachable, seemed to dissolve around his friend Deveril, and now also with Julia. But she was too pleased to see her friend to puzzle about it now. She leaned across the gap to touch Julia’s hand holding the whip. “Julia, I had no idea you had returned. I am so glad to see you. I have a great deal to tell you. May I call on you?”
Julia, her gaze stuck on Deveril, did not respond.
“Oh, excuse me,” Victoria said. “Lady Julia Garforth, have you met the Marquess of Deveril?”
“No, I don’t believe I have had the pleasure,” Deveril said. He leaned across the curricle to take Julia’s hand while she let her bold appraising glance ran over him. Her green eyes filled with appreciation.
A statuesque woman herself, Julia’s idea of the perfect male was large and muscular. Travis, though tall and broad shouldered, looked almost slender beside his veritable Viking of a friend. Victoria watched as Julia’s lips curved and a dimple appeared beside her mouth. Deveril stared back, an apparently mesmerized and confused mountain.
Victoria slid a glance at Travis. He seemed unaware of his friends’ reactions to each other, which struck her as odd.
“Will we see you at the theater tonight, Lady Ju?” Travis smiled, and Victoria’s breath caught in her throat. He could be so charming when he wished. Charming, attractive and dangerous to her peace of mind.
Julia grinned at him. “No, not this evening. Mama is exhausted from our travels.”
Deveril looked disappointed and Julia’s wicked half-smile said she’d noticed. Interesting.
“I will be at Vauxhall on Tuesday.” Julia said her eyes full of mischief. “Are you going?”
“We are,” Victoria said. It was on Maria’s list of things she must do. Up until now she had not been looking forward to it at all. “You remember, Lord Deveril,” Victoria said with an encouraging smile. “You agreed to accompany us.”
Deveril tore his puzzled gaze from Julia’s face. “Why yes. I had almost forgotten. That is,” he flushed again, “now you mention it, of course, I recall.” His gaze drifted back to Julia. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Pointless you wearing a domino,” Travis jibed. “Your size gives you away.”
“’Tis true.” Deveril grinned good-naturedly. Suddenly, his warm expression fled and he leaned closer to Travis, his quick, softly spoken words inaudible. The direction of his focus drew Victoria’s attention to the pretty blonde in a pink and white striped morning gown walking toward them with an older woman in tow. Miss Eckford. Victoria winced. Hopefully the girl would not mention the picnic to Lord Travis.
Cassandra Eckford gave Travis an anxious look, as if she wasn’t quite sure if she should stop or not.
Travis frowned. “Excuse me, ladies. I see a friend. Take their heads,” he directed his groom.
After leaping nimbly from the phaeton, he moved casually through the jostling pedestrians and slow-moving carriages to reach Miss Eckford’s side. A delicate blush greeted him as he bowed over her hand.
Victoria forced her attention to her companions. Deveril looked uncomfortable and Julia raised her eyebrows in question.
Victoria pasted a bright smile on her face. “Do you also go to Almack’s with us on Wednesday, my lord?”
“If you’ll have me, Miss Yelverton.” Deveril had a courtly style, but there seemed to be little enthusiasm in his words.
“Famous.” Julia smiled at him, her green eyes sparkling with interest. “I shall also be there. Mama says I’m to get serious about making my mark this season.”
“It seems to me, Lady Julia, you would always make your mark, serious or no,” Deveril responded.
Julia dimpled. “Why, my lord, how gallant. I shall very much look forward to our next meeting. Victoria, call on me tomorrow. Better yet, let me take you for a drive. Then can talk all we want without fear of interruption. I want to hear all your news.” With a flourish of her whip, she edged her carriage into the slowly moving traffic.
Victoria frowned. Julia must not have received Victoria’s letter, for she had not offered her condolences. It didn’t matter. They could discuss it tomorrow. At last she had someone with whom she could open her heart. Someone she trusted.
When Travis return to the carriage a few minutes later, his pleasant mood seemed to have evaporated. His mouth had returned to its habitual hard lines and his expression was distinctly aloof. He bade a brief farewell to Deveril after confirming their arrangements for later and since he remained deep in his own thoughts as they turned for his house, Victoria used the respite to plan how she would request Julia’s help to escape his clutches.