The Secret Heart, page 15
“I almost feel this is not real,” she confided. “Like a dream. Or as if I’ve stepped out of some children’s tale, the kitchen maid dancing with the prince.”
“Sadly, I can’t fetch you a prince from this company, but then, you were never actually a kitchen maid.”
“Close enough.”
“It’s all silly, isn’t it? The luck of birth and the rules laid down to maintain people like me.”
“I know no one else like you. Besides, your worth doesn’t come from your birth.”
“Nor does yours.” He was silent a moment, then said in a rush, “Would you marry Jack Hill if you were born a lady?”
She didn’t have to think about it. “Lord, no.”
“And yet, you like him.”
“I like Ned Bunton, too. When he doesn’t paw me. Besides…”
“Besides what?”
“He would not look at me in real life.” Her heart lurched with the sudden fear that she was about to ruin the moment, the friendship, everything she valued between them. And yet, she didn’t stop the words tumbling from her lips. “I think you looked. I think you saw me as more than the wench at the Hart.”
“Wench of my heart,” he said lightly. “And what did you see when you looked at me?”
“Secrets and mystery. Kindness. Responsibility.”
His lips twisted slightly. “It will make a dull epitaph.”
Dear God, she had hurt him… “I could not read you,” she blurted. “Because my own feelings got in the way. I never could think, never imagine the perfect lady for you.”
His gaze never wavered, though the rare turbulence in his eyes thrilled her. “Why not?” he asked huskily.
“Because I wanted it to be me,” she whispered.
His fingers tightened. So did his arm, although he forced it to loosen almost at once. They didn’t miss a step. His searching eyes did not release her. “And now that you know me better?”
“I want it more. But don’t be afraid. I know it can never be, and I will never follow you around—”
“But would you walk by my side, Lily Villin?”
She stared at him. “What are you asking me?”
He muttered something under his breath and quite suddenly whisked her through the open French doors from the ballroom onto the terrace. The cold fresh air shocked her, and she clutched at his shoulder as he all but dragged her away from the windows to the side of the terrace.
“I’m asking,” he said unsteadily, “if you love me.”
And suddenly, there was only honesty. A smile flickered across her lips as she tenderly touched his cheek. “I have always loved you. I always will.”
Her mouth was crushed under his in a wild, passionate kiss that bent her backward with its force. She threw both arms around his neck and clung, kissing him back with all her love.
“And if I can find a way for us to be together?” he whispered against her lips.
“Don’t. I know it can’t be. But I wanted to tell you just once.”
“Trust me.” He straightened them both. “But I am playing fast and loose with your reputation here. The proper Lord Torbridge would never do such a thing. I think you were overcome with the heat and must be taken back to Millie, now that you are recovered.”
“Yes, but this is still our dance, and then it is supper.”
He offered her his arm. “What a splendid ball this has turned out to be.”
“Do you suppose Francis is even now bolting for the coast with your man behind him?”
“I hope so, for our host is quite definitely here.” He bowed her solicitously through the door to the ballroom, and the first thing Lily saw made her smile involuntarily.
“Look,” she said, nodding to the left of the dance floor, where Millie waltzed in the arms of her husband—a social faux pas they clearly didn’t care about. “I believe I have brought the luck of the Hart with me.”
*
It was not in Torbridge’s nature to lose himself in fantasy, but the very real nature of his own feelings and Lily’s did threaten to overwhelm him. He had to fight this novel bubble of warmth and joy to remember his duty and make sure of Pennington’s continued presence. And Jack Hill’s. But he was sure that the message would reach him soon that the valet, Francis, was traveling at high speed to one port or another.
In the meantime, he took pleasure in eating supper with Lily, Millie, and Masterton, in making plans for leaving Pennington Place.
“No, you have monopolized Lily for long enough, Torbridge,” Millie said stoutly as he prepared to accompany them back to the ballroom. “Go away!”
He laughed and bowed with good grace, holding back while they joined the throng ahead, for Mrs. Bradwell had caught his eye. Something about her hesitant smile was inviting, almost pleading, and she was, in fact, just the person he wished to speak to. Maneuvering himself across to her, he bowed and offered her his arm.
“If we wait here for a moment,” he said kindly, “we may avoid the crush.”
“I would not keep you from your next dance, my lord.”
“I would not keep you from yours,” he replied at once.
“I am too old to dance.”
“Of course, you are not. I will ask you myself unless you really don’t wish it.”
“I would rather talk to you,” she admitted. “But it is so warm in here. And in the ballroom.”
“Then, if you don’t mind the cold, we can go this way.” Pulling back the curtain at the side of the room, he revealed a door. “Perhaps it should have been left open.”
She cast him a look of amusement. “You like to know your surroundings.”
“I do,” he admitted, unbolting and opening the door. “It comes in useful. We can walk from here around to the ballroom if it isn’t too cold for you.”
She stepped outside and gave a sigh of relief. “Perfect.”
He closed the door behind them. “Is there something, in particular, you wish to discuss?”
“So many things,” she said ruefully. “You asked me some unexpected questions when we last talked. You took me by surprise. You still do, but I find now I want to answer them if it helps her. For some reason, I trust you. I may be wrong to do so. And if I am, and you betray my confidence, I will simply deny everything.”
“I would never betray a confidence.”
Mrs. Bradwell halted at the terrace steps, and by the light of the lanterns there, peered into his face. “How did…my necklace get from the Hart to Ireland?”
“It didn’t,” he admitted. “It seems we are sharing confidences. The necklace has always been at the Hart.”
Her lips parted. “But she is…”
“A lady? She is many things. Here, chiefly, she is obliging me for reasons that have nothing to do with you or your past.”
“Obliging you?” she repeated with distaste. “What do you mean by her?”
“People keep asking me that,” he complained. “Nothing ill will have to suffice for now, though you could help me, if you chose, to make it something good.”
Mrs. Bradwell leaned against the low terrace wall and closed her eyes. “I cannot claim her,” she whispered. “I could not so dishonor my husband or my sons. And even if I did, what good would it do her?”
Torbridge leaned beside her. “I’m not sure any of this has been good for her. I took her with me on impulse, mostly selfish, I admit. I would not ask you to ruin your life or your family’s. I merely want to know the truth, to understand what to do next.”
From the ballroom, the music had begun once more, a merry country dance. Mrs. Bradwell lowered her head and began to speak very quietly so that he had to strain to hear.
“When I was young, before I married Mr. Bradwell, I was engaged to marry Captain Alfred Horsham, one of Lord Carborough’s younger sons. It was considered a good match by our families. And it was very much a love match. He was ordered to set sail, but we were to be married as soon as he returned. I’m sure you can imagine the excess of emotion on parting, and what it led to… He was killed only three days out of Portsmouth, a stray shot from a ship already fleeing.
“All I had of him was the pendant Lily wears, which was his parting gift to me. And the child I carried. Of course, my family covered up the scandal. I was bundled into the country, where no one knew me, amidst claims that I was ill and pining for Captain Horsham. And in Sussex, we met a young innkeeper and his wife, who were desperate for a child.” Her eyes squeezed shut. “I gave them mine,” she whispered. “Along with the necklace Alfred had given me, and a coral teething stick I had bought in Finsborough when no one was looking. One hour I held her in my arms, and then we left the inn, and I never saw her again.
“My family encouraged John Bradwell. He would not have been considered good enough for me before, but now, any husband was favored.” A smile flickered. “It turned out to be a good decision. He is a good man who understands my past. But he could not tolerate public proof.”
Torbridge touched her hand. “I understand. But what of Horsham’s family? Did they know?”
She nodded. “I felt it my duty to tell them. His lordship didn’t want to know. Even Alfred’s older brother, the current Lord Carborough, couldn’t bear his hero brother’s name tarnished with an illegitimate daughter. They gave me money, which I gave to the Villins.”
Torbridge thought that somewhat cold. But then, his own father would probably behave in precisely the same way. “Thank you for telling me this.”
She raised her head, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Then, she really is my daughter?”
“I think you know she is.”
Mrs. Bradwell straightened. “Then do not abuse her trust or mine, my lord.”
“I won’t,” he said, but without waiting for him, she was already hurrying up the steps to the terrace.
Torbridge followed more slowly. He had no reason to doubt Mrs. Bradwell’s story. It explained many things, including the odd affinity between her and Lily. But his next steps would have to be carefully judged.
Illegitimate children were a fact of life in the upper echelons of society as elsewhere. Most went unacknowledged or were passed off as the husband’s rather than the lover’s. Lily’s case was a little different, but…
He found himself at the door of the ballroom, gazing in, and some movement at the back caught his attention. A swish of green silk vanishing abruptly around the corner toward the supper room. He would have thought nothing of it, except that green was the same shade as Lily’s gown. And there had been a man with her, although the tiny glimpse was not enough to see who that was.
Entering, he searched the dancers, and those seated along the walls, looking for Lily as he moved inexorably across the floor in the same direction as the vanishing silk. She was not among the dancers or with Millie or Ella or Mrs. Bradwell.
His stomach tightened with unease, for although Jack Hill was dancing, there was no sign of Pennington.
He had been paying too much attention to the future and not enough to the present. The matter of the traitor was not yet settled, and until it was, he should not have allowed himself to be distracted.
Reaching the short passage to the supper room, he saw the lights had been dimmed there. He strode toward it. He did remember to glance left through the anteroom door on the way.
Lily stood alone by the window, shaking her head urgently as he swerved with relief toward her. It was a moment’s warning, but not enough to avoid the blow.
Chapter Fifteen
When Lily, still in her foolish haze of Torbridge-induced happiness, noticed Lord Pennington was almost upon them, her first concern was for Millie.
Millie, however, was deep in laughing conversation with friends. Not that Lily gave Pennington the satisfaction of actually looking, but she could hear the voices behind her as she moved subtly into his path, meaning to distract him for as long as Millie needed. She couldn’t quite remember if Sir George was with her still or had wandered away.
“Ah, Miss Darrow, the pride of Ireland. And now, England. I do hope your evening is agreeable?”
“Very,” she replied appreciatively, although the comment about Ireland, where she had never been, made her uneasy. “The ball is delightful.”
“Then you will do me the honor of dancing with me?”
It was unexpected, for ever since the incident with Millie in front of the stables, she knew he disliked her. And in truth, she did not want to touch even his hands in the country dance. However, there seemed to be no one to step in and claim a prior commitment. She could not, with civility, refuse.
“Or perhaps, so soon after supper, you would prefer a more gentle stroll around the ballroom?”
“I believe I would,” she said gratefully. “It was a splendid supper. Too splendid!”
He took her hand, placing it on his arm. So much for avoiding his touch.
“Too splendid?” he repeated. “You are not used to civilized ballroom suppers, perhaps? Or can you just not get out of the habit of consuming everything in sight for fear of when your next meal will be possible?”
The insulting words were spoken in his most amiable voice, so although her stomach tightened unpleasantly, she answered in the same manner. “I assure you, Lady Masterton keeps an excellent table.”
“Better than the Darrows?”
She stared up at him, deliberately haughty. “I am not so vulgar as to compare them.”
An ugly expression sparked in his eyes. His lip curled. “But I think vulgar is exactly what you are. You are no more a Darrow than I am, and I very much doubt you are related to Torbridge at all. You are, instead, some low creature he has foisted upon us under false pretenses.”
So, the gloves were off. There was a certain relief in that. She just hoped the valet was already on his way to the coast.
“That is hardly civil conversation,” she pointed out.
“I believe we have a few uncivil things to discuss.” He was guiding her back the way she had so recently come, toward the dining room.
She tried to draw her hand free. “I believe I would prefer our discussion to be in public.”
His hand clamped over hers on his arm. “Oh, no, you wouldn’t,” he sneered. “Only think what might be overheard and how damaging that might be for you.”
“How can you damage a low, vulgar creature foisted on society under false pretenses?” she retorted, throwing his own words back at him. But since she could not escape without an undignified tussle, she decided to follow his lead, to discover what he knew, what he suspected, and how far he was involved in the stealing and passing on of information from his brother’s office.
He did not guide her to the dining room but to the smaller anteroom beside it. The room was lit with two lamps and contained a low table and two chairs. Although she refused to be frightened, she was glad he made no effort to close the door.
Until she saw the man behind it.
Francis, the valet, who should have been galloping away from Pennington Place with Torbridge’s men in covert pursuit.
Unease sharpened into alarm. In the best traditions of the class she was impersonating, she ignored the presence of a mere servant and returned her gaze to Pennington.
“Sit,” he invited, releasing her to indicate the nearest chair by the window.
“I would rather stand,” she replied.
“No matter,” Pennington said indifferently. “So, do tell us, Miss Darrow, who the devil are you?”
“You already told me who I am. I was brought up never to contradict a gentleman.”
His lips stretched humorlessly. “No matter. I don’t really care. It’s Torbridge I mean to punish.”
“For catching out two filthy traitors?” she spat.
“For planting a spy on my family. For being the too-wealthy imbecile, he has always been. You may say goodbye, but you will have to do so very quickly.”
Too late, she saw the wicked knife in the valet’s hands, and shock swiped the breath from her body. They meant real harm to Torbridge. Murder.
She should have known it. Torbridge knew the truth, the only man of any standing who did—certainly as far as Pennington knew. More than that, she was the bait that would draw him into the trap.
She lunged forward, but Pennington seized her by the arm and jerked her backward into the chair she had refused to sit in.
“Let us wait for him in comfort,” he said smoothly. “I don’t know how long it will take the dolt to notice you and I are both gone.”
She regarded him curiously, for clearly he seriously underestimated Torbridge, which gave her hope. “You don’t think a great deal of him, do you?”
Pennington laughed. “From the first punch at school, I knew he was weak, soft, and lacked understanding of anything but the rules. He cannot even see what’s under his—”
“Sh-sh,” the valet interrupted from behind the door, and with dread, Lily heard quick footsteps coming along the passage from the ballroom. She did not know that it was Torbridge, but her heart was in her mouth. If it wasn’t him, perhaps she could use the newcomer’s presence to escape, to find and warn Torbridge.
Lord Torbridge appeared outside the doorway and glanced in.
She shook her head violently, but she should have known nothing would keep him from her. Pennington’s hand clamped about her nape. She did not even have time to shout out before Francis hit him a devastating blow on the back of the neck, and he fell forward onto the floor.
At the same time, Francis kicked the door shut, muffling Lily’s helpless cry of rage and fear for the man she loved.
Torbridge, however, took them all by surprise. Before Francis had recovered his balance from kicking the door, Torbridge kicked viciously backward, tripping the valet, and then rolled out of his way so that Francis landed hard on the floor.
Lily, who had had enough of playing bait—or worse, hostage—wrenched herself free of Pennington, who actually laughed as he strode forward, aiming a kick at Torbridge’s head. But Torbridge moved too quickly. He leaped to his feet, crashed his fist into Penington’s jaw, and as he reeled, swung around to face Francis, who now held his wicked blade in his right hand.
