Dangerous Weakness Page 6

  Richard sipped his drink in silence. His mother’s well-known prejudices did not require comment.

  “I thought you would want to know. About Miss Thornton,” Will said, watching him.

  “We will, of course, arrange travel for the woman, but Miss Thornton is her own concern,” Richard replied. He ought to feel relieved; it annoyed him that he didn’t.

  “She will do what she pleases in any case,” he said. She’ll try. We will watch her while she does it.

  Chapter 9

  “No, no, no. This is one case where bigger is better.”

  Lily listened to Catherine with sinking heart. In the weeks since the countess packed up Lily, her youngest child, the nursemaid and a train of luggage and swooped back to London to ensure that the Haut Ton knew Lilias Thornton to be her dearest of friends, Lily had learned better than to try to stop the woman’s enthusiasms.

  “I fear Catherine is correct in this case, Lily,” Georgiana Mallet put in. Glenaire’s sister had joined them at Chadbourn house to plot the campaign hatched by Catherine to “Pop Lily off in style.” They sat around a gaming table covered with engraved invitations, lists, and scraps of notes.

  “But we agreed I should set my sights a little lower than the upper ten thousand. I won’t need to attend this ball.”

  “No dear,” Catherine told her, “You set your sights there. We merely try to steer you toward success.”

  “I don’t want or need a title,” Lily said hotly. “So, why do I need to attend the Duchess of Pembrook’s ball? It will be a stifling crush full of useless fribbles who wouldn’t have me, and darling young ladies eager to cut me.”

  “Not all titled gentlemen are worthless,” Catherine corrected tartly.

  Not all men are gentlemen either. Perhaps I should give up on marriage. Any serious suitor will have to be told I’m not untouched. The thought depressed her.

  “Generally, you may be correct about that sort of thing—not titled gentlemen but certain types of events,” Georgiana said to Lily. “However—”

  “Thank you,” Lily interrupted. “I thought we had agreed to small dinner parties, literary soirees, and musicales. I won’t go.”

  “Yes, but we must start large,” Catherine insisted.

  “First, because you must be noticed,” Georgiana said, “and as much as I myself loathe the bowing and backstabbing, the first great ball of the season will get you noticed.”

  Lily grunted. She recalled Sahin’s thoughts on the English marriage mart. It’s a horse auction, and I’m treated like a second-rate mare.

  “Secondly, you must cast your net wide. You can narrow your choices later,” Catherine said.

  “And third?” Lily demanded.

  “Third, you might just have fun. You seemed to enjoy yourself at Chadbourn Park,” Catherine said.

  I did. Before Volkov caught me. Before Glenaire— She sighed. Before Glenaire. If I attend this ball, he will be there, looking down his nose for signs of misbehavior. Another thought caused her stomach to turn. What if Volkov attended? She had seen no sign of him since her return to London, but she could feel watching eyes.

  “I won’t go,” Lily insisted. She picked up the next invitation on the “maybe” pile.

  Catherine looked hurt, but she pulled the invitation back to the “no” pile.

  “Lily, Catherine went to great trouble to get you that invitation,” Georgiana chided gently. “You must go.”

  When you use that tone, you are every inch Glenaire’s sister. Glenaire! How can I face him? Lily had no answer to her own question, but she realized she had to face him, if only to seek news of her father. She looked from face to face, one set in determination, one hopeful. How can I repay their kindness with obstinacy? Her shoulders sagged.

  “Pembrook’s ball it is,” she capitulated. “When is it?”

  “Thursday next. You won’t be sorry. I have it on good authority the Ottoman delegates have been invited, and the Foreign Office will season the attendees with their eager young men, your target audience,” Georgiana said.

  Lily already felt sorry. If I see Sahin Pasha in public, I may cause an international incident. The Marble Marquess won’t like that.

  That thought perked her up.

  “That’s all?” the marquess demanded.

  The dispatch rider, still in his road dirt cringed in the face of Richard’s fury. He arrived unannounced at Horse Guards, went through the desk used to screen out frivolous requests and importunate beggars, and was dragged bodily into the marquess’s private office overlooking Horse Guards Parade.

  “No, I mean yes, my lord. This is the message exactly as John Thornton gave it to me. He didn’t explain anything else.”

  Richard scanned the unsealed velum again, but the message remained the same.

  Ship floundered. We regret we are detained in Copenhagen pending repairs. Estimated departure 30 days. I will take the opportunity to explore Danish commercial interests and make use of the archives here.

  J. Thornton

  He folded it back and tapped it absentmindedly on his desk. We should have sent a more strongly worded warning. Still, the bodyguard knows his duty.

  He laid the message down on the desk, calculating the time it took to send this message overland. He won’t leave for another two weeks and then take three to four more to get here. John Thornton couldn’t arrive in less than a month; six to eight weeks were more likely. He didn’t appear to be in a rush.

  I don’t suppose the man bothered to send word to his daughter.

  “Was this his only message?”

  The hapless courier opened and closed his mouth like a carp. The man looked ready to drop. Richard reined in his temper.

  “What I mean is, did he notify family in any way?”

  “Oh! No, sir. At least I don’t think so,” the man said.

  Damn. Until her father returns, the Thornton woman remains my problem.

  “Go clean up and seek your rest.” Richard punctuated his words with a shooing motion. “You made admirable time. I will see that your superiors hear about it.”

  The man turned to go, but Richard interrupted him. “Send in Mr. Heaton on your way out, if you please.”

  “Anything new regarding Volkov?” Richard demanded of Heaton five minutes later.

  “No, my lord. He hangs on the edges of the Russian delegation. He gambles, but never to excess. He visits particularly sordid houses of—”

  “Yes, yes, we know his vices. Has he approached Lilias Thornton?”

  “No, my lord, no change since yesterday.” If Heaton intended it as a rebuke, Richard saw no sign.

  “We’d know if he did,” Heaton continued. “Since we frightened that one ruffian off behind her square two weeks ago, we’ve seen no other sign of anyone.”

  As I know perfectly well.

  “If I may be so bold, my lord,” Heaton began. “Have we had word about John Thornton’s return?”

  “A messenger arrived a short while ago. Not good news.” Richard showed the young man the message.

  “Does she know?” Heaton asked, concern obvious on his face.

  “No. Her father left that to us.”

  “I’d be happy to call on Miss Thornton,” Heaton said hopefully.

  The damned puppy looks like a boy anticipating a sweet.

  “No,” Richard said. “I’ll handle it. You may go.” He watched the crestfallen young man leave and considered whether he should assign a different agent to the Thornton woman issue.

  Don’t be a bloody fool, Richard. Heaton would make her an unexceptional husband. At least he would if the puppy didn’t bore her to tears, if he could be broad minded enough to overlook—

  Richard frowned. His actions had, at the very least, complicated her ma
rriage prospects. That thought hounded him out the door to call for his carriage.

  An hour later, irritated and impatient, he let himself out in front of his sister’s townhouse.

  Lily Thornton had not been home. She had not been at Chadbourn house. The ladies, he was told, went shopping.

  I’ll be damned if I’m going to chase them all over Bond Street.

  He could hardly impose on the countess, but he could stop unannounced at his sister’s house and wait. If he were lucky, Georgiana would return home and Lily would be with her. Luck rode with him. He could hear the sound of women’s voices even as he handed his hat to the butler.

  “I’ll see if Mrs. Mallet is at home,” the man said.

  “Of course she is,” Richard said, brushing past him into the drawing room.

  “The Marquess of Glenaire,” the old man intoned behind him with pained expression.

  Three faces turned his way, his sister’s irritated, and Catherine’s curious. Lily looked terrified.

  “Don’t mind my brother, Simpson,” Georgiana directed her servant. “He believes manners don’t apply to the Hayden family.”

  He ignored his sister. He hadn’t seen Lily Thornton in four weeks. His eyes devoured her, taking inventory. She had her hair in some ridiculously complex knot. It hid the lights. He wanted the lights. She looked thinner. She looked pale.

  Could she be with child? Then she would indeed be my problem.

  The look in Lily’s green eyes, wide with alarm, brought him to his senses. He straightened his spine, forced his eyes away, and squashed the flicker of hope that plagued him. Absurd!

  Georgiana’s raised brow looked like it owed more to amusement than impatience. My sister is too perceptive by half.

  “Social call, Richard? Family matter?” she asked. He heard laughter in her voice. Minx.

  “Business I fear. I went to call on Miss Thornton and found her here. Perhaps she could join me in the foyer for a few moments. That should be proper enough.”

  “I think not,” Lily murmured. She gripped the arm of her chair. “There is nothing I have to say to you that my friends can’t hear.” All three women watched him expectantly.

  “Perhaps, but there may be things I have to say for as few ears as possible.” She looks like she wants to bolt. “Come, come, I won’t eat you,” he insisted. He regretted his choice of words when he saw her eyes widen.

  “Very well,” she said. She followed him to the foyer where he dismissed Georgiana’s curious servants.

  “We had word about your father.”

  Color drained from her. If he thought her pale before, now she looked positively wraithlike. She swayed backward.

  Richard grabbed her elbow and rushed to assure her. “He is well.”

  She shook off his hand; hope flickered in her eyes. “Is he here?”

  “No, delayed.” I’ve disappointed her. He hated the way the light went out in her eyes.

  “Still in Russia,” she gasped. Her hand, pressed to her chest as if to steady her breathing, drew his eyes to her breasts.

  “No, no,” he floundered, pulling his attention back. “I’m making a hash of this. He left as scheduled, but the ship floundered. It limped into Copenhagen. They await repairs.”

  “Too close,” she whispered.

  “Pardon?”

  “Too close to St. Petersburg.” He watched her pull herself together. Good girl. I can almost see her mind assessing the information.

  “He is well guarded.” Richard prayed that was true. “Travel delays the Russians as much as us.”

  “Thank you for telling me,” she said turning away from him.

  “Are you well?” he asked her retreating back.

  She turned and studied his face gravely. “Do you mean, have there been consequences? It is too soon to tell.” Their eyes caught for a moment.

  “You will—”

  “Tell you if such a catastrophe occurs? Perhaps. Good day, my lord.” She left with a swish of skirt.

  Why does she have to be so damned prickly? Richard retrieved his hat, put it on with a disgruntled slap, and walked out into the late afternoon shadows.

  John Thornton can deal with her. When he arrives, she’ll be his problem, not mine. Not mine, he repeated as if to reassure himself and dampen any surge of disappointment.

  Unless she’s with child. He envisioned Lily big with child, and his lip quirked in the smallest of smiles.

  Chapter 10

  Pembrook’s ballroom radiated heat, noise, and the odors of seething humanity. Lily sat next to Roger Heaton and tried to formulate ways to discourage the man.

  “Would you join me in a refreshment, Miss Thornton?” An unfamiliar baritone overrode pretty words from Roger Heaton, who had been attentive, too attentive, all evening. She allowed him only one dance, but he hovered all evening just the same.

  “Refreshment?” the stranger repeated.

  Lily hesitated another moment. The young stranger’s dark face over a pristine, fashionably knotted neckcloth did not belong to an Englishman. She recognized him as one of Sahin Pasha’s aides.

  Heaton watched the man sharply; he put a protective—and in Lily’s opinion, presumptuous—hand on her arm.

  “Have we met?” Lily asked, removing Heaton’s hand.

  “We were introduced at Chadbourn Park,” the man said with a rueful smile.

  A lie, but a charming one. This is one of the “farmers” at the inn. One of the horse thieves, she thought.

  She searched the room for Sahin Pasha and found him chatting with the Duke of Argyll. He did not appear to be aware of Lily’s presence, but she knew better.

  “Of course, I remember now,” she chirped, carefully avoiding names since she had no idea what this handsomely dressed gentleman called himself. “I would indeed like refreshment.”

  She thought Heaton might try to stop her, but good manners prevailed. She could feel his eyes following her. She liked Roger Heaton well enough, but she wasn’t prepared to give him exclusive attention.

  “What do you really want?” she whispered to her escort when they approached the refreshment table. He smiled down at her and melted away. She turned to find Sahin Pasha helping himself to cake. The sight did not astonish her.

  “Ah, Miss Thornton,” he crooned. “Always a delight.” He took her plate and began to fill it with sweets.

  “And you, too, favored uncle,” she said. She made no effort to keep sarcasm from her voice.

  “I know we parted on difficult terms,” Sahin said.

  “Difficult, favored uncle? You underestimate,” Lily said. She leaned toward the plate and whispered for his ears only, “It might have been catastrophic.”

  “Was not your marquess protective?” She followed his eyes across the room where Glenaire stood next to his mother. She watched him lead Lady Sarah Wharton to the dance floor; she saw his mother’s grim satisfaction. The girl carried herself with a perfect mix of confidence and fragility. Her coiffure and gown reflected the height of current fashion exactly.

  They make a beautiful pair; Lady Sarah is born to his world.

  “He isn’t my marquess,” she said, “But yes. The marquess protected me.” From everything but himself.

  “My apologies if I misread the situation,” the old man said, watching the pair caught up in the dance. “Necessity drove me.”

  “I accept for myself, favored uncle, but my father—”

  “Is he not in London, little one? I had hoped to see my friend, John Thornton, here.” The old man shrugged. “Travel this time of year . . .”

  “Alas his travel has been delayed for repairs in Copenhagen,” she said. “The Foreign Office can only do so much.” She took the dish of sweets she would never eat and lifted her skirt. “Now, if yo
u will excuse me, I’ll take my leave.” They had begun to draw attention.

  The old man nodded gravely. “I am in your debt, I fear. If you ever have need of my help, you know you can come to me,” he said.

  Lily circled the edge of the dancers and put the entire plate of sweets on the tray of a footman stationed by one wall. She wondered if she would ever seek Sahin Pasha’s help again. The first time ended in— In what Lily? Disaster?

  Her stomach felt queasy, and she needed air. Pembrook’s ball had been the sad crush she anticipated, but no crowd of suitors surrounded her this time. Only one name other than Heaton graced her dance card. She wasn’t sure if she should be disappointed or relieved. She doubted that any of the callow young men would want a wife who had been unchaste.

  What if there are consequences?

  She thought she would seek out Chadbourn and his countess. The earl had come at Catherine’s insistence. He loathed balls. Lily began to see his point. Georgiana had shamed Lily into coming but stayed away herself. Lily tried not to give in to resentment. She stood in a ballroom stuffed with London’s highest society and felt more alone than she had her entire life.

  She inched her way along the side until she came within feet of Catherine and the earl. She greeted her friend with a smile and walked forward, colliding with one of the dancers just leaving the floor.

  “I beg your pardon,” she began. A man’s hand steadied her. She turned to find Glenaire’s intense eyes seeking hers. She took a step back.