Chapter 3

CHAPTER

a

3

T heo stood on the patio behind Lord Thornhill's new house. The remodel was finished and he'd moved in the prior week. The entire street was aquiver with excitement at having the infamous nobleman arrive. His first order of business had been to arrange a supper party. Arthur had been invited to it and he'd forced Theo to attend with him.

She'd invented a dozen excuses as to why she should stay away, but Arthur had insisted, and ultimately, she'd relented. Apparently, Lord Thornhill had demanded Arthur bring her along, and Arthur hadn't been inclined to disappoint him. Georgina had piled on by vociferously reminding Theo that there could only be a benefit to socializing with an aristocrat. Georgina hadn't yet been introduced to him though, so she wasn't aware that he was odd and exasperating.

Theo hadn't bumped into him since the day he'd followed her home from the Brigade's rally. She'd been cautious and stealthy, using the back door and sneaking out to the alley when she had to run an errand. She'd successfully hidden from him until the invitation had been delivered.

She was still incredibly embarrassed over how they'd initially met. It was bad enough that their acquaintance had commenced on such a sour note, but his catching her with the Matron's Brigade had increased her consternation. The gathering had been scheduled to protest a dissolute actress, but the woman was someone he knew and liked. She was suffering numerous qualms about her participation in the Brigade, and with his chastising her for being a member, her humiliation had worsened.

Before staggering over for the meal, she hadn't been sure of what to expect. After all, what sort of soiree would be hosted by such a fascinating man?

To her enormous surprise, the whole event had turned out to be very pleasant. It hadn't been nearly as fancy as the parties held in their own house. Nor had it risen to the level she might have anticipated from an earl, but it had been enjoyable all the same. The food had been simple, but delicious, the wine French and tasty. The servants were a tad rough around the edges, but they'd kept the glasses full and the plates whisked away at the appropriate moment.

There were twenty guests. Some were army veterans, and the others were dandies like Arthur who caroused through the city and deemed themselves to be interesting and marvelous. The table conversation had been fast and witty, the topics humorous and occasionally verging on the risqué, and she'd had a lovely time.

She'd been nervous about how she and Lord Thornhill would interact, but he'd been very polite and hadn't treated her any differently than anyone else. It was irksome to be viewed as one of the crowd though. For some bizarre reason, it seemed as if they were intimately bonded, and evidently, she'd assumed she'd be singled out.

She hadn't been keen to be presented to Lady Thornhill who, she figured, was the female he'd been kissing so ardently. Despite Theo's panic about the woman, she was noticeably absent, so Theo had avoided any awkwardness, and it was a huge relief. Theo had asked Arthur about her, but he'd claimed Lord Thornhill was a bachelor, so who was she?

The meal was over and people were in the lower parlors, chatting and drinking wine. One group had found a deck of cards and they were gambling for pennies. She'd stepped outside for a breath of fresh air. There was a small garden, with a gate that led out to the mews, but the area hadn't been tended recently, so the flowerbeds needed weeding, the bushes trimming.

She couldn't guess when the festivities would conclude, or when she should head home, but she was wishing—quite absurdly—that Lord Thornhill would have offered her a tour. She was dying to snoop in the upstairs rooms to check on the décor.

The downstairs rooms weren't exactly packed with furniture, but had been filled with a sufficient amount for comfortable living. The pieces were sturdy and well-constructed, but there was definitely no woman's touch around the place. There were no embroidered doilies under the lamps, no knitted throws on the sofas, no bouquets of flowers on the mantles. Then again, he'd just moved in and Theo had to quit being so persnickety about every little issue.

She left the patio and strolled toward the rear wall. There was a bench under a decrepit rose arbor and she sat down on it. The house's windows were open and she could watch the guests mingling and hear laughter and glasses clinking.

She felt detached from it all and even a bit sad to have come. She'd always believed she was destined for a big future, but she was starting to worry that life was passing her by. Marriage to Arthur might be the only change that would ever occur. Should she press him to set the date? Should they get it over with? Why continue to delay the inevitable?

She smelled smoke from a cheroot and she glanced into the shadows and saw Lord Thornhill standing a few feet away and observing her intently.

It was thrilling to have caught him alone, but she was anxious too. She had no idea how to talk to him like a rational person, and she constantly wound up apologizing for various inept words or deeds. She wasn't typically such a social bungler, but he simply pushed her to peculiar gaffes.

"Hello, Theodora," he said. "Or do you prefer to have it shortened to Theo? Arthur tells me it's your pet name."

She was delighted to learn that he'd discussed her with Arthur, but she was vexed about it too. She didn't care to have them gossiping about her. It could never be to her advantage.

"Theo is what my relatives call me," she said, "but I'm certain I previously declined to be on familiar terms with you."

He waved away the comment. "I never listen to women and we're very familiar. Don't you perceive it? We might have been friends for years already."

"You're being ridiculous. We're strangers and there's no basis for thinking we're fondly attached."

"Isn't there?"

He'd disconcerted her. That day when she'd walked home from the rally, there had been an odd interval, where the Earth had seemed to stop spinning. It had been an eerie sensation, as if the universe was marking their encounter and they were supposed to mark it too. She'd never experienced anything similar and she couldn't grasp what it indicated. She'd denied their being inordinately close, but they were very close. How could that be?

Without asking if she minded, he came over and plopped down next to her, and he wedged himself near enough that their sides were crushed together all the way down. Suddenly, she became conscious of him in a very feminine fashion, and it dawned on her that Arthur had never generated a comparable sentiment.

Her feelings for him were more brother-sister. In contrast, Lord Thornhill stirred a desire she hadn't realized she possessed. She could smell the soap with which he'd bathed, the pomade with which he'd slicked down his blond hair. There was a more subtle aroma too, an almost feral one, that kindled her passionate impulses. She could barely keep from rubbing against him like a lazy cat.

He took a last puff of his cheroot, then tossed it into the grass. It fizzled out, and they sat silently, studying his guests who weren't aware that their host had snuck out and was furtively spying on them.

After a bit, he peeked over at her, and his grin was conspiratorial and even a tad wicked.

"This was my first official supper party," he said. "What is your opinion? Did I pull it off? Or was it a total waste of money and effort?"

"You're such a cocky oaf. Why would you worry over how I viewed it?"

"I was trying to impress you. Couldn't you tell?"

"No. Why would you have wanted to impress me?"

"You and I have had two very peculiar meetings, and I'm terrified you deem me to be bizarre and eccentric. I'm usually very normal, but you've seen me at my worst."

"Are you normal? That's debatable." She didn't know him well enough to have formed any ideas as to what he was really like, so it was a snooty assessment, and she changed the subject. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You can ask me a hundred questions. I'll answer them if I can, but I'm a great liar. I might not be completely candid."

She scoffed with disgust. "You sound as if you're proud to be horrid. You shouldn't brag about it."

"Recently, it's as if I'm stumbling about in the middle of a theatrical play, so I haven't been able to convince myself that it matters if I'm honest or not. I used to be such a decent fellow, but I've lost my ability to be frank. I like being a scapegrace instead." He paused, then frowned. "Maybe I always was a scapegrace and my genuine nature has finally made an appearance."

"If I interrogate you, how am I to determine whether to believe you or not?"

He smirked. "I guess you'll just have to risk it."

"Please be truthful. Tomorrow morning, my stepmother will pepper me for information about you, and she's an awful gossip. Whatever I share with her will be spread far and wide, so you shouldn't provide false details. I can't predict who might hear and repeat them."

"I shall try my best."

"Marvelous. I appreciate it."

Her initial query, and her biggest curiosity, had to do with his marital status. She'd intended to blurt out her concerns, but he was staring at her so keenly that she couldn't spit it out.

Somehow, and without her noticing, they'd shifted so they were nose to nose. He was meticulously scrutinizing her, as if committing her features to memory. She'd never had a man gaze at her so fixedly. He might have been observing attributes no one else had ever observed. She felt that special and unique.

It was an intoxicating experience to be evaluated by him, and butterflies were somersaulting in her stomach. She was giddy as a schoolgirl.

"What's wrong?" she said. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Have we met before and I don't recollect?"

"No, we've never met. I'm sure of it. You're quite unforgettable."

"You're certain? Because it seems as if I've known you forever. There's an intriguing bond between us."

She suspected he was a practiced roué, and this was the sort of flirtatious comment a libertine might spew. Her pulse raced, but she shoved her reaction away, anxious to keep her head out of the clouds. She had no doubt, should she let down her guard, he would manipulate her in ways that didn't bear contemplating.

At her failing to agree that a connection had formed, he snorted with amusement and said, "You still haven't told me what you thought of supper. How was it? And don't merely be polite in your response. It won't hurt my feelings if you're critical."

She was charmed by his eagerness to be complimented. He was so pompous and confident. Could her opinion really be that important?

"Much to my surprise," she said, "the meal was wonderful. The food was delicious and your guests droll and interesting. I'm glad I came."

He assessed her, checking her level of sincerity, then he nodded as if she'd passed some type of test. "What is your question?" he said. "Ask away. Let's see what kind of reply you receive."

She mustered her courage and jumped in with both feet. "A few weeks ago, when I first stumbled on you, you were kissing a beautiful, auburn-haired woman. I assumed she was your wife, but Arthur insists you're not married. Which is it? Are you a husband or a bachelor?"

His grin grew very sly. "Why are you inquiring about her? Are you jealous?"

"No! I gravely embarrassed myself in front of her. When Arthur apprised me that I'd been invited to supper, I begged to stay home simply because I was too mortified to face her."

He chuckled, then said, "Shall I shock you? Or shall I protect your maidenly sensibilities?"

"I'll be annoyed if you lie."

"All righty then. Here's the truth: I'm not married and I never have been."

"Are you betrothed? Is that it? If you're not, I can't imagine why you were carrying on so outrageously."

"Can't you? I never socialize with females like you anymore, and it's hilarious to me that you are such an innocent."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm hardly an innocent."

"You're not?" He leaned in very close, his lips grazing her ear, then he whispered, "She's my mistress."

Theo blanched and lurched back. "She's not your mistress and you're a rude beast to claim such a thing."

He shrugged. "You wanted candor, but occasionally, it's better to sweep some secrets under the rug and leave them there."

His expression was smooth and clear, and she was forced to accept that he'd blabbed a tidbit he should have kept to himself. It wasn't appropriate for him to have shared such scandalous tidings, but at the same juncture, she was titillated by the news.

She'd never actually talked to a fallen woman, but she marched with the Matron's Brigade as they railed against trollops. Now, she was chatting with a scoundrel who'd blithely confessed that he consorted with a tart. What was she to make of such an astounding development?

"What's her name?" she asked.

"Lola Carter."

"How long have the two of you been involved?"

"My goodness, I suppose it's been five or six years."

She couldn't fathom how a female landed herself in such a dubious situation, and her curiosity was absolutely piqued.

"Where did you meet her?"

"I was stationed in India. In the army? She was there too, with her parents."

"How was your affair commenced? What precipitated it?"

"She had a bad reputation, and in certain circles, it was commonly bandied that she was a doxy. I'm not a saint either, so we tumbled into mutual misbehavior."

"You must have returned to England together. Is that it? You couldn't bear to part from her?"

"I wouldn't describe it like that. I was critically wounded, remember? I was sent home, and she sailed with me after her father had kicked her out in disgrace."

"How fond are you?" she asked. "Will you marry her?"

He winced. "Definitely not. She's a confirmed slattern who possesses no traits a man seeks in a bride. Besides, I have no desire to ever wed."

"Yes, but you're an earl now. Don't you have a duty to sire some heirs?"

"I've only been an aristocrat for six months. I haven't had time to become attached to the notion that my title matters."

"I went to my lending library and read the old newspaper articles about you. I was correct: You're a national hero. You saved a group of dignitaries."

His cheeks heated, as if she'd embarrassed him by mentioning it. "Yes, I saved some people who shouldn't have been traipsing about where they were. The whole incident was completely unnecessary, but they were government aficionados who presumed they could ignore sage advice and act like idiots."

"One of them was a royal cousin. You were rewarded because of it."

"Yes, with Thornhill, but it isn't much of a prize."

"Whyever not? I swear, you have the oddest attitude about your stroke of good fortune. What could possibly be awful about receiving an earldom?"

"The title isn't all that ancient or significant, and the property that came with it has been empty for years. It's mostly a decrepit ruin."

"Couldn't you fix it? You did such a bang-up job of remodeling this town house. Why not do the same at your country estate?"

"It would be too overwhelming—and too expensive." He paused, then confided, "I haven't fully recovered from my misadventure in India. I don't have the stamina or energy I used to have. It's hard to picture me restoring Thornhill. First, I'd have to find the money and I could never accumulate enough by gambling."

"Is that how you earn your income?"

"Yes. Are you shocked?"

"Not shocked precisely. I'd say disappointed is more apt. Are you addicted like so many dunces?"

"No, I'm just very skilled at it and I rarely lose. I bought this house with my ill-gotten gains."

"Maybe you should have spent it on Thornhill instead."

"I hate the country," he said, "and I would never live there. The slow pace and boring neighbors would drive me mad in a quick minute."

She huffed with feigned indignation. "I grew up in the country and not everyone who resides there is boring. If you tried it, you might like it."

"I doubt that very much."

"Before you were raised up, did your family have money? Are there old funds you could utilize to purchase what you require?"

It was a rude query, and she shouldn't have pried, but the black night and the secluded bench were creating a wonderful sense of intimacy. She could ask him anything, or tell him anything, and it would be all right.

"We've never had any money," he said. "I've just always been a soldier and you'll meet my father someday. He's a wastrel and I've supported him on my meager army salary."

A vision formed in her mind, where she convinced herself that his manor was a fine, but neglected mansion that simply needed to be brought back to its prior glory with some tender loving care. A flight of fancy arose, and she imagined them married, settled at Thornhill, and being happy forever. Their lifelong work would be to repair the place. Why couldn't it happen?

Well, how about because they were strangers? How about because he was an earl and could wed very high? How about because she'd never been lucky? How about because she thought men were cruel and stupid and she was betrothed to Arthur!

What was wrong with her? She was prone to daydreaming, and it was a dangerous failing that left her unsatisfied and despondent, but when she was in his presence, she allowed ridiculous fantasies to flourish.

He was staring again, cataloguing her features, and though it was bizarre, she was suffering from the strongest impression that he might kiss her. She'd been kissed several times in the past, at boarding school when she'd been an adolescent. They'd had soirees with the boys from a school in the adjacent village, and those pesky Romeos had been eager to sneak off and misbehave. She and her classmates had been eager to sneak off too, so she recognized the signs of libidinous intent.

Would he kiss her? Should she let him?

The fact that she would ponder the thrilling notion was distressing. She was betrothed! To Arthur! She had been for years! What was she thinking?

She eased away and said, "I should head inside. Arthur is probably hunting for me."

"Can you really suppose he's missed you?"

She chuckled. "No, but it's occurred to me that you're much more man than I can handle. I shouldn't lurk in this dark garden with you."

"I won't tell if you won't."

"Spoken like a genuine cad."

"I am a cad. I admit it. My reputation is atrocious."

"You have the mistress to prove it."

He looked very smug, almost proud of being wicked. She stood to depart, but before she could, he clasped her hand and linked their fingers.

"I don't want you to leave yet," he said. "Stay out here with me."

She tsked with exasperation. "You have a devil's tongue, Lord Thornhill, as well as the smile of a scoundrel. I pity the women who fall for your lies."

"Don't call me Thornhill. Call me Jackson."

"I shouldn't. It might propel us down a slippery slope that would be too steep for me to maneuver."

"Could I push you down a slippery slope? Might I ever be that clever?"

"No, never. I am virtuous as the day is long."

He snorted. "Every maiden claims that—until she finds a reason to not be virtuous."

She wouldn't touch that comment with a ten-foot pole. Instead, she asked, "Is your wound just on your leg? Or were you injured in other spots too?"

"The worst of it is my leg, from my hip to my ankle."

"The newspaper described you as being in a sword fight."

He sighed. "It was a bit more dire than that, but we can pretend that's accurate. You don't need to have me clarify the violent details."

"Your wound still pains you?"

"Yes. It aches when the weather is cold and rainy, so I have no idea why I'm in England. The dreary climate means I'm never very hale."

His eyes were a riveting blue and her sympathies were stirred. She yearned to snuggle onto his lap, to nurse him, to tend him, to fix what was ailing him. The emotions he produced were frightening and she drew away and started toward the patio.

His poignant gaze cut into her, as if a rope tethered them together and he was tugging on it. Was she robust enough to evade his unrelenting pull? On this occasion, she was, but she suspected—in the future—she might not be. He was intriguing and amazing, and to her great horror, she'd like to give him whatever he might ultimately seek from her.

Clearly, he was dangerous to her equilibrium, and she had to guarantee they never socialized again. Yet even realizing that any association would likely be perilous, she stopped and glanced back.

"You hosted a supper party for your friends," she said. "Why didn't you invite your mistress, Miss Carter, too?"

"I knew you'd be here, so it wouldn't have been appropriate for her to attend."

"You kept her away—just for me?"

"Yes, just for you."

The admission was joyfully terrifying. It niggled at her wilder proclivities, the ones she carefully buried so she never, ever behaved as her deceased mother would have behaved.

She whipped away and raced inside. She found Arthur and told him she was tired and going home. He didn't protest, and she flitted out the door and hurried across the cobbled courtyard to her own house.

Georgina was in bed, so Theo didn't have to tarry with her to provide gossip about the guests or the gathering. She was able to climb to her room and lock herself in. She peered out at the stars and wondered what was happening to her. It seemed as if mysterious forces were at work and her life was about to change in a monumental way. Could that be true? Could it change?

Jackson Bennett was pushing her to accept that her mother's wicked traits were lurking just below the surface and they could easily burst out. He could drag them out, which was alarming to consider.

She went into her dressing room and donned her nightgown. All the while, she scolded herself. It was deranged to think about him, deranged to contemplate what might occur—and how much she might like it. She crawled under the blankets, but sleep was elusive and she tossed and turned until dawn.