Scotsman of My Dreams Page 15

  She didn’t know what to say to his candor.

  “Could we go to Astley’s Amphitheater? I remember Neville talking about the equestrian performances. Or the elephants.”

  “I think it best to limit our visits to those places Neville spent the most time at, don’t you?”

  “Was he very well-­known?”

  “What you’re asking is, was he disreputable, as well-­known for his escapades as I. He’s a man, Miss Todd. Young, yes, but he possesses all the flaws and faults of his kind. Neville enjoyed the company of his friends, laughing, and other occupations known to be enjoyed by other men.”

  “In other words, he was an acolyte of yours, attempting to be as licentious and dissolute.”

  He didn’t answer, and she realized she’d probably been too acerbic again. Or honest.

  She settled back against the seat, her eyes on the view out the window.

  “Are we going by the river?”

  The gardens had a pier on the Thames. She knew a great deal about Cremore, opened twenty years earlier, even though she’d never gone. It wasn’t considered proper, for all its popularity.

  “I think Kings Road would be best,” he said.

  “Will we be able to see all the light displays? I’ve been told they are magnificent.”

  “One of us will.”

  “Oh, I am sorry. How insensitive of me.”

  “Never mind, Miss Todd, I’ve seen them many times before. You mustn’t miss the crystal platform. It’s a study in various colored glass and iron work.”

  They sat in companionable silence for several minutes. It surprised her how comfortable she was in his presence.

  When the carriage stopped, they repeated the same dismounting procedure as at the solicitor’s office. After they left the vehicle she took the earl’s arm and they walked sedately down the wide thoroughfare, her eyes taking in all the sights.

  Dusk was settling over the gardens. By the time she returned home it would be dark.

  The Covington sisters would be scandalized.

  Should she worry about her reputation? After all, she was alone with the Earl of Rathsmere without a chaperone. None of her maids were suitable; they would have been charmed by the earl within minutes of being in his company.

  She had never truly cared what ­people thought of her, and was now putting that philosophy to the test. Here she was, sauntering through Cremore Gardens with the Rake of London while wearing her trousers skirt.

  To her surprise, Cremore was filled with plainly dressed ­people. Once in a while she’d see a female attired in something more fashionable, but most of the crowd seemed to be the working ­people of London.

  The crystal platform was just as he had described. The iron work was magnificently crafted with swirls, circles, and leaves surrounding roses that looked to be on the verge of opening. Mirrors sat in among the decorations, reflecting the emerald, garnet, and blue crystal droplets. Behind it all were gas jets, illuminating the platform in the approaching dusk. In total darkness it would be an awe inspiring sight.

  But it was nothing to the pagoda and its orchestra, so brightly lit by all the gas chandeliers that it pushed back the oncoming night.

  To her surprise, they were playing a waltz. The dance floor was crowded with good-­natured ­people all smiling and looking as if they were thoroughly enjoying themselves.

  She envied them their freedom and their lighthearted joy.

  She didn’t like to dance. She wasn’t good at it. Although her mother had insisted she learn, she was well aware that she stepped on the feet of her partners. But here, with the soaring music and the coming night made day by the gas jet lights, she wanted to try again.

  “Would you dance with me?”

  “Are you daft?” he said.

  “I don’t think you need sight in order to dance. I often close my eyes when I’m dancing.”

  “That’s because you were in your partner’s arms,” he said. “He was leading you, and one of the reasons he was leading you was to watch for other dancers so you didn’t crash into them.”

  “I can lead you,” she said.

  “I repeat, are you daft?”

  “Are you worried that it might damage your consequence? Someone might see the great Earl of Rathsmere being led about the dance floor by a woman?”

  “No, I’m more afraid of the great Earl of Rathsmere being led around the dance floor like a trained monkey. I’m not that good a dancer anyway. You’ll thank me for refusing.”

  “I don’t believe you. You walk quite well.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I watch how men walk,” she said. “Oh, not all the time, but when it occurs to me to do so. Men who walk with confidence often turn out to be very good dancers. You walk with confidence even now, though you can’t see where you’re going.”

  His startled laugh made her smile.

  “Is there no end to what you’ll say?”

  “I thought you didn’t mind when I was being myself,” she said, inexplicably hurt. She wouldn’t dance with him now even if he begged her.

  She moved a few feet away, her attention directed to two very attractive women walking close to the pavilion. She knew, without being told, that they were members of the demimonde. One was blond while the other had black hair. Both were dressed in the highest fashion, even if their bodices dipped a bit low. Their makeup, however, was excessive. Their brows had been drawn in and their lips coated with bright red color.

  “Miss Todd—­” he began.

  She interrupted him. “Exactly why are we here, Your Lordship?”

  “To meet someone.”

  “Someone who might know my brother?”

  “Exactly that. Miss Todd, I must apologize.”

  “You must? Why ever must you?”

  Here in the gaslight he was even more attractive. His eye patch attracted some attention and then the women looked again. Did they recognize him? Or were they just remarking on his good looks?

  “I hope you don’t want to apologize for what you feel or say in my presence,” she said. “You see, I much prefer ­people to be who they are. And if some things they say don’t please me, I simply keep my comments to myself. I don’t hold myself up as the only arbiter of taste or fashion.”

  “I don’t bloody well think I’m the only arbiter of taste or fashion. I just have this abiding dislike of looking the fool. I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m not saying that you would be the foolish one. But I’m blind, Miss Todd. I can’t see the dance floor. I can’t see you. I can’t see the other dancers. Hell, I can’t even tell if it’s day or night.”

  “It’s turning into a very lovely night, Your Lordship, and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t ruin it.”

  Really, he could not bring her to tears with his words. He could not make her want to pat him on the arm and tell him it was going to be all right. It had been a silly suggestion anyway. Maybe she’d just wanted to be held in his arms for a while, and wasn’t that a terrible admission?

  Was she losing her mind around him, becoming one of those silly women she’d heard about?

  “Dalton.”

  She turned to find that the blond woman she’d been watching was standing right beside her. The woman ignored her as she stretched out her hand to touch Dalton’s sleeve.

  “Oh, love, what happened to you?”

  “War,” he said.

  Another surprise, that he didn’t immediately excoriate Neville in public.

  The blonde leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

  “It’s Lilly, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, you dear sweet man. Fancy that, you remembering after all this time.”

  “You’re one of those women that is difficult to forget.”

  Her laughter sounded like crystal teardrops clinking together, whi
le she, no doubt, brayed like a donkey when she laughed.

  Minerva turned away, unwilling to see the blond rub all over the earl like a kitten.

  She could not, however, ignore their conversation.

  “I’m looking for Dorothy,” he said.

  “What can Dorothy do that I can’t, Dalton?”

  The woman was as arrogant as a lord. Was bragging about her qualifications a requirement of being a member of the demimonde?

  “Dorothy was a particular friend to someone I’m looking for.”

  Minerva turned to stare at him. What was he implying? That Neville utilized the ser­vices of a girl here at Cremore Gardens?

  “I haven’t seen her tonight,” the blonde said. “Would you like me to pass along a message?”

  “I would.”

  To her surprise, he extended some pound notes to the woman. She didn’t hesitate to take them and stuff them into her bosom. The bodice was so low it was a wonder her nipples weren’t exposed.

  “Ask Dorothy to contact me,” he said, pulling out one of his cards and handing it to her. “If she sees Neville Todd.”

  “Neville the Devil? What a lark he was. I haven’t seen him, Dalton, but I’ll pass along the message.”

  After another kiss, some whispered exchange that caused the earl to smile, she was gone in a flurry of French perfume, ruffles, and a rustling sound like silk petticoats.

  “Neville the Devil?” Minerva asked him. “What’s your nickname? Other than the Rake of London?”

  He didn’t answer her. “Dorothy’s very fond of Neville.”

  “Yes, well.”

  “Are you under the impression that your brother is celibate?”

  “I haven’t actually thought about it,” she said. “Nor do I want to think about it now.”

  In her mind, Neville would always be ten years old. Of course, she knew he wasn’t, but the idea that he might have engaged one of the women here was shocking.

  “He might get the pox. You might get the pox.”

  “I can assure you, Miss Todd, I have not taken advantage of any offers here.”

  That made her feel a little better, and she couldn’t imagine why.

  “Did Neville never go to Vauxhall?”

  “Vauxhall has a fashionable reputation. When one wants to be an iconoclast, one finds the venue to do it.”

  What on earth did she say to that?

  DALTON WOULD have given a sizable chunk of his fortune to be able to see Minerva Todd’s expression as they left Cremore Gardens.

  As the evening advanced, she became quieter. They made six additional stops, all places he knew Neville frequented. He left his card at each one, with instructions for them to call him if Neville was seen.

  When they entered the carriage for the last time, before giving Daniels instructions to return to Miss Todd’s home, she spoke again.

  “No one has seen him.”

  “No,” he agreed. “They haven’t, which leads me to wonder if he’s returned to London at all.”

  “You think he’s dead, don’t you?”

  Did she know how expressive her voice was? He could hear the grief she tried to push back, along with sorrow and regret.

  Suddenly, he wanted to reassure her, to take the sadness from her voice.

  “I know nothing of the sort,” he said. “He might’ve returned to England and just not to London.”

  “London is his home,” she said, her tone dull and nearly lifeless.

  “Weren’t you the one who advised me to be positive in my thoughts? Is that a case of do as I say and not as I do?”

  “You’re right of course,” she said, a false cheer coating her words.

  “We don’t know where he is, Miss Todd. He might still be in America, waiting transport home. Or perhaps he’s fallen in love with an American and can’t bear to part from her.”

  “He’s entirely too young to take a wife.”

  He couldn’t help but smile.

  “You think me an idiot, don’t you?”

  “I think a great many things about you, Miss Todd. None of them is that you’re an idiot.”

  “You do? What do you think?”

  He wasn’t about to venture down that path. It wouldn’t do to let the woman know he was becoming more interested then was wise. Minerva Todd had a charm all her own. He found himself smiling often and even laughing from time to time. She was most definitely her own person, and that creature was someone totally alien to his knowledge of women.

  She fascinated him. She smelled of cinnamon and lemon. And her voice made him want to listen to it. She wasn’t shrill, even when she was emotional. Her voice was pitched lower, almost seductively.

  No, it wouldn’t do to let Minerva know what he thought of her.

  “What do you look like?” he asked.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Did you not hear the question or are you stalling for time?” he asked, amused.

  “I’ve never had to describe myself before.”

  “James thinks you’re arresting.”

  “Does he?”

  “Your voice softens when you’re pleased, do you know that?”

  “No,” she said.

  “And it hardens when you’re annoyed. You have a decidedly facile voice, Minerva.”

  “Why are you calling me by my given name? Are you trying to be shocking now?”

  He hadn’t intended to do it, but her name had slipped from his lips with ease. Now that he’d violated a tenet of polite society, he saw no reason to retract it.

  “I’m tired of calling you Miss Todd.”

  “Are you?”

  “There’s that hardness again.”

  When she didn’t respond, he smiled. He knew better than to think her feelings were hurt. No, Minerva was no doubt sitting there with her eyes slitted, thinking of some way to retaliate.

  “You have to be a raving beauty for all the annoyance you summon. Only truly beautiful women are allowed to be harridans.”

  “Were you this rude when you could see?”

  His smile broadened. He’d been right. “Occasionally, I’m afraid. What do you look like?”

  “I’m arresting, of course.”

  “I doubt you’ve ever thought that of yourself. Most women bemoan their looks. They concentrate on their flaws to the exclusion of all else. A bit like not being able to see the forest for the trees.”

  “And men don’t? Don’t men have any qualms about their looks? Don’t you?”

  “I don’t think we consider it much.”

  “Oh, come now,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You, the darling of the ton, never thought about your appearance? I’ve heard how women nearly swooned at the sight of you.”

  His laugh filled the corners of the carriage.

  “Swooned at the sight of me? Whoever told you that tripe?”

  “Never mind.”

  Was she embarrassed?

  “I’m serious,” he said. “I never considered my looks. Now I’m afraid I would frighten my previous companions.”

  “No doubt they are shallow ­people. Your scars aren’t that terrible.”

  He really had to stop analyzing her voice. Now it seemed to be filled with compassion. Too close to pity, that.

  “You’ve never said what you look like, which is a masterful piece of deflection, by the way.”

  She made a sound, and he wondered if she was gritting her teeth. He bit back his smile with an effort.

  “I have brown hair,” she said. “And greenish-­brown eyes. Sometimes, they look almost emerald when I’m wearing a certain color green, but mostly they stay a muddy brown. They’re not a very interesting color.”

  “And your face? What shape is it? What is your nose like?”

  “
My nose?”

  “Is it like the prow of a ship? Or is it, perhaps, rounded at the tip and bulbous? Does it redden when you drink wine?” Before she could answer, he continued. “I’m betting you have a sharply pointed chin.”

  “I don’t. Nor do I have a bulbous nose. It’s just a nose.”

  “Come here.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He slid to one side of the seat.

  “Miss Todd, if I may prevail upon you to join me here.” He patted the seat beside him.

  “Why?”

  “Would you deny me the ability to equalize our positions?”

  “What balderdash. What do you mean, equalize our positions?”

  “You already know what I look like. I have no idea of your appearance.”

  “Why is it so important to know what I look like?”

  “Are you ashamed of your appearance?” he asked.

  “Of course not.”

  “Then is there any reason why you wouldn’t join me?”

  “How is my sitting next to you going to give you an idea of my appearance?”

  He heard her move, then felt the material of her skirt against his hand.

  He reached up until he touched her shoulder, extending his hand farther to her neck, up her throat to her cheek. Turning slightly, he moved so that both hands were on her face.

  “I can’t see you. Therefore, my fingers must be my eyes.”

  After her first startled jerk, she remained still, almost quiescent beneath his touch. His fingertips stroked from her temples to her chin.

  “Not a pointed chin after all,” he said. “Perhaps your nose is, however.” His fingers stroked down her nose, hesitating at the tip. “Your nose is very imperious looking. An aquiline nose.” One that twitched at his touch, as if she were ticklish.

  His thumbs brushed her bottom lip, then traced the upper one. Her mouth was large, the bottom lip fuller. An intriguing mouth and one that didn’t remain closed very often.

  “Have you given any thought to what ­people will think if they see you touching me this way?”

  “Why on earth should I consider the thoughts of strangers, Minerva?”

  “Don’t you care about what ­people think of you?”