Mistress at Midnight(22)

'If it is a protector you now have a need of-'

She stopped him before he could go further. 'I need nothing from anyone,  my lord.' She hated the shake of her voice and the roiling sickness  that was beginning to build. She hated the colour of her hair and the  way this dress emphasised the curves of her body. She hated that she had  come here tonight expecting … She could not name it, though her glance  again returned to the tall form of Lord Stephen Hawkhurst.

This was all his fault. If he had taken her at her word and exacted the  promises she had given him, all would be settled by now and she would  not be standing here surrounded by men who looked her up and down as if  she were some delicious morsel to be devoured at will.

Well, she had had enough of it all and if her reputation allowed the  gentlemen of the ton to act as they were doing here, then it could  presumably also work the other way around.

Excusing herself from their company, she opened her fan fully and glided out of the circle of admirers.

She knew he saw her coming, the stillness in him magnified with every  step she took as he placed the glass he had just emptied on a table  behind him.

'Lady Lindsay, Lord Lindsay.' She gave the words formally because she  had no knowledge of whether they would deign to reply, and his name  followed. 'Might I have a word in private with you, Lord Hawkhurst?'

Cassandra Lindsay's smile lit up her face and Aurelia felt her tightness  ease. 'Indeed, Mrs St Harlow. Why, we were just about to dance, were we  not, Nathaniel?'

'Were we? I do not usually … ' her husband began, but as his wife's gloved  hand gripped his arm he stopped. 'But I suppose if you wish to … '

When they were gone a silence settled, neither comforting nor easy.

'Emerald suits you,' Hawkhurst said unexpectedly after a good amount of  time, alluding to the colour of her gown. The edged gold in his eyes was  brittle sharp.

'My other dress needed some repair.' She should not have uttered such a  thing, of course, but the night in question simmered between them with  every step and breath and she could no longer pretend that it had not  happened. Besides, two weeks of thinking about what she might or might  not say the next time they met had left her strained and tense.

'I will send another gown to replace the one I ruined.'

'No, you will not,' she whispered tightly, glad for the covering of a  mask. 'I realise, of course, that things were left unsettled between us,  my lord, last time we met. And that the letter I promised has not been  sent-'

He stopped her with a movement of his hand.

'Don't write it. There is danger in anything on paper.'

Protection. For her. It was in his eyes as he looked about them. Always  checking. The very knowledge made her move towards him, a shelter amidst  turmoil, a refuge from everything that was strange. Here in the very  heart of society was a lord who would guard her despite a self-given  confession that named her guilty of covering up a crime. She felt the  warmth of him against her sleeve in the small place where their arms  touched and was glad of it. Just them against the world. What would it  feel like if it were a forever thing?

'Delsarte is here tonight.'

'I know. He has not approached me, though.'

'He is dangerous, Aurelia. Dangerous and cunning. You were seen in St  Bartholomew's Hospital in his company and that of a French doctor.  Touillon, I think is the name.'

'And the British Service knows this?'

'Not yet. I thought to tell you first in the hope that you might offer an explanation.'

'My father is sick, my lord. Doctor Touillon is an expert in the field of elderly mental health.'

'So you visit him without taking the patient?'

For a moment Aurelia longed to tell him everything, to simply open up  and tell him all of it here in a crowded room; tell him of her mother's  downfall and of Delsarte's threats, tell him of the letters and her  dread in delivering them under the cold hard ache of an impossible duty.

Sylvienne. Mama. There was nothing to do but protect her even if it meant sacrificing herself.

'Papa finds travelling anywhere difficult.' The lie was bare on her  tongue, the taste of betrayal bitter. The anger in his eyes turned the  gold a darker amber.

'I can only protect you to a certain extent, Aurelia. If you cross too  many lines, others will be involved … powerful others, too powerful even  for me to stop the consequences that will follow.'                       
       
           



       

When she turned to him, any answer melted away as the promise of  masculine sensuality scorched through her. Her whole body throbbed, the  twist of delight leaving her momentarily breathless.

He was trying to protect her despite all the odds.

Laying her hand across his arm, she would have said more, but the music  about them wound down into silence allowing a passage of people to push  their way from the floor.

'I told you that I don't like to dance.' Nathaniel Lindsay's voice held  irritation and when Aurelia turned she saw his wife rubbing gingerly at  her left foot.

'He won't take lessons. That is the trouble. I have tried and tried to hire a teacher, but he refuses to even consider it.'

Hawkhurst was silent, standing back as Leonora and Rodney completed the  group, her sister telling Rodney how she had enjoyed the waltz.

'I was dancing on air, Lia, gliding on a cloud.' Her gaze rested firmly on Northrup, the young man blushing in reply.

Endearing, Aurelia thought, the ardour inside him so honestly expressed.  She could not in a million years imagine Hawkhurst showing that sort of  embarrassment.

'You went to dance lessons at Eton, Nat. Why did you not progress with  them?' Cassandra Lindsay's blue eyes held a wicked twinkle as she  addressed her husband, but he did not seem unduly worried by the  criticism.

'It wasn't that difficult to feign ill health, and as Mrs Greene, one of  the teacher's wives who helped with the dancing, had a soft spot for  Hawk and Luc and me she often allowed us to sit it out.'

So Hawkhurst had been schooled at Eton, too? Alongside Nathaniel Lindsay  and Lucas Clairmont. She had seen the three of them standing at his  ball and talking, the same air of menace and power pervading each of  them.

'Hawk was the one who made the most progress even with such little  practice. You stood up with him, Mrs St Harlow. Did you float on air?'

Drawing apart instantly, Aurelia saw a look that went between the two  men. A look she found hard to interpret because whilst she was certain  that Nathaniel Lindsay was teasing her she was also as certain that  Stephen Hawkhurst wished that he would not. She was glad Leonora, Rodney  and Cassandra were speaking amongst themselves to one side, thus  leaving the comment unnoticed.

'Charles told me once that you enjoyed riding?'

'It was a passing phase, my lord.'

'He said that you had a knack that few others possessed. It seems a  shame to place little time into such a skill. Now Hawk here has a whole  stable full of beauties that I am certain he would be more than willing  to share.'

Aurelia knew that the man was setting something up. She could see it in  the careful observance that he made of her and in the shifting stance of  Lord Hawkhurst, who looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but here.

'My father was a fine horseman before he took to books with such  fervour. Now, I tend to help him in the quieter pursuits. Do you read  much, my lord?'

The change of subject was deliberate and she was glad when Lindsay took her up on the diversion.

'Never. Hawk does, though. I had heard you met him in Hookham's? Lady  Allum brought it to my attention and she intimated your exchange was  heated.'

Heated? Aurelia remembered the feel of his tongue on the back of her  hand and was about to answer when Lord Hawkhurst suddenly took charge.

'Could you leave us for a moment, Nat? I see George Staples languishing against a pillar beside the band. Go and talk to him?'

The smile on Lord Lindsay's face was broad even with such rudeness,  giving Aurelia the impression he had hoped for this outcome all along.  'Be gentle with him, Mrs St Harlow. My friend does not realise yet that a  man who plays with fire is liable to be burnt, and badly.' She watched  as he bowed and departed.

'Take no notice of St Auburn. Nat is an inveterate snoop and will not  rest until he knows the full story behind everything.' He ushered her a  little further down the room, to a place where the trees lay behind them  and the crush was less noticeable.

'And what is our full story, my lord?' Alone, Aurelia felt braver, their  history built up in layers one upon the other and all beginning with  the kiss at Taylor's Gap.

'Our story?' He turned the words so that each one of them was carefully  pronounced, his eyes grave. 'Our story is unfinished and ill concluded,  any hint of what might have been between us buried beneath duty and  lies.'

She stood very still.

'Debts of ill repute and payments for silence are things I am trying to  rid myself of, Mrs St Harlow, and if the reasons for my cousin's death  are going to be pegged to any future problems then I would rather not  know of them. For years deception has been my companion, you see, and  now I find I need something different altogether.'