Madam. He bowed again, but she noticed that he was rather more unsteady now. You are an angel from heaven.
That is a rather large exaggeration, but I thank you, Miranda replied wryly.
He turned and made his weaving way up the steps of the house. A moment later, the door opened, and he went inside.
Lets go home, Beldon, Miranda said, and the carriage rolled forward.
As she drove home, her thoughts circled around the man she had just rescued. Was he Ravenscar? And what would have happened if he had not been late to the party tonight? One thing she was certain of: if this man had been there, she would not have left early.
3
Good evening, sir. Carson, Devins valet, opened the door. He took in his employers disarray, more alarmed by the rumpled cravat and the rent in his coat than by the marks of fighting on Ravenscars face. I say, my lord, are you all right? Did something happen?
Bit of a dustup, Devin admitted. A cold cloth for my face would be nice.
Of course, sir. The servant hurried off to do his bidding.
Devin sighed and ran his hand back through his hair. He wondered if it had been simple thieves, as he had assured his fair rescuer. The coachman was right in saying that it wasnt an area where thieves and ruffians were wont to linger. There were one or two of his creditors whom he would not be surprised to find were behind the attack. He suspected that if his rescuers had not routed the fellows, they might have told him to pay up if he didnt want more of the same.
He would have to be more careful nowperhaps carry his little pistol, though that would mar the line of his coat. Carson would protest.
His thoughts wandered to his rescuers, and he smiled to himself. What an odd sort of woman! He had been somewhat distracted by his own fight, but he was almost sure that she had waded right into the melee and whacked one of the miscreants with her umbrella. A pretty thing, too. He wished the light had been betterand his vision not so impaired by alcohol. Her hair had been brown, and he had been unable to determine the color of her eyes, but they had been large and bright, and she had had a merry, laughing mouth. He remembered more distinctly the generous curve of her breasts above the neckline of her evening gown. He remembered, too, the unmistakable response of his body when he looked at her.
He wondered if she was a member of the demimonde. She had spoken and dressed like a lady, but he could not imagine any lady of his acquaintance wading into a fight like that. And there had been something odd about her speech. He could not quite put his finger on it, but there had been a certain inflection that was not quite right. Perhaps she had taught herself to speak like a lady, and an attractive bird of paradise could easily have a carriage and dress well. It would explain the actions, so unlike a woman of aristocratic breeding.
He toyed with the idea of trying to find out the womans name. She intrigued him. In general, Leona didnt squawk about his brief dalliances with other women. She knew that he would never stray far. But, he remembered with a sigh, there was the lowering thought of the state of his finances. He could never hope to lure some ladybird from her obviously generous patron when his own pockets were to let. And the way to remedy that lay back at his mothers house where, he suspected, he was something of a persona non grata at the moment.
His failure to appear tonight was something that could be remedied, he supposed, with some effort on his part, but, as always, he rebelled at the thought. Something inside him quailed at the idea of spending the rest of his life shackled to a woman for whom he felt at best indifferenceand, at worst, active dislike. He had seen enough loveless marriages made for the sake of name and familyincluding that of his own parents, not to mention Rachels and Leonasto know that he did not want that state for himself. He was not, he hoped, such a romantic fool as to wish for love in a marriageor, at least, he had not been for many years. However, he was fairly sure that it was better not to marry at all than to live in the sort of quiet loneliness that was Rachels and Westhamptons lot.
Carson returned, carrying a cool, damp cloth on a small silver tray. Devin took the cloth and held it against the cut on his lip, remembering as he did so the way the woman tonight had wiped away his blood with her handkerchief. He could smell again the faint scent of roses that had clung to the lace-trimmed cotton. He wondered if she, too, smelled of roses.
A note arrived for you tonight, sir, Carson said and went over to the small table in the foyer, where another small salver held a square white piece of paper, folded over and sealed. Ravenscar was all that was written on the front, in the bold, loopy handwriting that he recognized instantly as Leonas.
A familiar sense of anticipation snaked through him as he took the note from the tray Carson offered him. He split the seal and unfolded the note.
Darling,
Tonight after midnight. I have a surprise for you.
It was a message typical of Leonabrief, unsigned and faintly mysteriousand it immediately wiped out all thoughts of the woman he had met earlier this evening.
What time is it, Carson?
Why, a bit after eleven, I believe.
Good. We have enough time. I need to clean up before my visitor arrives.
Both of them knew who that visitor was, but neither would, of course, say it aloud. His relationship with Leona existed behind a veil of secrecy, however flimsy that veil might be. Though every gossip in London society knew about them and whispered about their long-standing affair behind their backs, it was still only gossip and not proven fact as long as they maintained their secrecy. Lord Vesey did not care what his wife didthey went their own ways quite happilyas long as he was not subjected to public ridicule.
So, as it had been for many years, Devin saw Leona only now and then in publicperhaps making one of her party at the theater or opera, or attending a ball to which she was also invitednever by a word or gesture indicating that she was anything other than a friend. He did not go to her house except when he went with her brother Stuart. They met late at night when she left her house or whatever party she was attending and, thoroughly hidden in a hooded cloak, took a hack to his house, slipping around the side and entering through the garden door. At those times, he waited for her by the fire in his bedroom as he would tonight, a glass of brandy on the small table before him, his pulse thrumming with expectation.
There were evenings when she did not come. One never knew with Leonait was one of the things that kept any relationship with her from becoming mundane. Sometimes she could not get away. And sometimes she simply liked to keep matters unsettled. Over the years, Devin had reached the point where her absences no longer drove him nearly mad, but he had never been able to quite get rid of the prickle of jealousy, the thought that she had not come because of some other manher husband, who, despite their avowed disinterest in each other, still had first call on her, or perhaps a new swain, some fresh-faced lad who hoped to attract the attention of the most desirable lady in London. Earlier in his career, Devin had settled matters with one or two of them. His blood no longer ran so hot or so fast, but still, the thought of her being with another man, even just to talk, carried a sting.
The secrecy and mystery, that sting of jealousy, the uncertainty of their rendezvous, all had served to keep alive the excitement of their affair through the years that they had known each other.