Promise Me Tomorrow (8 page)

She could not help but think how differently she had felt the other night when Lord Lambeth kissed her, how her whole insides had turned to melting wax and her blood had hummed in her veins. Lambeth would have turned to force, too, if he had had the chance, she told herself. He was, after all, even more arrogant than young Quartermaine. No doubt he, too, thought that all women ought to feel honored to receive his advances. It did not mean anything that he had released her when she pulled away, or that he had not made a move toward her when she slapped him. It had been merely surprise that she would oppose him that had kept him rooted to the spot.

She remembered his golden eyes darkened with lust, his well-cut lips sensually full and soft, and she felt again that clenching deep in her loins that was both delightful and dissatisfying. It annoyed her that she continued to think about him.

Worse than the thoughts that had been plaguing her, however, was the strange sensation she had felt yesterday as she was walking home from the lending library, where she had gone to return the book she had borrowed two days earlier. As she strolled along, she had begun to have the oddest feeling at the base of her neck. She had stopped and turned, but she saw nothing out of the ordinary, just another person or two walking along as she was. All the way home, she had been unable to get rid of the impression that someone was watching her. Feeling foolish, she had looked around again, but this time there had been no one on the block but her. Still, thinking about the tingling along her spine made her want to shiver.

“Mrs. Cotterwood.” One of their two maids stood hesitantly at the door. “There’s someone here to see you. I—he’s in the foyer.”

Marianne looked at her, surprised. No one ever came to visit her. She eschewed any sort of intimacy with the Society flats. It occurred to her now that a visitor was so rare that the maid wasn’t even sure what she should do with the fellow.

“Thank you, Nettie.” She rose, glancing over at Betsy, who looked back at her with as much puzzlement as Marianne felt.
Had the man who had been inquiring after her at the Hall managed to find her? Was it he watching her yesterday when she had felt those odd sensations?

Suppressing her fears as best she could, Marianne rose and went out into the hallway. She stopped cold when she saw the man standing in the foyer, hat in hand, smiling down at her daughter.

Lord Lambeth had found her.

“M
Y LORD
,” M
ARIANNE SAID FAINTLY
.

Lambeth looked up at Marianne and smiled, a faintly vulpine curving of his lips that seemed as much a warning of danger as a greeting. “Mrs. Cotterwood.”

“Rosalind, what are you doing here? I thought you were in the kitchen with Winny, working on your studies.”

“I came out to see who was here, Mama,” Rosalind replied pragmatically. “Nettie came into the kitchen and said, ‘Lor’ but there’s a ‘andsome devil out there.’ So I wanted to see.”

Lambeth chuckled. Marianne couldn’t see that the disclosure discomfited him much. He probably expected everyone to find him handsome.

“But he doesn’t look like a devil to me,” Rosalind went on seriously.

“Bless you, child.” Lambeth grinned. “Just for that, I’ll take you up with me one of these days in my curricle.”

“Would you?” Rosalind turned to him, eyes sparkling. “Where everybody could see?”

“Indeed. What would be the point otherwise?”

A sunny smile spread across her daughter’s face. “I’d enjoy that ever so much.”

“Rosalind, I think it’s time you went back to your studies, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mama.” She turned and started away, then turned, asking Lambeth gravely, “You won’t forget, will you?”

“I swear it.” Lambeth laid his hand over his heart dramatically.

Rosalind grinned and skipped away. Marianne watched the child leave, then turned back to Lambeth, irritated at the easy way he had won her daughter over.

“How did you find me?” she asked bluntly.

His eyes lit with laughter. “Were you hiding from me?”

“Of course not.” Irritation stiffened her spine. “But I gave you no permission to call on me.”

“I know. I am far too bold. I’ve been told so before. However, I felt sure that if we had not been so rudely interrupted, you would have given me your direction.”

“You take rather a lot upon yourself.”
This was an awkward situation.
If they were to stay in London, as the others wanted, she needed somehow to deflect this man’s suspicions. She could not simply turn him away, for that would only increase his doubts about her. But she knew that if he were to meet any of her supposed family, it would likely do the same thing. While most of them spoke rather genteelly, she knew from being around the
ton
that they would not pass any discerning eye—and this man’s eyes were more discerning than most.

“I felt sure I could depend on your good nature.” Lambeth’s eyes were laughing at her again, and Marianne felt as though she could cheerfully shove him out the front door. It was especially irritating that the twinkle of those sherry-colored eyes made her insides jangle in a most disturbing way.

“Won’t you come in, then?” she asked, assuming as gracious a voice as she could muster, and extended her hand toward the front drawing room, the most formal room in the house. She spared a glance toward the sitting room, which she had just left, and caught sight of Betsy’s curious face peering around the door.

She closed the door to the drawing room behind them. It was a thoroughly indelicate thing to do, and God knew what Lambeth would think of her for it, but she hoped that the closed door would send a message to the rest of the “family” to stay out.

“Now, would you tell me why you came here?”

“Why, to see you. Why else?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I asked. I though perhaps you came to renew your absurd allegations.”

“My dear girl.” Lambeth put on a wounded expression as he took her hand in his and raised it to his mouth. “I came to apologize for offending you.”

His lips brushed her skin like velvet, and Marianne felt it clear down to her toes. She struggled to keep her breathing even. “A note would have done as well.”

“Ah, but then I would not have had the pleasure of looking at you while I threw myself on your mercy.”

“Don’t talk nonsense. I don’t think you are in the slightest sorry.”

“Indeed, I am. I am very sorry that you slipped away last night before we had finished our conversation.”

“There was nothing further to say. Somehow you got the wrong impression of me, and I don’t know how I can change your mind.”

“I would not be at all averse to your trying.”

“Lord Lambeth, you are very presumptuous.” He was still holding on to her hand, and it took some effort for her to pull it from his grasp. She walked away from him, sitting down in a chair and gesturing him toward the sofa opposite her.

“Mmm. No doubt. I have found that it usually serves me well.” Lambeth took the chair beside her instead.

“Was it you following me yesterday?” she asked bluntly.

“No, I assure you.” He smiled. “I knew that if you saw me you would flee immediately. I sent one of my servants instead—and a cursed clumsy job he must have made of it if you spotted him.”

“I didn’t spot him. It was just a feeling.”

“I apologize if he alarmed you.” His voice sounded sincere, and Marianne felt unwillingly warmed by it. “I wanted very much to see you again—that is my only excuse for such behavior. You say that I got the wrong impression of you the other night at Lord Batterslee’s. I fear that you received the wrong impression of me, as well.”

He was leaning closer to her, his dark-lashed eyes gazing into hers. Marianne’s breath caught in her throat, and her eyes went involuntarily to his mouth. He caught the glance, and his eyes darkened. His hand came out to cup her chin.

“You are a very desirable woman, and I will admit freely that I want you. But I would not coerce you into my bed with threats, madame.”

His face loomed closer, and Marianne knew that he was going to kiss her. She also knew that she ought to pull away, but she found it terribly difficult to move. Her eyes drifted closed.

The door snapped open behind them, and they jumped, pulling back from each other and whirling around to face the door. Piers stood there, scowling suspiciously. Marianne’s heart sank. She had been afraid that Betsy would join them, but Piers was even worse. He had taken a dislike to Lambert last night from her story. She only hoped that he would not get some silly idea in his head and confront the man.

“Piers. How nice to see you.” Her voice rang false.

“Marianne.” He looked pointedly at Lambeth.

“I’m sorry. Lord Lambeth, this is Piers Robertson.”

Lambeth rose politely and shook the man’s hand. “Are you Mrs. Cotterwood’s brother?”

“No,” Marianne answered.

“Yes,” Piers responded at the same time.

Lambeth’s eyebrows rose.

Marianne glared at Piers, then turned back to Lambeth, smiling woodenly. “Piers is actually my cousin, but we have always been as close as brother and sister. I—he—his parents raised me. Mine died when I was quite young.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“It was a long time ago. I don’t remember them.”
That much, at least, was true.

Lambeth’s eyes went from Marianne back to Piers. “Do you live in London, Mr. Robertson?”

“I live
here.
” Piers’ feet were spread apart, his jaw thrust forward, his whole attitude bespeaking a readiness to fight.

“Ah. I see.”

“My whole family lives here,” Marianne put in hastily. “Piers, why don’t you sit down?”

Piers consented to move to the couch, still regarding Lambeth pugnaciously.

“I don’t believe I saw you last night at the Batterslees’,” Lambeth went on coolly. “Did you accompany your…
cousin?
”

“No. Piers never attends such things.” Marianne jumped in before Piers could answer. Piers’ rudeness was obviously making Lambeth’s distrust worse. “He finds them dead bores, don’t you, dear?”

“Yes. Though perhaps I should attend, if fellows are going to be making advances to you.” He glared meaningfully at Lambeth.

“Piers!”

A faint smile touched Lambeth’s lips, but his eyes were as cold as metal. “Yes. Perhaps you should. Not quite the thing to leave a lady unprotected.”

“I am well capable of taking care of myself,” Marianne put in crisply, forestalling Piers’ reply with a dagger look. “I don’t need a keeper.”

“Indeed. I suspect it is more the gentlemen who need protection from you,” Lambeth replied, turning away from Piers, the amusement back in his gaze.

“What the devil does that mean?” Piers demanded, starting to rise.

Lambeth turned a bland face toward him. “Why, only that Mrs. Cotterwood’s beauty is so great, it is we gentlemen who are in danger of losing our hearts.”

“That would be a prettier statement if I thought you had a heart to lose,” Marianne said tartly.

Justin let out a surprised bark of laughter. “Touché, my dear.”

Piers’ jaw clenched, and Marianne tensed in fear of what he might say. At that moment Betsy breezed into the room, followed by her husband. Marianne noticed that Betsy had used the time since Lambeth had arrived to fluff white powder on her face and rouge her cheeks and lips. Though she had given in to modern styles of dress and hair, she refused to give up the makeup worn twenty or thirty years before, with a result that was startling.

“Oh, my!” the old woman exclaimed in a girlish voice. “I didn’t realize you had company, Marianne.”

“Yes,
Grandmama,
” Marianne said pointedly. “Lord Lambeth has honored us with his presence.”

She had no choice but to introduce Lambeth to the other couple, explaining that they were her grandparents.

“It’s too bad that Harrison and Della aren’t here to meet you,” Betsy said, dimpling at Lambeth.

“My parents,” Marianne explained. “That is, I mean,
Piers’
parents. The people who raised me.”

“Of course.”

She had thought that the situation could get no worse, but she was wrong, for at that moment the maid appeared in the doorway and said nervously, “Lord Buckminster, madam.”

Marianne shot to her feet. Even Lord Lambeth looked stunned. He rose, also, turning toward the doorway where Lord Buckminster’s amiable countenance appeared behind the maid.

“Bucky!”

“Lambeth. I say.” Lord Buckminster smiled. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Nor I you.” Lambeth regarded his friend thoughtfully. “I didn’t realize you knew Mrs. Cotterwood’s address.”

“And so I didn’t,” Bucky admitted cheerfully. “But I set my valet on it. Clever chap, Wiggins, always knows just what to do. When I told him what Penny said the other day about meeting Mrs. Cotterwood, he went right out and came back with the address.”

“Mmm. Yes, I see.”

Lord Buckminster advanced toward Marianne, catching his toe on the edge of the rug and stumbling forward. He managed to stop just before he crashed into the back of Lambeth’s chair, but he dropped his hat when he grabbed at the chair, and it rolled across the floor. Buckminster chased after it and caught it before it went under the sofa, managing to crack his shin on a stool as he did so. All the others watched numbly, unable to tear their eyes away. Buckminster straightened and grinned, his cheeks flushed.

“I say. Not usually so clumsy. My feet seem to get all tangled up around you, Mrs. Cotterwood.”

“Sure, now,” Da told him comfortingly, coming forward to shake Buckminster’s hand. “Isn’t unusual at all. My granddaughter has that effect on a number of men. Let me introduce myself. Rory Kiernan’s me name, and this is me wife, Betsy.”

“How do you do, Mr. Kiernan? Are you from Ireland? I have lands there, you know.”

“Faith, and do you now?” Da’s eyes twinkled merrily, and he gestured Buckminster toward a seat, sitting down beside him and launching into questions about Buckminster’s land.

“Now, Rory,” Betsy cut through the lilting flow of his words. “Stop all that talk about Ireland. If it was so wonderful, I can’t imagine why you left it. I am sure Lord Buckminster didn’t come here to discuss the ‘old sod.’” She smiled at Bucky, and for a moment one could glimpse the charm that had once enchanted more than one poor card player.

Buckminster smiled back. “Actually, I came to bring Mrs. Cotterwood an invitation to my cousin’s ball.” He reached inside his jacket, frowned, and stuck his hand into the other side of his jacket. “That’s odd. I would have sworn I put the invitation in here.”

He patted his outside pockets, then returned to the inner one.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” Da asked, reaching behind Buckminster and pulling out a white envelope.

“Why, yes.” Buckminster looked delighted and reached out to take the envelope from him.

“Must have fallen out of your pocket when you sat down,” Da suggested.

“How fortunate you found it,” Marianne said stiffly and glared at Rory.

“Yes, isn’t it?” Rory agreed blandly.

Lord Buckminster rose and took the invitation to Marianne. “Nicola is most hopeful that you will come.”

“Nicola?”

“My cousin Nicola Falcourt. It is her mother’s party, but of course Nicola is the one running it all. I told her all about you, and she is dying to meet you. It’s Friday. Sorry about the short notice. I do hope you are not already engaged.”