Beguiled. Susan Paul Spencer
sister enjoys her visit to London, but I will not do so under threat by either yourself or your minions. You will leave me in peace to fulfill my word of honor. If you cannot, then you may burn St. Cathyrs to the ground now and we’ll have no more to do with each other.”
“Well said,” Cardemore returned without a pause. “A better speech than even Wellington can lay claim to, I imagine. I am not, however, as you might realize, a man who much admires speeches. Prove yourself, and I will do what you ask. As to being followed, I’ve already given you my word.”
“Then we have an understanding,” Graydon stated with a nod. “I’ll bid you good-day, my lord.”
After the door closed and he was alone, Cardemore spent a full silent minute shuffling through his papers again before shoving his work aside and saying, “Come out, Porter.”
A closet door opened on the other side of the room and the man who had served as Graydon’s shadow walked out.
“Ah ooh thatithfied, mah ord?” he said.
Cardemore rose from his chair. “Don’t speak, Porter. It’s painful to hear. And sit down before you fall.” He moved to the room’s lone window, pushing the drapes aside just enough to keep an eye on the street below. “Am I satisfied? Aye, I am. Very satisfied, indeed. He’s better than I could have hoped for. Perhaps not the man I would have chosen for a brother-in-law, but he’ll be a good husband to Lily or live to regret it.” A thin smile played on his lips. “Somehow, I doubt it will ever come to that.”
He turned to his minion, who sat nursing his aching head in both hands.
“I want you to proceed as planned with the kidnapping. Lily’s comfort is to be of utmost importance. I won’t have her harmed in any way. You can do as you please with Graydon, so long as he isn’t permanently injured. And make certain everyone involved understands that the blame is to be laid at Saxby’s door. I don’t want Graydon or Lily ever discovering who’s truly behind their brief imprisonment. Certainly not until they’re married. There are to be no slips. No mistakes. Do you understand, Porter?”
“Ess, mah ord,” Porter replied obediently.
“Make certain of it. If anything should go wrong, you’ll have more to worry about than a broken jaw. Much more.”
At night for the past three years, just before she fell asleep, Lily had lain quietly in her bed and let herself dream of all the exciting things that a young lady having her first season in London might experience. Being driven through a London park at the fashionable hour of five o’clock in the company of a handsome gentleman had been among her favorites, but Lily had been realistic enough never to let herself believe that the event would actually happen. The closest she would get, she had told herself with all practicality, would be in coercing her brother to take her out one afternoon. But Aaron disdained fashion almost more than he did the ton, and, although he would dutifully perform the task, Lily had too often envisioned the constant scowl he would wear, and the dark comments he would make, and had given up on the idea long before she and Isabel had ever even set foot in London.
But God must have heard her prayers, for here she was, not only rolling through Hyde Park in the most elegant barouche imaginable, but escorted by a gentleman whose handsomeness far exceeded even her most willfully exaggerated dreams.
She glanced down at the simple day dress she wore and felt foolishly plain. The dark rose gown, with its lighter-colored pelisse and satin trimmings of cream and pink, had been the height of fashion in the country. But here in London it was at least two years behind, no matter what Aunt Margaret said about it looking perfectly lovely. Lord Graydon had been effusive in his compliments, of course, but that was to be expected. A man of his good manners wouldn’t speak the truth about such matters, even though he himself was dressed to perfection. Aaron would call him a dandy, or a frippery young lordling, or, worse, a man who let himself be managed by his valet, but Lily knew what the rest of fashionable society must think: that the Earl of Graydon was clearly a pink of the pink. A man who dressed with impeccable taste, wearing clothing cut of the finest quality.
He was sitting beside her in the elegant barouche, looking inhumanly perfect in buff-colored pantaloons and a dark blue coat. He appeared very relaxed, almost indolent in his posture, tapping his long fingers in a rhythmic motion over the top of his walking cane and grinning like a boy across the carriage at Isabel, who was entertaining him with humorous stories of all the scrapes the two of them had gotten into at Cardemore Hall. Lily found it hard to believe that he found such tales so interesting, but it must have been so, for his delight and laughter seemed genuine. He glanced at her, as if feeling her gaze upon him, and his smile softened from amusement to gentle interest.
“Are you enjoying the ride, Lady Lillian? What do you think of this mad crush?” He gestured with one hand toward the crowded lane.
She thought it wonderful, although it was, in all truth, quite silly for so many people to go parading about in the late afternoon, day after day after day. They’d been hailed and stopped by a number of elegants since they’d entered the park, some of them riding horseback, some of them perched high upon their fashionable phaetons, some riding in open carriages of varying elegance and size, and all of them desiring to be introduced to Isabel and her. Most of them had looked at her with dismay upon discovering that she didn’t speak and had quickly thereafter made their excuses and left, but Lily was used to that. Simply meeting such a variety of fashionable people had been an event, and she imagined herself back in Somerset, holding court before her awestruck friends while regaling them with memories of her time in London.
He was waiting for a reply, and Lily opened the little gold case that dangled from a bracelet at her wrist. She had forgotten to have it with her when she’d gone riding that morning, but had made certain to bring it for her drive in the park. Extracting one of the tiny sheets of paper and the small gold pen, she wrote, Wonderful. Better than Hassim’s Traveling Circus. She underlined circus twice and handed him the note, grinning with satisfaction when he burst into laughter.
“Dear me,” he said, chuckling as he passed the note to Isabel. “I shall have to see what I can do to give you ladies a much more favorable impression of Town. Tell me, are there any particular places in London that you should enjoy seeing?”
“The Tower!” Isabel said at once, while Lily scribbled another note.
“Vauxhall,” he read, slanting an amused glance at her, “and Madame Tussaud’s.”
“Oh, everywhere,” Isabel told him, her face filled with childlike earnestness. “We decided that long before we came, isn’t that so, Lily? If this is to be our only season in London, we want to see all there is to see, and do everything there is to do.”
“That’s quite a challenge, but I should be very glad if you would allow me to assist you in the matter,” Lord Graydon replied, “at least so far as I am able, when Parliament isn’t in session. Perhaps tomorrow, if you’re free, might I escort you both, and Lady Margaret, if she would enjoy such an outing, to the Tower of London? I should deem it an honor.”
“Oh, yes!” Isabel said with open delight. “How very kind of you, my lord! I’m certain Mama will wish to come.”
“Then it’s settled. I’ll speak with Lady Margaret when we return to Wilborn Place.” A rider on a magnificent black horse neared their carriage, and Lord Graydon raised a hand in greeting. “Hello, Daltry. I wondered if we might meet you here.”
Lord Daltry, handsome in tan trousers and a black coat that hugged his large, muscular person to perfection, looked tense and uncomfortable as he brought his steed alongside the barouche. He made a slight bow in his saddle. “Good day Lady Lillian, Lady Isabel.” The glance he sent Isabel’s way was greeted with a frozen stare. “Graydon,” Lord Daltry continued stiffly, “I hope the day finds you well.”
“Quite