Rules of Engagement

  Any wise woman would have been pretending ignorance by now, instead of standing still, fists clenched, in a panic as he reminisced about a time she had done everything she could to forget.

  “You lying little jade.” His eyes sparked with fury. “You saw me. You know me! You always knew it was me who fell—” He paused.

  “Into infamy?” she asked gently. If it was too late, it was too late. He knew her. “Yes, Lord Kerrich, I recognized you immediately as the notorious youth who dangled upside down and naked before the nobles of the age.” Proudly, she straightened her shoulders. “Now may I put on my clothes?”

  Chapter 24

  Pamela stood before Kerrich without a stitch on, and she looked as poised as she had on that foggy night so long ago when he had first noticed her—and wanted her. Damn the woman, did nothing shake her? “No, you may not put your clothes on,” he said harshly.

  “You were a conceited swine even then.” She passed judgement with cool disdain.

  “I can’t believe you lied to me for so long about something so important.”

  “I didn’t lie.”

  “By omission—again.” He clutched his head in disbelief. “Just as you did about your appearance.”

  “So you’ve told me all of your truths?”

  “We’re not talking about my sins.” He took a turn about the room. He was a man. Men didn’t have to be honest about certain things—like emotions. “That is beside the point. How long have you remembered?”

  “Always.” Pamela shrugged. “Never. What difference does it make? We only met the once. It was of no importance.”

  “No importance? How dare you say it was of no importance? That night haunted my dreams for years. It still haunts my dreams”—no wonder he’d dreamed of that body with the horrible Miss Lockhart’s face attached!—“although now I know why.”

  “That evening was a long time ago,” she said, “and within a fortnight my father had abandoned us. I never think of it. I scarcely remember. I want clothes.”

  “I’ve been trying to give you clothes all afternoon, and if you’d just taken the damned things I wouldn’t know even now.” That face. That body. He’d been a boy infatuated with a girl for the first time in his life. She hadn’t cared; she had been brought there by her father to be company for the child-princess, and Kerrich had been given to understand she dared not fail in that commission. Looking back, he realized Pamela had been intent on being the perfect daughter, as if that would somehow procure her the perfect father. Kerrich and his clumsy bids for attention had been secondary, and had elicited only scorn.

  “I’ll take them now,” she said.

  “Damned right you will.” Picking up the undergarments, he flung them at her.

  She caught them and dropped them into the chair. Except the chemise, which she pulled over her head as quickly as possible. “I saw you, too. Well, actually, first I heard you yell. Then I saw your face for a split second before you slid off my windowsill. When I went to the window and opened it, I could see you again. Hanging by one leg of your trousers. From the trellis. With that famous full moon twirling in midair.”

  “Do we want to talk about what we saw that night?” The chemise reached her knees, but the firelight behind her showed right through the gossamer fabric. “I saw you. With that rich body, the high, heavy breasts, the curve of your hips and your long, long legs. And you looked at me with your sorrowful eyes and all I wanted to do was comfort you.” His voice rose. “Right before I plunged into scandal!”

  She sat on the chair, crushing the starched petticoats, and pulled on the filmy new stockings and garters. “I know you saw me, just as I know you fell. Must we drag our pasts out in the open when we’ve got a party to prepare for?”

  “I slinked and worried for months. I was sure my mysterious goddess at the window would tell. Or that someone who knew me had seen. But no one ever came forth.” He paced across the room. “But I knew someone had freed me from my trousers. I heard two girls’ voices from the open window above me, felt that poker prodding at my leg, and when it ripped—”

  “Are you complaining about the job I did freeing you?”

  “I knew it.” He turned on her. “I knew it was you!”

  “Because I have to say, I did the best I could considering that I thought you would want the job done quickly. In addition, the princess arrived in time to see me grabbing the poker. She was only nine, but she already behaved regally, and she insisted on giving me advice the whole time.” She was standing, struggling with the corset.

  “Turn around,” he ordered.

  She glared at him for one moment of defiance. Then good sense prevailed, and she did as he commanded. After all, she couldn’t dress herself, and he doubted that she wanted to call a maid to view the shambles in here.

  Speaking to the wall in her brisk, no-nonsense tone, she said, “I can’t believe you are still fretting about this. It was a boyish prank. It failed spectacularly and you were exposed in an embarrassing manner. But I suppose, knowing you, you’re worried that I’ll tattle it about. I won’t. If I didn’t before, I don’t know why I would now. No one knows and I don’t know why anyone would care.”

  “The queen is using it to blackmail me.”

  She tried to turn. “What?”

  He jerked her back around by the corset strings. “Her Majesty has the trousers, she has the poker, and she’s threatening to tell society the identity of the mystery man who was the full moon on the foggy night. How else do you think she got me to adopt the brat?”

  “Threatened to take her money out of your bank? But no, you said you didn’t need the money.”

  “And I don’t bow to financial blackmail. Which she knew. So she had an alternate plan.”

  “You mean…all of this—me, Beth, the lessons, the party—everything was to protect you from the revelation of a twelve-year-old, silly piece of gossip?”

  “People will laugh!” he roared.

  “You’re the earl of Kerrich. What do you care if they laugh?”

  With a sense of gratification, he pulled the corset tight enough to give her a lovely line in her dress—and offer her some discomfort. “I shouldn’t care if I’m laughed at, heh? But your sensibilities are too delicate to bear facing people who might remember the scandal of your father’s abandonment.”

  “Do you dare compare the insignificance of your bare bottom with the very real tragedy of my family’s disintegration and disgrace?”

  “As you have so kindly pointed out to me, it was twelve years ago.” Tying off the corset, he turned her to face him. “No one is going to remember.”

  “That might be true, but my father died less than a year ago in France in the arms of yet another of his ladies. She apparently had fallen for his charm.” Pamela cleared her throat. “Her husband took a dim view.”

  “Good God.”

  “Her husband caught them in flagrante delicto. He barely missed his naked wife when he shot my father.” Her gaze flickered toward him, then away. “That, I believe, has revived the scandal in all its glory and added a luster which cannot be denied.”

  “I am so sorry.” Not about the scandal, but about the death. She might sound stalwart, but he’d seen the glitter of tears. Taking her in his arms, he held her closely. “It must have been like losing him all over again.”

  She jabbed at his stomach, and when he didn’t release her, she pinched him. “Save your condolences. I scarcely consider the loss.”

  He released her. Clearly she didn’t want his solace, but he could see the tangled skein that held her in its coils. Or perhaps he understood because he had been a lost child, too. “He was your father. You must have mourned him.”

  “Mourned him?” Wondering how to explain such matters to such an obtuse man, Pamela scowled at Kerrich. She hated this, but if talking about her father and his stupid disgrace would release her from her duties at Buckingham Palace, she would talk. “I didn’t mourn him. I mourned my mother.”

  “
Of course you did.” He spoke very slowly, as if speaking to a dim pupil. “Your mother died in a state of grace, without ever spoiling your youthful dreams of motherly perfection.”

  “I didn’t think she was perfect.” Pamela said quickly. Until her mother’s death, she had scorned her mother’s meek acceptance of disgraceful fate. Afterward…well, perhaps she had idealized her mother a little too much.

  “But your father—early on, you were forced to see his faults. So when he died, did you mourn him?”

  “Do you know what my father was like? All charm when he wanted his way, and all sulking when he didn’t get it. Always looking out for some new woman to chase, and always bored when he got her. Always spending money we didn’t have on something he didn’t need because he thought that would make him happy. My mother always put her own needs aside so he could have what he wanted because she wished him to be content.” She pressed her hand to her forehead; the remembering gave her a headache. Or perhaps that was the press of tears behind her eyes. “As if anything could ever have made him content. He left when I was fifteen, old enough for me to know what he was—a man running from his ailing wife and his judgmental daughter.”

  “But you still loved him.”

  “No!” She drew a fierce breath, then lost it in a quivering sigh. “Yes. I don’t know.”

  “Of course you loved him. You fear me too much.”

  “What are you talking about?” Her throat almost closed up, and she massaged it with her palm. “I don’t fear you!”

  Almost to himself, he said, “You won’t marry me.” Then he looked up at her. “And you won’t let yourself love me.”

  “Not every woman in the world is going to love you.”

  “But you want to.”

  She would never get involved with a man who understood women. She would never get involved with another man at all.

  “I’m the first man you’ve ever let yourself get close to,” he said. “Aren’t I?”

  What was he trying to do? Snatching up the petticoats, she pulled them on and turned her back on him. “You know you were my first.”

  “Your first what? Your first lover?” He came around to see her face. “You can’t even say the word. I’m your lover. I make love to you. We wallow in touching and kissing and fornicating and loving. You admit to all of it, except for the loving. I know now what I miss when I’m with you, and that is the quiet whispers in the dark after all the passion is spent. The whispers of ‘I love you.’ ”

  “It would be a lie.” Yes, it would. She tied the petticoats and reached for the dress. “You don’t whisper to me, either!”

  He was relentless. “You pretend to be asleep or”—he gestured toward the rumpled bed—“you pretend not to see.”

  She wanted to deny everything, but watching her father lie his way through a swath of maidens had hardened her resolve to be honest. “I don’t want to love you.”

  “I know that.” Taking the gown from her, he slipped it over her head and helped her with the sleeves. “From our first meeting, you tarred me with the same brush that tarred your father, and regardless of the evidence never have you let yourself change your mind. You see only the rake when you see me, never the man.”

  Was he right? He fastened the porcelain buttons at the back. She had supposed her heart ached because of the weak and frivolous longing for a man like her father. Did it instead ache because she wouldn’t allow herself to love the heroic man of her dreams?

  “You can walk away from me if you like, but still I say, whether or not your father was wholly a villain, you still loved him, and because you won’t admit it you can never love a man. So will you mourn your father or will you die an old maid?”

  Facing him, she was defiant to the end. “There are worse things than being an old maid.”

  “Lonely. Embittered. Poison to anyone who tries to get near you. Always keeping your father’s watch with you as a reminder that people can hurt you, and you should push them away.” A knock sounded on the door, and Kerrich walked to it and laid his hand on the knob. “Yes, there are worse things than being an old maid.” He eased it open a crack.

  “My lord,” Moulton said, “there has been an incident at the Bank of England.”

  Pamela saw Kerrich’s attention leave her, leave the room, leave the house.

  “So my grandfather was right.” Kerrich sounded amazed and gratified.

  “Lord Reynard read the situation correctly, my lord.”

  “Get my horse. I’ll be right there.” Not bothering to shut the door all the way, Kerrich went to the closet and pulled out a pair of well-polished black boots, a crisp clean shirt, a blue waistcoat and a black coat.

  As he stripped off his shirt, she went and stood in front of him. “What do you mean, you’ll be right there? You’re due at Buckingham Palace in less than two hours.”

  “Something important has come up.” The clean shirt went on and he tucked it into his trousers.

  “Something important?” She snatched up his waistcoat and held it hostage. “What would you call Beth’s introduction to the queen?”

  “Less important. Excuse me.” He tried to take the waistcoat and when she wouldn’t give it up, he went back to the closet and brought out a dark green brocade and shrugged into it.

  Pamela followed him as he walked to his coat and picked it up. “You can’t do this. You can’t abandon Beth.”

  “The child will be well cared for without me.” He stopped and looked her over. “Assuming you’re over your histrionics and will do your duty as governess and accompany her. My grandfather will take my place, and I’ll be there when I can.”

  “This is just the kind of behavior I should have expected from a dilettante such as yourself. You commit yourself to a scheme and then can’t carry it through.”

  “Considering your behavior today, I would have to submit that people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.”

  His cool mockery fired her indignation. “Quite the contrary. I’m going to the party. You are not. You are cold and uncaring.”

  He put his arms into his coat as if he hadn’t heard her.

  “You had me get a child for you when you didn’t intend to keep her—”

  “Him. I wanted a lad, remember?” From a drawer in his cabinet he removed a black silk scarf and collar.

  “You don’t intend to adopt Beth, do you?”

  “You always knew that.”

  “Yes, and I’m damned for going along with your despicable scheme. I knew better, but I—”

  “You wanted the money.” He picked up his boots and showed them and the neckwear to her. “I’ll go downstairs and find my valet to help me don these. I would ask you, but your resentment is too large for you to get close.”

  He left her standing there, swallowing hard and not crying.

  He opened the door all the way. “Blast!” Stepping out, he stared down the corridor.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Beth,” he said.

  It took her a moment to realize the door had been partially open. She forgot her own troubles. She swallowed. Dear God, Beth had come seeking comfort or to show off or just to tell them it was time, and she must have asked a servant and found them—and heard them talk about her hopes and how they were never anything but foolishness.

  Rushing to the door, she looked out at the empty corridor, then up at him, sick with worry and horror.

  “She’ll understand,” Kerrich said with pigheaded nonchalance. “She’ll be fine. What time will she be presented to Her Majesty?”

  “Six o’ the clock. You mean you aren’t going after Beth? You hurt her!”

  “I’d say we both hurt her.” He groped for his pocket watch, then strode over and plucked it from his jewel case and looked at it. “I’ll do everything in my power to make it to the palace—but I have to go.”

  She could scarcely breathe for disappointment. “How does a man like you look at himself in the mirror? You are like my father.” r />
  He stared at her as if he didn’t know her, then took her by the arm and inexorably pulled her toward him. Looking down into her eyes, he said, “And you’re like my mother. You don’t know a diamond when you hold it in your hand.”

  Chapter 25

  “We didn’t believe the young man could be so violent, my lord.”

  Kerrich stared at Mr. Gordon, agent for the government, in absolute disbelief. “So you let Athersmith get away?”

  “He had a pistol! We weren’t prepared! Who would have thought that in broad daylight so bold a thievery could take place!” Given a listener, the makeshift guard would go on making excuses for hours. “He just walked right in. He loaded up paper to print banknotes. He took our ink! Then when we apprehended him, he shot at us.”

  “A single shot pistol?”

  “Indeed!”

  “If it was empty, what further harm could he do?”

  “He was waving another! Besides, people were in the lobby! Customers were at the windows. The bullet knocked a chip out of the venerable statue at the end of the lobby!” That was clearly the greatest indignation.

  Luckily Moulton walked into the now-deserted lobby of the Bank of England before Kerrich gave in to his urge to strangle Mr. Gordon. Kerrich left the man without apology, and speaking in an undertone to Moulton, mocked the man’s feeble defense. “Yes. Who would think they would want to steal from a place where they store money?”

  “I did warn you, my lord, of the government men’s pathetic inefficiency,” Moulton said. “If they had consented to warn the regular guards, none of this would have happened.”

  “They didn’t give warning to the bank’s guards?”

  Moulton smiled in a fed-up manner. “It is the government, sir.”

  Kerrich strode with Moulton outside the bank building on Threadneedle Street. Leaning his hand on one of the mighty columns, he took a breath of fresh air and asked, “What information did you glean?”