A loud sigh from her stepmother interrupted her thoughts, and she squinted warily at the smeared figure on the opposite seat.
"If only you were not so blind," Lydia bemoaned
suddenly. "I would not even need worry about you fancying him."
"Why?" Clarissa asked curiously, just barely managing to refrain from pointing out that she wouldn't be blind if she had her spectacles back.
"Because the man is as ugly as his sins," Lydia pronounced. "He used to be considered one of the handsomest of men in the ton. However, when the war started, he went off to battle and came back with that huge ugly scar. He is the talk of the ton now. No one can believe he would show his face in polite society, ruined as it is."
"Then we are a perfect pair," Clarissa muttered. "Two misfits everyone likes to point at and whisper about."
"What was that?" Lydia asked sharply.
"Nothing." Clarissa turned her gaze back to the passing city streets, blurry as they were, and heaved a sigh. Nothing her stepmother said had lessened Mowbray in her eyes. She simply didn't believe he would ruin her, and she knew he wasn't ugly. Clarissa had seen the scar that marred the side of his face. True, she'd seen it in bits and pieces, glimpses caught only when he'd leaned close to speak, but it hadn't seemed all that awful to her, and the other side of his face was perfect. She had found him terribly handsome.
Clarissa didn't say as much to her stepmother, however. She knew better than that.
Chapter Four
Clarissa watched the blur of movement in the ballroom and sighed deeply. It had been a week since the De Morriseys' ball, where she'd met the Earl of Mowbray. A mere week, she thought with a sigh. It felt like ten. Life had slid back into its pattern of blind clumsiness on her part, and the tedious--not to mention somewhat dubious--attentions of the elderly Lord Prudhomme. It seemed, despite her little accident in setting him afire, he was willing to continue his courtship. But the man now made sure that any and all incendiary and liquid-bearing items were kept well away from her.
Clarissa was eternally grateful that he was too busy playing host at this, his own ball, to bother her with his attentions, but she was bored. Bored to tears. She was also slightly obsessed with the evening she'd made the acquaintance of Lord Mowbray. That was the one bright spot in the entire time she'd spent in London
to date. And despite her stepmother's orders to avoid him, Clarissa found herself watching every passing blur in the hope that it might be him. She was also listening for the low, smoky tones of his laugh. He had a lovely laugh.
As if her thoughts had produced it, that low, smoky voice was suddenly whispering in her ear, "These are rather boring affairs, are they not?"
Turning with a start, Clarissa peered at the dark smudge that had slid into the seat her stepmother had only recently vacated, and blinked rapidly.
"Lord Mowbray!" She beamed at him, then realized how pathetically eager she must seem and said, "I mean, no--no, of course not. Why would you think I was bored?"
Clarissa could hear the amusement in his voice when Adrian said, "I could not help but notice that you were yawning as I joined you just now."
'Yes, well... perhaps I was a little bored," Clarissa acknowledged, aware she was flushing at being caught yawning, then gave up her pretense and admitted, "Oh, bother! I am bored. Terribly bored, in fact. Why, do you know that I have been in London for nigh on five weeks, and the night I met you is the only time anything interesting happened?"
"Setting Lord Prudhomme afire did not raise any interest in you?" Adrian teased.
Clarissa flushed a deeper scarlet, then made a face at him. "That is not what I meant, my lord. I meant that. . . well, I quite enjoyed myself with you. And that was the first--and, so far, only--time I have enjoyed myself in London to date."
"You flatter me," Adrian suggested, his voice gone husky.
"Not at all," Clarissa assured him. " Tis true. Why, dancing with you I felt as light as a bird, and I did not trip once, nor even stumble."
"Then let us dance again," he suggested, taking her hand to urge her to rise.
"Oh, nay!" Clarissa cried, tugging her hand free. She then offered an apologetic smile. "I am sorry, my lord, but my stepmother will not be gone long, and if she sees us together she will. . . well, I fear she will be displeased. I hope you are not too offended by my admission of this?"
"Oh, nay," Adrian echoed dryly, and she bit her lip unhappily. Clarissa had known the news would be insulting, but she had not known how to get around her situation. She certainly hadn't wanted to just send him away thinking that she herself was the one displeased with his company.
Adrian must have spotted her misery, for he suddenly gave her hand a squeeze. "Never fear. I am made of stern stuff. Besides, 'tis not the first time I have heard such a thing said this season, Lady Clarissa."
The words were spoken with a rather distracted air, and Clarissa could tell by the movement of the blur that was his head that he was glancing around. She'd just decided that he was looking for an excuse to leave her when he suddenly turned back and urged her to her feet. "I believe I do not see your aunt, or any of her cronies, nearby just now. If we hurry, I think we might make it out onto the balcony undetected."
"Onto the balcony?" Clarissa echoed with confusion, instinctively following the hand holding hers. He led her through the balcony doors behind them. "Whatever for?"
"To dance."
"Dance?" she repeated with surprise, but then he closed the door behind them, cutting off the music and chatter of the ballroom.
'You would like to dance, would you not?"
Clarissa could hear the frown in his voice and nodded quickly to please him. Then she admitted uncertainly, "But should my stepmother return while I am missing--"
"Oh, yes," Adrian muttered. "I suppose you are right. She might look out here and see us; then we would be in it"
Clarissa was just sighing unhappily, thinking they would return inside now and end this first bit of excitement she'd had since last meeting him, when he suddenly tugged her away from the doors.
"Come along. We shall move farther out into the gardens, where she will not find us. We can dance there."
Adrian was dragging her along and down the stairs to the gardens as he spoke, and Clarissa stumbled to keep up, but she managed to murmur, "No, my lord. I meant that, should she find me missing, I shall surely be in trouble when I do return."
"Ah, well, you can simply tell her you had to attend to personal needs, and had to find a powder room," he suggested.
"My lord!" Clarissa gasped, taken aback that he would mention such things so bluntly. It simply wasn't done. She could hear the grimace in his voice as he made his apologies.
"I am sorry, but I was simply trying to-- Damn, someone is coming."
Clarissa forgot his breach of manners, her heart tripping with anxiety as he stilled. "Who is it?"
"I do not know, but I can hear . . . Come." Tugging
her to the side, Adrian slid into the bushes, taking her with him. When he paused, she paused as well, some instinct warning her to be quiet as they waited.
It was no more than a moment before two figures came into view, approaching from the direction they'd been headed. Unfortunately, rather than walk by, as Clarissa had hoped, the pair chose that spot to stop and embrace.
"Oh, Henry!" the woman murmured.
"Hazel," came a quavery little voice that made Clarissa frown. She was positive it was the voice of Lord Prudhomme.
'You do not truly mean to marry that wretched girl?" the woman said suddenly. "What of us? What of our grand passion?"
"I love you, Hazel," the quavery voice came again. "And I shall do so until I die, but I must have an heir. Mother is quite insistent on that point."
Clarissa grimaced. It was Prudhomme; she was sure now, as she had met his mother. Lady Prudhomme was a rather horrible old lady. The woman must be at least a hundred years old. Still, she was a frightening harridan for all that, and Clarissa could
not blame Prudhomme for his terror of her.
'Yes, but--"
"Shh, my love," Prudhomme hushed. "Just let me hold you and pretend that the dreams I have each night are true. That you are mine and that all this sneaking about is unnecessary."
There was the rustle of silk and a brief moment of silence in which Clarissa imagined the couple to be embracing; then she heard a suspicious sound rather like lip smacking or sucking. Squinting, she tried to peer
through the bushes, but all she could see were the smears of what appeared to be a woman in a light-colored dress and the slender dark form of a man. They were very close together. Very close indeed. Their faces looked to be one large blur beneath two seemingly connected fuzzy white wigs.
They were kissing! Clarissa realized it with dismay, and she wondered what Lord Achard would think of that. For she had recognized who the woman was the moment Prudhomme addressed her as Hazel. Lady Hazel Achard was a member of her stepmother's circle--one who was quite often sharp and cold in her attitude to Clarissa. Now Clarissa understood why. The woman was jealous of Prudhomme's courtship of her.
"Oh, Henry, make love to me," Lady Achard gasped suddenly.
"But we just did, my sweet," Prudhomme protested. "I am only a man. I cannot perform again so soon, but must recover from the passion you instill in me."
"Oh." There was a long, drawn-out sigh of disappointment, then: "Were we married--"
'Yes, were we married I could hold you in my arms every night, just as I am now," Prudhomme proclaimed softly. Then he cursed and said, "Damn your husband for his good health!"
Yes, damn him," Lady Achard agreed. "I wish he would--"
"Shh," Prudhomme interrupted. But Clarissa suspected Lady Achard hoped for the early demise of her poor, unfortunate husband.
"What?" the woman asked, sounding anxious.
"I think I hear someone coming."
The couple broke apart, and none too soon, as another woman came around the path. She stopped in apparent surprise at the sight of them. "Why, Lord Prudhomme. Lady Achard."
Recognizing the voice of Lady Alice Havard, another of her stepmother's friends, Clarissa tried to shrink a little smaller in the bushes.
"Lady Havard," the amorous twosome murmured innocently, as if they had not been in a passionate embrace just moments before.
"Out for a breath of fresh air, Alice?" Lady Achard asked, sounding suspicious.
"Yes. I fear 'tis rather stuffy inside," Lady Havard replied. Then, sounding smug; "In fact, I was just saying so to Lord Achard but a moment ago."
"Arthur is here?" There was no missing the alarm in Hazel Achard's voice. "But he said he was not feeling up to attending tonight."
"Hmmm. He appears to have changed his mind." Lady Havard sounded immensely satisfied. "He asked me if I knew where you were, and I told him I thought you had gone to the table to dine."
"Oh." There was some hesitation, and then the blur that was Lady Achard turned to Prudhomme. "Thank you so much, my lord. 'Twas most kind of you to take time out to show me your garden. I shall return inside now, I think." She hesitated a moment, then asked a bit archly, "Will you accompany me, Lady Havard?"
"No. I think I should like to see Lord Prudhomme's new fountain. You did mention that your mother had purchased one, Henry?"
'Yes, yes," Prudhomme said at once. "Be glad to show it to you."
"Well... I shall be away then," Lady Achard said with obvious reluctance, and her blurred form moved off.
Sure that Prudhomme and Lady Havard would follow, and that she and Adrian could then slip from the trees and go back to the party, Clarissa nearly sighed her relief aloud. However, she was mistaken. The moment Lady Achard was gone, Lady Havard turned on Prudhomme, her voice sharp with jealousy as she asked, "What did she want?"
"Lady Achard claimed she needed a breath of fresh air and asked me to show her the new additions to the gardens, so I did," Prudhomme said innocently. Clarissa rolled her eyes. Goodness, the man was a masterful liar!
"Oh." Lady Havard sounded relieved, but blurted, "When I saw the two of you slip out here, I drought--"
"Hush, my love." The small dark blur that was Prudhomme drew the teal blur of Lady Havard into his arms. "You know there is no other woman for me, I love you, Alice, and I shall do so until I die."
'Yes, Henry." The woman sighed as he kissed a trail down her throat. "It is just that I am so jealous of late."
"There is nothing to be jealous of, my sweet."
Clarissa squinted harder and edged farther forward as Prudhomme leaned back enough to tug some of the teal blur downward. Good Lord! She realized with shock that the man had just bared Lady Havard's breasts right there in the garden. At least, that was what Clarissa assumed those blurred blobs were, which Prudhomme proceeded to squeeze and press with loud smacking kisses.
Lady Havard gasped, then grabbed a handful of his wig and tugged his face away from her bosom. "What of that girl?"
"Clarissa Crambray?" Prudhomme's scorn was obvious. "A mere child. What does she know of a passion such as ours?"
"You do still love me then?" she begged.
"Of course," he assured her.
Their blurs blended once more as he offered a moment's reassurance: "I dream of you. I awake with your name on my lips, and imagine that you are mine and that all this sneaking about is unnecessary."
Clarissa rolled her eyes again. Apparently the man did a lot of dreaming--though where he found the time she couldn't say, if he was carrying on with both of these ladies.
"Oh, Henry!" Lady Havard gasped. "Would that I were yours and we could hold each other like this every night."
'Yes," Prudhomme agreed. "Damn your husband for his good health."
Clarissa almost snorted aloud at this familiar refrain, but managed to catch it back.
"Now let me enjoy you for the few moments I do have you." Prudhomme continued, and with that his dark blur suddenly dropped to kneel, then seemed to disappear beneath Lady Havard's skirts.
"Oh, Henry." Lady Havard's shape leaned back against the tree. "Oh, Lord Prudhomme. Oh, oh, oh ..."
Clarissa stared in amazement, then unthinkingly opened her mouth to ask, "What the deuce is he--"
Mowbray clapped his hand over her mouth at once, dragging her backward through the bushes.
Grabbing at his arm to keep her balance as they moved, Clarissa glanced at the blur that was Prudhomme and Lady Havard. She really, really wished she had her spectacles. Clarissa had no idea what the man was doing under the woman's skirt, but the moans Lady Havard was emitting seemed to suggest it was
pretty amazing. Then Clarissa was dragged out of the bushes on the other side of the path. Adrian allowed her to turn to face forward, then hustled her quickly away.
"What on earth was he doing?" she asked when he drew her to a halt in another small clearing.
Mowbray glanced sharply at her, and she thought he actually blushed, but then she decided she must be mistaken. He finally said, "I shall explain to you someday, my lady. But just now is not the time."
"Why not?" she asked curiously.
"Because you are far too innocent to understand such things. Because you would be embarrassed beyond belief in your innocence. Because ... because just now I do believe we should return you to the ball," the earl finished, sounding relieved to think of it.
"Oh, but we did not get the chance to dance," Clarissa protested. It did seem that, if she was going to be in trouble anyway, she should at least get to dance first.
"Another time," Adrian promised, offering a gentle smile surely meant to soften the blow.
Clarissa was disappointed, but she allowed him to lead her back toward the noise, music, and lights of the ballroom. "I fear there may not be another time, my lord. Lydia has been doing her best to avoid anyplace you might be. We came here tonight only because she did not think you would bother to attend Prudhomme's ball."
"So that is why I have not been able to find you this week," Adrian muttered,
then admitted dryly, "Your stepmother was right. Normally I would not have attended this ball."
"Then why did you come?" Clarissa held her breath, unsure why until she heard his answer.
"Because I knew Prudhomme was considered a suitor, and because I therefore suspected you would come," he admitted.
"Truly?" she asked.
'Yes. Truly."
Clarissa thought Adrian might be smiling too, but she couldn't be sure. Then he smoothed his thumb along her eyes, urging her to stop her squinting as he said, "I, too, quite enjoyed our discourse at the De Morriseys' ball and have looked forward to seeing you again ever since."
"Oh." She tingled with pleasure and sighed. "I wish that..."
"What do you wish?" Adrian asked.
Clarissa shrugged unhappily. "I simply wish that Lydia did not feel such antipathy toward you."
He was silent as they walked up the path toward the laughter of the ballroom, then paused to turn her toward him. "Perhaps there is a way to work around that."
"A way?" Clarissa asked with a mixture of curiosity and hope.
"Yes." Adrian peered at her in silence, and then she saw him nod decisively. His fingers tightened on her arm. "Clarissa, should my cousin come to call in the next few days and offer to take you out riding, try to talk your stepmother into allowing it."
"Your cousin?" she asked uncertainly.
"Reginald Greville," Adrian said. "I shall ask him to collect you for me. Your stepmother shall approve. He will bring you out, and I shall meet with the two of you at the park."
Clarissa frowned. She recognized the name Greville. "I do not think it is very likely he will agree to
come collect me, my lord. I fear I have already made his acquaintance."
Adrian chuckled softly. "He told me of your encounter."
"He did?" she asked with dismay. Clarissa hadn't realized it at the time, but Lydia had told her later that she had scalded the man when she'd mistaken his lap for a table and set her tea upon it. She'd rather hoped Adrian hadn't heard about that story. It was humiliating. But then, most of her time in London had been similar.