A Season to Be Sinful Page 14

  “You’re saying he’d bleed me.”

  “In every way a man can be bled.” Blue lifted his chin and gestured toward the door. “Better if you take your leave now and don’t come here again. Bad for business if word gets around that I been talkin’ to a toff.”

  Sherry nodded. He finished his ale. “About Craven—”

  “I won’t be tellin’ anyone you was inquirin’ after him, same as I ain’t told a soul where Miss Rose or the lads have gone.”

  “I will depend upon it.” Sherry started to rise, then paused quite deliberately. “Oh, and I should like to take delivery of some of your fine French brandy.”

  Sheridan handed over his hat and gloves to his butler, then waved the man off when he would have spoken. “It’s all right, Lane. I saw her carriage outside. I’m not certain that a plague of locusts could have turned her away.” He gave Mr. Lane a sidelong glance. “Though you’ll try that the next time, won’t you?”

  The butler nodded, the grim features of his narrow face brightening by the merest fraction. “I shall indeed, my lord. Just the thing, a plague.”

  “Good man. Where is she?”

  “I suggested the drawing room.”

  “Then she is . . . ?”

  “In your library, m’lord.”

  “Of course. I am certain you did your best.” Sherry did not like his sanctuary being breached but lay none of the blame at his butler’s feet. The man’s formidable presence had never had the least impact on his godmother. Sherry was not at all certain she ever noticed he had a butler. “Some refreshment, Lane. Tea for Lady Rivendale, I think.”

  “And you, m’lord?”

  “Hemlock.” Striding away, Sherry did not glance back to see if Lane’s composure was broken by this last, although he was sorely tempted. The man’s gravity unsettled him on occasion, so how his godmother remained perfectly oblivious to him was a puzzler.

  “Aunt Georgia,” Sherry said pleasantly as he entered the library. “How good it is to see you.”

  “You are a dear boy to say so when we both know it is a lie,” she said. “I forgive you, however.” She proffered her rosy cheek as he approached the chaise longue. When Sherry bent and kissed her, she took his hand so that he could not easily move away. “Permit me to look at you,” she told him as he straightened.

  “Pray, could I stop you?”

  “Don’t be impudent.” She made a thorough study of him, pronounced him in good health, and only then released his hand. “What is toward, Sherry? I had it directly from you that you were going to Granville. I don’t think you can properly appreciate my surprise when I learned that your physician has been visiting daily for more than a sennight. Yet here you are, gone from home when I arrive and in the very pink of it upon your return. What does Harris say about your condition?”

  “That I am recovered, of course.” Sherry pushed aside a ledger on his desk and hitched his hip on the edge. “In the very pink, as you pointed out.”

  “But what was it? Something serious, I’ll wager, since it delayed your departure for the country.”

  Sherry realized he should have been prepared to dissemble about his condition. He quickly turned over the possibilities in his mind, looking for one that would satisfy but not alarm. “Pleurisy.” As soon as he saw Lady Rivendale fashion her eyebrows in a dramatic arch, he knew he had overshot the mark. “A mild case only,” he said, soothing her. “I assure you, I am well.”

  “Cough.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “Cough. I want to hear you cough. How can I know that your lungs are perfectly clear if I don’t hear you cough?”

  “Because Harris is satisfied that they are?”

  “Hah! As if I would depend upon a physician’s word on such a matter. Now, cough.”

  Sherry raised his hand to cover his mouth and coughed.

  “You sound sickly,” Lady Rivendale said. “I don’t like it, Sherry.”

  “That was the polite version.”

  “Then, by all means, let us have some gusto.”

  “Gusto. Yes, of course.” It occurred to Sherry that it was prudent of him not to have told her he had the pox. This examination was nothing to what she would have wanted to do in that event. This time when his hand came up, it was to cover his smile. He coughed hard into it, then looked to her for a verdict.

  “I detect some fluid,” she said firmly. “You should be abed.”

  “I cannot help feeling very well loved by your fussing, Aunt Georgia, but I will put you out of my house if you try to order me to bed.”

  She blinked. “You would do it, too, you beast.” Lines of concern about her eyes and mouth softened as she affected contriteness. “I am very sorry, Sherry, but in my defense I have had only a short time to accustom myself to the fact that you were ill. Why did you not send word? Does Cybelline know?”

  “I would not have had you troubled,” he said. There was an excuse with no legs, he knew. His godmother was not likely to accept something so lame. He went on quickly. “Nor Cybelline either. She would also have wanted to be here, and need I remind you that she is enceinte. Her husband is a most amiable fellow, but he would not have thanked me for exposing his wife and child to illness.”

  “That was sound of you,” her ladyship said, at least partly placated. “But you will call upon me next time so I might send my own physician.”

  “Very well.”

  “Your word, Sherry. I see you only mean to pacify me now and will do as you please should these circumstances arise again. I would have your word.”

  “You have my word,” he said dutifully.

  “Good. Now permit me to tell you who arrived in town this morning.” She regarded him a shade guiltily. “If it will not overtire you, that is.”

  Sherry thought of Lily abovestairs. He was neatly caught in the web of his own lie. If he admitted that such a discourse as his godmother suggested would tax him, she was certain to fret unnecessarily over his health; if he allowed her to relate the latest on dit, she would be calmed and he would be delayed in visiting Lily. Neither choice improved his mood, though he hid it well enough.

  “By all means,” he said as Lane entered to serve refreshment. With impeccable timing, Sherry thought, the hemlock had arrived. “You must tell me who has come to town.”

  It was after he had dined with Lady Rivendale that Sherry was finally able to bid her farewell. Unwilling to leave anything more to chance, he made certain her carriage was underway before he climbed the stairs to Lily’s bedchamber.

  He did, on this occasion, announce himself with an abrupt knock, though he entered before permission was granted. He stopped just on the other side of the threshold when he saw the bed was empty.

  “Miss Rose?”

  “Do not make yourself easy here,” Lily called from the dressing room. “I am indisposed.”

  Sheridan was uncertain what this meant until he heard the telltale splash of water. “You are bathing? Is that advisable?”

  “If I want to be clean it is.”

  “What about your stitches? Did Harris say—” He stopped. Even with the door to the adjoining dressing room opened only a crack, Sherry heard her sigh. “I will cool my heels in the hall.”

  “Please,” she said. “Do that.”

  He made to step out when a sound that was most definitely not splashing caught his attention. It was laughter and it was cut off abruptly, but Sherry was certain he recognized the source of it. The overtones of youth and mischief were unmistakable. Although Pinch and Dash were good candidates, the most likely one to become discomposed was Midge. Pinch and Dash, he imagined, each had a hand clamped over their friend’s mouth.

  Sherry opened the door, then closed it firmly, but remained inside the room. The quiet continued for a few moments longer, and he could imagine they were listening with complete concentration, their heads cocked and their breath held in wary anticipation that they had been caught out. When only silence met them, they finally surrendered to the e
xhilaration of having made such a narrow escape of it.

  There was another round of splashing, more giggling, and someone most assuredly was pressed under the water. Lily scolded, but it was clear she had no real heart for it. A great deal of sputtering followed, then a thud. A bar of soap came skittering through the narrow opening in the doorway.

  “Now see wot ye’ve done, Dash,” Pinch said. “Ye’ll ’ave to get it. Miss Rose can’t be on ’er ’ands and knees goin’ after it.”

  “Midge knocked it out,” Dash said. “My aim was true.”

  “Didn’t,” Midge said.

  “Get it,” Pinch said.

  Sherry let the door swing open just as Lily was settling the disagreement by upending a pitcher of cool water over the tub. The three young men inside it could not avoid the cascade. They ducked and squirmed and flailed their arms, but it was a squeeze equal to Almack’s at the beginning of the Season, and they could not eject themselves.

  “Perhaps a bit of soap?” Sherry stepped into the dressing room and held up the bar for their inspection. “Shall we see what happens when you’re as slippery as eels?”

  “Oooh,” squealed Midge. “Now ye’ve done it, Dash. We’re certain to get a proper scrubbin’.”

  Lily no longer held the pitcher above the boys. As soon as Sheridan entered the room she had withdrawn it and now cradled it protectively in front of her. Her expression reflected a perfect mix of amusement and consternation as he made his predatory advance on the tub.

  The boys watched him warily, silent now, and continued to squirm ever so slightly in the hope that one or all of them might be wrenched free. For all their fixed fascination on the object in his hand, he might have been brandishing a pistol instead of a lump of soap.

  When Sheridan began to drop to his knees beside the tub, they reacted instinctively, closing their eyes tightly, gulping air, then thrusting their faces in the water.

  Lily stepped closer to Sheridan, thrusting one hand out to prevent his descent to the floor. “You musn’t,” she said. “You will ruin your trousers. It is naught but wet everywhere.”

  “So it is,” Sherry said as though noticing this condition for the first time. He glanced at Lily. “Then it is a very good thing I don’t mind.” He knelt in a puddle directly beside the tub. “I suppose they’ll have to come up for air directly.” His tone was entirely conversational. “Shall we wager who will be first?”

  Clutching the pitcher more tightly, Lily simply stared at him. Everything about her revealed that she was regarding a man who was in all ways outside her experience.

  Sherry’s smile was perfectly genial, set on his face of a purpose to further confound her. In truth, he was infinitely unsettled by his own behavior. There was no way to explain what he was doing now. He had never entertained the notion of giving anyone a bath, and that he should have set himself on this course solely for their entertainment was vastly out of character. No one had ever made a misstep by depending upon him to show good sense and a respect for convention. Handsome enough to be a rogue, it was not a reputation that had ever been attached to him. Mothers with eligible daughters regularly brought them to his notice by arranging a first waltz with him or managing the seating at a dinner party. His conduct practically defined the acceptable standard. He was polite to a fault and took pains not to draw untoward attention, even when he wished himself anywhere but where he was.

  It was more than passing strange that he wished to be nowhere but where he was just now, defying the expectations of even himself.

  The high drama of some rather loud gasping distracted him from Lily and his own musings. Midge came up for air, and Sherry was on him like a mongoose on a cobra. He caught the young scoundrel by the scruff of the neck and lathered his hair, face, and shoulders with the soap. Midge gargled water and words, making his protests wholly unintelligible. Lily was easier to understand, though her concern was not for Midge but for Sherry’s frock coat, which was already wet to the elbows. Water also darkened the front of his waistcoat and shirt and ran in fine rivulets down his face.

  Sherry had to forego Midge’s proper drubbing when Pinch surfaced. He had his hands full by the time Dash lifted his head for air.

  Still hugging the pitcher, Lily eased herself onto the chair behind her. She watched the antics in and around the tub, fascinated and bemused. She could quite honestly say that she had never seen the like before: a man full grown at play with children. She was witness to a pitched battle of wills that had nothing to do with practices of cleanliness. The object of this exercise seemed to be about who could use a lump of soap to inflict the most distress.

  Sherry lost control of the soap when he applied too much pressure around it. Its trajectory was high and narrow, and Pinch was the one to pluck it out of the air on its descent. He cupped it between his palms, aimed, and squeezed. It shot out of his hands like a cannonball and hit Sherry squarely in the chest. There was an audible grunt and some high-pitched laughter, and the game was on again. The soap changed hands so often it was sometimes difficult to know who had it. At one point, Sherry actually plunged his arms elbow deep into the water to join the frantic search for it.

  Pinch’s dark hair gleamed with droplets of water and suds. Dash’s usually pale face was flushed with high color. Even Midge, who did not always demonstrate the confidence of his compatriots, sported a smile so broad it very nearly did not fit between his cheeks.

  But it was to Sheridan’s face that Lily’s pensive gaze kept returning.

  His deeply brown eyes were not merely brightened by laughter, they were warmed by it. His smile was easy, open, and laughter rolled effortlessly from him. It was not so much that he was transformed by the spirited play but rather that he was revealed by it. The nature of this man was something more than he lay open to the casual inspection of others, mayhap even to himself.

  There was nothing toplofty about him now, no hint that he could be high in the instep or vaguely disapproving of nonconformity. His wet hair was plastered darkly to his head, defining the shape of his skull. Water dripping from his drenched frock coat and neckcloth beat a hard tattoo on the floor. His lopsided grin was entirely too devilish to be polite and too indulgent to be disagreeable.

  In short, he had the look of an inordinately happy man.

  Lily felt as if her heart were being squeezed. The ache was dull, yet insistent, and it pulsed slowly to other parts of her body. It became a lump in her throat and a pressure behind her eyes. Her limbs felt weighted, then numb, and at the periphery of her thoughts it was as if a dense fog were encroaching.

  “Lily?”

  She was aware of a stillness beyond her own, of a voice that was both gentle and stubborn repeating her name. There was little impact at first. The threads of her consciousness required steady tugging.

  “Lily.”

  She opened her eyes, blinking widely, and knew a disorientation so complete that she thought she might be sick. When she turned her head to the side her view of the room was once again familiar.

  “I say,” Pinch said, morbidly fascinated, “you don’t think she’s going to turn up ’er toes?”

  Sherry’s darkening sideways glance silenced the boy. “She’s simply fainted. Women are wont to do that when they observe men at rough play. They are of a delicate constitution, you know, and cannot abide bloodsport.” He looked down at Lily and saw a measure of color had returned to her face, all of it indignant. That was good, then. “Can you sit?” he asked.

  “With my delicate constitution? I am not certain.”

  Better. “Very well. Permit me.” Before she could protest, Sherry slipped one hand under her back and lifted her into a sitting position. He was gratified to see that not only did the blood not rush out of her cheeks, there seemed to be a bit more bloom there. Cocking his head in Dash’s direction, he asked the boy to turn down Lily’s bed. “Trousers first, Master Dash.” He looked significantly at the other two who were shaking water from their hair and naked limbs as they rose from t
he tub behind Dash. “Preserve the lady’s modesty,” he told them, “if not your own.”

  “Oh, Miss Rose ’ad an eyeful when we stripped to get into the tub,” Midge said. “Didn’t you, Miss Rose?”

  “No, Midge, I didn’t. As befits my delicate constitution, I closed my eyes.”

  As that was not the way of it now, Pinch, Dash, and Midge immediately clapped their hands over their private parts.

  Lily averted her head and pressed one hand to her temple, a gesture that assured her fragile smile would not be seen and relieved the pounding in her head. She did not oppose Sherry when he helped her to her feet, then lifted her.

  Dash narrowly beat them to the bed and turned down the covers. Midge plumped a pillow and pushed it under her head just as Sherry laid her down. It was Pinch who neatly tucked the blankets around her after Sheridan raised them.

  “Go on,” Sherry told the boys. “She’s fine. I promise you that she is.” He was not at all certain they would have obeyed him if Lily had not echoed his words, but once she did, they trotted off. Sitting sideways on the edge of the bed, he turned enough to watch them go, his amiable smile fixed.

  It was only when they were out of hearing that Sherry’s affability vanished. Regarding Lily again, he pinned her back with a narrow, studied gaze, and asked, “Is there to be a child?”

  Six

  Seemingly of its own accord, Lily’s right hand smoothed the coverlet across her torso and stopped when it lay protectively over her abdomen. Bemused, she asked, “Why ever do you think there is to be a child?”

  “You fainted,” Sherry said. His regard of her did not soften. “And you said yourself that there are some who would name you a whore.”

  “I had hoped,” she said with quiet dignity, “that they were not in this room.”

  Sherry was not entirely proof against this pointed verbal dart. For all that it was said in a voice barely above a whisper, he was certain she had meant to draw blood. He studied her less intently than before and permitted his gaze to wander from her stricken face to the slim hand that rested above her belly. “You have not really answered my question,” he said, raising his eyes to her again. “You are rather skilled at circumnavigating the most direct inquiries. Are you carrying a child, Miss Rose?”