Lord Perfect (The Dressmakers 3)

“Could not stare at your breasts and think at the same time,” he said.

“I could have coaxed them all round—including the wretched old man—if you had not brawled with the footman,” she said. “If you had to fight, could you not at least keep it belowstairs?”

“He ran away from me, the coward,” Benedict said. “I was not in a forgiving state of mind. I woke up with Satan’s own headache to find that someone had stolen my money and clothes, you see.”

He took a long, steadying breath. “It is clear what happened. Getting me drunk and ravishing me was part of your cunning plan. You thought I would be too sick and debilitated after the excesses of last night to pursue you. You thought I’d never guess where you’d gone. You think I’m an idiot, obviously.”

“I did only the getting-you-drunk part on purpose,” she said. “The trouble is, I drank a good deal more than I intended, because you have a curst strong head. I ravished you because I was as drunk as a sailor. But yes, I do believe you are acting like an idiot. You have let lust cloud your thinking. You very nearly told the DeLuceys who you were, did you not? If I had not interrupted, you would have given them one of your Who-are-you-you-insignificant-insect looks and said, ‘I am Rathbourne.’ ”

She mimicked him so well that he had the devil’s own time keeping the scowl on his face.

“You told them who you were,” he said. “You have put yourself at risk. If it is found out that I am not your mad brother Derek, you will be ruined.”

He had nearly choked, struggling not to go off into whoops, when he found himself turned into her lunatic sibling.

“I am already ruined,” she said. “I was ruined from the day I was born.”

“Then what of Olivia?” he said. “What of her future?”

“I cannot make a future for her here,” she said. “I was deluded to think so. If I wish her to have a fair chance at a proper life, I must take her abroad, where the name Bathsheba Wingate means nothing to anybody.”

“I cannot believe you are seriously considering returning her to the same ramshackle existence you have deplored, time and again!” he shouted. And winced, because the shouting reverberated painfully in his skull.

“That is because I am facing facts and you are not,” she said. “You are pretending that this is your life. But it is only a few days out of your life. Perhaps it does make an amusing change. Yet all you have done is run away, for a time, as you used to do long ago. The trouble is, you are no longer a little boy, and unlike in the past, you face grave consequences when you return. And you must return, Rathbourne. I can shake the dust of England from my feet. You cannot.”

“You will not,” he said. “I will not permit it.”

“I wish you would try to remember that this is not the Middle Ages and I am not your vassal,” she said.

“I won’t let you be my martyr, either,” he said.

“I was not—”

“If I had been born a younger son, I should have become a barrister,” he said. “As it is, I have participated in any number of criminal inquiries. I have learnt how to put two and two together. Your motive is obvious, my girl. I am not sure whether it arises from a misguided maternal instinct or the DeLucey flare for drama. Whatever the source, I do not need your protection or self-sacrifice. The very idea is absurd. I am a man, and not a young one, wet behind the ears. I am thirty-seven years old. I should be hanged before I hid behind your skirts.” He shot her a look. “What I should do under your skirts is another subject altogether, which I should be happy to discuss at another time.”

“What is wrong with you?” she cried. “What will you do if you are found out?”

“What my ancestors did at Hastings and Agincourt,” he said. “What my brother Alistair did at Waterloo. If other members of my family could face Death unflinchingly, I can certainly face ridicule and disapproval.”

“I don’t want you to, you obstinate man!”

“I know that, my dear,” he said. “I realized it when I discovered you’d made off with my clothes and money. I was deeply touched by that display of affection. But now you must give them back.”

THE LADIES STALKED out of the drawing room of Throgmorton House, followed immediately by Lord Mandeville’s son and grandson. This left the earl no one to rage at but the servants, who quickly made themselves scarce, too. Then he was at leisure to seethe in solitude.

While the ladies sought haven in the conservatory, Lord Northwick and Peter DeLucey viewed the wreckage in the hall.

Two chairs had been overturned. An enormous Chinese porcelain dragon Lord Northwick had always hated lay on the floor in fragments, which a pair of frightened housemaids were in the process of sweeping up.

Joseph, braced up by James and Keble, limped toward the baize door leading to the servants’ realm.

Lord Northwick led his son out of hearing range. “You must go after them,” he said. “The lady and her . . . brother.”

Peter stared at him.

“Now,” said his father. “We have not a moment to lose.”

“But Grandfather said . . . But you—you didn’t believe her. I could tell. You wore that look—”

“I have changed my mind,” said Lord Northwick. “Stop dithering and listen to me.”

“MRS. WINGATE! I say, Mrs. Wingate!”

Benedict and Bathsheba looked behind them.

A lone rider galloped toward them.

As he drew nearer, Bathsheba said, “That is Lord Northwick’s boy, Peter DeLucey. What now?”

They halted and waited for him.

“A message,” he said breathlessly. “From my father. Apologies. Couldn’t come himself. Press of duty. But he asks that you meet him tomorrow morning at the King’s Arms Inn. I am to show you where it is and see that you are made comfortable. Father says . . .” The young man glanced uncertainly from Bathsheba to Benedict. “Father says he believes you, and we are to offer you every assistance.”

“EVERY ASSISTANCE” INCLUDED arranging for rooms at the inn as well as a midday meal, which not only went a good way to helping Benedict recover from the previous night’s debauch, but raised his opinion of the DeLuceys.

Still, he thought at first that this DeLucey’s helpfulness was an excuse to loiter about ogling Bathsheba, for the young man could not take his eyes off her. He did not need to be asked twice to join them for the meal.

DeLucey was in no hurry to leave after the meal, either.

Benedict decided to drop a hint.

“I regret I must be on my way,” he said. “Our manservant and carriage remain at an inn near Bath, and I am obliged to collect them. The innkeeper must be paid as well. My sister left in great haste, you see, and in her anxiety and agitation, she mistook my purse for hers.”

“Oh, I can ride to the inn and do all that for you,” DeLucey said.

“Certainly not,” said Bathsheba. “We should never ask such a thing.”

“You would be doing me a favor,” the young man said. “Otherwise, I’ll have nothing to do all day but be bored witless. Sundays at Throgmorton can be deadly. Grandfather loathes going to church, but he believes it is his duty to set an example. I wish he would stay home and let the ladies set an example instead. Being preached at always puts him in the foulest mood. Then someone is sure to stop him after the service with complaints or demands or some such, and make him late coming home. Meanwhile, he will fast before services, though his physician has told him time and again that it isn’t good for him at his age. So naturally, by the time he does come home he is as hungry as a bear, which does not improve anybody’s temper.”

He colored. “I daresay he would not have welcomed you in any case, but this being Sunday, p

erhaps it was worse than it might have been.”

It was well said, Benedict thought. The young man effected an apology of sorts for his grandfather without disparaging him, and with a degree of compassion.

Benedict’s paternal grandmother had a deadly sharp tongue and no patience whatsoever. In Lord Mandeville’s place, she might have displayed more self-control, but she would not have been any gentler.

The elderly must be allowed their crotchets.

Benedict had reminded himself of this rule a short time ago. This was why he had not heaved Lord Mandeville through the nearest window.

“It is the DeLucey temper,” said Bathsheba. “Apparently, that family characteristic is found in all the branches. I am quite used to it.”

“You have it,” Benedict said.

“Yet it was not I who threw the footman through the drawing room door,” she said.

“He was a vile person,” Benedict said. “I shall not apologize for that.”

“That might have been what turned Father in your favor,” DeLucey said. “He has wanted Joseph dismissed this age, but Grandfather . . .” He trailed off, his blue eyes widening. “I say, sir, you are not really queer in the attic, after all.” He turned his puzzled stare upon Bathsheba.

“I thought your family might excuse lunacy more readily than they would temper,” she said.

“Sometimes my sister drives me mad,” Benedict said. “Otherwise I am perfectly rational. Being rational, I see no reason for you to travel all the way to Bath to pacify an irate innkeeper while allaying my loyal servant’s anxieties. After that, you would make the same tiresome journey back, during which you would feel as though you were alone, because Thomas would not dream of conversing with you. However, if you are in no hurry to return to Throgmorton, you are welcome to accompany me.”

“It seems I am not needed, then,” said Bathsheba.

Benedict blinked. He’d expected her to insist on going with them. He’d braced himself for the inevitable battle.

But she showed none of the usual signs of determination to do exactly what he didn’t want her to do. Her face was white and drawn. The day must have caught up with her, he thought. She’d not only had insufficient rest, but she’d had to bear the brunt of Mandeville’s fury, along with her other relatives’ coldness and distrust.