Damsel in Distress Read online

  But as the minutes dragged on and the audience began straggling back to their seats, she realized that Dolmain was not coming. He had taken her at her word that she did not need his protection—or he had changed his mind. Either way, she felt betrayed. If he had any concern for her, he would have come. He knew how she had suffered last night at Brockley’s ball.

  The second act was agony. Had it not been for Georgie, she would have left early. Newton tried manfully to amuse her by poking her elbow at each witticism and exclaiming, “That was a good one, eh?” She could hardly muster an acknowledgment.

  What would happen to her if society ostracized her? She could never see Dolmain; they would no longer frequent the same do’s. He would not have her even as a friend if she became an outcast. He had his daughter’s reputation to consider. As he had said, a lost reputation was difficult to recover. Some shadow of guilt would always hover over her head. She would be “not quite the thing,” not invited to the best homes. Almack’s would be closed to her as a matter of course. The toplofty Mrs. Drummond Burrell would see to that. This grande dame had once chided her and Julian for laughing too loudly at the club, and Julian had snubbed her.

  “Is this not a party? Or has someone died, ma’am?” he had asked, in his mischievous way. “I thought Lord Buten looked particularly moribund. You ought to have had the knocker done up in crepe.”

  Oh yes, Mrs. Burrell would be very happy to turn her off.

  When the second intermission came, Georgie said, “We shall take a short stroll to stretch our legs. Do come with us, Caro. It will do you good.”

  “I could not bear it, Georgie,” Caroline replied in a low voice. “Perhaps my friends will come again. Newt has offered to remain with me.”

  “We shan’t be long,” Georgie said, and went out with her group.

  Newton looked at Caroline from under his eyebrows and said, “You are looking lonely as a crowd, Caro. I could go out and round up a group if you like.”

  Even Newt’s mangling of the mother tongue no longer amused her. “I shan’t go running after society,” she said. “If they don’t want me, then I don’t want them.”

  “Want to change tails and run home, then?”

  “No, I shall stay until the end.”

  He pointed across the hall. “There, Miss Simcoe is waving at you.”

  Caroline waved back, grateful for any support.

  “Let me get some wine at least,” was his next suggestion. “This smiling and letting on you are having a good time is tiresome work.”

  She dreaded being left alone, yet it seemed hard to deny Newt a glass of wine after his help. “Yes, go ahead,” she said.

  “Buck up, my girl. You’ve got to take the bitter with the sour.”

  He was just leaving when the door to her box opened and Lord Dolmain stepped in. He was there, distinguished, above reproach, smiling, and making a gallant bow in full view of all her scorners. Such a wave of gratitude welled up inside her that she feared she would cry. He did care for her a little. Oh, and she did love him, try as she might to fight the knowledge.

  “Good evening, Dolmain,” she said, blinking back a tear.

  “A thousand pardons,” he said. “Work ran late at the House. I could not make it for the first intermission.”

  “That is quite all right,” she replied in a voice trembling with relief.

  The sight of her pinched, pale face filled him with remorse. Almost worse was to see her behave so submissively. The old Caro would have given him a good Bear Garden jaw for being late. What had he done to her? The lovely, carefree Caro looked as if she carried the weight of the world on her dainty shoulders. He wanted to carry her off to safety, to pamper and protect her. She couldn’t be guilty! Oh Lord, this could not be love he felt. But he knew when he saw her moist eyes that he would do anything to see her smile again in her old, carefree way.

  “I’ll run along and get the wine, then,” Newton said, and left.

  Dolmain said, “May I?” and dropped into the seat beside her.

  As Caroline glanced out at the theater, she saw the shocked expressions on her erstwhile critics. Weren’t they smiling now, and trying to catch her attention! They were like lemmings, led hither or thither without thinking for themselves.

  Dolmain cast an eye on the nearly empty box and said, “This is an unaccustomed sight! Lady Winbourne without her court. Have the demmed jackanapes all deserted you? Good riddance,” he said contemptuously. “I have you all to myself.”

  “It was kind of you to come,” she said in a chastened voice.

  “It was the least I could do, as I am responsible for your being ostracized,” he replied grimly. “I should like to stay here alone with you, but it would be best if we circulate.”

  “Yes, that might be best,” she agreed reluctantly.

  They went into the corridor. The first reaction was a strained silence, as heads turned and people stared, almost in disbelief.

  “Now I know how you must have felt at Brockley’s ball,” Dolmain said.

  “And I know how the wild animals at Exeter Exchange must feel,” she replied. It was really too ludicrous. She laughed in mingled relief and amusement at the world’s folly.

  “That is more like it,” he said, squeezing her arm.

  As the crowd assimilated the sight of Dolmain and Lady Winbourne, chatting and laughing together, they came surging forward, some swiftly, some at a lagging gait, some swept along by the tide. It seemed the half of the audience of Covent Garden was suddenly gathered around Caroline and Dolmain. Not liking to say what had been in their minds, they spoke of the play instead. A marvelous comedy. Sheridan was so witty, there was no matching him.

  Ladies who had known Caroline for a decade found themselves saying foolishly, “I was not sure that was you with Lady Georgiana.”

  “Yes, in the same box we have had these many years,” Caroline replied demurely. She could not refrain from one little gibe.

  She felt Dolmain’s fingers tighten on her elbow in warning. This was not the time for revenges, but for repairing fences.

  It was Lady Jersey, the greatest chatterbox in London, and the rudest, who said, “Can we assume that you have recovered Lady Helen’s diamonds, Dolmain, as you and Caro are so cozy?”

  Dolmain gave her a lazy smile. “I have a fellow looking into it,” he replied nonchalantly, and immediately rushed on to compliment her on her toilette.

  When Lady Jersey, called Silence as a compliment to her running tongue, opened her lips to ask more pointed questions about the necklace, Dolmain said, “Excuse me, we have friends waiting in our box. Shall we go, Caro?”

  Caroline felt a rush of pleasure to hear him refer to her in this intimate way in front of Silence, as if they had been bosom bows forever. Only her best friends called her Caro.

  He ushered her back toward the box, saying, “Did you want to walk more? We can scoot around the corner to escape Jersey if you like. Leave it to her to blurt out what everyone was thinking, but was too polite to say. Silence never stops talking long enough to think.”

  “Let us return to the box,” she said. “I did want an opportunity to talk to you in private.”

  “Later, when we are away from this audience. Now we must speak of nothings. Are you enjoying the play?”

  “I could hardly tell you what I have been watching, my mind is in such a turmoil.”

  “Then I have a suggestion to make. Leave with me now. We have been seen; if you are missing from your box for the last act, folks will assume we have gone off together. That will confirm the notion that we are bosom bows. It will give us an opportunity for that talk.”

  She was only too happy to leave. “Very well, but I must tell Newt.”

  They went to take their leave of Newton, and to ask him to tell Georgiana that Caroline had gone home with Dolmain.

  “You don’t mind?” Caroline asked him.

  “Just as you like. All the more wine for me,” was his easy reply.

  The
audience were returning to their boxes as Caroline and Dolmain left the theater. Several people saw them and passed the word along. It was pretty well known they had left together even before scanning Caro’s box after the second intermission.

  Chapter Nine

  As Dolmain accompanied her to his carriage, he said, “You must wonder why I have two footmen mounted behind the carriage. I am as safely guarded as a vestal virgin. The Duke of York, at the Horse Guards, you know, has insisted we all be escorted since we are such important fellows. The success of the war in the Peninsula rests on our shoulders.”

  She gave him a pert smile. “I seem to have heard a certain Lord Wellington is in charge of things there.”

  “Yes, when he can get our set off his shoulders. It was his influence that got a few of us Whigs into the Horse Guards, to curb the more sublime idiocies of York and his boys. York feels the conduct of war is too important to leave to generals and officers. It requires the fine hand and superior brainpower of people like us who have never seen a war, or ever been in Spain.”

  As he rattled on in this light vein, he ushered her into the carriage, where he sat beside her. As soon as they were comfortably ensconced in its velvet bosom, he became serious.

  “What was it you wished to discuss, Caro?”

  “Someone has been following me,” she said, and told him about Newt’s discovery, and her testing of it.

  He frowned. “Let us drive a little out of town and see if he is still on your trail when we get away from traffic.” He opened the window and called the new order to his groom.

  “Meanwhile, tell me what Lady Helen and Miss Blanchard had to say about last night when you spoke to them,” she said.

  “Miss Blanchard admits she allowed Helen to prevail on her to skip the concert and go to the Pantheon. It was wrong of her, but I do not hold Miss Blanchard entirely to blame. Helen can be persuasive. She would have sneaked away on her own sooner or later. Miss Blanchard thought it best for her to take Helen, so that she would at least be guarded. Helen had heard her friends speak of the Pantheon as one of the sights of London, and in her innocence had no notion what it is like. It was an error in judgment. It won’t be repeated.”

  “What is Miss Blanchard’s excuse for sending Helen home alone with that man? And who is he?”

  “A perfectly safe fellow. He is Miss Blanchard’s cousin, Pierre Bernard. She followed behind them in my rig. She did not want anyone to see Helen climbing into my rig, in case the carriage was recognized. That was thoughtful of her.”

  “It would have been more thoughtful had she accompanied Helen in her cousin’s rig, and he taken your carriage.”

  “So it would, but she did not think of that. Helen convinced me to forgive her this one lapse and keep her on. Every dog has his bite, as the saying goes. I made it perfectly clear she is not to do that sort of thing again.”

  He then changed the subject. “Let us see if this mysterious rig is following you now.” He peered out the window. Seeing nothing, he had the carriage stopped and asked his groom to keep an eye out.

  They drove again out the Chelsea Road. The deserted countryside was eerie by moonlight. Tall trees took on a menacing aspect as their branches swayed and bent in the breeze. A ghostly moon floated high above in the infinite black sky, surrounded by a wilderness of stars.

  Caroline felt a shiver lift the hair on her arms. “There might be highwaymen. Let us go home,” she said.

  “I thought we might stop for a late supper. There is an inn a mile down the road that serves good food—the Hound and Hind. We worked through the dinner hour at the Horse Guards. We had sandwiches sent in, but I am in the mood for a beefsteak.”

  She felt a rush of concern for Dolmain, working so hard and so selflessly. Buoyed by his support at Covent Garden, she was in a mood for some amusement. It was the impulsive, spur-of-the-moment sort of thing she and Julian used to do.

  “I shall join you, but not in a beefsteak. I shall have chicken, or perhaps a raised pigeon pie. To tell the truth, I have not eaten much today myself, with all these worries—”

  Dolmain was overcome in a wave of remorse. “Caro, my dear!” On an impulse, he drew her into his arms and cuddled her against his chest, stroking her head to comfort her. Her hair was like finest silk. A light scent of flowers wafted up to enchant him. She felt dainty, all soft curves, femininely alluring, nestled in his arms. He was overcome with remorse for the ordeal he had put her through. And he called himself a gentleman!

  “I feel a perfect monster, Caro,” he said. “This is all my fault. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you.”

  He continued stroking her. As he soothed away her worries, she felt a warmth growing inside her. When he put his fingers beneath her chin and tilted her head up, she gazed at his face, bathed in shadowy moonlight. An honest, masculine face. A shiver of anticipation trembled up her spine as his head inclined slowly to hers, and she read the intention in his eyes. He was going to kiss her, but like a gentleman, he was waiting to see if she objected. She lifted her warm lips to his.

  The reaction was like a spark to tinder. After the first light touch, his arms crushed her against his hard chest. As his lips firmed, bruising hers in a ruthless kiss, she felt as if her lungs had collapsed, sending her heart up to pound in her throat. It had been so long since she had felt this fever in the blood. Three years of pent-up passion flooded through her like a tidal wave as she returned every ardent pressure.

  When she finally drew away, she felt embarrassed at having let herself go. “Georgie is always telling me I am too impulsive,” she said breathlessly. “Too quick to anger, and too quick to—” She swallowed the word love, which had nearly escaped.

  “I have not been accused of that—until now,” he said, and lifting her hand, he placed a kiss on her fingers. “For myself, I prefer a lady with spirit. Ah, we have reached the Hound and Hind.”

  Caro didn’t know whether she was glad or sorry.

  They were led to a private parlor, with a table laid in the center of the room, a cozy fire blazing in the grate, and a sofa in front of it. They had a glass of wine by the fire while awaiting their dinner.

  Dolmain seemed to relish his beefsteak. Caroline certainly enjoyed her chicken. It was simple country cooking, but prepared with care. A French ragout could not have been more welcome. When the servants cleared away the table, Dolmain said, “Now a bottle of champagne to cap a lovely evening.”

  “I should be getting home,” Caro said reluctantly. This latter part of the evening had been so enjoyable, she was sorry to see it end.

  “Carpe diem, Caro,” he said, gazing at her with a question in his eyes. “Seize the day. If this ... experience ... has taught me anything, it is that we should enjoy ourselves while we can. There is no saying what misfortune lurks around the corner, waiting to attack.”

  She thought of his work, so dangerous that the Duke of York had assigned him two bodyguards. He could be dead tomorrow. But she mistrusted that glint in his eyes. She was a widow, and widows were considered fair game by some gentlemen. Was it possible Dolmain put her in that category? If so, she must show him he was mistaken.

  “I really must be going home,” she said firmly.

  “You’re right. It is rather late,” he said, trying to conceal his disappointment. That warm embrace in the carriage had misled him. Yet he was not really sorry that Caro was unavailable for an affair. What she required was a husband.

  They drove home, still friends, with her head resting on his shoulder. His arms enfolding her felt natural and right, and wonderfully protective. She had often felt vulnerable since Julian’s passing. Gentlemen who behaved themselves when he was alive were inclined to take liberties after his death. She had learned to depress them, but life was more comfortable with a male protector. She hardly knew what she would have done if Dolmain had not come to the theater.

  As they approached London, Dolmain looked out the window. “I don’t see anyone following,” he said.


  She had forgotten all about the man following her.

  “We shall go somewhere together tomorrow evening,” he said. It wasn’t a question, nor quite a command.

  She gazed at him, interested. “Yes,” she said.

  When they reached Berkeley Square, he accompanied her to the door for a good-night kiss.

  Crumm met her at the door. “Mr. Newton is waiting for you. We was about to call out Bow Street,” he added severely.

  “I went for a drive with Lord Dolmain,” she said.

  “Is that what he called it? It looked like cuddling to me. I had half a mind to darken his daylights.”

  “Your duties stop at the door, Crumm,” she replied.

  Newton came out of the saloon to meet her. His inflated chest gave him the air of a pouter pigeon. It was a sign that he had some important discovery to reveal.

  “Well, I have solved one mystery at least,” he announced.

  “What is that?” she asked, putting off her mantle.

  “The fellow who was following you.”

  “He did not follow me tonight.”

  “No, he followed me,” he said, refreshing his glass of wine and pouring one for Caroline. “Thought you was in my rig, likely, since I drove you to the theater.”

  “Did you discover who he is?”

  “No, but I know who hired him. I drove round here to your place and stopped. Ducked into the house before he made it around the corner so he would think I had seen you into the house. Had my rig circle the block, slipped out the back door and met it at the corner. Followed the rig that had been following me. It went to Curzon Street. It is Dolmain that he is reporting to.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed.

  Newt directed an owlish look at her disheveled hair. “I see he has been sweet-talking you. You don’t want to believe all he says, Caro. No, not a half of it. He is having you followed. In other words, he thinks you stole his necklace.”