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The groom ran his eyes over her. His gaze paused once or twice. Over the grass stains on her riding habit, for example. At which his mouth twisted in derision.
He thought she’d taken a tumble and had now lost her nerve, the fool. She gripped her crop tightly as she warred with the urge to defend her skill as a horsewoman. But if she admitted she’d dismounted through choice, he’d wonder where the grass stains had come from. And since she was not in the habit of telling lies, she’d probably blush and stammer, and look so guilty that he’d go straight to Aunt Susan and tell her that her hoyden of a niece had been up to no good.
And Aunt Susan would extract the truth out of her in no time flat.
And she would die rather than have to confess she’d let a man kiss her. A strange man. A strange drunken man.
And worse, that she’d liked it. Because, for a few brief moments, he’d made her feel attractive. Interesting. When for most of her life—until she’d taken to giving the servants directions, that was—nobody had thought her of any value at all. She’d just been an afterthought. A girl, what was worse. A girl that nobody knew quite what to do with.
So she lifted her chin and simply stalked away, her reputation as a horsewoman ruined in the eyes of the head groom.
* * *
Jack Hesketh sat up slowly, his head spinning, and watched the virago galloping away.
‘Do you know,’ he mused, ‘I think we may have just insulted a lady.’
Zeus snorted. ‘If she were a lady, she would not have been out here unattended at this hour, flirting with a pack of drunken bucks.’
Jack shook his head. He couldn’t believe Zeus—who’d pursued women with such fervour and conquered so many of them while he, and Archie, and Atlas had still been too pimply and awkward to do anything but stand back in awe—had become the kind of man who could now speak of such a lovely one with so much contempt.
If he were to meet Zeus now, for the first time, he didn’t think he’d want to be his friend.
In fact, after the way he’d behaved tonight, he’d steer well clear of such a man. Zeus had always been a bit full of himself, which was only to be expected when he was of such high rank and swimming in lard to boot. But there had been a basic sort of decency about him, too. He’d had a sense of humour, anyway.
But now...it was as if a sort of malaise had infected him, rendering him incapable of seeing any good in anyone or anything.
And Archie—well, he’d turned into a sort of...tame hound, trotting along behind Zeus like a spaniel at his master’s heels.
While Atlas...oh, dear God, Atlas. He winced as he turned his head rather too quickly, to peer into the gloom at the wreck of the man who’d been his boyhood idol.
Though, hadn’t they all been his heroes, one way or another? Which was, perhaps, where he’d gone wrong. In keeping his schoolboy reverence for them firm in his heart during all his years of active service, like a talisman, he’d sort of pickled their images, like flies set in amber. That would certainly explain why it had come as such a shock to see how much they’d all changed.
Especially Atlas. Imprisonment at the hands of the French, and illness, had reduced him to an emaciated ruin of his former self. In fact, he looked such a wreck that Jack had been a bit surprised he’d managed to lift the virago on to her horse at all. Though at least it proved he was still the same man, inside, where it mattered. They hadn’t given him the nickname of Atlas only because of his immense size and strength compared to the rest of them, but because of his habit of always trying to take everyone else’s burdens on his own shoulders. Rescuing that girl from Zeus was exactly the kind of thing he’d always been doing. Atlas had always hated seeing anyone weak or vulnerable being tormented.
Which was what they’d been doing to that poor girl, Jack thought, his stomach turning over in shame. The four of them, making sport of her. No—make that three. Atlas had been the only one of them to behave like a perfect gentleman even though he was as drunk as the rest of them.
Or was he? He’d barely touched any of the drink Zeus had so lavishly supplied, at what was supposed to be a celebration of not only the Peace, but also his return to England. Of the fact that for the first time in years, all four of them had the liberty to meet up. As though the poor fellow felt he couldn’t trust himself to hold it down. Nobody had said anything, though. They’d all been too shocked at the sight of him to do more than squirm a bit as they drank his health. Health? Hah! The best that anyone could say of the gaunt and yellow-skinned Atlas was that he was alive.
‘I tell you what, though,’ he said aloud. ‘You are still my hero, Atlas’
Atlas started, looking taken aback.
‘No, really. After all this time, you are still the best of us. Always was.’
‘You paid too much attention to the letters I wrote when I first went to sea,’ he said, looking uncomfortable. ‘I made it sound far more exciting than it was. Didn’t want you all to...pity me, for having to leave. Didn’t want to admit that I was seasick, and homesick and utterly wretched.’
‘B-but,’ said Archie, looking shocked, ‘you were a hero. Read ab-bout your exp-ploits in the Gazette.’
Atlas made a dismissive motion with his hand, as though banishing the Gazette and all that was printed in it to perdition.
‘Just did my duty. No choice, when you’re in the thick of action. You either fight like a demon, or...well, you know how it is, Jack. Same in the army, I dare say.’ He sent Jack a beseeching look, as though begging him to divert attention from him.
‘Only too well,’ he therefore said. ‘Which is why your homecoming is worth celebrating. Glad you’re alive. Glad I’m alive. Even glad Zeus is alive,’ he said, shooting his godship a wry grin. ‘Since he got us all together again, for the first time since...what year was it when you left school, Atlas?’
‘You are foxed,’ said Zeus with exasperation, before Atlas had a chance to make his response. ‘If I’d realised quite how badly foxed, I would never have let you attempt to ride Lucifer.’
‘Attempt? Pah! I did ride Lucifer.’
‘Not very far.’
‘Far enough to prove your boast about being the only man to be able to do it was patently false.’ God, how he’d wanted to knock the sneering expression from Zeus’s face when he’d made that claim. Which was why he’d declared there wasn’t a horse he couldn’t ride, drunk or sober.
Zeus shook his head this time as he stood over Jack where he lay sprawled.
But Jack didn’t care. For a few minutes, directly after he’d made the wager, all four of them had shaken off the gloom that had been hanging over them like a pall. They’d even laughed and started calling each other by the silly names they’d given each other at school as they staggered round to the stables. They’d sobered slightly when Lucifer had rolled his eyes at them and snorted indignantly when they’d approached his stall. Archie had even suggested, albeit timidly, that he was sure nobody would mind if Jack withdrew his claim.
‘Draw back from a bet? What kind of man do you think I am?’ Jack had retorted. And Zeus had grabbed the stallion’s halter and led the animal out into the streets before anyone could talk sense into either of them.
Good God. Zeus had been as intent on carrying through on the wager as Jack himself. Did that mean...?
Was there still something of the old Zeus left? Deep under all that sarcasm and sneering? He’d certainly been the one to arrange this reunion. And he’d also made sure they’d been given a chance to laugh at Jack’s antics, the way they’d done so many times at school. They’d certainly all been roaring with laughter as Lucifer had shot off, with Jack clinging to his mane. And so sweet had been that sound that Jack hadn’t cared that the beast had unseated him before he’d managed one circuit of the park.
‘I still maintain that girl was not flirting with us,’ he said defiantly. Was he imagining it, or was there an answering gleam in Zeus’s eyes? As though he was relishing having someone refusing to lie down and roll over at his bidding.
Ah.
Was that why he’d become so jaded? Because nobody challenged him any more? It would explain why he’d jumped at the wager, ridiculous though it was. Why he’d whisked Lucifer out of his stall before the sleepy groom had a chance to fling a saddle on his back.
Perhaps, even, why he’d gathered them all together in the first place.
‘She may not have been a lady, precisely,’ Jack continued. ‘But I stick to my guns about her not flirting with us. Else why would she have set about us with her riding crop?’
That had come as a shock, too, he had to admit. One moment she’d been melting into his arms, the next she was fighting him off. And she’d been kissing him so sweetly, after that initial hesitation, so shyly yet...hang on...shyly. With hesitation. As though she didn’t know quite what to do, but couldn’t help herself. As if she was catching fire, just as he’d been.
One moment she was with him, and then...it was as if she’d come to her senses. As though she realised it was a stranger with whom she was rolling about on the grass.
‘I would wager,’ he said, a smile tugging at his lips as he recalled and re-examined her every reaction, ‘that not only was she not flirting, but that she was an innocent, to boot.’
That would explain it all. That gasp of shock when he’d first started kissing her. Her inexpert, almost clumsy, yet uninhibited response. Until the very moment when she’d hauled up the drawbridge and slammed down the portcullis. The moment when she remembered she was dabbling in sin.
‘And I don’t care what you think, Zeus,’ he said with determination. ‘We owe that girl an apology. Well, I do, anyway. Shouldn’t have kissed her.’
‘She shouldn’t have put her face in the way of your lips, then,’ retorted Zeus.
‘No, no, the girl was only trying to see if I was injured.’ Which had been remarkably brave of her. Not many females would have come rushing to the aid of a stranger like that. Nor would they have been able to bring Zeus’s bad-tempered stallion under control, either.
‘Which is more than any of you have done,’ he finished pointedly.
‘You are not injured,’ said Zeus pithily. ‘You are indestructible. And I have that on the best authority.’
‘Must have been speaking to m’father.’
‘Your brother,’ Zeus corrected him.
‘Oh? Which one?’
‘I forget,’ said Zeus with a wave of his hand. ‘He did tell me he was Viscount Becconsall when he walked up to me in White’s and presumed friendship with me because of my friendship with you.’ His mouth twisted in distaste.
‘Could have been either of them, then,’ said Jack, who’d recently acquired the title himself. ‘Poor sod,’ he said, and not only because both his brothers were now dead, but because he could picture the reception such behaviour would have gained them. They hadn’t started calling him Zeus without good reason. From the very first day he’d attended school, he’d looked down on all the other boys from a very lofty height. He didn’t require an education, he’d informed anyone who would listen. He’d had perfectly good tutors at home. It was just that his father, who had suddenly developed radical tendencies, had decided the next Marquis of Rawcliffe ought to get to know how the lower orders lived.
Jack chuckled at the vision of his bumptious brother attempting to take such a liberty with Zeus. ‘I can just see it. You gave him one of your freezing stares and raised your eyebrow at him.’
‘Not only my eyebrow, but also my quizzing glass,’ said Zeus, leaning down to offer him a hand, as though deciding Jack had been cluttering up the ground for long enough. ‘It had no effect. The man kept wittering on about what a charmed life you led. How you came through the bloodiest battles unscathed. As though you had some kind of lucky charm keeping you safe, instead of being willing to acknowledge that you owed your successes on the battlefield to your skill as a strategist, as well as personal valour.’
Jack gasped as Zeus pulled him to his feet. That was the thing about him. He might be the most arrogant, conceited fellow he’d ever met, but he’d also been the first person to look beyond the way Jack clowned around to distract the bullies who’d been hounding Archie at school. The only person to take one look at him and see the intelligence he’d been at such pains to disguise.
To believe in him.
‘Didn’t come through this tussle unscathed,’ he said, rubbing his posterior to explain his involuntary gasp. Zeus gave him one of his looks. The kind that told Jack he knew he was avoiding an issue, but was magnanimous enough to permit him to do so.
‘Which brings me back to the girl. Did you notice the way she spoke? And the horse? Expensive bit of blood and bone, that dappled grey.’
‘Hmmph,’ said Zeus. ‘I grant you that she may have been gently reared, but just because she speaks well and rides an expensive horse does not mean she is an innocent now.’
‘No, truly, I would stake my life on it.’
‘Since n-none of us know who she is,’ said Archie. ‘There is n-no way for us to v-verify your conc-clusion.’
No, there wasn’t.
Which was a horrible thought. In fact, the prospect of never seeing her again gave him a queer, almost painful feeling in his chest. And not only because she’d melted into his arms as if she belonged there. It was more than that. It was...it was...well, out of all the disappointments the night had brought, those few moments kissing her, holding her, and, yes, even fighting with her, had been...a breath of fresh air. No, he shook his head. More like a...well, the way the night had been going, he’d felt as if he was sinking deeper and deeper into a dark well of disappointment. And then, all of a sudden, she’d been in the centre of the one bright spot of the whole night. And that kiss...well, it had revived him, the way the sight of a lighthouse would revive a storm-tossed mariner, he suspected.
Hope, that was what she’d brought him. Somehow.
Was it a coincidence that right after meeting her, he’d seen that Atlas was still the same man, deep down, where it mattered? That there was even hope for Zeus, too?
Hope. That was the name he’d give her, then, while he searched for her. And why not? Why not remember the one bright spot of the evening as a glimmer of hope in what was, of late, a life that contained anything but?
And another thing. Hope was always worth pursuing.
‘Right then,’ said Jack, rubbing his hands together. ‘We’ll just have to search London until we find her.’
Zeus’s eyes narrowed with interest. ‘And then?’
‘And then, we will know which one of us is right.’
‘Another wager?’ Atlas shook his head in mock reproof. Though nobody had said anything about a wager. ‘At this rate, you will beggar me.’
‘Not I,’ said Jack, his heart lifting. Because Atlas was clearly doing his best to raise morale amongst his friends. He must have seen the effect the wager over Lucifer had on Zeus, the way Jack had. ‘You and Archie will just act as witnesses,’ he therefore informed Atlas. ‘This wager, just like the one over Lucifer, is between me and Zeus.’
‘And the stakes?’ Zeus had gone all narrow-eyed and sneering again, as though he suspected Jack of trading on their long-ago connections to take advantage of him.
What the hell had happened to him, since school, to turn him into such a suspicious devil?
‘Why, the usual, naturally,’ said Jack. Which was almost as good as drawing his cork, since his head reared back in momentary surprise.
‘The...the usual?’
‘Yes. The usual between the four of us, that is.’
‘You...’ For a moment, Zeus looked as though he was about to express one of the softer emotions. But only for a moment.
‘Which reminds me,’ he drawled in that ghastly, affected way that set Jack’s teeth on edge. ‘You have already lost one wager.’
‘Are you demanding payment?’ Jack planted his fists on his hips and scowled. ‘Are you accusing me of attempting to welch on the bet?’
‘No,’ he said softly. ‘I was only going to suggest...double or quits?’
For a moment the four of them all stood in stunned silence.
And then Archie began to giggle. Atlas snorted. And soon, all four of them were laughing like the schoolboys they had once been.
Chapter Three (#uab8dd46f-076a-5ef6-b8a7-a4fdff1b2b36)
‘Nobody is going to ask you to dance if you don’t sit up straight and take that scowl off your face,’ said Aunt Susan, sternly.
They might if Aunt Susan hadn’t already repulsed the young men who’d shown an interest in her when she’d first come to Town, on the grounds that they were all fortune-hunters or scoundrels.
Nevertheless, Harriet obediently squared her shoulders and attempted the social smile her aunt had made her practise in the mirror every day for half an hour since she’d come to Town.
‘That’s better,’ said Aunt Susan out of the corner of her mouth which was also pulled into a similarly insincere rictus. ‘I know it must chafe that Kitty is having so much more success than you, but you must remember that you are no longer in the first flush of youth.’
Harriet only just managed to stop herself rolling her eyes. She was only twenty, for heaven’s sake. But eligible gentlemen looking for brides, her aunt had informed her, with a rueful shake of her head, wanted much younger girls. ‘It’s perfectly natural,’ she’d explained. ‘Gels usually make their debut when they are seventeen, or eighteen, unless there’s been a death in the family, or something of a similar nature. So everyone is bound to wonder why any girl who looks much older hasn’t appeared in society before. And,’ she’d added with a grimace of distaste, ‘draw their own conclusions.’
‘Please, dear,’ she was saying now, ‘do try to look as if you are enjoying yourself. Gentlemen are much more likely to ask you to dance if you appear to be good-natured.’
Harriet was beginning to suspect that actually she was not the slightest bit good-natured. She’d always thought of herself as being fairly placid before she’d come to Town. But ever since her aunt had descended on Stone Court like a fairy godmother to take her to the ball, she’d been see-sawing from one wild emotion to another. At first she’d been in a froth of excitement. But then had come the painful discovery that no amount of fine clothes could make her compare with her prettier, younger, more sociable cousin Kitty. After that, in spite of her aunt’s best efforts to bring her up to scratch in the short time they had, had come the discovery that actually, she didn’t want to conform to society’s notions of how a young lady should behave. And now she just felt as if she had a stone permanently lodged in her shoe.
‘Now, there is a young man with whom you might safely dance,’ said Lady Tarbrook, nudging Harriet in the ribs. And drawing her attention to the slender young man who’d just come into the ballroom. A man she’d been dreading coming across for the last two weeks. Ever since he’d fallen off his horse and tricked her into kissing him.
‘Though I shouldn’t like to raise your hopes too much. He hasn’t asked any eligible female to dance since he came to Town. Not that he’s actually attended many balls, to my knowledge. Well, not this sort of ball,’ Lady Tarbrook was muttering darkly. ‘Not his style. Not his style at all.’
No, his style was roistering all night with a pack of reprobates, then taking part in reckless wagers that ended up with him almost breaking his stupid neck. To say nothing of molesting people who went to help him.
And yet Aunt Susan was prepared to give her permission to dance with him. In the unlikely event he were to ask her.
It beggared belief.
