“Please explainwhy you brought me here tonight,” Percy Baxter muttered to his friend and former employer, Leonard Notley, the Marquess of Livingston, his gaze dispassionately scanning the throng of bedecked dancers.
“My wife and her friends wished to come.” Leo scratched at his chin absently. “They’re acquaintances and, dare I say, friends of yours now as well. I thought you would enjoy yourself. It is your last night in London for some time, after all.”
Despite his prior comfort on the open sea, a jolt of nervousness tightened his insides. “Miss Grace Huntsbury is my newemployer, and the other young women are myprotégées. I would scarcely call them friends, regardless of how affable they might be.”
“And pretty?” Leo lifted a golden eyebrow.
A flash of red-streaked blonde hair, a full figure, and a challenging smirk raced across his mind’s eye, but he glared at his friend. “I know what you are attempting to do, Leo, and it shan’t work.”
Leo hummed, his gaze dark behind his domino as he swallowed a gulp of champagne.
“I might have been a…well, you know what I used to be,” Percy muttered, “but I’m not a cad, for Christ’s sake. I’ll not besmirch a gentlewoman’s name—nor her bloodline—by forcing my attentions on her. While I’m away, my duties are clear: I shall be a protector and support for Heather—nothing more.”
“Come, now.” Leonard sipped at his champagne once more. “You’ve plenty to offer a gentlewoman. I daresay?—”
“These people are toffs, Leo,” Percy grumbled. “I don’t belong here. Hell, at one time,neitherof us would have belongedhere. Look at me.” He tugged at the hem of his outrageously purple waistcoat and feather-adorned coat. “I look like a sodding peacock.”
“Half the men here look like sodding peacocks,” Leo replied. “It’s amasque.”
Percy rolled his eyes.
“But you belong here just as much as anyone else, Percy,” Leonard continued. “You’ve earned your place, to be sure.”
With a shake of his head, Percy bit the inside of his lips and let the argument go. Leo would never know what it felt like to be a true outsider, for while he might have been a man of the sea at one time, he was born a gentleman. Percy was not.
His stomach twisted again at the reminder of where he would be on the morrow. And the restlessness itching beneath Percy’s skin only worsened as they stood observing the dancers. He needed a good release.
Accepting a flute of champagne from atop the tray of a passing footman, Percy gulped it back. He wasn’t a man to philander or prey on women, and he hadn’t any intention to become one. He’d never truly been in want of company long. Someone always approachedhim.
His gaze scanned the crush of elaborately costumed gentry.Thesewomen, however, were not for him.
“It’s damned hot in here,” Leonard grumbled.
Percy grunted his agreement. It was, indeed.
The lilting music came to a stop, and the dancers bowed and curtseyed politely to one another before leaving the dance floor.
“I’m going to seek out Juliana’s hand in a quadrille,” Leo said. “Will you be well here?”
Percy notched his chin. “Of course. Go on and make your wife happy. I might take a walk.”
CHAPTER 2
The hum of music and chattering voices faded as Heather made her way across the terrace. The sweet fragrance of late spring flowers carried on the breeze that cooled her heated skin. She padded on slippered feet to the waist-high granite railing and gazed up at the dark sky.
It was a pity that one couldn’t see the stars when in town. More was the pity that she might never lament the loss again, for she mightn’t ever return to London.
Her stomach swooped, and her chest tightened, but she swiftly dismissed the thought as ludicrous. In the past week, she and Percy had trained relentlessly in combat, enough that she felt confident in her ability to defend herself should the need arise.
Truthfully, it was the loss of her plants that she mourned. After much debate, the earl had capitulated and had given her permission to bring several of her plants aboard the ship. But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
She rounded the railing and stepped onto the garden path, letting the fragrance of the flowers lure her. The voices and music faded entirely, leaving just her own footsteps on the gravelled path and a gentle breeze to fill her ears.
When her parents had passed, Heather had inherited numerous plants—in various states of germination—from their studies in botany. And while her dear friend Juliana had promised to keep the remainder of Heather’s plants safe at Woodhaven Hall, where her new husband had remarkable conservatories, it neither brought Heather joy nor sufficiently eased her mind. Or her heart. Since her parents’ death, her plants, her friends, and her aspirations on Bow Street were the only things that brought meaning to her life.
In the event of an emergency, many of her plants would prove useful, but predicting those emergencies, and knowing which ones to bring with her, had proven difficult. From what little she’d already learned, some of her plants could provide nourishment while others could treat wounds, but she didn’t yet know enough of the practice of an apothecary to determine which was which.
Prior to being ensnared by the Earl of Shite and taking on her significant assignment, she’d hoped to broaden her collection of plants, with the specific intention of providing healing herbs, tinctures, and whatnot to the women of Bow Street. She had fully intended to become their permanent provider of medicinal plants—dried or fresh, as required.
