Water puddled on the floor as he stood up. He untangled himself, kicked the braided rug aside, and pushed open the sash as wide as it would go. Leaning out, he waved Lydia over to the window. “Take off your cape and throw it here.” He was gratified to see that she didn’t hesitate to obey.
The cape was heavy with water, and it took two tosses before Nathan caught it. He let it hang out of the window, twisting it so it lost water and formed a tight rope. “Grab the end and hold on. I’ll pull you up.”
Lydia jumped once at the makeshift rope dangling above her and hung on for all she was worth. Within seconds Nathan was hauling her into the bedroom. She stumbled when he set her on the floor and fell into his arms as he steadied her. She stiffened and he, sensing her discomfort, separated himself from her.
“Thank you,” she said. “I could never have gotten here on my own.”
“If I had my way,” he said caustically, “you’d never get out.”
“Does that mean you’ve changed your mind about the Cliff House tomorrow?”
“Today,” he corrected. “In an hour or so this house is going to be waking. And I’m going to hold you to your promise.”
Lydia could only imagine one reason that he would want to. No matter what he said, it had to be her money. He certainly made little effort to hide his dislike for her. “Very well,” she said. “I’ll be ready.”
Nathan went to the window, hesitated, then, without warning, turned on Lydia and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her deeply, firmly, and swiftly, giving her no time to react, let alone protest. He didn’t give her time to respond later either. Easing himself out the window, he cursed softly in anticipation of the ache in his legs, and jumped.
The next few minutes he spent covering his tracks in the yard and locating his evening coat and putting it on.
He was ready to leave the yard when he heard his name. He looked up, shielding the rain from his eyes with his hand. At the last moment he dodged the missile that came flying from the window: Lydia’s sodden, soiled, and borrowed dress.
“Get rid of it,” she said in a loud whisper. Almost as an afterthought she added, “Please.”
Nathan scooped up the gown and rolled it into a ball. What the bloody hell, he thought. After the fire Lydia had set in his loins, he’d been thinking of returning to Miss Bailey’s anyway.
Chapter 4
“This has to stop, Lydia.” Madeline pushed past Pei Ling and swept into her daughter’s bedroom like a cold Sierra Nevada wind. “It’s almost noon and you’re still abed. I simply will not be put off by your Chinese dragon any longer.”
Over Madeline’s shoulder Lydia could see Pei Ling standing by the door, her features perfectly composed, even serene. There was nothing remotely dragon-like about her countenance. Covering her urge to smile with a yawn, Lydia dismissed Pei Ling and sat up in bed. “Is it really noon?” she asked.
“Of course it is. You’d know if you’d let a touch of sun in.” Madeline went to the windows and pulled back the velvet drapes, first on the window where they were still anchored firmly, then on the window where Nathan and Lydia had made their middle-of-the-night entrance. “Why you insist on keeping this room so…what’s this? Lydia, this drapery rod is about to fall down. What happened here?”
Lydia knew it was about to fall down. After Nathan left she’d spent close to twenty minutes securing it as best she could on either side of the window frame. A little more of Madeline’s fiddling and they would…fall. Lydia’s eyes dropped to the draperies on the floor, partly to avoid her mother’s cold and disapproving stare. She felt all of five years old, clumsy and inadequate. “I left the sash up when I went to bed last night,” she explained. “The heavy rain soaked the drapes. You can see what’s happened as a result.”
“You’re so careless, Lydia.” She sighed, kicking away the drapes with the toe of her shoe. She went over to the bed and sat down on the edge near Lydia’s feet. “I’ll ask Mrs. Leeds to fix them this afternoon. Now, tell me what possessed you to leave your own party last night. Pei Ling said you didn’t feel well. You looked overwrought to me, but that was no reason for you to abandon your guests. It’s not done, Lydia. Not done at all.”
“I did it.”
Madeline looked at her daughter sharply. “I don’t find that sort of tone amusing, Lydia.”
Lydia looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry.” She picked up a pillow and crushed it against her chest, drawing her knees toward her as well. The barriers helped her face her mother again. “I know it was the worst sort of manners to leave the guests, but it couldn’t be helped. I spent most of the afternoon before the party in my room with a sick headache; I probably should never have tried to attend.”
Only slightly mollified, Madeline said, “Your guests were sympathetic, and I managed your duties.”
“I knew you would, Mother. I’m sure I was barely missed. Thank you.”
“Yes, well, I shouldn’t want this to become a habit on your part. If you choose to host a party, then you have to see it through, sick headache or anything else that puts you under the weather. I must say, you’re looking well enough now.” She placed the back of her hand on Lydia’s forehead, then felt her flushed cheeks. “You’re not warm, but there’s color in your face for a change. It even flatters you a little, Lydia. And your eyes are bright. Are you certain you feel all right now?”
“I’m fine, Mother. Really.” She would have liked to run to her mirrored vanity and see what her mother was talking about. Were her night’s adventures somehow evident? Lydia raised her fingertips to her mouth and touched her sensitive lower lip. It was easy to imagine Nathan Hunter’s mouth on hers. Could her mother suspect? She was anxious to turn the subject away from her physical condition. “How much money was raised last evening?”
Madeline got up and went to Lydia’s wardrobe. She opened it and began sifting through the contents, looking for something for Lydia to wear. “You exceeded your goal,” she said. “There’s no question but that St. Andrew’s will be built. In fact, I understand from your father that you were responsible for one of the larger donations.” She paused in examining Lydia’s gowns and looked at her daughter. “What were you thinking when you agreed to that ridiculous wager? Offering yourself like that. It’s pagan. I could hardly believe you would agree to such a thing. When your father first told me about it this morning, I was certain he was merely trying to goad me. When I realized he was quite serious…well, I don’t think our discussion bears repeating. Suffice it to say that Samuel refuses to renege on his wager, so it will be up to you to put a stop to it.”
At different times last night Lydia remembered she had wanted to put a stop to it, too. Today she remembered she had given her word and she found herself strangely reluctant to go back on it now. “Why, Mother? Why must I stop it? It’s only an invitation to dine at the Cliff House. I’ve been there with Henry before and several times with James. It’s perfectly acceptable, you’ve said so yourself.”
“You’re purposely being obtuse.” Madeline laid a pale green gown over the back of a chair and went to stand at the foot of Lydia’s bed. Her carriage was stiff, and when she spoke, the aloofness of her posture became part of her tone. “You know this is a different matter entirely. You bartered yourself like a common dance hall girl. Do you hear what I’m really saying?” She held up her hand as Lydia sucked in her breath and began to object. “I’m sure you think my judgment is harsh, yet how else can you describe what you’ve done? Those men were exchanging money for you. Any one of them could be forgiven for thinking you meant to offer more than your company.”
“But—”
