She hastened forward when Annabelle stopped and beckoned to her. “Yes, Miss Annabelle?” Christa asked respectfully.
“I would like you to go to the book shop and pick up that volume I ordered. It is such a fine day that I prefer to stay in the park with Sir Edward.”
“I should not leave you, miss,” Christa said firmly.
Annabelle gave her a look that was part plea, part command. “I shall be quite safe with Sir Edward, Christa,” she said.
Christa complied unhappily; Annabelle was her employer and it wouldn’t be fitting to argue with her in front of a third party. “Very well, Miss Annabelle. I should be back here within the hour.”
She was still brooding about the situation after she picked up the book. It was, inevitably, one of the romances Annabelle favored. Christa was beginning to suspect that the moralists were right: novels did implant improper thoughts in susceptible female minds. Why else would her mistress take Sir Edward’s florid utterances seriously?
Absorbed in her thoughts, Christa dodged through the usual jumble of foot and carriage traffic with the nonchalance of a true city dweller. She was snapped out of her reverie by the sound of a familiar voice shouting, “Stop!”
She turned her head toward the voice, then froze in shock. It was Lord Radcliffe, her unwelcome uncle by marriage! He was halfway down the block, caught behind a heavy dray, and she doubted he was close enough to be sure of her identity. But the earl obviously had seen enough to suspect who she was. The tall, fair gentleman pulled up the curricle and tossed the reins to his groom, then jumped to the cobblestones and headed in her direction.
Without waiting to see more, Christa whirled and darted between two fashionable carriages, narrowly missing the hooves of the leaders. On the other side of the street she turned into an alley, moving fast enough to cover the ground rapidly but not so fast as to appear suspicious. The alley branched into a network of back streets, and within a few minutes she was sure that no one could have followed her. Christa paused to catch her breath after attaining the safety of a quiet residential square, her heart pounding from the near escape. She had almost forgotten about Lord Radcliffe in these last months, and the sight of him brought back all her fears of the previous spring.
Now that Christa knew he was in the city, she would have to be more careful. As she walked slowly back to the park, her fear was replaced with anger. Had it not been for the threat of Lord Radcliffe, she would still be the Comtesse d’Estelle, a lady at home in the highest society. But would she have ever met Alex? Would they have developed the same kind of relationship in the brittle setting of the beau monde?
Christa sighed at the thought—even if she never had any more of Alex than she had had already, she was better off than if she had never known him at all. She lifted her chin and entered the park to find Annabelle.
* * *
Lord Radcliffe gave up the chase after a quarter hour in the back alleys where scurrilous residents eyed him measuringly. He was following a mirage. This particular phantom was not Christa. He’d realized after stopping his curricle that the girl was just a mob-capped servant, not his elegant niece.
As Lewis retraced his steps to the carriage, he tried not to think of all the ghosts he had seen in the last months. Not just Christa; once at White’s he had seen a man who looked so much like Charles that he had rushed across two crowded rooms, only to step back at the last minute when he realized the man was a stranger. A man called Kingsley, with Charles’s height and coloring and some indefinable way of carrying himself that reminded Lewis of his nephew—but a stranger nonetheless.
And Marie-Claire? Her he saw everywhere.
Lord Radcliffe let his groom drive the rest of the way to Radcliffe House. He should have known better than to come up to London. Berkshire was full of memories of when the estate had been alive with youth and laughter, but that was easier to deal with than mocking ghosts that disappeared into the swarming streets of London. The sooner he finished his business and went home, the better.
* * *
Annabelle found that her much-anticipated tête-à-tête with Sir Edward was not developing as she had planned. His kisses were intoxicating, the stuff of dreams. Unfortunately, they were accompanied by pleas that she elope with him. “Oh, Annabelle, my adored one,” he murmured huskily in her ear. “All my life I have dreamed of finding you. Say you will come away with me!”
She pulled away until she was backed up against a tree trunk in the little grove that concealed them. “Edward, I couldn’t possibly! Why, the disgrace of it . . .”
Sir Edward’s beautiful dark eyes regarded her sorrowfully. “Don’t you love me, Annabelle?” He lifted her right hand and lovingly planted a kiss in it.
She shivered in response. “Oh, Edward, you know I do! But why can’t we wait? I’ll be twenty-one soon and free to marry whom I choose.”
“Every day apart from you is agony. Every night alone is endless.” It was a good line; Sir Edward had read it in one of the stupid novels Annabelle favored. He saw what might have been a flash of memory in her eyes, so he hastened on, “Why should we wait when we are both so sure? So much in love?” He still held her hand, and his touch almost overwhelmed her rational mind.
“I want to be married with my brother’s approval. Surely if you called on him . . .” Her voice trailed off weakly.
Sir Edward shook his head sadly. “You know already that is no use. He dismissed me without a hearing once, and he would again.”
Annabelle wasn’t sure that her beloved was making sense, but it was impossible to be sure when he was so close. The baronet leaned forward and circled her with his arms again, pressing little kisses on her neck and ear. “Please, Edward, you are making it so hard to think,” she said, her voice quavering.
Which was exactly what the baronet intended. Annabelle was naive but she wasn’t stupid, and he knew that if he gave her too much time, she might see through his romantic bombast. Worse, Sir Edward’s financial affairs were in crisis, with bailiffs seeking him at all his usual haunts. He was staying with a friend to avoid his creditors, but it wouldn’t serve for long, he’d have to leave London within a few days. If he took the wealthy Miss Kingsley with him, he would be able to return to town. Otherwise, there would be no alternative but to retreat to his heavily encumbered estate and wait for foreclosure.
Given these facts, the baronet continued his assault on Annabelle’s ears, his hands beginning to roam around her body. She was a passionate wench under her Miss Propriety exterior, and arousing her was his best ticket to success.
“Edward, please,” she whispered. “How can I run away just before my ball? All the arrangements are made. So many people are coming. My maid, Christa, has worked so hard on it.”
Sir Edward had to fight down the urge to shake the peagoose. “You would put the feelings of a maid before mine?” he purred through slightly clenched teeth. He started working his lips toward her mouth.
Turning her head aside, Annabelle said, “It isn’t just her, it’s my brother Alex, my Aunt Agatha, all of the people I have met this autumn. What will they think of me?”
