The Black Angel (The St Ives) Read online

  Adriana was lost. Not even imagining how Cassandra's mouth would tighten if she observed her in this moment could give her the strength to turn down the invitation. She took his arm and they set out, protected from the soft drizzle by a great black umbrella.

  Chapter 8

  They walked, agreeably silent, to a crossroads that led to a cluster of shops Adriana especially liked. It was early yet, but already there was more to see in twenty paces than Adriana would see in two thousand at Hartwood. She walked with her head up, her eyes wide open, her heart drinking it all in: the bookseller with the day's most popular titles on display in the window, the bakery with its heavenly scents, the coffee shop, just opening for the day, the greengrocer and flower sellers, the ragged children running errands for pennies or a crust of bread, the dogs snuffling in alleyways, the derelicts lurching along, smelling of river and sweat.

  She resisted the urge to chortle aloud at the pleasure of it. Resisted, too, the wish to babble about it to Tynan as she might have to one of her sisters.

  But whatever could be said against the man, Tynan had repeatedly proved himself to be quite perceptive. "What a light step you have this morning," he commented. "It was my impression you came to visit your sister quite often. Is it such a novelty to be here?"

  "I used to visit once a quarter or so, but I have not done so since my father died. And when I am a guest of Cassandra, I feel compelled to follow her schedule." She spared a smile. "She is not an early riser, I'm afraid."

  "So I gathered. 'Twas near ten when we set out last night."

  Politely, she asked, "Did she accompany you?"

  He glanced at her. "She rode with us to her destination, as you saw."

  Adriana ignored the stab of jealousy that went through her at the thought of Tynan and Cassandra together in the coach under a moonlit midnight. Well, not moonlit, exactly, since it had been overcast then, as well. But—

  "She flirted with me," he said.

  Adriana looked up. "It's her way."

  He chuckled. "No, it is not. She was grim and determined, and it was quite painful to observe." He pulled his arm close to his body, pressing Adriana's hand into his side. "If she's part of your defense, my dear, I'd suggest you must give her instruction in the finer arts of flirtation."

  Abashed, Adriana managed, "Whatever do you mean? I have no accomplishments in that arena."

  Directly in front of them the owner of a tea shop opened the door with a broom in hand, releasing the warm, yeasty scent of freshly baked bread. The woman was as square as a box, with a square, broad face. She smiled expansively. "Come in and warm yourselves. I've fresh hot cross buns and clotted cream—a lovely breakfast for a gloomy morning."

  Adriana would have moved on, but Tynan tugged her toward the door. "I've a weakness for hot cross buns," he said, flashing his rakish smile at the woman.

  Under the force of that smile, Adriana noticed the woman could not help lifting a hand to smooth her wiry gray hair. "Right this way, milord," she said, bustling into her establishment with her head high. "A fine spot for you, right here by the window, so's you can watch the world pass."

  "Thank you," Tynan said, gesturing for Adriana to settle. "Tea and buns for both of us, then."

  "Right away."

  He sat down across from her, and Adriana saw the humor in his eyes as he leaned close. "I believe taking tea in a London shop was one of those things you were longing to do?"

  In that instant Adriana felt her world shift. In part, it was attributable to his extraordinary beauty. That rich head of hair, the perfection of his dark eyebrows and sooty lashes making his eyes so startling, the breadth of his shoulders under his blue coat. It was partly the quality of his good humor and his wish, for whatever reason, to give her a little of the fantasy he'd overheard that day in the music room. She didn't want to fight him this morning. She still—for all that she was past twenty—felt young. There were a young woman's wishes in her breast, the wish to be admired and flattered, the wish to engage in stimulating conversation with a man so beautiful he nearly hurt her eyes.

  But most of all it was the desire to relax her guard, have an adventure, be herself.

  It had been so long! In that instant when Tynan smiled at her across the table in the sweet-smelling, warm tea shop, she felt a tight knot of herself suddenly unfurl, stretch, come out of hiding.

  "You have a good memory, sir." She inclined her head and gave him a wicked smile. "Though this is not proper tea, it will do nicely." She glanced discreetly over her shoulder and lowered her voice. "And I rather think the ladies hereabout most earnestly wish they were in my shoes, and I a dead fly on the floor."

  She startled him. The surprise swept quickly over his brow and mouth, then was subdued under a pleased lift of his chin. "There's the difference," he said. "Such a subtle glance, a teasing bit of a smile—there's the mark of a woman accomplished in the art of flirtation."

  A small warning told her she was entering the territory she'd vowed to avoid, but she quelled it quickly. "I did send Cassandra out to flirt with you."

  "She did her best," he said with a regretful wince.

  The proprietor bustled out with an enormous tray of buns and tea. "Here we are," she sang out. "A little of everything for this cold morning." Her flushed pleasure was all for Tynan.

  And he did not disappoint her. He bestowed the best of his smiles upon her. "Excellent," he said with enthusiasm. "I've not seen such a lovely spread in months." He admired the food for a single, respectful moment, then lifted his extravagant gaze to the woman herself and sighed. "Thank you," he said with a heartfelt depth of sincerity.

  The woman fair floated back to her kitchen, and Adriana heard her singing a moment later. She turned to Tynan, who was cheerfully piling sugar into his cup, humming something under his breath. Feeling her gaze, he glanced up. "Is there something amiss? D'you want something else?"

  "No," Adriana said softly. "This is lovely."

  "I am very hungry," he said. "And the one thing I'll give your English bakers are the pastries. I had to have my tailor let out my waistband when I was here last."

  "You'll be a fat old man, then, won't you?" Adriana, too, was hungry. She spread a plain bun with clotted cream and jam, carefully, with the exact mix of color and balance she liked, building anticipation for the pleasure that was to come. It was as lovely as she'd hoped and she made a soft sound of approval.

  He chuckled. "And you'll be stout as an old peasant. But what use is a waist, I say."

  Adriana dripped a little jam on her chin and caught it, laughing. She lifted her cup in a mock toast. "To a fat old age, then."

  He raised his cup as well. "But not too fat to ride a horse."

  They both gave full attention to the feast for a few moments. Adriana enjoyed the view through the window, carriages and horses and foot traffic beginning to thicken as the morning ripened. The drizzle had halted for a moment, but the strange yellow fog that sometimes hung about the city in the autumn seemed to be creeping in around the buildings.

  "Did you enjoy your outing last night?" Adriana asked after a moment. "Discover anything interesting?"

  He sipped his tea, as if considering her question. "It was not what I had anticipated. Gabriel has an unusual set of friends."

  "Well, his circumstances are not the usual."

  "True. And yet he seems to exert a great deal of effortless power among them. They roared in welcome, but he seemed to take it in stride, getting down to business very quickly to learn what the mood in town is over Julian's arrest."

  "And?"

  "'Twas a middle class crowd," he said slowly, "merchants and seaman and the like. A good many of them are foreign." His eyes narrowed slightly. "They're quite radical, some of them. It was… impressive."

  Adriana sighed in frustration. Gabriel had always attached himself to political reformers—and with good reason, she supposed. The current world was not particularly friendly to his interests. "But what did they say of Julian's case?
"

  "They were relieved to see Gabriel was not charged. But they were also pleased that Julian was." He said it plainly, without apology.

  "Pleased? Why?"

  He made a dismissive gesture with one hand. "The general spirit seemed to be that it was time that peers of the realm were punished with the same laws as ordinary men."

  Adriana frowned. "I suppose that's not unexpected, but he will be tried by peers." Her scowl deepened. "But surely Gabriel stood up for him?"

  "What do you think?" Tynan's mouth quirked in a wry smile. "'All for one…'"

  "Did they listen?"

  "Aye. Your brother has a rare gift for oratory."

  She laughed. "So he does. My father vowed if Gabriel ever took it into his head to lead a revolt, we'd all simply have to lay our weapons down and let him have his way."

  His attention sharpened. "Really." It was not, precisely, a question.

  "Planning a revolt?" she asked lightly.

  He blinked, and the thick lashes erased the alertness in his eyes, so when the sweep was finished, he was only good-humored Tynan, flirt and rake and exuberant companion. "Of course. It's what all earls most dream of."

  She laughed as she was meant to do, but carefully stowed away this hint of his darker nature, sure there was more to Tynan Spenser than he wished the world to know.

  * * *

  Rather than return to the house, Tynan hired a carriage to take them to the Tower, bearing a package stuffed with the good Mrs. Tingle's hot cross buns and a package of loose tea she was persuaded to sell.

  But even before the carriage pulled up at the gates, it was plain there was some activity within the walls. A crowd was gathered around the gates, and judging by the noisy hissing and booing, a criminal of some disrepute was going to the gallows today.

  Adriana stared at the crowd in horror as they passed, then resolutely brushed it away. Julian would not end there. He would not. If she had to crawl through the moat and scale the walls herself, she would not allow him to hang. "I wonder what the criminal has done," she said.

  "Probably killed his sister's lover," Tynan answered calmly. She stared at him in pained astonishment. He looked at her and grinned.

  "You're a beast."

  "Aye."

  Still, she could only imagine how Julian must feel about the spectacle, and was doubly glad they'd brought presents to cheer him. She prayed his windows did not overlook the hill.

  At the gates, however, a burly guardsman refused them entrance. Adriana, stricken, put her hand on his liveried arm. "But he's my brother, and a peer of the realm." She gestured to the package of buns. "I've brought him presents to cheer him while he's incarcerated."

  He was unmoved. "I'll deliver them to him."

  Adriana took a breath to mount a second protest, but Tynan took her arm, shaking his head minutely. She sighed heavily and allowed herself to be led away. He signaled to the carriage to wait and followed as Adriana marched toward the river. "Where are you going?" he asked at last.

  Only when her next steps would have dumped her into the water did she turn and halt, staring up at the windows of the immense, rambling structure. "Where would they hold him, do you suppose?"

  Tynan shook his head, eyeing the vast, rambling estate with its dozens of towers. "Haven't a clue."

  "The White Tower is comfortable, they say. They would not put him in a dungeon." She paced to her left, frustrated by the few windows she could actually view from there. "Let's just stand here for a little. Perhaps he'll look out and see us and be cheered a little."

  "Adriana—"

  She glared up at him. "What will it hurt?"

  He shrugged. Lifted a hand.

  Adriana stared very hard at the buildings, imagining that she called to her brother in her mind, just called his name. If she concentrated very hard, perhaps he would sense her presence, just peek out for a moment and be cheered.

  She thought of him in a round gray room, with perhaps a desk and a bed. It would be cold and damp. Anxious, she said, half to herself, "I should have penned a note to cheer him, too. It never occurred to me that he would not be allowed visitors." A wrench of despair suddenly pinched her heart. "God, Tynan! We must get him out."

  "This serves nothing," Tynan said, taking her arm firmly. "Come, let's find some amusement, and this evening you can pen him a long letter, which I will see delivered in the morning."

  Still oddly reluctant, Adriana stared at him miserably. "How long do you think he'll have to be there?"

  "None of us know the answer to that question." His voice was gentle.

  She allowed herself to be led away, back to the carriage. When they were under way, Tynan said, "Since there is naught we can do for your brother today, I would like to begin my campaign."

  "Your campaign?"

  "Aye." He adjusted his sleeve just so. "We'll be wanting to entertain and be entertained. I believe," his gaze flickered over her gown, "perhaps our first stop will be the dressmaker's."

  "Entertain?" She frowned at him. "Tynan, you seem to continually overlook the fact that I have no command in Society—and will have even less once the scandal is resurrected."

  His expression was calm. "Leave that to me."

  "If you have standing on your own, I'll only be a hindrance to you."

  "No," he said. "It will be in my favor to have rescued a English damsel with a scarlet past." He smiled down at her. "You are an asset, Adriana. Believe me."

  She closed her eyes, imagining herself hosting a supper to which no one came. Or worse, one in which the guests cast speculative glances at her behind their hands. "I cannot entertain," she said quietly. "Please do not ask that."

  "You must," he countered firmly. "And remember, 'tis not only for me you're going to act." His eyes took that coldness she had seen there so rarely. "But your brother, in that tower."

  Adriana met his cold gaze with one of her own. In his impeccable coat, with that devastatingly beautiful face and wicked charm, he was the very picture of a gentlemen who meant to charm all of Society. But he did not know how it would be, and evidently had no intention of resting until he had his way. With a shrug she said, "Very well, if you wish to entertain, we will do so. But I am correct in this."

  "I'm willing to gamble." His gaze flickered again over her gown. "And I will do anything to see the end of that… that… color."

  She sighed. It seemed the fates planned to thwart her at every turn. "As you wish. But you needn't come along. I've already made arrangements to shop with Cassandra this afternoon."

  "I think not," he said. "I trust her less than you."

  * * *

  Tynan was quite satisfied with the progress of the day, in spite of the way Adriana ran hot and cold with him, her moods mercurial and dizzying. One moment she flirted openly, the next she hid behind the haughty chin or tried to disappear into the dullness of her cloak. The sights and sounds of London excited her, and she could not keep the shine from her eyes—but the thought of her brother in the Tower sent her into darkest despair and regret. Her laughter was quick and deep, and it surprised her that he made her laugh so often—which made him want to see her laugh even more.

  Mercurial.

  He did not think he'd ever known a woman who so fascinated him. The quickness of moods might have tried the patience of another man, but he enjoyed the challenge of countering the dark moments and gloried in the bright ones.

  The moments he most enjoyed were those when her guard slipped the tiniest bit and he caught a flicker of desire on her lips, and in her eyes a swift glimpse of hunger as her gaze flitted over his hand or his mouth. She liked his hair, he thought, and wondered how to use it to further his cause.

  But slowly. There was no rush in this. He wanted her, all of her, when she came again to his bed. Wanted her willing and whole, with all reserve gone, and all the passion that lurked in her set free and focused without reserve upon him.

  At the dressmaker's shop he sat in a comfortable chair and nodded or gave a s
cowl to the choices of fabrics and designs presented to him. Nay to the pale blue muslin and printed pinks and sunny yellows. Too pallid for her.

  At last the dressmaker began to comprehend his wishes. While Adriana stood still in the middle of the small room, Madame bustled into the back and returned with two bolts of fabric in her arms, and she was followed by two assistants also carrying heavy bolts.

  "Set them there," she fussed, and with a quick gesture tugged out a long length of deep maroon, patterned with stripes in cream and ivy-green. It was a simple sort of fabric, but the color and pattern draped over Adriana's body like a breath, and brought forth the color of her skin and hair and eyes.

  Tynan inclined his head in consideration, and as if to urge him to approve, the dressmaker tugged the fabric tight against Adriana's body, showing the fullness of her bust, the smallness of her waist.

  "Aye," he said. "That one."

  They settled on several others, and then the dressmaker shooed Adriana into the back to be dressed in a particular style. While she was gone, the dressmaker smiled. "She is hiding, that one." She winked. "But you will see, my lord, what a magician I am!" She clapped her hands. "Hurry, girls!"

  Tynan heard a cry rise in the back room, Adriana protesting—loudly—and he grinned. If she disliked it so, he would almost certainly approve. He crossed his arms in anticipation.

  But even the protest did not prepare him for the vision of her in the gown she wore when she emerged. The fabric of this model was only a poor grade of muslin in a greenish shade, but it did not matter. The lines, too, were unusually simple—fitted long sleeves and a square neckline cut low, and a waist fitted all the way to the hips.

  Tynan was a worldly man. He'd lost count of the women he'd had, much less the ones who'd caught his eye for a moment or two, but in this simple, poor fabric model of a ball gown, Adriana put them all to shame.

  It was, in part, the revelation of just what a glorious shape she hid beneath her badly made gowns—the beautifully lush breasts, the small waist, the surprisingly voluptuous swell of hips. Her arms were neat, her neck long and alluring.