Forever My Love (Berkeley-Faulkner #2)(64)

Alec smiled slightly as he placed her accent. French, an aristocratic dialect. A small measure of his interest was reawakened.”It is a mistake I will never make again,” he said, looking down at her with silvery gray eyes.

“And why not?” she parried, her long lashes flickering against her cheeks before she looked up at him.

“Because I would never forget a face as beautiful as yours,” he said, causing her to simper prettily.

“I’m not certain I believe you.”

“Don’t believe me, then,” Alec said, giving her a smile guaranteed to make her heart beat faster. “Just dance with me.”

Not Mira, but close enough.

“How did you learn to drive a phaeton?” Mira asked, wedging herself more firmly against the cushions of the light high-seated vehicle. It was an open carriage, and the cool damp wind of October blew against her face as Rosalie urged the chestnut horse faster down the London streets. Rosalie held the ribbons with a firm, expert grip, leaning forward to better control the horse as the wheels seemed to fly over the road. Only reckless young bloods were supposed to drive themselves in high-flier phaetons, not well-bred gentlewomen like Rosalie.

“It’s not that difficult,” Rosalie replied, reaching up to free a strand of hair that had blown across her lips. “When Rand and I take drives through Warwickshire, he lets me take the ribbons if no one is looking. Needless to say, he never dreamed that I would ever dare to do this without him beside me.”

“I’m still amazed that your mother said nothing about us taking this out without an escort or even a footman—”

“She knows that this has something to do with Brummell… she wouldn’t dare interfere. Although she’s not my natural mother, she raised me from infancy and has always known how much I wanted a father. Now that I have found out who he is, she will not prevent me from seeing him or doing anything I like about him.““Is this her phaeton?” Mira inquired, pulling the hood of her cloak more tightly around her head to keep the wind from blowing it off. The heavy garment was made of camlet, a waterproof fabric of wool, silk, and camel.

“In a way. Actually, it belongs to Baron Winthrop, the man who… er, pays for my mother’s wardrobe, lodging, and so on… you know.”

“Oh.” Mira reflected on the information for a few seconds. No wonder, she thought with a sense of irony, that Rosalie had not been revolted by Mira’s reputation of being Lord Sackville’s mistress. When one’s own mother was in a similar position, it was difficult to cast stones.

“Here we are. The Savoy Stairs,” Rosalie announced, pulling the horse to a halt. They were near the edge of the Thames River, which slapped gently at the banks and emitted a repugnant smell. Mira twisted her head around to look at the ruins of a castle beside them; the walls of it were three feet thick.

“Why did Brummell want to meet us here?” she asked in distaste, shivering slightly.

“I requested that we meet here. It’s the most convenient for him, since this is where he’ll pass through on his way to Threadneedle—”

“This seems like a very unsavory place,” Mira observed uneasily. “Wasn’t the street that we passed back there the Strand? Isn’t that where all the prostitutes go to—?”

“Yes. But we’re very close to the West End, and there are Charleys around to protect us—and really, we’re not far from my mother’s terrace. We’re meeting Brummell here because he is coming across the river in a tilt.”

“One of those little blue boats?” Mira asked, unable to picture the famed Brummell huddled in one of the cramped little water taxis.

“Yes,” Rosalie replied, staring at the dark blur ofthe river water that stretched out before them. “Look over there—right there a ship called the Folly was anchored about fifty years ago. People would take the tilts out to visit it. It was a floating ‘den of iniquity’ —drink, music, harlots, curtained rooms—no decent women were allowed, but of course many young lords went slumming there.” She smiled mischievously. “Rand said that many a Berkeley had been a guest on the Folly, but of course the rest of the family denies it.”

Mira smiled also, about to ask another question, when a distant crack, like the firing of a gun, popped in the silence. The noise startled her, and she clutched her diamond-shaped reticule uneasily.

“What do you have in there?” Rosalie asked.

“Nothing I’d care to have to use tonight,” Mira replied grimly. Unlike Rosalie, she had had personal acquaintance with some of the worst parts of London. Yes, they were near well-to-do streets lined with bow windows, lamps, and fancy colonnades, but they were also perilously near alleyways and rows of slums that oozed with several different kinds of vermin, including the human variety. Rosalie could afford to be nonchalant about the situation, having never known the kind of danger that Mira had been exposed to. Aside from a few brushes with adventure that had all turned out well, Rosalie had been sheltered and well-protected. In fact, Rosalie possessed a belief in her own invincibility which disturbed Mira more than a little. Confidence was sometimes helpful, but overconfidence was very hazardous indeed. “Presently I’m wondering if we haven’t been rather foolhardy in refusing an escort,” Mira confessed. “It’s dangerous this close to the river. It’s too dark to see well, and I don’t care for all these shadowy places—”