Tonight or Never Page 5

So while Maurice and John shared the same blood, it was not French blood. A fact Maurice had a tendency to ignore. Even though the marquis had English blood as well—indeed, he had inherited his marquis title from his English side—he was French through and through. Consequently, John had become a Chavaneau.

  The countess also knew that Maurice viewed Chloe as if she were his own granddaughter. It had long been a hope of his that the two children would wed, uniting the families that had always had tremendous affection for each other. In view of Chloe's announcement, Maurice must be dancing on air.

  So why was he so contained? She watched him closely.

  "The men of my generation have never believed in putting off such things… too much time and the woman may change her mind…" Maurice let his words drift off to indicate that any man would be foolish to take such a risk.

  A smile played about the corners of the countess's lips. Now she knew exactly what the sly boots was about—he was concerned it was John who might change his mind. After all, the rake had never been predisposed to marriage before. The marquis wanted his nephew secured as soon as possible. Knowing Lord Sexton as well as she did, she couldn't blame Maurice. John was a lovely boy, but he was a scoundrel.

  John, however, was too wily for his uncle's machinations. He had claimed he would marry Chloe and he intended to—at his own pace.

  "Who said anything about waiting?" His low voice held more than a hint of suggestion.

  "John!" The countess gasped in false outrage.

  "You promised!" Chloe blurted out before she could stop herself.

  All eyes focused on Chloe at this disclosure.

  The jade ones looked plainly furious; the others were simply shocked.

  Chloe supposed that a Lord of Sex who promised to wait was more than anyone would dare to imagine.

  After a telling pause, everyone began speaking at once.

  "He did?" That was Grandmere.

  "I don't believe it!" Maurice wasn't sure to be angry or elated. On the one hand, it was Chloe they were speaking of; on the other, there was a certain standard to maintain when one was young and active.

  "Tie him to the barn!" Deiter didn't really have an opinion, but he was always up for a little blood. That was, when he was up.

  John closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers, and shook his head. Could this get worse?

  "Sir Percival Cecil-Basil!" the butler announced in a deep tone right before a flamboyant, bedecked man came bouncing into the room, all cheery smiles and frilly lace.

  John groaned. It just got worse.

  "Hi-ho, everyone!" The heavy scent of eau de cologne preceded the droll voice.

  "Sir Percy!" everyone called out in delight. Everyone, that was, except John.

  "I have just seen Lady Hinchey and she remarked that you had taken yourself off to the country in some haste, Sexton. Naturally I had to come see for myself that nothing was amiss." He raised his lorgnette and peered at John, presumably looking for wear and tear.

  "Lady Hinchey's?" Chloe narrowed her eyes. So that was where the rogue had been! She could just imagine what had tired him out. Chloe took a deep breath to still her jealousy, refusing to look at him.

  Which was a shame, because if she had she would have noticed that Lord Sexton seemed slightly uncomfortable with the disclosure, although his overall demeanor was, as usual, un-apologetic.

  "You needn't have bothered, Percy," John intoned wryly, and he meant it in more ways than one.

  "Yes, I see why you have left London in such a hurry—our Heart has returned!" He bent over Chloe, taking her hand to kiss it. She flushed becomingly, which somehow managed to irritate John.

  "Do take a seat, Sir Percy. Would you like some refreshment?"

  "Thank you, Countess, I believe I shall. It was a tiring journey." He waved his beringed hand in the air, seating himself with aplomb. "But I was overcome with worry for John, you see."

  "He's fortunate to have such a friend as you. You will be staying for a visit, I hope?" The countess handed him a cup of warm chocolate.

  "John and I look out for each other; we've always been the best of friends." He took a sip of the delectable drink, closing his eyes in appreciation. "I can stay for a while, yes."

  John's nostrils flared. He sat fuming silently.

  Years ago, out of the blue, the man had proclaimed himself John's best friend and that had been that. It had instantly become an accepted reality throughout the ton.

  Why the man fancied himself his friend, John could never quite figure out, but wherever John went, Percy was soon to follow.

  It was irritating in the extreme.

  What was more, the man seemed to have an uncanny ability to know his whereabouts and dealings. He knew with whom he had slept and when, what scandals he had caused, what revelry he was pursuing.

  It had been going on for years; John had long since given up trying to make sense of it.

  It wouldn't be half so bad if Percy didn't get on his nerves so much!

  The man was a self-proclaimed connoisseur of everything. Fashion, the arts, music, cuisine; if it was mentioned, he was the authority. His manner was always balanced on the edge of extreme boredom and provocative innuendo. Latin phrases dripped from his tongue at every opportunity.

  He was flamboyant, gossipy, and, well, silly. In short, he was a bird of startling plumage even amongst the flock of peacocks known as the upper crust. In recent years, he seemed to become almost obsessed with fashion and appearances, delving into pursuits deemed frivolous even by John's standards.

  Yet both the countess and Chloe adored Sir Percival Cecil-Basil.

  All of the ton adored him. He was welcomed into the best homes and he made it his business to know what was going on in those homes. By his decree, his close friends called him Sir Percy or just Percy as the name Cecil-Basil was a tongue twister best reserved, in his words, "for the uninformed and the lesser classes."

  "So, when are you coming to town, Countess? We miss you dreadfully." Percy was ever the flatterer. In this case, he was sincere, though.

  The countess smiled. "Not for some time, it appears. But we have some exciting news to tell, and you shall be the first to hear it, dear Percy!"

  Ah, the two magical ingredients of interest to the fop: gossip and being the first one to hear it. John smirked as he watched Percy lean forward eagerly in his chair.

  "Do tell, sweet lady. I am all ears."

  John closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. This was going to be a trying night; he could tell.

  "Chloe and John are to be wed!" The countess beamed.

  "Oh, that." Percy sat back.

  "You don't seemed surprised," Maurice said, surprised.

  "Why should I be?"

  John opened one eye. "Why aren't you?"

  "Res ipsa loquitur." John cringed at the Latin phrase. "The thing speaks for itself, my dear man."

  "Really." John raised an eyebrow. It seemed the anticipated event of his own wedding was news only to himself!

  "Quite so. Congratulations, dear, sweet Chloe, although maybe I ought to give you my sympathies." Pale blue eyes gleaming, he smiled into his cup, irking Lord Sexton. "When is the blessed event to take place? I shall be the groomsman, naturally."

  John didn't know which vexed him more, the idea that Percy wasn't surprised by his upcoming nuptials or the fact that he had just named himself his groomsman!

  "I'm sure whenever it is, you shall be the first to know," John said sarcastically. "Kindly inform me, would you?"

  His irony apparently went over Sir Percy's powdered head.

  "Will do, good fellow," he replied seriously.

  Chloe stifled a chuckle as John's cheekbones deepened in color—a sure sign he was put out.

  Maurice placed his cup and saucer on a nearby table. "We haven't seen you about for a while, Sir Percy; where have you been keeping yourself?"

  Percy threw his hands up in the air. It was the moment he had been waiting for—ca
rte blanche to gossip. "Oh, I have been here and there and everywhere! It has been an annus mirabilis, a wonderful year. In fact, I have just returned from Lord Blankford's. He claims to have heard the most interesting pianist on a recent trip to Vienna—it was at Baron von Swieten's; remember him John?"

  John opened his mouth to reply, but as usual Percy did not wait for him to answer.

  "He claims the fellow will go someplace, although he said he was quite grim in appearance. I daresay Blankford claims the man had a head shaped like a bullet…" He trailed off to gaze keenly at Deiter, who was sleeping in his chair.

  Everyone's sights followed his gaze. Perhaps bullet-shaped heads indicated a latent musical talent? 'Twas an interesting theory.

  The German man let loose a huge snore.

  John's lips twitched.

  Chloe looked up and their eyes met, each pair brimming with laughter.

  "What was the man's name?" Maurice inquired.

  "He is a disciple of Haydn… let me see…" Percy tapped his chin. "I believe it was Beethaurel. Yes, that was it! Ludwig van Beethaurel."

  "Ludwig?" Chloe crinkled her nose. "I should hate to be called Ludwig."

  John leaned over and playfully tickled her arm.

  "What other news do you have, Sir Percy?" Grandmere was obviously hoping for some information about the goings-on in her homeland.

  "I'm afraid the stories circulating about France, madam, are not very encouraging. The Terror continues and more go to their deaths every day. Last I have heard, the Countess Zambeau was the latest victim. They say she put rouge on her face on her way to the guillotine." He shook his head sadly. "Who could ever find fault with a woman that so valued fashion?"

  "Zu-Zu?" The countess's eyes filled with tears. "Not Zu-Zu." She sniffed into her handkerchief.

  Chloe was stunned at Grandmere's behavior. The woman had been an impossible thorn in her grandmother's side for years. "You have always called her a bitch, Grandmere!"

  The countess dabbed at her eyes. "Yes, but she was a glorious bitch."

  "De mortuis nil nisi bonum. Of the dead say nothing but good," Percy added solemnly.

  Maurice exhaled heavily. "Has the Black Rose made any appearances lately?"

  The Black Rose had made his first showing in France almost two months ago. The man had already had something of a reputation before that time in various skirmishes and endeavors, although his identity remained a secret.

  In the past few months, he had miraculously and single-handedly rescued many an aristocrat's neck from the guillotine while still managing to remain one step ahead of the French authorities. The rumor was that he never appeared as the same person twice, donning expert disguises to cover his tracks. It was assumed he was an expatriated aristocrat himself, although no one knew for sure.

  "I haven't heard," Percy answered Maurice. "However, I have written a poem about him—would you like to hear it?"

  John winced. Percy was terrible at poetry.

  The man stood in the center of the room as if he were about to recite Shakespeare. And in his mind he was.

  "They seek him high, they seek him low;

  The proletariat wonder where he could go;

  Near or far, where can anyone suppose…

  Is that blasted, evasive Rose!"

  Everyone in the room applauded energetically at the amusing rhyme. John rolled his eyes.

  "I'm so sorry about Zu-Zu, Countess." Percy placed a consoling hand on her arm.

  "What do these monsters want?" Grandmere threw down her hankie. "What do they hope to gain by this madness?"

  "Liberty, equality, fraternity," John intoned the motto of the revolutionists.

  "And I suppose you agree with them, John?" the countess challenged him.

  "I do… in theory. Not in their practice, though."

  It was no surprise to Chloe that John felt this way. His entire life had been one of rebellion against convention and morality.

  Sir Percy gazed at John thoughtfully. "How like Don Giavanni you are, Sexton… laughing in the face of authority and flaunting society's mores." He picked up his lorgnette and peered at him through it. "I say, you make for a stunning study, my man."

  "Especially since he seems to have no real convictions," Chloe added provokingly.

  John's well-shaped lips lifted. "I work hard at that, Chloe-kit."

  A line marred her forehead as she thought about his statement.

  "Wonderful wit!" Percy gleefully chortled. "The man's one conviction is to have no convictions!"

  Maurice snorted. "What am I to do with you, John?" He wagged his finger at his nephew.

  Chloe was pondering the same.

  A flock of thrush flew out of the glade.

  Captivated as she was by the sight, Chloe's hand skipped across the page as she attempted to capture the scene on her sketchpad.

  Hours ago, she had set out on her mare, Nettie, in search of a suitable site.

  She had come upon this secluded spot rather quickly. Percy's revelation last night had disturbed her. Chloe needed to think, and sketching often helped her to sort her thoughts out.

  The sorting and drawing had been going on for some time.

  It wasn't so much that she needed to think as that she needed not to think. Of John and Lady Hinchey.

  He hadn't been unfaithful to her. There had never been any kind of understanding or commitment between them of that nature.

  Yet it still pained her deeply. She was taking a terrible risk here, she knew. She was about to place all of her trust in him. A known and admitted rake—who was she kidding? The most notorious rake in England. What was she going to do if he didn't…

  Her horse nudged her shoulder, interrupting her troubled thoughts.

  "Not now, Nettie; I'm busy," she mumbled distractedly to her mare over her shoulder.

  The vibration of a deep answering voice skittered down her neck, causing her to jump. "Nettie wandered back to the stable hours ago."

  She scrambled around and looked up from her seat on the ground. The subject of her turmoil sat complacently before her on his stallion. "You startled me!"

  "Did I?"

  He looked far too innocent. "What are you doing here?" she asked suspiciously.

  "I'm counting the leaves on the trees." He exhaled gustily. "Obviously I'm looking for you. Did it ever occur to you that it might worry… people… if your horse returned without you?"

  Chloe suddenly felt much better. "People" translated into him. John never liked to admit how much he worried over her. Even if everyone else knew it.

  "Don't be silly; she always returns by herself. You know Nettie cannot go more than an hour without her feed. Why, she always escapes back at the first opportunity."

  True. The mere hint of something to eat sent the lackadaisical horse into a galloping frenzy. It was the only time John could recall seeing the mare move faster than a snail's pace.

  His answer was a noncommittal "Hmm."

  Chloe went back to sketching, hoping he would take the hint and leave.

  He didn't. She heard him dismount behind her.

  Joining her on the grass, he lay on his side next to where she sat with her sketchpad in her lap. He was silent for several minutes. Chloe continued to draw.

  Finally he spoke. "Why did you come out here?"

  She glanced at him; his head was resting on the perch of his bent hand. Chloe sighed. He was too clever by half. And she was not about to answer him.

  She put down her drawing. A gentle breeze lifted a strand of her hair that had come loose from her chignon. The long tendril whispered past John's cheek.

  Chloe viewed their surroundings. "It's so beautiful out here."

  But John wasn't paying any attention to the land. He caught the strand of red hair and wrapped it around his finger. Examining the fine texture, he marveled at its silken feel before murmuring, "Yes, it is."

  Chloe swallowed and purposefully watched the horizon. "This will all soon be yours, John."

&n
bsp; There was a long pause.

  "Will it?" he asked quietly.

  She still refused to look at him. "Nonetheless, I expect you to consult with me, should—should you seek to change anything, Lord Sexton."

  "Chloe."

  She turned slowly and looked down at him. For an instant she could have sworn there was a flash of pain in his eyes. The expression was gone so quickly she convinced herself she was mistaken.

  "Yes?" she acknowledged him haltingly.

  His other hand came up to stroke the curve of her cheek. "I have made you a bargain, as you have me. We have never broken our words to one another, have we?"

  She shook her head no.

  The stroke became a caress.

  "Then you need not worry; I will always consult with you."

  He was telling her he would stick to their bargain. "You—you promise, John?"

  "Yes," he whispered.

  The hand that was caressing her cheek moved to the back of her neck, smoothly bringing her down to him. His beautiful green eyes darkened. Chloe almost fell into them. Almost. She pulled herself back in the nick of time.

  It took a moment for her head to clear. He is dangerous.

  "You snork-slug! You promised something else as well," she admonished him.

  A dimple curved his cheek. "What was that, Chloe-monkey?"

  Chloe stood up, briskly brushing her skirts off. "You said you would wait," she reminded him pointedly.

  "Am I not?"

  "What?"

  A devilish smile inched across his handsome face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. He was the picture of pure seduction. "Waiting." He spoke the word as if it were something else entirely.

  And he was teasing her terribly. She grabbed a handful of grass, ripping it up by its roots to hurl in his face.

  He laughed. "You have always been easy to provoke, Chloe." He stood up, towering over her. "Should prove interesting in so many ways…"

  Chloe blushed.

  She couldn't help it.

  A low chuckle reached her as he went to mount his horse. Bending over the saddle, he reached out a hand to her. Reluctantly, she took it.

  "Use the stirrup," he instructed her, removing his own foot from it.

  Expecting him to swing her on the back of his mount as he had often done in the past, she complied. He surprised her by swinging her up and pulling her across his lap in front. His arms securely encircled her.