“Must you keep repeating my words? You might as well be a parrot!”
“I beg your pardon. Parrots can be annoying, can’t they?”
Were they actually talking about parrots?
“It was very kind of you to think of my…potential unease,” he added.
A spate of words died on her lips. Teresa felt as if she’d stepped down and found a stair missing, leaving her teetering in the dark. Was that all? Was there to be no taunt or innuendo?
The earl smiled at her. The expression was warm and alluring. Remembering the anger that had shaken her at the theater, Teresa realized that she hadn’t been driven by anything like kindness yesterday. Some inner part of her had leapt like a tiger on Nancy’s query. To save the dancers from another exploitation, she told herself again. But honesty forced her to acknowledge that her motives had been more complicated. She hadn’t wanted to see him with Nancy or any of the others—for her own sake as much as theirs. She hadn’t wanted him to be like the other aristocratic men she’d known. He had to be; earls were bred so from infancy. But this one seemed so different.
She sprang up. He rose politely. Teresa started away, then turned back. He stood there beside the table, a few feet away. He didn’t rake her body with his eyes or mock her with knowing smiles. She’d been prepared to stave off sly comments for as long as necessary, but none had come.
“Until tomorrow then,” he said. He offered a small bow and walked away, heading for the door.
She watched him go. She couldn’t help it. She had better admit straight out that she was attracted to Lord Macklin, Teresa thought, in order to guard against the feeling. The earl seemed to possess so much that one would want in a man, and that made him a very cunning trap. She’d known men who were soft-spoken, beguiling—until they got what they wanted. That was the way it went. Once the prize was won, they flaunted their victory, their dominance. They didn’t care how this hurt. Hadn’t she seen it often enough to learn? Men with power over others exerted it. They simply did. One’s only defense was not to be under their control.
A picture flashed through Teresa’s mind—the Earl of Macklin standing in her tiny, bare home, avoiding any comment on its poverty, perhaps complimenting her painting to ingratiate himself. He wouldn’t mock. He was too charming, too skilled for that. Perhaps he was even too kind, actually. But hot humiliation washed over her nonetheless. She’d lost so much that he possessed—position, wealth, the respect of society. They had no real common ground.
She did, however, have her hard-won independence. Nothing would take it from her, certainly not this silly idea of a team. She would join Tom in using the earl’s resources and influence to find the missing dancers and do whatever they could for them, and then she would have nothing more to do with Macklin. Which was not a melancholy idea, she thought as she went to pick up her paintbrush again. Not in the least.
* * *
Arthur walked toward his London home with a jaunty step. He wondered if Tom realized what a great favor he’d done him with this notion of a team. Probably not. The lad was concentrated on finding the missing dancers. He was always ready to spring to the aid of friends.
But Arthur felt as if he’d won a victory with the señora’s agreement to the drive. From the expression on her face, he’d feared a refusal. But she’d consented. He’d wanted to find a way to become better acquainted with her, and he now had it. There would be any number of occasions when they must meet and plan or discuss their progress. There was no need to rush back and make certain. She’d promised. He knew somehow that she was a woman of her word.
When the señora had “claimed” him at the theater, Arthur had experienced a thrill more intense than anything he’d felt in years. He’d wanted to pull her into his arms and carry her off then and there. Except—she’d looked angry, furious really, as she spoke. It had obviously been no time for tender declarations.
He still didn’t see any reason for her to be angry with him. Their evening had gone smoothly. He was sure he hadn’t offended her. But she’d been irate, and he knew as well as he knew anything that she was not a person to be pushed.
It had to be the plight of the missing opera dancers, he decided. The possibilities were enough to make anyone angry. He was glad to aid them, particularly in the company of the lovely señora. He turned his mind to ways of making their outing to Richmond a pleasure as well as a task.
She and Tom met his carriage at the workshop early the next morning. Señora Alvarez hadn’t wanted it to call at her house, which Arthur understood. Tom took the rearward-facing seat for the drive of more than ten miles, leaving Arthur and the señora side by side on the other. Her silken skirts frothed about his feet.
“What do you plan?” she asked as they set off.
“We will stop at any likely point and ask about Maria and her escort,” Arthur replied. “Hoping that someone can describe the man so that we can look for him.”
“Why would they remember?”
“Maria is right pretty,” said Tom.
“Well, yes, but…”
“And I got Nancy to make a likeness.” Tom unfolded a sheet of paper and showed them a sketch of a dark-haired girl with a haughty expression.
“That’s very well done,” said Señora Alvarez. “I didn’t know Nancy had such talent.”
“She never told you so?” Tom grinned. “She has everybody else.”
“Perhaps she recognizes Señora Alvarez’s superior artistic skills,” said Arthur. The look he received in response made him wish he’d kept quiet. He nearly said he hadn’t meant the comment as empty flattery. But he decided silence was the better part of valor in this case.
Their progress was slowed by their inquiries on the road, none of them successful, and they did not reach Richmond Park until midmorning.
“It is a wilderness,” the señora exclaimed as they approached.
“It’s never been farmed,” said Arthur. “Not since the 1200s at least. King Edward the First established the hunting park then and stocked it with deer.”
“There’s some of them now,” said Tom, who was hanging out the carriage window to get a better view. He pointed to a group of deer leaping away.
“Oh, how beautiful,” cried Señora Alvarez. She was pointing to a glade carpeted with bluebells.
“We should go look,” said Tom. “The señora loves flowers,” he told Arthur.
“By all means, let us walk a bit,” said Arthur.
“We have no time for that,” she objected.
“There is time.” He leaned out and told his coachman to pull up.