Page 9 of One Night in Vauxhall Gardens (Singular Sensation #11)

May 5, 1819

Montagu House

London

An uncommon anticipation buzzed at the base of Harry’s spine as he walked into the British Museum with Theresa on his arm and a medium-sized basket packed with some of his favorite foods thanks to his cook. That dear woman was over the moon to fix him up with a picnic basket once he explained his plans to take his fiancée on a special outing.

“I don’t believe I have ever seen you with a full grin,” Theresa whispered to him as he led them up the grand staircase, for they’d been one of the fifteen parties admitted to the museum at the one o’clock slot after being given tickets. As they passed a grouping of three giant, stuffed animals with long necks and a yellowish coat with brown speckled spots, she gawked at the things she had no name for and had never seen their like before.

“It’s been an age since I visited the museum, but I’ll admit, I’m feeling particularly feisty today after butting heads with your mother yesterday.” When he turned his head, the grin continued to curve his lips. It was odd, indeed, for he hadn’t had anything to grin about for what seemed like months. Now that Edenthorpe was slowly healing and he’d basically put Theresa’s mother in her place, he felt quite invincible.

“Oh, trust me, you made an impression. She alternates between thinking you’re the biggest arse who is not fit to marry me and thinking you are the most marvelous man she has ever met. When that is her mood, she never fails to remind me that I shouldn’t antagonize you because I will never make such a stunning match again should you change your mind.”

God, the dowager was a harpy. “Well, take heart. My mind is made up, and things have already been set into motion.”

Some of her uplifted mood deflated. “Truly, I never meant to trap you—”

“Do hush, Lady Theresa. We are beyond that, wouldn’t you say?” The urge to whistle a jaunty tune as they gained the gallery level burned strong, but he tamped it.

On this level, which was the middle one, curiosity seekers would find terra cottas; Greek and Roman sculptures; Roman sepulchral antiquities; Egyptian antiquities; coins and medals; Sir William Hamilton’s collection; drawings and engravings. And what was more, one of the men at the club told him about a little used storage room at the back of the building where a door was rarely locked. The man also reminded him that if he wished to make use of the neglected room, to be sure and secure the door from within. That was where he planned to conduct his picnic with Theresa and if he were fortunate, help her to share what had held her captive for so long that she was afraid of. After the outburst of yesterday with his mother, he was doubly certain she kept some sort of horrible secret to herself. Not even the dowager or St. Vincent knew.

When they made their way into the Egyptian gallery, Theresa gazed around with wonder in her eyes.

“This is amazing,” she said, and there was a fair amount of awe in her voice. “These things are so old I can hardly fathom that they are here.”

He chuckled, which surprised him, because he rarely found anything entertaining. “Have you never been to the museum before?”

“Not since I was a young girl.”

“Ah, then there are many exhibits you’ll want to examine.”

Over the course of the next hour, Harry squired her around the Egyptian gallery as if he owned the place. It helped that he’d been in the gallery more than a few times, but seeing it through Theresa’s eyes made it all new for him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. She exclaimed over how large some of the statues were, drew her gloved fingertips over the hieroglyphs, marveled at the carvings and how brilliant some of the paint still was then she fairly salivated over the gold jewelry and beadwork.

Before they could slip into the Roman gallery, and since there weren’t many people touring the floor with them, it was quite easy to find the unremarkable door to the storage room at the end of a short corridor between galleries at the rear of the Egyptian gallery.

“What are you doing?” Theresa asked in a barely audible whisper.

He put a finger to his lips. “Finding a private place for our picnic.” Wanting to impress her, he pressed the latch on the door. It opened just as his friend had said, and he gestured her into the room ahead of him. “No doubt it will be dark. I’ll find a lantern or candle as soon as I can, but until then, there is a candle and matches in my basket.” It was second nature to prepare for anything. Learned while in the military, those skills would always be with him.

As she passed him, the faint scent of lilacs wafted to his nose. For the first time, he realized how much shorter she was than he was, by at least six or seven inches. Could he lift her off the floor with ease? “You mean to have a picnic here, in the bowels of the museum?”

“I do.” Once they were both inside, he softly closed the door, and when a soft click sounded as he turned the lock, he relaxed by increments even though the darkness in the windowless room was complete. “Does that sound like something you’d like to pursue?”

“Yes.” Seconds later, she laid a hand on his arm, no doubt for security, but he rather liked that feeling of human connection in the dark. “May I ask why, though? It seems a bit unorthodox.”

“That is because it is.” Inching his way over the floor with a hand outstretched, when he bumped into a solid surface that felt much like a desk or a packing crate, he laid the basket upon it. “I thought I might take you ‘traveling’ through the things that are locked up and not on exhibit, to whisk you away from daily life while we can’t exactly travel right now.”

“What a lovely notion.”

The praise went straight to his chest and swelled it with pride. After rooting around the contents, he drew forth a candle stick and pressed it into Theresa’s hand. “Let me just find the matches.” Seconds later, the flare of a match provided a much-needed flame, and by the time he’d caught the wick on fire and blew out the match, the circle of golden light made it clear the storeroom was packed to the brim with Egyptian antiquities that would probably never see the exhibition floor. “Damn, what a treasure trove.”

A wealth of packing crates, some never opened, lay scattered over the floor in a haphazard way. Statues—both full and partial—leaned against available space against the walls. Shelves upon shelves contained pottery, canopic jars, other funerary items, as well as boxes and boxes of strings of beads.

As they went deeper into the mess that covered the floor, there were stacks of tomb paintings—rather segments of larger reliefs taken right from tomb walls—laid on top of each other without regard to care of the paint or anything else. Objects one might have found in a tomb were also piled high in the corners: tables, chairs, in one case a chariot, mummy cases that looked as if they contained baboons as well as cats, dolls, toys, games, and sandals.

“What will happen to everything in here?” The candle flame guttered from her words as Theresa held the candle aloft.

“Who can say?” He shrugged. “Eventually, if the museum needs funding, they will probably auction the pieces off to raise coin. Otherwise, because the gallery floors are already so crowded, these treasures will remain here until someone can organize them or find a better place to display them.” It was a waste, really, for the public should be able to see this bounty… that was ill-gotten from Egypt.

“Such a shame all this history is hidden away in a storeroom.” She picked her way through the mess with the candle held high. “Oh, look! There’s an oil lamp, and it has a wick inside. Should we light it?”

He followed at a slower pace with the basket in hand. “Couldn’t hurt.” After placing their luncheon on a bureau made of walnut-stained wood, he took up the glass lantern she’d found and swung open the door. “There is still an impressive amount of oil at the bottom, so it’s probably not from the original shipments.”

“No, it is too modern in design.” As she touched the candle’s flame to the thin rope wick inside the lantern, it caught easily, and once the flame danced and held, Harry closed the door while Theresa extinguished the candle. The greater circle of light provided better illumination, and as he lifted it, his gaze fell upon what looked like a sumptuous bed that resembled the frame of a chariot or phaeton, made in the same stained wood but decorated with gilt paint that still retained its luster. “I wonder if that piece belonged to royalty.”

“I would have no idea, but it seems as if the pharaoh or princess will return at any moment and use it for a nap.” She put the candle into the basket then moved toward the large bed. “The mattress tick is made of many layers of stuffed fabric sewn together.” With a hand, she felt it. “So luxurious, and all those pillows are practically calling out to me.”

“Then give it a try.” Would she take the bait?

“Oh, I couldn’t. It’s sacrilege.” But longing twinkled in her dark eyes.

He snorted. “No, that is what it is hiding this magnificent piece here amidst the mess. To me, it’s the perfect place for talking before a picnic.”

“Truly?”

“Yes, why not? No one except us is here, and from the accumulation of dust on most of this stuff, it’s been a while since anyone has come this deep into the room.” Then, he winked, and it nearly shocked the hell out of him. When was the last time he’d done that? “It is quite all right to let yourself act improperly now and again.”

Immediately, all interest and delight faded from her face. In its place came the shadows and sadness he’d glimpsed many times before. “The last time I engaged in improper behavior, my life more or less ended,” she said in a low voice.

Damnation.

Perhaps this was the opening he needed to usher in that important conversation. “Theresa, it is time to be truthful with me about your past, for you can’t continue to move forward while the way is blocked.” He put a hand to the small of her back and ushered her to the side of the bed. “I suspect you have held this inside for far too long, and now it’s eating away at you little by little, and it will destroy you before too long.”

It was all guess work on his part, and he waited with concern gnawing at his gut for her answer.

“You will surely hate me once I’m done.” And wonder of wonders, she climbed the painted footstool then collapsed onto the ancient mattress tick. A bit of dust billowed into the air. The motes danced in the lantern light before settling again. “I’m not sure I could bear that, for I am just coming to trust you,” she added in a barely audible voice.

The words cut straight through his chest with the accuracy of sharpened knives. “You can trust me, and I promise I will not hate you. There is nothing you could have done in this world that will cause that reaction, and even if it did, I have no cause after all the horrid things I’ve done over the course of my adult life.”

Of which he still hated himself when he got caught up in thoughts about it.

For long moments, she regarded him in the dim illumination. How the devil could her mother ever think she was plain and had no looks? Finally, she nodded. “Very well.” Then she patted the mattress tick beside her. “Best find somewhere comfortable to land.”

“Right.” After setting the lantern on a packing crate nearby, Harry joined her on the bed. He fluffed up a mound of pillows then leaned his back against them. Only then did he remove his top hat and his gloves, tossing them to the foot of the bed. “Would it help if you began your story without having to face me?”

“I… I’m not certain.” A shiver racked her shoulders, but as she eyed him, Theresa took off her spencer and her gloves. “Why is it suddenly so warm in here?” The garments landed not far from her location. Her bonnet soon followed. “I—”

Ultimately, he decided for her. Without another word, he pulled her into his arms, settled her between his spread thighs so that his legs framed hers, and gently he encouraged her to recline with her back to his chest. It was rather pleasing having her in his arms again.

More or less.

“Better?”

She nodded. “Yes. Thank you for the support. Having you near is comforting.”

It was at that. Which was odd, for he’d never had that from anyone else. Yes, his fellow brothers-in-arms were like a family, but this was different in weird and wonderful ways. He didn’t prompt her to begin speaking; she would do so whenever she felt comfortable, and in the meanwhile, it was reward enough to have her close.

When she did start her tale, it was worth the wait, for her tone was low and smoky, as if she battled with trapped and hidden emotions. “It was during my Come Out year. One of my friends had been invited to a house party. She asked me to join her, and I accepted because it was being held at the country estate of a family my parents knew well. The viscount and viscountess were some of my parents’ friends.”

It didn’t take the gift of divination to work out what probably had occurred, but he said nothing, simply gave over control of the conversation to her.

“During the week, we all were kept busy with walking parties and games and spying on the young men. In many ways, it was the best time of my life, and had I known what was coming, I would have enjoyed it more.” Her voice wavered slightly, but she continued. “At the end of the two-week party, there was a ball, and everyone was so excited.”

“I can just imagine.” As he listened, Harry slid a hand slowly up and down her arm in the hopes of keeping her calm.

“I thought it was the pinnacle of my existence. In my mind, I built up the suspense, had the silly hope that I would attract the notice of a titled man who would fall in love with me on first sight, and that we would live in happiness and love for the rest of our lives.”

“Since you are here, with me, I can assume those dreams didn’t exactly go as planned.”

She snorted. “Well, I have the titled man.” Though she uttered a laugh, it didn’t ring with humor.

“While that is true, we are not talking about me, remember.” Did she still think their engagement was naught but a genteel prison? Then he remembered they had only met a handful of days ago, and that they both needed time.

“I can see those images so clearly in my mind, can still feel the glide of the satin gown over my skin. Such a pretty frock of pale green trimmed with lace and a ruffled skirt in keeping with what a deb should wear.” For long moments, she remained quiet, but the tendons of her throat worked with a hard swallow. “I heartily enjoyed myself, laughing and talking and dancing. When the young man I fancied asked me to dance, I was certain that would be my moment. He was the oldest son of the viscount who hosted the party. At the time, I thought he was a decent sort, but I suppose I was too young and na?ve to realize he was really a wolf. My inhibitions were lowered by nonsensical dreams flitting through my head.” She snorted. “Of course, he was everything charming, and paid me pretty compliments, and he possessed skill in both conversation and dancing.”

The dulcet tone of her voice had a soothing effect on his own troubled soul. Harry continued to glide his fingers up and down her arm. “You needn’t continue if you don’t wish.”

“I don’t want to relive that day, but I do every day anyway in my mind, silently.” She glanced back at him, and her eyes were rounded in the dim light, still full of shadows and pain. “Talking about it, speaking it into being might help minimize the trauma.”

“Then, by all means continue.” I envy you that.

She nodded and faced forward again. The simple movement caused her backside to brush against his shaft, and that fickle organ shivered awake with interest.

“I realize now I was a ninny and should have known that men such as him were too good to be true.” A sigh followed the statement. “Because of that, because of my stupidity, when he suggested a clandestine meeting in the summer gardens an hour later, I agreed. All I could think about was the certainty that he’d been so taken with me that he would pay his addresses to me, along with sharing a few kisses.”

A groan rose in his throat. “I can guess at what happened next.” When her body went a bit taut from anxiety, he pressed his lips to her nape, and she shivered. From reaction to him?

“Yes well, I must continue.” The pained whisper tugged at his chest. “I was so excited thinking I could tell my parents I’d landed an heir to a viscounty, but instead he…” Her words trailed off, and a tremor went through her body to transfer to him. “He… He attacked me in those gardens under cover of the night, violently raped me.” Emotion threaded through the admission. Seconds later, tears wet her cheeks, fell to his hand on her arm. “No kisses, no words of affection. Everything was a blur. He threw me onto the ground in an apple orchard, forced himself on me, and took what he’d wanted without thought or care.”

“I am so sorry, Theresa.” What else was there to say? Nothing would bring back the time for her when she didn’t have those memories. “Is that why you reacted as you did the night you and I were in Vauxhall Gardens?”

“Yes.” She nodded and again looked at him from over her shoulder. “I was afraid, could only remember the violence of that time, of the pain and humiliation, and didn’t want that again.”

“I would never do that to you,” he said in a whisper even as his chest swelled with anger. Would she give him a name so he could teach the man a lesson? “Never do that to any woman.” The thought of bedding a woman against her will left him ready to cast up his accounts.

“I couldn’t take the chance, couldn’t discern the difference between the past and the present.”

“That I can understand.” He gathered her tighter into his arms and simply held her, waiting for her to continue or not. It didn’t matter, for he would sit with her for as long as it took to make her feel slightly more whole.

Silence reigned for a long time before she spoke again.

“He left me with torn skirting and a bloody petticoat, went so far as to toss a few coins onto my abused body. Told me the coupling meant nothing because he’d just won a large wager for taking my innocence. It was a game; I meant nothing!” Then she dissolved into tears.

Dear God.

“That’s horrible.” What else could he say that would make any of this better? Before he could decide, she continued the terrible tale.

“After that, while I sobbed on the grass, he told me that he would never have bedded someone like me, regardless that I was an earl’s daughter, said I had no looks to speak of and was as dull as drying paint. Then he left me there, alone. I was so frightened and ashamed.”

“Shh.” Not knowing what else to do, Harry pressed tiny kisses to her nape, the side of neck, behind her ear. “It’s over now; you are no longer tapped in that memory.” He knew deep down inside him that she would continue to relive that trauma, just as he did his, but he also knew he would demand satisfaction from the man if she shared his name, especially if he was a peer now.

For long moments, she quietly cried in his arms, and he did what he could to comfort her. “I was ruined and humiliated, Harry, and above all, I couldn’t tell Leo or my parents. My father would demand the man marry me, and why would I want that? He raped me!”

“You’re right. That’s where societal laws and demands fail women.” Again, he kissed her nape. “But I can say that I’m glad you weren’t forced into marriage.”

She snorted. “Not with him.” Remarkably, she chuckled through the tears. “However, you are worth one hundred of him.”

That was good to know.

“All my hopes and dreams crashed at my feet that night.”

He danced the fingertips of one hand along the side of her neck and along her chest. “Perhaps some of them, but you are still young and can cultivate new dreams.”

She laughed through her tears. “I don’t know how that is possible. You and I were forced into an engagement and an eventual marriage. I’m soiled goods, not exactly what a countess should be, hmm?”

“Please don’t think that, because none of it is true.” As gently as he could, he turned her head enough that he could kiss her lips. “None of what happened was your fault, and I certainly don’t want a fiancée who has no personality, no story. Because you survived, because you remain, you have been forged into a strong woman, and that is especially attractive.” Never before had he thought that way, but knowing this woman, being able to share personal things with her had given him a unique insight… and a purpose. “Give me his name, Theresa. I will avenge your reputation.”

For he would beat the man within an inch of his life for what he’d dared to do to her.