"That is very kind of you, Lord Hyatt, but I think Mr. Meadows is right. Olivia asked me about the Pantheon a while ago. Naturally I told her it was not the thing."
"That was your mistake. You should have told her it was a staid do. We'll go to the Pantheon first; if she is not there, Meadows and I shall arrange to cover the other alternatives. I still feel Yarrow has his eye on her blunt. He's badly dipped."
Laura heard that "we'll go to the Pantheon" with joy and gratitude but felt compelled to object. "There is no need for you to trouble yourself, Lord Hyatt. Very kind-"
"You can hardly go alone. I assume you came in Meadows's carriage?"
"Yes.”
"Grab your pelisse, then. I shall make some excuse to Mrs. Peckford."
Laura darted back upstairs. When she came down, Hyatt already had on his cape. "I've called for my rig. I told Mrs. Peckford the baroness has a headache, and Meadows has taken her out for a breath of air. We are taking her home," he said.
He took her elbow and led her out. His carriage soon appeared. Hyatt held the door and Laura hopped in. "The Pantheon, Oxford Street," he called to his driver.
He got in and said, "If the chit keeps this sort of thing up, she'll have no hope of making a respectable match. There were already rumors at Castlefield."
"I know it very well. She has changed completely since she came to London. She used to be very biddable. The attention has gone to her head. Did she say anything to you-"
"She asked me when she might have her portrait."
"Then you were her excuse to escape from Mr. Meadows. He is kind enough to help me mind her. I doubt if his love will withstand much more of this Turkish treatment. She won't even get an offer from him if she does not watch her step."
"He hopes to marry the baroness, then?" Hyatt asked, interested. He had decided that Laura and Meadows were a match, as they were constantly seen together.
"Oh yes. And it is not creampot love either. Not entirely. He seems genuinely devoted."
"That explains it," Hyatt said cryptically, and was of course asked what he meant. "It seems to be the new custom for ladies to abuse those gentlemen who are fond of them."
"I cannot imagine what you mean, Lord Hyatt!" she exclaimed.
"Can you not, Miss Harwood? I no sooner expressed my feelings for you than you began castigating me as some sort of monster."
Her sense of wrong was still green, and she replied stiffly, "That is a different matter altogether."
"It has in common unmerited abuse of a gentleman by the lady he-cares for."
"Unmerited?" she exclaimed. "Upon my word, if sneaking into a lady's chamber in your stocking feet in the middle of the night does not merit abuse, I should like to know what does."
"I was not in my stocking feet, and I did not sneak in. I knocked on the door. It was your intransigence that-"
"I am not talking about my room, Lord Hyatt," she said.
"Then whose?" he asked, genuinely confused for a moment. Before long, the truth dawned on him. "You are referring to Lady Devereau?"
"Did you visit other ladies' boudoirs as well?"
"There is a good and simple explanation for my calling on Lady Devereau."
"There is no point trying to whitewash your sins with euphemisms, Lord Hyatt. A gentleman 'calls' at the front door, with his hat in his hand. If you have fabricated some excuse, I do not wish to hear it."
"An accused man is always allowed to present his defense," he pointed out. "Even murderers are granted that minimal justice. Am I worse than a murderer?"
"Can we not quit this subject?" she said impatiently.
He was not so easily put off. If she would not listen, he would present his defense by indirection. "I did it for you," he said, sure that this would rouse her to curiosity.
"Indeed? And how, pray, did I benefit from that midnight rendezvous? Did you arrange to be seen, thus ensuring that I would be spared the mistake of accepting your offer? You cannot expect me to be taken in by such blatant sophistry as that."
"Talk about the pot calling the kettle black! If that is not sophistry-" Her curiosity had risen to an unbearable height, and she looked to hear what he might say next.
Knowing he had hooked her, Hyatt fell silent. After a moment's pause, Laura said, "Well, why did you go, then?"
"You are not interested. I shan't bore you with my poor defense."
"I hear you gave Lady Devereau her portrait," Laura said, with a knowing look. "That, too, was for my benefit, no doubt."
"But of course. That is why I went to visit her, to tell her she might have the portrait. I figured that was the easiest way to conciliate her. She had become an embarrassment-well, you saw for yourself at Castlefield."
"Do you usually call on ladies in your stocking feet, when your visit is so innocent?"
"Only when I fear some busybody is listening. Who was it that saw me? Mrs. Campbell?"
"It was Mrs. Traemore who told me. Everyone at Castlefield knew about it," Laura said. She wondered if Hyatt was telling the truth. Like the rest of the world, she had assumed Lady Devereau's persistence had won, and she had secured Hyatt. But as Laura reviewed the past week, she recalled that she had not seen them together.
"Your stiff-necked behavior confirmed it, if anyone was so naive as to doubt," he informed her.
"There is no point blaming me. What did you expect me to do?"
"I hoped that the woman I planned to marry would trust me, at least enough to hear my side of the story."
"You never wanted to marry me anyway," she said.
"Of course not. That is why I asked you."
"We're here," Laura said, as the carriage drew to a stop. The resolution of their argument must wait until later.
Hyatt opened the door without waiting for his driver. He glanced toward the Pantheon and saw three bucks staggering out, drunk as Danes. "You'd best wait in the carriage," he said to Laura.
"So this is the infamous Pantheon!" she said, gazing at it. She was overcome with a strong desire to enter. She had been hearing about it forever. In her mind, it glittered with the allure of forbidden fruit. Only the most dashing ladies entered these portals, and she was a little angry with herself for having missed it. Perhaps Livvie was the wise one after all. She was squeezing more excitement into her Season than Laura had had in her whole life. Clandestine meetings with gentlemen, tossing over such an unexceptionable suitor as Talman, and now coming here. "I should like to see it, Hyatt."
Hyatt noticed that she had unconsciously dropped the "Lord," which had been bothering him all evening. He saw that expression of unfulfilled yearning on her face, and suspected its cause.
"It is no fit place for ladies. And besides, you don't have a domino or mask."
"Olivia might need me," she said, to proffer some poor sort of excuse at least. She looked hopefully for Hyatt's opinion. He frowned. "I must at least see it!" she said crossly, revealing the true purpose of her insistence.
"Miss Harwood, I take leave to tell you, you are a fraud. Beneath that prissy exterior beats the heart of a wanton. You are over twenty-one, and if you wish to enter the Pantheon without even a mask to cover your shame, I cannot prevent it. But if you are set upon by a marauding band of rakes, it is on your own head. Don't put it in my dish. I strongly disapprove of this shameless spree," he said, with a smile that showed his total approbation.
He watched, fascinated, as her lips parted in a bold smile. "One more sin will not be noticed in your dish, Hyatt. Don't be so unchivalrous."
"This is how a man loses his reputation," he joked, taking her arm to lead her to the entrance. "A prey to every beautiful hussy who comes along and bats her eyelashes at him. Take care or I'll be tapping at your boudoir door later tonight."
"Surely you can do better than a prissy fraud such as I. One hears the Pantheon is full of lightskirts."
"My usual fare, of course," he said blandly, "but one likes a change from time to time."