Free Maggie MacKeever by Our Tabby

returned it to its place. Tabby admired his long-tailed blue coat and black pantaloons, white waistcoat and exquisite cravat. “Prinny is not always wise in his choice of friends,” he said. “And, unfortunately, their behavior sometimes leaves much to be desired. Luckily, I was passing by and recognized your voice. Or thought I did.” He smiled. “It seemed so bizarre a notion that I had to stop and see.”
    Bizarre, indeed, thought Tabby. Here she was, a mere dab of a girl, being introduced firsthand to the foibles and indiscretions of the gay and polite. It was not an introduction to which she had aspired.
    She could hardly explain to Vivien that she had a job of work to do. “Er, and very glad I am you did!” she responded. “I am in your debt.”
    “Good!” Vivien smiled again, in a manner calculated to melt the coolest heart. “Then you will not run away from me again so soon. You acted as though you did not trust me when last we met.”
    Trust this self-admitted rakehell? Of course she did not. But it would be unkind to tell him so. And what on earth was responsible for these sudden palpitations in her chest and the buzzing in her ears?
    When she did not answer, Vivien looked concerned. “That brute really upset you, didn’t he? The man was drunk. He’ll forget you quickly enough. But if it would make you feel better, I’ll call him out.”
    Tabby suffered further palpitations as result of this suggestion and thought of the subsequent notoriety. “Oh, no!” she gasped.
    “You relieve me,” Vivien said wryly. “I confess I’m not much for pistols at dawn. Is this your first visit to the Pavilion? Come, let me show you around.” Tabby could think of no good reason to refuse him. Indeed, she found it curiously comforting that so wicked a person could also be kind. She allowed Vivien to escort her from the room.
    He led her down the hallway, stopped a passing servant, presented her with a glass of champagne. Tabby accepted it gratefully, but wrinkled her nose at the bubbles, in a manner that led Vivien to conclude that she wasn’t accustomed to strong drink.
    He didn’t know what to make of his Miss Nevermind. At first he’d though her Perry’s peculiar, until circumstances had caused him to dismiss that conclusion as absurd. Now he wondered if the notion had been so nonsensical as it had seemed then. In Vivien’s experience, no green miss would wear so blatantly inviting a gown. His curiosity was aroused.
    Vivien was too skilled a sportsman to cram his fences. He did not follow the example set him very recently by a certain officer of the Tenth, but set out on the promised tour, concluding in an astonishing passageway of painted glass, decorated with flowers and insects, fruits and birds, and illuminated from the outside.
    Tabby looked around her, awed. It was easy to imagine that they were passing through an immense Chinese garden. And difficult to think why Mrs. Quarles had wished to meet with Sir Geoffrey here. Tabby would have thought a less public setting more suitable for a rendezvous, but she was inexperienced in such things. One thing was certain; the reprehensible Mrs. Quarles had influential friends.
    Yes, and Tabby was neglecting her duties. She was here to save her employer and his family from disgrace, not to listen to Vivien describe the stable Prinny was in the process of building, which was to be an equestrian palace with a huge fountain in the center and an exterior in the Moslem Indian style. “I must go!” she said abruptly. “I have already taken up too much of your time.”
    “You must let me be the judge of that.” Vivien had half expected such a maneuver; he caught her hand. “I rescued you, did I not? You have not offered me a reward.”
    Tabby flushed as she realized what sort of reward a rakehell would demand. She tried to ignore the warmth of his hand, which was disturbing even through the fabric of her glove. “So I am forfeit?” she said lightly. “It does