“What do you mean?”
“I mean it might be over for us, Lin. Everyone is afraid there’s a war coming, and no one wants to part with their money. My own parents are tapped or they would help.” He lowered his voice and leaned in very close to her. “Between you and me, I’ve been borrowing against my inheritance for years to keep us afloat.”
Linley brought a gloved hand to her mouth. “Oh, Reginald!”
Of course, Patrick chose that exact moment to reappear. He looked at Linley’s distressed face, and then at Reginald, who looked almost as upset. “What is going on?”
She turned to him, placing her hand on his arm. “Reginald just told me that our fundraising efforts have been a failure. No one is willing to help us.”
Patrick stared hard into Reginald’s eyes. “You couldn’t raise any money?”
“Not nearly enough.”
“What about a ball?” he asked. “You haven’t tried that.”
Reginald shook his head. “We have nowhere to hold it. Mrs. Hastings’ house is not big enough, and Bedford already asked the British Museum, which refused.”
“Then I may have a place for you,” Patrick said.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
By the time Patrick’s motorcar pulled up in front of Berenice’s townhouse, Linley could barely keep her eyes open. She was not used to keeping such late hours, even if Patrick assured her two in the morning wasn’t late at all.
“Most parties don’t end until dawn,” he explained.
“That is just stupid,” Linley said. “Some people can’t sleep all day.”
“I assure you that you could if you tried.”
They both smiled, and Linley resisted the urge to take his hand. “Thank you for a wonderful night.”
“It was my pleasure.” He stepped out of the motorcar and helped her onto the pavement. “And I will see what I can do about helping your father.”
She nodded, yawning.
“Go upstairs and straight to bed,” Patrick said, poking a finger at her. “I don’t want to see any puffy eyes tomorrow when I call on you.”
“You’re calling on me?”
“If you’d like me to. I know I’m no substitute for Allard Robeson, but…”
Linley gave him a hard shove, nearly sending him toppling off the edge of the kerb. “I’m too tired to fight with you tonight,” she said. “But tomorrow I am going to punch you in the mouth!”
Patrick laughed. “I’d like to see you try.”
“Oh?” Linley grinned, putting both of her little fists in the air.
“I warn you I earned a blue in boxing at Oxford.”
Linley tilted her head. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m pretty damned good.”
“Well, in that case!” She hopped around him, keeping her guard up.
Patrick put his fists up, showing that he knew what he was doing.
Linley, however, was not intimidated. She jabbed at him, which he dodged.
“You can’t win,” he told her.
She laughed, taunting him. “You’re nothing but a kangaroo boxer!”
Patrick’s eyebrows shot up.
Linley still circled, keeping her fists up, ready to strike at any minute.
“No hitting below the belt, now,” Patrick warned, watching her go around him.
Laughing, Linley charged at him. He grabbed her easily, wrapping his arms around hers, preventing her from punching him. They staggered backward, Patrick’s feet becoming tangled in the longer part of Linley’s skirt.
Before either could do anything to stop it, they both fell backward onto the hard stone pavement.
Linley landed on top of him, arms and legs sprawled in all directions. “Oof!”
She opened her eyes, realizing she lay level with his chest. It was a miracle one of his gold shirt studs hadn’t scratched her eyes out. And since she could still see, she raised her face up to Patrick, who looked as if he’d almost been strangled by his stiff celluloid collar.
His breath came in short, shallow puffs. Was he tired from their boxing match? Winded from their fall? Or was he breathless for a very different reason?
It was a perfect time for him to kiss her. Their faces were already so close together. Linley held her breath, waiting for it.
Patrick cleared his throat instead. “Are you hurt?”
“No…but I think my dress is ruined.” She scrambled to her feet, inspecting the damage. A long rip in the fabric exposed her stocking-clad leg.
“I’ll buy you a new one.” Patrick dusted off his black evening clothes and scooped his top hat off the ground. “In the meantime, no more boxing matches. I’m getting too old.”
“Not old,” she grinned. “Just out of practice.” Linley leaned up and kissed his cheek, wishing she were brave enough to go for the lips. “Good night, Patrick.”
***