Читать книгу A Regency Gentleman's Passion: Valiant Soldier, Beautiful Enemy / A Not So Respectable Gentleman? - Diane Gaston, Diane Gaston - Страница 15

Gabe descended the stairway to the hotel’s dining room, deciding he might as well distract himself and eat. Staying alone in his room had been no help. One minute he had surged with anger at Emmaline for coming back into his life and re-igniting his need for her, the next minute he knew he must help her. It would require no effort on his part, after all.

He knew where to find Edwin Tranville.

Mere weeks ago he’d been thrown into Edwin’s company. He’d run into Allan Landon, his friend since Allan had been his lieutenant in Spain. Allan was no longer in the army, but was working for Lord Sidmouth and the Home Office, as was, astonishingly, Edwin Tranville. They were charged with combating seditious acts. Allan had learned that a group of soldiers planned to gather to protest against unemployment and high prices. He wanted to stop the protest before the soldiers risked arrest. Gabe had run into Allan when Allan was searching for Edwin, who knew where the gathering was to take place. Gabe helped him search. They found Edwin in a tavern, drunk as usual. Allan quickly left to stop the march and Gabe wound up playing nursemaid to Edwin.

No mention of the soldiers’ march ever reached a newspaper, so Gabe surmised Allan must have been successful.

Luckily Edwin had apparently been too drunk to remember Gabe’s interference. Gabe had no wish for Lord Tranville, Edwin’s father, to learn he was in London seeking a new commission. Lord Tranville would certainly foil any chances Gabe possessed.

Gabe approached the door of the dining room. The Stephen’s Hotel was a popular place to dine and almost like a club for officers who could not gain admittance to White’s or Brooks’s.

No sooner had Gabe entered the dining room than he was hailed by the three officers who accosted Emmaline. They waved him over to sit with them. Gabe shrugged. They’d done her no real harm, nothing any man with a little drink would not have done when encountering a beautiful, unaccompanied woman. Besides, it would be advantageous for him not to be alone with his own thoughts.

“We are making a wager,” Irishman said, “with Webberly’s timepiece—how many minutes until the fried soles are served? Are you in?”

“I never wager.” Gabe lowered himself into a chair.

Hanson immediately poured Gabe a glass of wine. “There’s the pity of it. We could have a game of whist after dinner if you were a gambling man.”

Gabe scanned the room. “I trust someone here would accept.”

Irishman drummed his fingers on the table. “We sat down not more than ten minutes ago, and the servant brought the wine immediately—”

“And thereby earned my eternal gratitude,” interrupted Webberly.

Irishman went on. “So, I estimate it should be another ten minutes at least,”

“I wagered another twenty minutes,” Hanson said.

Webberly lifted a finger. “And I, fifteen.”

Unimaginative lot, thought Gabe. They all bet in equal segments. Likely the food would come on some other point of the clock, like eight minutes or thirteen.

At that moment the soup arrived and they fell silent, except for some audible slurping. No sooner were they done with the soup than the fried sole was served.

Irishman jostled Webberly. “How much time? What does your timepiece say?”

Webberly picked up the gold watch from the table and pressed the button to open it. “What time did the wager start?”

His two friends looked at him blankly and all three burst into laughter.

Irishman lifted his glass of wine. ‘“The better the gambler, the worse the man!”’ A quotation by Publius Syrus, Gabe recalled from his school days.

“Then we are the best of men.” Webberly took a gulp from his wine glass.

Their dinner conversation drifted into more serious matters, such as who among their acquaintance had found commissions, who was still looking, and who might become desperate enough to accept a place in the West Indies.

The conversation was not enough to keep Gabe from being haunted by the memory of Emmaline’s desolate expression when he sent her away. He pushed around slices of scalloped potatoes and finally jabbed at his fried sole.

There was only one way to exorcise himself of her image. Do as she wished. Find Edwin, warn him, and be done with it.

In the morning he’d visit the Home Office, perform this one more service for her, and maybe purge her from his mind for ever after.

The next morning Gabe set out early, planning to walk the distance to the Home Office because the weather was so fine and the exercise would calm him.

He turned on to Bond Street. And saw Emmaline.

She walked towards him with a determined, yet graceful step, and he disliked that her mere appearance affected him so strongly. This day she wore pale lavender and the mere hue of her clothing brought back to him the lavender scent from the lace shop, the scent that always wafted around her.

She, too, caught sight of him. As she drew nearer, her pace remained carefully even.

“Good morning, Gabriel,” she murmured when they were in earshot. She looked directly into his eyes.

“I am surprised to see you, Emmaline.” She appeared to be walking back to Stephen’s Hotel to seek him out again.

Gabe had not expected or intended to lay eyes on her again. After warning Edwin, he’d planned to write her a letter and have it delivered to her hotel.

“I still have hopes to convince you to help me.” She lowered her gaze. “May I have a moment of your time to speak to you?” She spoke so carefully, so hesitantly.

He paused. “Walk with me.”

They walked in silence, crossing Piccadilly and making their way towards Green Park.

“I have a new proposal to present to you,” she said to him, breathless from keeping up with his long strides. “Could we not stop so I may tell you of it?”

What would she offer now? More money? Or merely play upon his obvious regard for her? He did not wish to hear more from her.

Still, he seemed unable to refuse. “We will stop in the Park.”

They could cross through Green Park to reach the Home Office. There would be benches there where they might sit, where she could catch her breath and spill out this new proposal he had no wish to hear.

The Park was fragrant with blooming flowers and the scent of leafy trees and sprouting grass. Warm breezes whispered through the shrubbery, and Gabe for a moment was transported back to the Parc de Brussels where he and Emmaline had strolled in happier days.

They came upon a bench and he gestured for her to sit. “Say what you need to say.”

She lowered herself on to the bench and looked disconcerted when he remained standing. Her hand fluttered to her face. “How to begin …”

Gabe gazed through the trees, his insides seared by memories and false hopes.

She fingered the front of her dress. “You once seemed to have a regard for me, is that not so, Gabriel?”

“Once.” He refused to admit more.

“We did well together, non?” She smiled, but her lips trembled.

He merely stared at her.

“You proposed marriage to me, non?”

He still did not speak, not knowing where she was leading, surmising it would cause him pain.

She took a breath. “I will marry you now, Gabriel.” She waved a hand. “If—if you help me find Claude and stop him from doing this terrible act, I will marry you and go wherever you wish and do whatever you say.” She made a quick, decisive nod, as if convincing herself that she could indeed perform such a distasteful task.

Gabe gaped at her. “Marry me? What of Claude, then? Will he cease to despise me if I stop him from what he wishes to do?”

A great sadness filled her eyes, but her chin lifted in determination. “He will probably hate you the more for it, but that cannot be as important as him being alive. It is better for Claude to live and have a chance for happiness, even if he chooses to exclude me from his life.”

Her son’s life. To save it, she’d agree to anything. Even to marry Gabe.

It felt as if she had now twisted the knife she’d plunged into his chest two years before. Did she think he wanted her to give up the most important part of her life for him?

When he’d proposed to her in Brussels, he’d meant their marriage to be a pledge of love and fidelity between them, not a contest between him and Claude. You win, Gabriel. I’ll marry you. That had not been what Gabe meant about wanting to win her hand. Possession of her company was not the prize, winning her away from her son was not victory. Spending his days and nights with her, sharing their dreams together, that was the prize, much more valuable. Gabe wanted to grow old with Emmaline, but not at the expense of her attachment to her son. What kind of man did she think he was?

She gazed back into his eyes, her expression tense. “Well, do you agree? Will you help me?” Her voice wobbled.

This offer of hers—this sacrifice—stung worse than her initial rejection, which, even though he did not like it, he’d understood. God help him, he had even envied the devotion she bestowed on her son. He’d never been that important to his own mother, not with all his brothers and sisters needing her more, but this was not about his needs. It was about Emmaline. She needed her son like she needed air to breathe. As painful as it was, Gabe would never take away her life’s breath. He refused to be the sacrifice she must make, the price of saving Claude from his own folly.

“Gabriel?” she asked anxiously.

He could at least force her to explain. “I thought you did not want to marry a man your son would despise.”

Panic flickered in her eyes. She glanced away. “I never despised you, though. We—we were good friends, were we not?”

Good friends. Such a far cry from being her life’s breath.

She went on, “It will be enough to know Claude is alive. I … I will even—how did you say it?—follow the drum with you when you return to the army.”

“You will marry me and travel with me as a soldier’s wife?” She’d hated such a life when her husband had demanded it of her. More sacrifice she was willing to make, for the sake of her son.

She blinked. “If you are able to prevent Claude from murdering, yes, then I will marry you.” She looked up again. “I will gladly marry you.”

“What a compliment to me,” he murmured.

“Qu’est-ce que tu as dit?” She shook her head. “I mean, what did you say?”

“It is of no consequence.” He gestured to the path. “Shall we be on our way?”

She rose and clutched his arm. “You did not answer me.”

There was no more than an inch separating them. The sun lit her anxious face and the lavender scent he’d imagined became real. At the Parc de Brussels they’d stood together just like this, sheltered from view by a large allegorical statue. He’d leaned down and tasted her lips that day and held her in his arms.

The urge to kiss her and hold her again was unabated even though he was the sacrifice she would make to save her son from a hanging. He leaned closer and she rose on tiptoe, so close their breath mingled.

“Your answer?” she whispered.

He stepped back. He ought to let her think he’d go along with making her choose him over her son. It would serve her right for thinking so little of him.

He was no card player, but he could bluff like one.

“Very well, Emmaline. I will hold you to your promise. I will prevent Claude from murdering Edwin Tranville and you will marry me.”

Her lips trembled again, but she nodded, her hand pressed against her chest.

He started to walk and she skipped to catch up to him. “Where are you going?”

“I am headed to the Home Office,” he said.

“The Home Office?”

He set a fast pace. “The place where Edwin Tranville is employed.”

She strained to keep up with him. “You know where he is?”

“I always knew where he was.”

She sounded angry. “You were going to warn him? Even before I spoke today?”

He stopped and faced her. “That is correct, Emmaline. I was planning to do that much for you, but you made a new bargain. After I speak to Edwin today, I’ll proceed to where I might obtain a special licence so you and I can be married right away.”

She gazed straight ahead. “Do not forget you must ensure that Claude does not kill this man. Then I will marry you.”

He gave her a sardonic smile. “That is our bargain.”

They did not speak until the buildings on Whitehall came into view.

“We are near,” Gabe said.

When they approached the Home Office building, Emmaline shrank back. “Must I see him?”

“See who?”

“Edwin Tranville.” Her voice turned low and shaky.

He’d forgotten. She did not know Edwin as a drunken coward, but as a dangerous man who’d tried to rape her and kill her son.

He put his hand over hers. “Do not fear,” he murmured. “He cannot hurt you.”

She looked up into his eyes and he could almost think that the connection he’d believed they had in Brussels had returned and was real.

He led her through the hallways to the rooms housing the Home Office. She shrank back as he opened the door.

A clerk sat behind a desk, looking very much like the clerk who sat behind the desk in the War Office. The man raised his eyes. “Yes?”

Emmaline stood behind Gabe. He could feel the stiffening of her muscles. She was bracing herself to see Edwin again.

Gabe inclined his head. “Edwin Tranville, please.”

The clerk glanced down again. “Edwin Tranville is not here.”

“When might we expect him?” Gabe asked.

“Never,” the clerk said. “He will not be back.”

Emmaline moved forwards. “Did something happen to him?”

“No.” The man regarded her with a puzzled but admiring expression. He glanced down again and restacked the papers in front of him. “Lord Sidmouth gave him the sack.”

Emmaline looked at Gabe. “What does this mean, ‘gave him the sack’?”

“Terminated his employment,” the clerk answered. “Mr Tranville failed to fulfil his responsibilities.”

Somehow this was not a surprise. It was more bewildering that Sidmouth had hired Edwin in the first place.

“Is Mr Landon here, then?” Perhaps Allan would know where to find Edwin.

The clerk laughed drily. “Not since he married an heiress and no longer needs to work.”

Allan married? And to an heiress? Lucky woman. He was the best of men and would make the best of husbands.

“Do you know where I might find Tranville?” Gabe asked. “Does he reside with his father, Lord Tranville?”

The man shrugged. “He lives at the Albany.”

“Thank you.” Gabe nodded to the man.

When they walked out the door, Emmaline seized his arm. “Gabriel, is Edwin Tranville’s father a lord?”

“He is.”

She whispered, “This makes it worse for Claude.”

Always Claude. Anger twisted inside Gabe and he hated feeling it. He did not wish to feel a rivalry with her son.

“Will we go to this Albany?” she asked.

He shrugged. “It is a logical next step.” And not too much more exertion on Gabe’s part, before he could end this charade.

Their walk to the Albany on Piccadilly reminded Gabe of their strolls through Brussels’ streets, but only in contrast. Gone was the ease between them, the pleasure of merely walking at her side. Still, he was struck with the odd feeling of how right it seemed that they walked together again.

He must take care. It was startling how easily his fantasies about her grew. He must not forget that her sole purpose was to save her son and she would do anything to rescue him from his folly.

Even marry.

Gabe tried to keep that thought in his head. It helped ward off fanciful musings.

The Albany was a popular bachelor residence for the aristocracy, so it stood to reason top-lofty Edwin would live there.

When they reached Piccadilly, Emmaline remarked, “There are many shops here.”

Gabe made a sarcastic smile. “Did not your Napoleon call En gland a nation of shopkeepers?”

“He is not my Napoleon,” she snapped. Her voice turned low. “Never my Napoleon.”

The Albany was set back from the street, a three-storey house flanked on two sides of a courtyard by wings two storeys high. They crossed the courtyard, Emmaline receiving curious and appreciative glances from the young gentlemen they passed. Gabe disliked their open admiration.

He led her through the main doorway and found a servant attending the hall.

“Is Edwin Tranville here?” Gabe asked the man.

“Cannot say,” he answered. “I do not know of all the comings and goings. Shall I send someone to his room?”

“Please,” Gabe answered.

The man made a vague gesture towards the wall. “You may wait here.”

Gabe endured Emmaline receiving more leering glances by men who passed by. She nervously fingered the front of her dress, which did nothing to keep him from thinking about how pleasurable it had once been to undress her.

“I do not wish to see him,” she murmured.

Gabe’s compassion was sparked again. “If you like, I can escort you back to your hotel and return here later.”

She shook her head. “I do not wish to delay.”

Two men crossed the hall and this time their glances at Emmaline were plainly lascivious. Gabe nearly stepped forwards to defend her.

He controlled the impulse. It would help nothing to engage impertinent young men in fisticuffs.

Finally the servant returned, another man accompanying him.

This man approached them. “You asked for Mr Tranville?”

Gabe nodded. “We did.”

“Mr Tranville is not here. I am his man. May I ask the reason you are calling upon him?”

Gabe responded, “I served with him in the Royal Scots.”

The valet looked at Emmaline and raised his brows.

Good God. Even a valet was being insulting. Gabe glared at him. “My betrothed accompanies me at my request. Do you have some objection?”

The valet’s cheeks turned bright red. “I beg your pardon, Captain.”

“When will Mr Tranville return?” Gabe demanded.

The valet pulled on his collar. “I do not know precisely.

He has travelled out of town. I am awaiting instructions from him whether he wishes me to follow him.”

Gabe frowned. He should have known Edwin would make this complicated. “Where is he?”

“I do not know precisely,” the valet answered. “I am awaiting his direction.”

“Non!” Emmaline exclaimed.

Gabe spoke quickly. “Someone must know where Tranville went. Is there anyone here who might know?”

The valet shook his head. “I do not know if he is acquainted with anyone here.”

“But we must find him!” cried Emmaline.

Gabe put a stilling hand on her arm. “Is his father in London at present?”

“I do not believe so,” the valet answered. “I believe he is at his estate.”

Gabe turned to Emmaline. “It is no use.”

She looked stricken, but there was nothing more they could do here now. She held back, but finally nodded. She took his arm and they started to walk towards the door.

The valet called after them, “Mr Tranville’s cousin resides in London. Perhaps she knows where he is.”

Emmaline’s fingers squeezed Gabe’s arm. Her expression turned hopeful.

“Where may we find her?”

The valet gave them her direction on Bryanston Street. “Her name is Miss Pallant.”

Gabe and Emmaline walked out of the Albany and back to Piccadilly Street.

“May we call upon this Miss Pallant?” Emmaline asked him.

He felt as if in a snare, but one he’d chosen to walk into. “We may go there as soon as you wish.” “Now, Gabriel?” Her eyes pleaded. “Now, Emmaline.”