Читать книгу Regency Vows: A Gentleman 'Til Midnight / The Trouble with Honour / An Improper Arrangement / A Wedding By Dawn / The Devil Takes a Bride / A Promise by Daylight - Julia London, Alison DeLaine - Страница 25

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Dear Sirs,

Observed Lady Dunscore at Lord Deal’s musicale. Confectionery ship on display. Remained on display after Her Ladyship departed. Perhaps too messy a prize.

Yours, etc.,

Croston

“JAMES, YOU’VE BEEN at sea far too long if you think there is anything acceptable about paying a call at this hour, even to your sister.” Honoria stood staunchly in the doorway to her dressing room, but James was in no mood for resistance. “You could at least have waited for me to dress and come downstairs,” she complained.

“I’ve got appointments this afternoon I can’t cancel,” he said, pushing past her.

“So amusing. You’re impossible, James. You’ve always been impossible.” All false outrage in a peacock-blue dressing gown covered in ribbons, she followed him into the room. “You may leave us, Mary,” she said to her lady’s maid. “And have a light breakfast sent up.”

“I can’t stay,” James told her.

“The breakfast is for me.” She went through to her bedchamber, and he followed as far as the open doorway. “I haven’t been out of bed half an hour yet.” Indeed, the bed lay rumpled behind her, and there was a pillow on the floor, and he suddenly wished he had waited for her downstairs. It was likely the same bed she’d shared with Ramsey before he died, and the idea of Ramsey touching his little sister—of anyone touching her, even within the bounds of marriage—was more than he could take on an empty stomach. He retreated to the dressing room.

A moment later she returned. “Are you really retiring?” she asked, putting her arms around him and looking hopefully into his face.

He looked down into a sea of misplaced adoration. “Where did you hear that?”

“This is London, James. Oh, please, say it’s true. I’ve missed you so much.”

“It’s true.”

“Oh, I’m overjoyed!” But looking into his eyes, she frowned. “What’s the matter?”

Katherine Kinloch was the matter. Nick was the matter. The Lords were the matter. His own bloody conscience was the matter. “Nothing’s the matter,” he said, and extricated himself from her embrace. “In thirty minutes I shall be taking Lady Dunscore on a strategic round of visiting instead of lingering at my breakfast table with the papers.”

And when he did, there would be no more avoiding a private moment with her as he’d successfully done last night. They would be together alone in the carriage, and there was no doubt that he would get an earful thanks to McCutcheon and his wagging tongue.

“James, I’ve never once known you to linger at the breakfast table. But in that case I forgive you for calling so early—if you tell me every detail about last night’s musicale. What an aggravation that I’d already accepted that invitation to dine with the Misses Cavely! But I never attend Lord Deal’s musicale. The average age of the attendees is above eighty, I daresay.” She turned a sly look on him. “I heard Lady Dunscore was fairly well received.”

“As well as could be expected.”

And now Captain Kinloch knew he’d taken her captivity far more personally than he should have. That he’d thought about her, argued for her, gone out of his way on her behalf. There was no reason he should have done any of that—except that once he’d learned her fate, his mind had conjured up an image of an innocent and terrified young girl in the hands of Barbary captors, and he couldn’t let it go.

Last night, on her stricken face, he’d seen that girl as though she’d risen from the dead. He never wanted to see her again. Sooner give him the fury that had burned in her eyes the rest of the evening. That he could deal with.

“Lord Deal ought to have some influence in the matter, I should think. But rumors run wild, James. La, you cannot imagine the stories I’ve heard, even just this morning!”

“I thought you’d only just risen.”

“There’s nothing remotely appealing about pretending to be thickheaded, James. I’ve had hardly any sleep at all. I received a note from Lady Effy at two o’clock this morning saying Lord Winston seemed quite taken with Lady Dunscore at Lord Deal’s—promise me you won’t allow that to develop—and one from Lady Atwell at half past four saying she heard Lady Dunscore beheaded three Barbary pirates with a single swipe of her blade. That can’t be true, can it?”

“No. It can’t.”

“One pirate, perhaps?” she suggested hopefully.

“Would you like me to go into the particulars of beheading? It takes a good deal of strength because the blade must sever the bone—”

“Never mind!” She covered her ears. “No beheadings, then. I accept.”

“This is insanity, Ree. Nothing about Captain Kinloch is worth sending a footman running through the streets in the middle of the night.”

She raised a brow.

“I’d hoped to settle this quietly,” he said, trying and failing to keep the frustration from his voice.

“You’ve achieved far too much celebrity for that, brother mine. Perhaps you don’t realize? When news of the Henry’s Cross arrived—” Pain fleeted across her face, but then she smiled a little and disappeared into her bedroom again, returning a moment later holding something out in her palm. “If you tell Nicholas, I shall be forced to think of a very unpleasant punishment for you.”

He looked at the object in her hand. “Oh, for Christ’s sake.” His own likeness stared up at him in brash colored paints from the front of a metal-edged brooch.

“Thank goodness the street hawker had no idea who I was,” she told him.

“Street hawker?”

“It’s disgraceful, I know. But I couldn’t resist it, James. Not when I thought—” Emotion silenced her again, and she curled her fingers around the brooch and held it to her breast. “You may not take it from me. I won’t let you have it.”

“Believe me when I say the thought of taking it from you never crossed my mind.” But she looked so much as she had when they were small that a moment of emotion threatened his composure. He tamped it down. “I need your help, pet.”

“I confess I’m relieved to hear it because I’ve already told Lady Dunscore that I intend to do all I can. She’s magnificent, and I adore her.”

“Now listen here, Ree. She’s no one you should be associating with.”

“I’m a widow, James. I associate with whomever I please.” She tilted her head slightly. “You seem awfully critical of her, given that she saved your life.”

“That I owe her my life changes nothing about her character.”

“Which is...?”

“Lady Dunscore is the most damned, belligerent creature I’ve ever had the misfortune to encounter.”

“I see.”

“She may not have beheaded Barbary pirates, but she could take a prize with her tongue alone as a weapon.”

“Her tongue,” Honoria mused, heavy with insinuation. “My intuition is telling me, brother dear, that misfortune may not accurately characterize your encounter with Lady Dunscore’s tongue. Mmm?”

“Damnation, Honoria!” All pretense of patience abandoned him.

She laughed. “I’ve pinned it exactly, I see.”

“You’ve pinned nothing. I knew it was a mistake to enlist you in this.”

“To the contrary! You were perfectly right to come to me.” Honoria’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Interesting, though, that she gave no hint there was anything more than a heroic rescue between you.”

“That’s because—”

She waved him away. “Oh, don’t try to deny it, brother dear. It’s written all over that menacing face of yours. But never fear—your secret is safe with me.”

He contemplated explaining more fully how very mistaken Honoria was in her assumptions, but decided it would only entrench her more solidly in the notion that he harbored something more than begrudging gratitude toward Captain Kinloch.

Something like flaming lust.

“Don’t make more of this than it is, Ree, for God’s sake.”

“Very well. Tell me how I may be of service.”

“I need you to help me find her a husband.”

“Her— Lady Dunscore? A husband? She said nothing to me about wishing to marry.”

He stared at her.

Comprehension settled in her eyes, and her lips curved in a way that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. She came forward and fingered his lapel. “Never say I’m not helpful, James. I daresay I’ve found the perfect man already.”

He pulled away. “This is serious business. I need someone suitable. Someone she will agree to. I’m beginning to fear she won’t secure her estate any other way.”

“Such a pessimist. Lady Dunscore is very beautiful, James, and one should never underestimate the power of a beautiful woman. I realize you’ve always been stuffy, but even you must know there are as many ways to influence politics as there are to cook a goose.”

“Captain Kinloch will not secure her right to Dunscore with her legs spread. I won’t allow it.”

“My goodness, what an interesting direction your thoughts have taken. I simply meant that men are very often blinded by beauty, and that she may have more success in winning supporters than she expects—merely by talking with people. Talking, James.”

Talking. “Of course.” His blood pounded, and he flexed his hands. “Perhaps she will at that. But in case she doesn’t...”

“A husband. I shall give the idea some thought.”

“And while you’re at it, you can use your influence to turn Clarissa Holliswell off Nick.”

“Now you ask the impossible.”

“I think not. Only the weather rivals a young girl’s heart in changeability.”

“You’re being unfair. If she believes she loves him, there will be little I can do.”

“Tell her he’s got a pox if you have to.”

Honoria made a face. “That is no kind of talk for a lady’s boudoir, James. And I would never spread such horrid rumors about Nicholas. Now out with you. Out! You are a horrid brother, even if I do weep with joy at your return.”

* * *

“WHAT ATTEMPTS IN SALÉ?” The words exploded off Katherine’s tongue as Captain Warre handed her into his carriage for a round of morning calls. He’d made sure she had no opportunity to discuss the matter last night, and all night her questions had built up, waiting, demanding to be asked.

“You seem to have determined the answer to that question yourself.” He leaned against the seat across from her and looked out the window, holding the curtain aside as if there was something outside more interesting to see than her own maid sweeping the steps. “And I’ve made no secret of my regrets.”

“No. Only of your visit to Salé.”

He allowed that much with a slight inclination of his head.

“Do I understand correctly that you were among those attempting to negotiate my release?”

“Attempting, and failing.” He let the curtain drop and turned those damnable eyes on her. A shiver prickled her skin. While she had wept inconsolably in the caravan to Algiers, Captain Warre had been trying to help her.

The reality made her feel vulnerable and exposed. “Thus leaving your sense of obligation unfulfilled,” she snapped.

His mouth quirked up, drawing her attention to his lips. “Nothing quite so dramatic as what you’re imagining,” he said. “I don’t blame myself for failing in that regard. I doubt anything could have convinced the dey to break his agreement with al-Zayar. God knows, we all tried.”

He had been there, perhaps in the same building. Perhaps mere rooms away.

She did not want this kind of connection to him. It was too personal. It touched a place too deep, made her yearn for him with terrifying need.

“I’m not helpless.” Damnation! The words flew out before she could stop them.

“I would venture to say you’ve demonstrated that quite thoroughly.” He observed her a little more intently, as if trying to read her thoughts.

She imagined him in Salé coldly demanding her release. Imagined how his voice would have turned sharp when they refused, how his eyes would have gone flinty with rage.

For her.

“Why did you not tell me?” she demanded, hating how small she felt.

“Would telling you have earned me a promotion aboard the Possession?”

“Certainly not,” she said.

“I thought as much.” In the silence that followed her statement, he studied her from across the carriage. “What are you thinking?”

Memories flitted by: Mejdan, laughing indulgently while his two young daughters draped him with silks to make him look like a woman. Nafisa and Aysha on market day, happily trying on a hundred scarves while the shopkeeper grumbled and huffed. Katherine and Nafisa laughing themselves sick while Nafisa taught Katherine Arabic from the same book the children used, and Katherine’s tongue refused to cooperate. Had Captain Warre and her father been successful, there would have been no market days, no playing with the children, no laughter. She would have been brought home to a country that would have seen her as a tragic oddity, where nothing awaited but ruination, isolation and loneliness.

But she made herself raise a brow at him. “That you are by far the most efficient cabin boy I’ve ever had, and promoting you would not have served my interests at all.”

“Touché, my dear Captain.” His smile did not reach his eyes, but something else did. For the briefest moment she saw his desire wage war with his guilt.

And then the carriage drew to a stop in front of a town house, and his expression changed to cold calculation. “Here we are,” he said. “I would suggest you bear in mind that Lord De Lille is one of the most powerful lords in the House.”

She peered out at the house with that same knot in her gut as when she faced an aggressing ship. “I remember. He and Lady De Lille were friends of my father’s.”

“Then I don’t need to tell you to remember your manners in front of Lady De Lille.”

She smiled at him. “For shame, Captain. When have I ever not remembered my manners?”

* * *

MANNERS, KATHERINE DECIDED a short time later, were a severe inconvenience.

“I’ve always thought foreign travel was fraught with danger,” Lady De Lille declared after Captain Warre had flawlessly introduced a retelling of his rescue. She was a plump froth of lace and pink ribbons, peering out from a frame of heavily powdered gray curls topped by a lacy cap. “I’ve never once been tempted to see the world’s oddities—especially not those where you’ve been.” She leveled her eyes at Katherine the way a ship might level its guns and pointed her fan as though it were a pistol. “Not that I haven’t been to Paris, mind you.”

Katherine clenched her teeth behind the smile she’d pasted to her lips. “Naturally.”

“But I would never travel farther south than that.” Lady De Lille’s mouth pruned disapprovingly. “I have strong feelings about the effect of the Mediterranean climate on one’s passions.”

“How fortunate that passions are rarely inflamed in Paris,” Katherine said.

Captain Warre shot her a meaningful look. Behave.

She let her eyes drive into him. This is preposterous!

Seated nearby, Ladies Gorst, Linton and Ponsby exchanged looks with each other and with a Mrs. Wharton, who was married to one of the navy’s top admirals.

Lady De Lille narrowed one eye, but Captain Warre spoke first. “Hot weather does tend to make people more reactionary,” he said pointedly.

“So true!” Lady Gorst agreed. Quickly fanning herself, she leaned toward him to assure a clear view of cleavage her disarranged fichu no longer covered. “A summer in London nearly does me in. I’m sure I wouldn’t last above an hour in that hot climate. However did you tolerate it?”

“One quickly acclimates when one has no choice,” he said.

“Indeed,” Mrs. Wharton said. “The admiral has always said exactly that.” The lady looked at Katherine. “You must have grown quite acclimated to the heat. One can only see how much time you’ve spent in the sunshine.”

“Sunshine is unavoidable in the Mediterranean,” Captain Warre said quickly, cutting off the reactionary response that leaped to Katherine’s tongue. “In any case, I’ve always questioned whether it can be good for ladies’ health to avoid sunshine as studiously as they do.”

“Bless me if this isn’t the first time any such question has crossed your mind,” Lady De Lille scolded. “I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in all my life.”

Lady Gorst laughed and drew her fan across her cheek. “And it’s hardly a winning argument, as a lady will always sacrifice health for beauty.”

Lady Ponsby nodded.

“One can only see how your time in Barbary has affected you.”

“Is it true they eat dogs?” Lady Gorst gave a graceful shudder. “Oh, I couldn’t bear it.”

Lady Ponsby paled.

Katherine thought of Zaki, with his jeweled bowl and his silken pillows, chewing on a mutton bone with nearly an inch of meat still attached. These people were fools.

Captain Warre shot her a glance. “An ill-informed rumor, I assure you.”

“Except when the market for kittens is tight,” Katherine added.

“Oh!” Lady Gorst placed a hand against her heart.

“My word,” Lady De Lille said crossly. “You are in more dire need of a husband than anyone I’ve ever met. It is only too bad that your age and adventures put you out of the market, though I suppose there is the estate’s fortune to sweeten the deal.”

Katherine stood abruptly.

“Sit down, Lady Dunscore,” Lady De Lille ordered.

Instead, Katherine walked away, leaving Captain Warre to make their excuses.

“My heavens,” she heard Lady De Lille declare as Captain Warre’s footsteps sounded behind her in the entryway, “if her father weren’t such an amiable man I would not have her in my house, mark my words, regardless of Croston’s good opinion, which is highly suspect in any case under the circumstances given that he is clearly besotted.”

* * *

“EXAGGERATING MOORISH BARBARISM is a bloody poor way to further your cause,” a clearly-not-besotted Captain Warre growled into Katherine’s ear four visits later after she told an open-mouthed Lady Someone-or-other that she’d witnessed no less than a dozen beheadings during her first year in captivity.

Katherine stepped into the blessed freedom of the waiting carriage. “This is intolerable.” And they saw her not as the countess of Dunscore, but looked at her the way they might gape at some freakish oddity.

“Be that as it may, you will learn to tolerate it or even my most heartfelt endorsement won’t help you.”

“Heartfelt endorsement!” she hissed. “Was that when you told the odious Lord Bashford that I was anxious for domesticity, or when you told Lord Quinn that my ‘accomplishments’ may not be traditional but nonetheless should not be overlooked?”

“Your gratitude leaves me speechless.”

“As did Lady Moore’s suggestion that I should set up shop in Covent Garden.”

“She was talking about the theater,” Captain Warre said.

“Oh, indeed. That was precisely what she meant.”

“For God’s sake, I’ve called you my savior so many times it’s beginning to sound blasphemous.”

“Croston!” A man unfolded himself from a hack that pulled up behind Captain Warre’s carriage. She recognized him instantly from Lord Deal’s musicale: tall and broad-shouldered, perhaps a little over thirty, with irreverently black hair that today was tied back au naturel without even a trace of powder. It was the Duke of Winston, shimmering in a dark yellow coat embroidered with black-and-green vines and trimmed at the seams with silver braid.

“How selfish Croston is,” he said with a grin, “keeping London’s most fascinating new resident all to himself.”

A subtle quirk at the corner of his mouth made it clear he assumed the world was a fruit ripe for his picking. Eyes the color of dark coffee lingered just long enough on her breasts to let her know those, in particular, were fruits he would enjoy picking at the first opportunity.

The look in his eyes suggested an especially lurid method of securing Dunscore. She tasted bile but arched a brow at him, anyway. “Perhaps it is I who is selfish,” she suggested.

There was a flash of white teeth. “I sincerely hope not.” He reached for her hand and kissed it, apparently indifferent to the hard glint in Captain Warre’s eyes.

“I should be careful of this one, Winston,” Captain Warre said in an amiable tone that she recognized was completely false. “That is, if you prefer your anatomy intact.”

Winston barked a laugh. “I do. But you shouldn’t believe everything you hear, Croston. Most rumors have no foundation in fact.”

“Anytime you’d care to test your swordsmanship with the lovely captain, I would be an eager spectator,” Captain Warre told him.

“A unique temptation, but my code of ethics would never allow it.” It wasn’t difficult to imagine what his code of ethics would allow, and no doubt many ladies had gladly become test subjects for a wide variety of his skills. “Perhaps, Lady Dunscore, we might strengthen our acquaintance in a more traditional manner one day soon. Tell me, do you share your father’s penchant for racing? I’ve recently acquired a magnificent pair that could use some exercise.”

“I’m afraid my taste for adventure is limited to the sea, Your Grace.”

“Then I shall look forward to showing you my yacht.”

“Do not count on it,” Captain Warre growled, and shoved her into the carriage.