Читать книгу Regency: Rogues and Runaways - Margaret Moore - Страница 8

He was more upset than I’ve ever seen, although I suppose to the young woman and those who don’t know him as well as we, he appeared quite calm. But I assure you, he was really quite rattled.

—from The Collected Letters of Lord Bromwell

“Are you quite sure you’re in a fit state to attend a dinner party?” the elderly Mr. Edgar asked as he nimbly tied Drury’s cravat. “It’s only been a fortnight. I think it might be best if you didn’t go. I’m sure Mr. Smythe-Medway and Lady Fanny will understand.”

“I’m quite recovered.”

“Now, sir, no lying to me,” Mr. Edgar said with a hurt air and the candor of a servant of long standing. “You are not completely recovered.”

“Oh, very well,” Drury admitted with more good humor than Miss Bergerine would ever have believed he possessed. “I’m still a little sore. But it’s only a dinner party at Brix’s, and I don’t want to be cooped up in these chambers another night. I could, I suppose, go for a walk instead…”

Mr. Edgar’s reflection in the looking glass revealed his horrified dismay at that proposal. “You wouldn’t! Not after—”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Drury hastened to reassure the man who’d been like a father to him all these years, for he was not ungrateful, no matter what some French hoyden might think. If he had been rude or insolent to Miss Bergerine, she had her countrymen to blame.

Mr. Edgar reached for a brush and attacked the back of Drury’s black dress coat as if he were currying a horse. Drury, penitently, kept silent.

As a general rule, a dinner party held little appeal for him, unless it was attended by his good friends. Then he could be sure of intelligent and amusing conversation rather than gossip, and nobody would hold it against him if he were silent.

At other parties, he was too often expected to expound on the state of the courts, or talk about his latest case, something he never did. It was worse if there were female guests. Most women either looked at him as if they expected him to attack them, or as if they hoped he would.

Just as Mr. Edgar pronounced him suitable to leave, a fist pounded on the outer door of his chambers, and an all-too-familiar female voice called out his name.

Juliette Bergerine’s shouts could wake the dead—not to mention disturbing the other barristers with chambers here. And what the devil could she want?

“Saints preserve us!” Mr. Edgar cried as he tossed the brush aside and started for the door.

Drury hurried past him. He fumbled for a moment with the latch, silently cursing his stiff fingers, but at last got it open.

Miss Bergerine came charging into his chambers as if pursued by a pack of hounds.

“I was attacked!” she cried in French. “A man grabbed me in a lane and pulled me into an alley.” A disgusted expression came to her flushed features and gleaming eyes. “He thinks I am your whore. He said you had other women, so what did you want me for?”

Shaken by her announcement as well as her disheveled state, Drury fought to remain calm. She reminded him of another Frenchwoman he’d known all too well who’d been prone to hysterics. “Obviously, the man was—”

“My God, I never should have helped you!” she cried before he could finish. “First you treat me like a servant even though I saved your life and now I am believed to be your whore and my life is in danger!”

Drury strode to the cabinet and poured her a whiskey. “It’s regrettable—”

“Regrettable?” she cried indignantly. “Regrettable? Is that all you have to say? He was going to kill me! If I had not bitten him and run away, I could be lying dead in an alley! Mon Dieu, it was more than regrettable!”

She’d bitten the lout? Thank God she’d kept her head and got away.

He handed the whiskey to her. “Drink this,” he said, hoping it would calm her.

She glared at him, then at the glass before downing the contents in a gulp. She coughed and started to choke. “What was that?” she demanded.

“A very old, very expensive, very good Scotch whiskey,” he said, gesturing for her to sit. “Now perhaps we can discuss this in a rational manner.”

“You are a cold man, monsieur!” she declared as she flounced onto a chair.

“I don’t see that getting overly emotional is going to be of any use.”

He sat opposite her on a rather worn armchair that might not be pretty or elegant, but was very comfortable. “I am sorry this happened to you, Miss Bergerine. However, it never occurred to me that any enemies I might have would concern themselves with you. If I had, I would have taken steps to ensure your safety.”

She set down the whiskey glass on the nearest table with a hearty and skeptical sniff. “So you say now.”

He wouldn’t let her indignant exclamations disturb him. “However, since it has happened, you were quite right to come to me. Now I must consider what steps to take to see that it doesn’t happen again.”

He became aware of Mr. Edgar standing by the door, an avidly interested expression on his lined face.

He’d forgotten all about his valet.

On the other hand, it was a good thing he was there, or who could say what Miss Bergerine might accuse him of?

Not that there would be any merit in such accusations, as anyone who knew him would realize. Although Juliette Bergerine was pretty and attractive in a lively sort of way, such a volatile woman roused too many unhappy memories to ever appeal to him.

The sort of women with whom he had affairs was very well-known, and they were not poor Frenchwomen.

“If you can provide me with details,” he said, “such as the location and a description of the man who attacked you, I shall take the information to the Bow Street Runners, as well as another associate of mine who’s skilled at investigation. I’ve already got him looking for the men who attacked me. This fellow could very well be one of them.

“Until the guilty parties are apprehended, however, we have another problem—where to keep you.”

“Keep me?” she repeated, her brows lowering with suspicion.

He shouldn’t have used that word. It had a meaning he most definitely didn’t intend. “I mean where you can safely reside. I would offer to put you up in a hotel, except that people might suppose our relationship is indeed intimate.

“As that is most certainly not true, I shall have the associate I’ve mentioned provide men to protect you. Since this is necessary because you came to my aid, naturally I shall pay for their services.”

“You mean they will guard me, as if I am your prisoner?”

He tried not to sound frustrated with this most frustrating foreigner. “They will protect you. As you have so forcefully pointed out, I have put you at risk. I don’t intend to do so again. Or did you come here only to berate me?”

He waited for her to argue or chastise him again, but to his surprise, her steadfast gaze finally faltered and she softly said, “I had nowhere else to go for help.”

She sounded lost then, and vulnerable, and unexpectedly sad. Lonely, even—a feeling with which he was unfortunately familiar.

“Is something the matter with your hearing? I’ve been knocking for an age,” Buggy said as he walked into the room.

Mr. Edgar, who had been riveted by Miss Bergerine’s tirade, gave a guilty start and hurried to take Buggy’s hat and coat, then slipped silently from the room.

Meanwhile, Buggy was staring at Drury’s visitor as if he’d never seen a woman before. “Miss Bergerine! What are you… I beg your pardon. It’s a pleasure, of course, but…”

As his words trailed off in understandable confusion, Drury silently cursed. He’d forgotten all about Brix and Fanny’s dinner party, and that Buggy had offered to bring round his carriage to spare him the trouble of hiring one for the evening.

“Miss Bergerine had an unfortunate encounter with a man under the delusion she and I have an intimate relationship,” he explained, getting to his feet. “Fortunately, Miss Bergerine fought him off and came to me for assistance.”

“You fought the scoundrel off all by yourself?” Buggy cried, regarding Miss Bergerine with an awed mixture of respect and admiration. “You really are a most remarkable woman.”

That was a bit much. “The question is, what are we to do with her? She can’t go home, and she can’t stay here.”

“No, no, of course not. You’d be fined.”

“There are more reasons than that,” Drury replied, aware of Miss Bergerine’s bright eyes watching them, and trying to ignore her. “I’d pay for her to stay in a hotel, but I don’t have to tell you what the ton and the popular press would make of that.”

“I agree a hotel is out of the question, and we can’t let her go back to her room,” Buggy concurred. “A child could break into that.”

Wearing evening attire that made him look less like the studious, serious fellow he was and more like one of the town dandies, Buggy leaned against the mantel, regardless of the possibility of wrinkling his well-tailored coat. “Given this new attack, which tells me you have some very dangerous and determined enemies indeed, I don’t think you’re quite safe here either, Drury. These rooms are too public, too well-known. Anybody could come here claiming to be a solicitor seeking to engage your services, and if he’s well dressed, who would question him?”

“I’m capable of defending myself.”

“As you did in the alley?”

Before Drury could reply, Buggy held out his strong, capable hands in a placating gesture. “Be reasonable, Drury. You know as well as I that this place is no fortress, and while I’m sure you can fight as well as ever against one man, you’re not the swordsman or boxer you were.”

No, he was not, and that observation didn’t do much to assuage Drury’s wounded pride.

Mr. Edgar appeared in the door with a tray in his hands. On it was a plate of thickly sliced, fine white bread, some jam and a steaming pot of tea. “For Miss Bergerine, sir,” he said as he set it on the table.

“Please, have some refreshment,” Drury said to her, waving at the food.

Miss Bergerine didn’t hesitate. She spread the jam and consumed the bread with a speed that made Drury suspect she must not have eaten for some time. Her manners weren’t as terrible as one might expect, given her humble origins and obvious hunger.

Mr. Edgar watched her eat with such satisfaction, you’d think he’d baked the bread himself. He also gave Drury a glance that suggested a lecture on the duties one owed to a guest, in spite of her unwelcome and unorthodox arrival, would soon be forthcoming.

Buggy suddenly brightened, as if he’d just discovered a new species of spider. “I have it! You must both stay at my town house. God knows there’s plenty of room, and servants to keep any villains at bay.”

That was a damn foolish idea. “Need I point out, Buggy, that the ton will make a meal out of the news that I’ve moved into your house with some unknown Frenchwoman? They’ll probably accuse you of keeping a bawdy house.”

His friend laughed. “On the other hand, Millstone will be delighted. He thinks my reputation is far too saintly.”

“Obviously your butler hasn’t read your book.” Drury thought of another potential difficulty. “Your father wouldn’t be pleased. It is his house, after all.”

Buggy flushed. “I don’t think you need worry about him. He’s safely ensconced in the country playing the squire. Now I’m not taking no for an answer. You can come here during the day as necessary, but at night, you stay in North Audley Street.”

Drury’s imagination seemed to have deserted him in his hour of need, for he could think of no better solution.

“Upon further consideration, Miss Bergerine,” Drury said, not hiding his reluctance, “I concur with Lord Bromwell’s suggestion. Until those ruffians are caught and imprisoned, his house would be the safest place for you.”

She looked from one man to the other before she spoke. “Am I to have no say in where I go?”

Buggy blushed like a naughty schoolboy. “Oh, yes, of course.”

“Yet you talk as if I am not here,” she chided. “And while I am grateful for your concern, Lord Bromwell, is it not Sir Douglas’s duty to help me? I would not be in danger but for his carelessness.”

Drury fought to keep a rein on his rising temper. “You chastise me for leaving you in danger, yet now, when we seek to keep you safe, you protest. What would you have us do, Miss Bergerine? Call out the army to protect you?”

“I would have you treat me as a person, not a dog or a horse you own. I would have you address me, not one another. I am here, and not deaf, or stupid. And I would have you take responsibility for the predicament I am in.”

If she’d cried or screamed, Drury would have been able to overlook her criticism and wouldn’t have felt nearly as bad as he did, because she was right. They had been ignoring her, and it really should be up to him to help her, not his friend.

However, it was Buggy who apologized. “I’m sorry if we’ve been rather high-handed, Miss Bergerine. The protective male instinct, I fear. Nevertheless, I hope you’ll do me the honor of staying in my humble abode until we can find out who’s behind these attacks.”

“And if I don’t invite you to my town house, it’s because I don’t possess one,” Drury said. “If you have another suggestion as to how I may assist you, I’d be happy to hear it.”

Miss Bergerine colored. “Unfortunately, I do not.” She turned to Buggy, her expression softening. “I’m sorry if I spoke rudely, my lord. I do appreciate your help.”

“Then please, won’t you do me the honor of accepting my hospitality?” Buggy asked, as if she were the Queen of England and nobody else was in the room.

Drury ignored that unpleasant sensation. He was also sure she was going to accept, until she didn’t.

“It is very kind of you to offer, my lord, but I cannot,” she said. “I am an honorable woman. I may not belong to the haute ton, but I have a reputation I value as much as any lady, a reputation that will suffer if I accept your invitation.

“I also have a job. Unlike the fine ladies you know, I must earn my living, and if I do not go to work, I will lose that job, and with it the means to live.”

“Since it’s apparently my fault you’ll be unable to work,” Drury said, “I’m willing to provide appropriate compensation. As for keeping your job, if you tell me who employs you, I shall see that she’s informed you are visiting a sick relative and will return as soon as possible.”

Miss Bergerine wasn’t satisfied. “You do not know Madame de Pomplona. She will not hold my place.”

Having agreed to Buggy’s plan, he wasn’t about to let her complicate matters further. “I am acquainted with an excellent solicitor, Miss Bergerine. I’m sure James St. Claire will be happy to make it clear to her that there will be serious legal repercussions if she doesn’t continue to employ you.”

“There is still the matter of my reputation, Sir Douglas, which has already been damaged.”

God help him, did she want compensation for that, too? He’d suspect she’d never really been attacked and had concocted this story to wring money from him, except that she’d been genuinely frightened when she’d burst into his chambers. Part of his success in court came from being able to tell when people were being truthful or not, and he was confident she hadn’t been feigning her fear.

“I know!” Buggy declared, his blue-gray eyes bright with delight. “What if we say that Miss Bergerine is your cousin, Drury? Naturally, she couldn’t live with you in your chambers, so I’ve invited you both to stay with me until you can find more suitable lodgings for her, and a chaperone. After all, the ton is well aware your mother was French and you had relatives there before the Terror.”

Miss Bergerine regarded Drury with blatant surprise. “Your mother was French?”

“Yes,” Drury snapped, wishing Buggy hadn’t mentioned that.

On the other hand… “That might work,” he allowed.

“You are saying I can pretend to be related to Sir Douglas?” Miss Bergerine cautiously inquired.

Buggy grinned, looking like a little boy who’d been given a present. “Yes. It shouldn’t be too difficult to make people accept it. Just scowl a lot and don’t talk very much.”

Miss Bergerine laughed, exposing very fine, white teeth. “That does not sound so very difficult.”

“Except for not talking much,” Drury muttered, earning him a censorious look from Buggy and an annoyed one from her.

Why should he be upset by what some hot-tempered Frenchwoman thought of him? He was Sir Douglas Drury, and he had plenty of other women seeking his favors, whether he wanted them or not.

Miss Bergerine turned to Buggy with a warm and unexpectedly charming smile. “Because I think you are truly a kindhearted, honorable gentleman, Lord Bromwell, I will accept your offer, and gladly. Merci. Merci beaucoup.”

And for one brief moment, Drury wished he had a town house in London.