Barbara Metzger (17 page)

Chapter Eighteen

The same door knocker, with the Harwood family crest nearby. The same interminable wait. The same knock-in-the-cradle footman.

Adam’s apple bulging, nightcap falling over his eyes, Floyd opened the door, saw Miss Swann, said, “Oh no, not you again,” and slammed the door in her face.

Cristabel rapped again, louder. The door opened immediately this time. “Hush up, do,” Floyd begged. “You’ll wake his lordship and he’ll have my hide, he will. Criminy, what a woman for mingle-mangles!”

“Nonsense. I need to see Captain Chase immediately, and he will be extremely displeased if you don’t fetch him. He is not, ah, occupied, is he?”

Now Floyd grinned insolently. “Tucked up tight in his own bed. Want to go see?”

Cristabel colored, but stood her ground. “I cannot imagine Captain Chase being pleased that his friends are insulted on his doorstep. I hope you can swim.”

Friends, were they? Floyd gulped. She was looking better than last time, and he was getting fond of this place. “I’ll go get the master, miss. Right away. Would you care to wait in the sitting room?”

Marie called after him, “Find Mr. Sparling, too, while you’re at it.”

* * *

Someone came to light the fire, and someone else brought a tea tray. Marie disappeared, and Cristabel paced. She knew if she sat on that sofa near where the captain and the redhead had…she’d have a fit of the giggles, that’s what. She laughed softly, until she remembered the man’s awful temper and bellowing rage. Maybe it was a mistake to come here after all. Maybe she should have searched out Lord Winstoke…

“Belle, what are you doing here?”

Belle? Winstoke? “My lord, what are you doing here?”

The viscount’s mouth quirked. This was where the whole thing had started. “This is, ah, where I have been staying in the city.”

“Then you and Captain Chase know each other?” Cristabel was dismayed that they had discussed her.

Winstoke hesitated a moment, then told her, “Yes, we are friends. Usually.” The ludicrousness of the situation brought out the devilry in him and he could not resist teasing: “You haven’t come for an assignation with him, have you?”

“Don’t be goosish. I hardly know the man.”

“Good. I would hate to have to call the bounder out. I daresay his
cherie amie
wouldn’t dress like a Sunday school teacher anyway.”

“Do be serious, my lord.”

“But I am. You look different.” So different, in fact, that no one but a blind man could have mistaken her for a member of the muslin company. Blast!

He looked different, too. With his shirt unbuttoned at the collar and untucked in his breeches, his jacket slung over one shoulder and his hair still sleep-tousled, falling in curls, he looked like a swashbuckling pirate, right down to the gleam in his eye and the mischief in his smile. At the very least he looked precisely like the darkly handsome hero of one of Maria Edgeworth’s romances, ready to ride
ventre á terre
to the heroine’s rescue. Except, of course, that he was no horseman. She was no heroine either, and her heart would
not
pound in her chest at the sight of him, or her breathing come fast and short. She turned away.

“Please, I need to see Captain Chase.” Rats, she was panting!

“I’m sorry, Belle. I know you wouldn’t have come here if it weren’t important. Chase is, um, out of town. Let me help, please.”

So she started to tell him, but she did not get far.

“Someone tried to kill you? I’ll see him dead!” Now there was murder in those gray eyes, and his mouth was thinned to a harsh line. “Are you all right?” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her, staring into her eyes for the answer, then pulled her into his arms for quick reassurance. Cristabel struggled and he released her immediately. “I am sorry, my dear. You really are all right?”

I was,” she said breathlessly, and proceeded to finish her story, taking pleasure in watching the emotions flicker across his chiseled features from anger and horror to amusement and pride.

“You really pointed an unarmed pistol at the skirter?”

She left out nothing, not the dogs nor the frying pans, nor Nick’s threats, no matter how embarrassing. “I did not want you to hear his foul ravings,” she said, looking away.

“What, did you fear I would believe such bilge water—such muck?” He gently touched her shoulder, turning her to face him. “I thought I told you to trust me.”

“Yes, but—”

“Sh,” placing a finger on her lips. “Let us take care of first things first. What did you want me—Chase—to do about this Blass scum?”

“I do not want him murdered in my house,” she answered sternly, and he smiled and promised.

“I thought that sending him to the Navy would be the best solution. He would not have a chance to air his lies or be a threat. And I would not have his soul on my conscience.”

“I have never thought much of the practice of having criminals serve aboard ships. They don’t make any better sailors than they made honest citizens, but I agree: having the man stand for trial would only air a lot of dirty linen.”

“Then do you think I should contact Captain Chase to make the arrangements? I cannot very well keep the man incarcerated in my storeroom forever.”

“I can take care of everything for you, never fear. There’s a cutter at the docks right now that could see him on the way to Bristol at daybreak. I’ll take care of it this instant.”

“I seem to be in your debt again. I don’t know how—”

“Wait here, that’s how.”

“Oh, but I couldn’t.”

“Please. I don’t want you to have to see that makebait again. And we have so much to discuss. It’s almost tomorrow anyway, and I promised an explanation. You’ll be safe here, and I won’t have to worry. Please, Belle?”

She had already entered a bachelor’s house after dark, so she couldn’t be more compromised, especially not after living in that house in Kensington. And there was the promised explanation, the one that seemed tied to laughing eyes and a tender smile she could not resist. She nodded.

“Good, good. Ring for whatever you need, and the library is right through there if you wish to find a book or newspaper. Make yourself at home… I suppose that sounds peculiar, since this was once your family home.”

“Oh, no, I never lived here.”

“No?” he asked thoughtfully. “The place suits you, quiet and refined, yet comfortable, too.”

“Thank you. I am sure Captain Chase is content.”

“Is he?… I better be off.” He held her hand an instant, then brought it to his mouth. He turned her hand over and kissed the inside of her wrist. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

He did not go out toward the hallway but went through to the library instead, leaving the door open. Cristabel could see him open a drawer in the desk and remove a pistol.

She moved to the doorway and watched him load the weapon, then place it in the waistband of his pants. “You won’t do anything rash?”

“I promised, didn’t I?”

“And you will be very, very careful and come back to me soon?”

“Trust me, sweetheart.”

She had heard
that
before! She stood next to Uncle Charles’s desk. Captain Chase’s desk, where he had sat that dreadful day with the lawyers. There was even a ship model in a bottle on top of some papers. She touched the replica idly, listening to the commotion in the hall as his lordship called for a carriage and Jonas Sparling. It was natural, she assumed, for him to draft the captain’s man for such a mission.

Then she heard someone bellowing: “Heave to, you scurvy sea-snail. Pipe the mizzen, we sail with the wind.”

“Aye-aye, Cap’n.”

And she had heard that before, too! Cristabel sank down into the big leather chair behind the desk.

Oh Lord.

The ship, the house. Her house in Kensington. Trust him?

Oh no, she groaned again, she couldn’t have been that stupid, could she? Had her brains been changed to sawdust, that she could not tell she had been the butt of a cruel joke? No, no, and no! He could not have known her identity the whole time; he was not simply playing games. Chase had been bandaged, that was a given. He didn’t recognize her any better than she knew him that day in the park when Mac introduced them. Mac! He must have known all along. That black eye was nothing compared to what she would do to him. And here she was trying to protect his good name!

So many things fell into place: Mac’s innuendoes, the war years Winstoke never wanted to talk about, that scar half-hidden by his long hair. Sparling had told her all about the injury and the loss of his ship. Of course he was no expert with horses, after all those years at sea, or proficient at recognizing ladies. No, he knew all about every type of woman. It was Cristabel’s own circumstances that led to the confusion.

When had Winstoke—Chase—discovered her identity? When he stopped calling her Belle and making improper advances, that’s when. When the kind letters from the captain started coming, and Jonas Sparling started hanging about the house in Kensington. Winstoke had to have realized well before this evening that she was still unaware of his names and titles. Telling her that Chase was a friend of his, indeed! Of course, she reminded herself, there were all those explanations he was going to make.

What a ninny he must think her. At least one thing was clear: whatever else he may think of her, he knew she was a lady. She moved the ship model closer, and saw that it rested on a lace-edged handkerchief, her handkerchief, that she thought she’d lost at the opera last night. Was it just last night? A smile came to her lips. She thought she might trust him, after all.

* * *

When he got back, she was sitting quietly at his desk,
Invicta
in her hands. A good sign, he thought,
Invicta
was still in one piece. He had realized the library held too many clues, and it was just a matter of time, but it was past time, and now that she had a chance to get used to the idea…

“Who are you?” Her voice was steady, but he could see the confusion, hurt, and anger in her eyes, mingled with something else, hope, perhaps.

“I am Kenley Chase, Viscount Winstoke, London’s greatest jackass, and the man who loves you. But who are you? One minute you are a goddess, come to tempt mortal man, the next you are an avenging Fury, sent to keep him on the straight and narrow.”

“I am only the vicar’s daughter who believes in Father Christmas, a naive school teacher who knows less about the world than any of her students, and Miss Cristabel Swann, who tries to run a respectable boardinghouse. And—” She couldn’t say it.

“And not my Belle?”

“Oh Lee, I shouldn’t, I swore I couldn’t, but I fear I would be, for you!”

His arms were open and she was in them, fitting as naturally as sunlight to the rose.

“And I would marry you even if you were the wash maid scrubbing the stairs.”

“Marry? Did you really say marry?”

“Of course, you silly goose, how else could I have you in my arms and by my side, forever? Besides, I promised Fanny to make an honest woman out of you.”

“Oh, I forgot about Fanny and Boy guarding Nick, and all the rest. Is everything all right?”

“It is now,” he said, kissing the top of her head and stepping back. “But come, let us go sit in the parlor. With the doors open, of course! We have a great deal to discuss and I don’t want the servants gossiping, and quite frankly, I have waited so long to make you mine I hardly trust myself.”

“Marie is somewhere about. She can chaperone.” If there was a tinge of regret in Cristabel’s voice, it was hidden in his laughter.

“Marie went with Sparling, off on an errand. I’m afraid your companion does not set a good example. But come.”

* * *

Why he thought the parlor was more respectable than the library when he was the one—“What about the redhead?” she asked as soon as they were seated in facing chairs. She did not care right then if Nick Blass was sent to Bristol or Baluchistan.

“What redhead?” He followed her gaze to the rug by the fireplace, and crooked the corners of his mouth up in that way she adored. “Don’t you know that I have not had eyes for anyone but you since the bandages came off?”

“Ah. And here I was on my way to being infatuated with Captain Chase.”

“What, that paltry fellow? I thought you considered him a thief, a liar, and a rakehell.”

“Don’t remind me. I said so many outrageous things that I had no business saying to anyone!”

“We made a rare mull of it, didn’t we? You do understand that I never knew about the house in Kensington when I sent you there, don’t you? And then, when I knew about that house, I didn’t know it was you?”

She chuckled delightedly at his muddled speech and told him it no longer mattered.

“But it must,” he said, coming to sit on the floor by her chair, holding her hand. “You have not told me that you love me.”

“I must have loved you forever, even when I was furious at you, or when I was trying to convince myself not to, for you could never love me. But that day in the park when you were nearly killed by the horses, I nearly died, too, thinking I had lost you.”

“And I ached for fear you had come to harm through my foolish pride. That would have been worse than the
Invicta,
and I could not have borne it.”

“I don’t understand. Sparling said you were magnificent on the ship, that the men worshiped you.”

He stared at the fire. “And they are all dead. I could have run, instead of standing to fight against the odds.”

“But that’s bravery, not pride. I’m sure your men would not have wanted it any other way. I would not want to change you.” She squeezed his hand, and he returned a brilliant smile.

“Then what a favor Blass did us! It was he, you know, who fired the shot that frightened the horses in the first place. That matter is all taken care of, incidentally. Blass is on his way and shall likely be convinced to jump ship in the Americas or somewhere equally distant. He will never bother you again.”

“That’s perfect. Now Mac doesn’t have to worry about news of his activities getting back to his commander either, and he can rejoin his regiment.”

“I have a feeling the major will be marching to Mrs. Flint’s drum soon enough. Imagine the
ton’s
reaction: the nabob’s widow and the black sheep.”