Code of Honor (7 page)

"I prefer not to have to deal with your histrionics every time I choose to converse with your sister — I commend you for at least having the sense to do it in private this time. But any more such efforts to guard your sister will only be damaging to her reputation if they become public knowledge, not mine. And they most certainly will be become extremely tiresome to me, for I should be forced to deal with you."

He paused. "I have no intention of hurting your sister, Chilton. I give you my word on that. If you ever feel I have not lived up to it, I shall meet you on whatever terms you care to offer."

"Then why do you set me up at Manton's?"

"Because I am an excellent shot, Chilton. If we meet, I prefer that you be more than adequate — contrary to what you hear, I take no pleasure in murdering boys."

Justin studied the hard, impenetrable face before him. "Very well, sir, " he said slowly. "I will accept your word as a gentleman."

"Good. Now kindly stay out of my sight!"

Branford stalked from the room and retrieved his greatcoat from a footman. As he stepped into the cool night air, he shook his head ruefully.

Driving a bluestocking, on the shelf young lady to Kew Gardens for a day of looking at plants.

Sponsoring a green pup to Manton's.

If he didn't have a care, it would be his own reputation among the Ton that would soon be in shreds.

"I hadn't imagined the leaves of Colocasia esculenta were so green," murmured Alex. "I mean such a rich green, rather more viridian than emerald, but much deeper than apple...." Her voice trailed off as she stared into the distance. It was another quarter mile before a bump in the road jarred her from her reverie.

"Oh dear, my lord, I fear I have been frightfully rude, haven't I. Why, I haven't said a word to you in ages!"

Branford smiled as he guided his greys around a mail coach with consummate skill. "Not at all, Miss Chilton. I commend you for not acting like a miss newly out of the schoolroom who feels she must prattle away regardless of having anything worthwhile to say."

Alex laughed. "I'm afraid I'm usually prattling on about something, though as for acting like a schoolroom miss, I doubt that's possible at my age."

"On the shelf, are you?" he inquired, cocking one eyebrow.

The was an almost imperceptible pause before she answered. "Yes, thank goodness, and well glad of it."

He slanted a sideways glance at her rigid features, his curiosity piqued by her response. But before he could say anything more, she sighed and spoke again. "There was so much to take in!"

He let himself be distracted. "You enjoyed yourself?"

"Oh, my lord, it was truly wonderful. Everything was so lush and vibrant — and the color! I cannot thank you enough." She smiled at him. He knew many ladies who would kill to look as radiant and sincere as Alex did at that moment.

"My pleasure." And to his surprise, he found that he meant it.

A comfortable silence reigned once more as Alex seemed lost once more in thoughts on the gardens and Branford remained intrigued by her reaction regarding being on the shelf. Why, he had always thought it ridiculous that young girls were meant to marry before they had a chance to become interesting, but somehow he didn't think that was what Miss Chilton meant. He wondered exactly what she did mean.

"My lord... " Alex spoke softly, barely audible above the clatter of the phaeton's wheels.

Branford was roused from his thoughts and turned his head expectantly.

"I was wondering if I might ask a favor of you. That is, another one, since I regard your driving me to Kew Gardens as a rather large one as well, but..." She faltered.

Branford's eyebrows shot up. "Tis the first time I've seen you at a loss for words, Miss Chilton. Come now, don't you females practice this sort of thing? It certainly seems most of you have it down to a fine art. I do believe, however, that you are supposed to lower your lashes demurely and flutter them a few times when making the request."

Alex stiffened and her face colored. "Forgive me, sir. You are right to ridicule me. I am well aware I have no feminine charms. And I have no right to ask..."

"It wasn't meant as ridicule, Miss Chilton. I was merely teasing you."

Her eyes remained locked on the road ahead. The silence was now filled with tension. Branford swore to himself. She was difficult to figure out. He pulled the horses to an easy walk so he could turn his full attention to her.

"Miss Chilton, I apologize if I have offended you. Now please continue and ask me what you intended."

"It is of no import."

"Don't be a peagoose."

"I am not acting like..." She stopped. "I am, aren't I. I'm sorry." Her chin came up as she turned to face him. "I have little practice in asking a gentleman — or anyone for that matter — for his aid. You embarrassed me."

"It was badly done of me." Lord, she had as much damnable pride as a man! "It is I who am sorry."

Alex took a deep breath. "What I was wondering is, well, during the Peninsula campaign, you were credited for saving Wellington from ambush?" It was phrased as a question.

He nodded.

"You deciphered a code?"

He nodded again, intrigued as to where things were headed. Certainly in no direction he had ever explored with a female before.

"Are you an expert in cryptology?"

Would Miss Chilton never cease to surprise him? "I am fairly conversant with the principles from my work in the army."

"Well, I have been struggling for an age but I can't make heads or tails of it — I seem to have no aptitude for the principles of logic underlying cryptology, and I can't find a decent book on the subject..."

"I take it, Miss Chilton, you have a code you wish to decipher?"

It was Alex's turn to nod."

"And just how did you come by it?"

"It was tucked into one of my father's books, one of the ones he had with him the night he was driving home and had his accident." A puzzled look passed over her face. "He had never written in such a manner before. It is the oddest piece of paper. The letters are jumbled together in the most nonsensical way, and there are little symbols that look like axes or some such things..."

"Would you like me to take a look at it?"

Alex let out a rush of air. "Oh, if it wouldn't be too much trouble. I keep thinking, it must mean something important. Father was not one to do anything... frivolous or whimsical. It is as if he were trying to... hide something, or tell us something important that he wished no one else to see."

Branford could not help noticing that the straightforward appeal in her eyes was infinitely more persuasive than any fluttering of eyelashes or coy looks — she was quite wrong about not having any charms. "Perhaps you might show it to me when we arrive at your aunt's."

She flashed a grateful smile, then turned her gaze back to the road, again seemingly lost in thought. But this time the silence didn't last nearly as long.

"You sold out your commission and returned home from the war when you... inherited the title?"

His hands tightened on the reins. He nodded stiffly.

"It must have been a very difficult time for you." She stole a glance at his stony features. "How was your cousin killed?"

He nearly caused the greys to break stride with cow-handed jerk on the reins. No one had ever asked about it, except Henry and Cecelia.

"I'm sorry. If you would rather not..." she said softly.

To his own surprise, he found himself answering. "My young cousin Jeremy had insisted on serving in my regiment. I had spent quite a lot of time at Riverton after the death of my parents, and being some years older, I think he — we got on very well together. Neither of us had siblings." His voice became softer. "he was...a good lad."

He couldn't quite believe he was actually talking about this. Yet somehow he kept going. "We were deployed against a much larger Spanish force. They had an artillery detachment dug in on a hill above our forces. It was wreaking havoc with our troops. I was ordered to attack with my cavalry and take it out. Needless to say, it was an extremely dangerous assignment." he paused, his jaw tightening at the memory. "I tried to send Jeremy back to headquarters as a courier. He wouldn't hear of it. I . . I could have ordered him, but he would never have forgiven me. Perhaps that doesn't make sense to you but—"

Alex instinctively reached out a hand and touched his for the briefest moment before withdrawing again. "I believe I understand exactly what you mean, sir."

His voice now had a raw edge to it. "The charge was successful, but the cost to my men was enormous. When I found Jeremy under the tangle of mangled horses and shattered bodies he was still alive. But there was nothing I could do. His wounds were too bad. He died in my arms."

She didn't speak for the longest time.

He was both surprised and grateful. How was it she seemed to have the knack for doing the right thing.

She finally broke the silence. "You must miss him very much."

"I miss him terribly."

Nothing else was said for the rest of the ride home.

Alex sensed something was amiss. The first knock on her aunt's door went unanswered, and when the manservant finally made his way down the hall and flung it open, she could see from the expression on his lined face that all was not well.

"What is it, Givens? Is aunt..." she cried.

"It's Mr. Justin, Miss Alex. He's had a bad fall from his horse. The doctor is with him now."

She hastily undid her bonnet and pelisse and let them drop to the floor in a heap. Branford had entered behind her.

"How did it occur?" he inquired?

The young gentlemen were engaging in some races in the park. Apparently Mr. Justin's saddle came undone. Mr. Hartley and another friend brought him home not half an hour ago. He was unconscious, Miss Alex, and white as a sheet."

Alex gave a little cry. "I must go to him!" She turned to Branford. "Please. Excuse me."

"Of course. The other matter will certainly keep until another time."

He resettled the curly brimmed beaver hat on his head and walked down the steps of the townhouse to where his tiger was walking the greys up and down the street. But instead of mounting the phaeton, he paused for a moment, then walked back to the mews. A young groom was rubbing down a stocky, aging chestnut gelding. Branford's appraising eye quickly noted it was an ordinary animal at best, with neither great fleetness nor great stamina.

"Is this Mr. Chilton's mount?"

The boy nodded. "Aye, sir. The one wot's had the accident."

"Where is the tack?"

A jerk of the head indicated one of the stalls, where a worn saddle hung over the door. The Chiltons, noted the earl as he ran his hand lightly over the leather, were definitely not plump in the pocket. Though well cared for, the saddle was old. It was no wonder it had broken. Nonetheless, his fingers ran down the girth, then stopped abruptly. There were no signs of fraying where it had come apart. The ends were smooth and clean, right down to the last half inch, which had been left to snap on its own. There was no question that it had been cut it with a sharp instrument.