For the Love of a Soldier (12 page)

All he had to do was learn who the hell she was.

Stepping outside, he stopped short at the sight of Miss Daniels. She appeared rooted to the edge of the lower landing, planted in place. Her attention was riveted to the gleaming black carriage parked in the drive and the emerald green Warren crest sporting the three gold lions.

“Miss Daniels, are you all right?”

“Whose carriage is this?” she asked, not glancing at him.

“It’s the Earl of Warren’s. As you know, mine is in need of repairs, and this one is safer, not marked for target practice. Wouldn’t you agree?” He caught her arm to escort her forward, her steps slow and reluctant.

“Yes, yes. Of course.”

Havers circled the carriage to open the door for them. When his gaze narrowed on Garrett’s hand on Miss Daniels’s arm, Garrett abruptly released her. He needed to clarify Daniels’s gender to Havers, but now was not the time. “Havers, we will be traveling to…?” He turned to Daniels, letting his questions trail off expectantly.

“Oh, Chelsea.” She supplied the address, still looking distracted.

West of London, Chelsea was not a fashionable area of the city. Then again, any address outside of the West End was dismissed by the ton. Garrett knew the area for the Chelsea Hospital. War veterans, old and without proper means or family, were given beds there. He frowned, unable to picture Alex residing in the area.

Havers turned to climb onto the box. Garrett had no patience for him hovering to close the door behind them. Some niceties made Garrett feel more like an invalid than a gentleman.

Miss Daniels made to step into the carriage but gasped when he gripped her waist and lifted her inside. She glanced back, pink cheeked and flustered, murmuring her thanks before she took her seat. It was the second time he had assisted her into a carriage. He regretted not having appreciated the first, recalling his hand on her buttock.

He vaulted into the carriage, securing the door behind him. He noted she had claimed the seat facing forward as a lady should. Garrett hated riding backward. With a look that dared her to protest, he settled into the seat beside her. She raised a brow but faced the window, not challenging him. There were advantages to this cool, practical side of hers. He settled back in his seat and appreciated this one as he tapped his hand on the back panel, signaling Havers to depart.

For the first few blocks they rode in silence. The only noise was the low rumble of the carriage crossing the paved streets. Garrett studied his companion’s profile, noting how she gnawed on her lower lip. He wondered what was on her mind and the tip of her tongue, but he didn’t have long to wait.

“I heard a story about the Earl of Warren.” She spoke without facing him.

Relaxing, he grinned. “Just one? How disappointing. There are so many.”

She glanced over to him and then away.

“Let me guess?” He pursed his lips and discounted most of his and Brandon’s earlier escapades and the more risqué ones. She was too young and innocent to have heard those. “The Market Theatre?” At the telltale flush on her cheeks, he nodded. “Yes, that one got the most gossip. What did you hear?”

When she did not respond, he couldn’t resist. “You heard he and a friend purchased the theater for the actress Lily Blake so she could star in all the productions. She was—”

“Mistress to
two
earls,” she interceded and gave him her full attention. “Warren purchased the theater with
some
friend, a notorious rakehell who was rumored to collect and discard young women with as much frequency as Beau Brummell sailed through cravats.” She raised a brow. “The friend was a
known debaucher of innocents. Women are warned they risk ruin merely by being in his presence.” Her eyes held a hint of challenge as if she dared him to refute the rumors.

His hand covered his mouth as he coughed to hide his surprise. “Excuse me, I, ah…that part of the story I hadn’t heard.” He narrowed his eyes on her, wondering if she played him for a fool.

“What part did you hear?” She tipped her head to the side and regarded him with wide-eyed innocence.

“Ah, something about Lily Blake being Warren’s mistress,” he offered.

Debaucher of innocents?
He had heard the Brummell quote differently, made in reference to married women. Supposedly he ran through them with the same frequency that Brummell changed fashions. At least that one had held a kernel of truth. But he couldn’t keep straight what the gossip mill churned out about him. Didn’t give a damn. Never had. He found Miss Daniels watching him. Apparently, she had more to add.

“Warren and his friend set up Lily Blake, and each night they escorted a parade of different women to their boxes to watch her performances.”

He cocked a brow at her relish in imparting this salacious bit of gossip, an odd gleam lighting her eyes. He sought to steer the conversation in a safer direction. Away from him. “Have you ever seen Lily Blake perform? She is without rival in the theater. It is said that her Juliet brings women to tears.”

“Do you think it was her acting or the men’s callous use of Miss Blake that brought them to tears?” she asked in all seriousness.

“That would depend on where these women stand in regard to the gossip.”

“Where they stand?”

“If they believe the rumors or not.”

“It is generally believed most rumors are based in truth,” she said.

“Most rumors begin with a kernel of truth,” he clarified. “A group of people called gossipmongers nurture its growth. They possess wagging tongues and a desperate need to be heard, but they have nothing of their own import to say. So they steal this kernel of news, water it with their ignorance, and it grows into
gossip.” He shrugged. “Or if given its proper name, lies, innuendoes, and slander.”

She smiled. “You didn’t strike me as the philosophizing type.”

Her comment and the smile disarmed him, silencing his retort. It was the first smile she had given him, and it loosened something in his body, a tension he hadn’t known he carried. He shifted in his seat. “I have my moments.” She had beautiful eyes, a clear, luminous blue with long lashes. When she smiled, they glowed like two full moons.

Good God, he was using trite clichés and pontificating about rumors like a pompous windbag. What had gotten into him? She was lowering a guard he carried like a second skin, a shell honed in life and hardened in battle. He didn’t like it.

You lower your guard, you get ambushed.

He needed to move to the other side of the carriage. Put distance between them before he spouted bad poetry in tribute to the sensual curve of her lips. That could get nasty, for he’d never had a way with words or flattery. Besides, she thought he was a philandering rakehell. A debaucher of innocents.

“Are you familiar with Warren’s notorious friend?” she asked.

He opened his mouth to respond when something in her tone caught his attention and he paused, his gaze narrowing on her features. Almost immediately, he spotted the sparkle of amusement lighting her eyes and he blinked. By God, she was good. He shook his head, grinning. “I’d say about as well as you are.”

She knew damn well he was the friend, had all along. She had played him like an easy target.

“Oh, I doubt that.” She grinned.

At his dubious look, she laughed, a lyrical wave washing over him. Light and vibrant, it sent liquid warmth spiraling through his body. Her features softened and for a fleeting moment, she appeared carefree and lovely, delighted with herself. Until that moment and that laugh, he hadn’t realized how controlled and guarded she, too, kept herself. They made a pair.

He was unable to tear his eyes from her as he wondered what or who had put up her guard.
Who was she?
Besides being
a devious thing, setting him up like that. He couldn’t resist his responding smile. “How long have you known?”

“All along, but I had forgotten that particular story until I saw Warren’s coach.” Laughter laced her words. “I recognized the three lions of Warren’s crest, and I remembered he was never without his companion in trouble, the Earl of Kendall.”

“A known debaucher of innocents? They risk ruin by being in my mere presence?”

“I debated between that or how they are known to faint at your feet.” She peered at him from beneath her lashes, her smile still warming her lips.

“It must have been a difficult decision,” he murmured.

“It was indeed.” She settled back in her seat and faced him. “So what is the buried kernel of truth in the Market Theatre story?”

He missed her smile. “We bought the theater for Miss Blake because Brandon is a generous patron of the arts, and he asked me to be a partner in a lucrative venture.” He tried to keep his expression earnest, but she simply raised a brow and stared him down. He wasn’t going to ensnare her that easily.

He shrugged. “Bran was deep in his cups and signed both our names to a promissory note stating we would purchase the dilapidated theater, refurbish it, and promise to give Lily Blake top billing.”

“Who placed such a strange wager?”

“Lily’s cousin, her big, burly,
I have killed too many men to count
cousin. It would have been fatal for us had Brandon reneged on his signature.”

“No,” she said, her eyes wide.

She was lovely and enchanting—and as gullible as himself. “No,” he agreed.

Laughing, she shook her head. “Mmh, well done.”

“I have my moments.” The carriage jostled and she slid into him, the warm length of her thigh flush against his until she shifted away. Heat surged low in his body, reminding him of those newly awakened areas that he wished would go back to sleep, particularly while in close quarters. He cleared his throat. “He was a family friend of Brandon’s who had been trying to get Bran to invest in the theater for years. Brandon would have
backed the venture eventually, but his loss forced his hand. We all made money off it. Lily Blake’s Juliet does make women weep.”

“So I’ve heard,
my lord
.” She smiled again.

“
My lord?
If you refuse to be my mistress, I’m not really yours, am I?” He couldn’t resist the trite quip and watched her blush. Suddenly, he didn’t think he’d mind being hers or she being his.
Perhaps when they knew each other better
. He grinned. “But deceiving me so thoroughly should be rewarded. Why don’t you call me Garrett.”

“Garrett?” she echoed.

“It is my name. Garrett Sinclair. Now that we’ve clarified my name and title, what about you, Miss Daniels? Don’t you think proper introductions are in order?”

She appeared to mull his question over and after a moment, responded. “My name is Alexandra, but most people call me Alex.”

Her eyes teased as she silently laughed at him, knowing she had given him no more than he already knew.
Alex Daniels is new to you,
he recalled Richmond’s introduction at Hammond’s.

Amused, he turned her name over on his tongue.
Alexandra
. He liked the sound of it. Strong-willed and enlightened, a tsarina with whom to be reckoned. He didn’t press her for a surname.

He had the first piece to her puzzle. The rest would fall into place.

He would see to it.

G
ARRETT
watched Alexandra edge forward in her seat as the carriage rolled to a stop. When she bit her lip, he wondered what or who worried her. The idea of it being a
who
, particularly a
male
, had him voicing his concerns out loud. “Will someone be worried over your absence?”

Rather than bluntly ask her if she lived alone, he chose to go with subtlety. When she turned to him, her expression amused, he realized she saw right through him. Hell, he’d never had much use for subtlety. With his men, a direct command, sometimes accompanied by a kick in the arse, worked best.

“They might be, so it is a good thing I have returned unharmed. My, ah…
Uncle
Gus is a veteran of the Crimea, fierce, war-trained, and extremely overprotective of me. You’d be wise to remember that.” Her smile flashed bright before she turned away.

He blinked at her warning. She dismissed subtlety and went straight for overkill. Recovering, he leaned around her to grasp the door latch before she reached it. “Allow me, I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong foot so soon with your…ah, uncle, is it?”
He hadn’t missed her tripping over the name. If Gus was her uncle, Havers was his.

He opened the door and leapt down, turning to assist Alexandra from the carriage. After a brief hesitation, she allowed him to slide his hands about her waist and lift her out. For a moment, he stood holding her in place, unable to resist grinning down at her.

She was slight of stature, her head barely topping his shoulders. He could almost span her waist with his hands. Too bad they had to leave Brandon’s. He’d like to have left her in Molly’s care for another week or two, get more meat on her. There would be time to fatten her up later, for he had sent Ned ahead to procure a cook and maids for his country estate.

A deep, throat-clearing cough sliced through his thoughts. He staggered back from Alexandra, cursing himself for not speaking to Havers while cursing the man’s hawklike vigilance. Once a valued asset, now Goddamn inconvenient.