Her Officer and Gentleman (7 page)

“Your father paid a fortune to various unsavory individuals who swore they could locate you both. But no one found even a trace.”

Christian tried to swallow, but couldn’t. He’d so wanted to believe that his father had attempted to help him, to help his mother. So wanted to believe it…and yet, over the years, the belief had died. In its place was a hard seed of bitterness that refused to be dislodged. “Did Father believe Mother innocent of the charges?”

Reeves sighed. “I don’t know what he thought, only what he was told. And he was told that she was guilty of the crime. That there was nothing he could have done even if he had made it to London in time.”

“Who told him that rubbish?” Christian demanded.

“The king.”

Christian gripped the bedpost with a white-knuckled hand. “The king?”

“Your father went to see him the second his ship docked. He didn’t even stop to change, but rode straight to Whitecastle where the king was staying. Though the king was already abed, your father demanded an audience.”

“He really did try to help her,” Christian heard himself say in a voice filled with wonder.

“I don’t think he ever forgave himself when he realized that their estrangement had placed her in so unprotected a position.”

“He should have felt guilty.”

“He did, however…” Reeves hesitated, then
said in a hurried voice, “My lord, whatever happened to your mother, it was heavily substantiated by some seemingly irrefutable evidence. The king was convinced of her guilt.”

“The evidence was false. Willie will bring us the information we need so that we know what to look for. He’s to arrive sometime today.” Christian turned toward the door. “But for now, I must bid you adieu. Lady Elizabeth will be in Hyde Park this morning, if her footman is to be believed.”

“Oh, footmen never lie,” Reeves said in a dry voice.

Christian had to smile. “Not when they’re well paid, they don’t. How do I look, Reeves? Polished enough to become the lady’s most determined suitor, after, of course, she becomes mine?”

“After she becomes yours?”

“Love is a game of chess, Reeves. Of the heart. I have studied every bit of information I have been able to glean, and Massingale’s granddaughter is his one weakness, the only person he allows close to him.”

“Is there not a daughter-in-law, as well?”

Christian frowned. “How do you know about her?”

“Servants’ talk, my lord. Since you gifted me with information as to your plan, I have made some inquiries.”

“Since last night?”

“
You
may have slept until ten, but
I
did not. I was up at dawn and went to the market. I spent several minutes inspecting the poultry, at which
time I had a most interesting conversation with one Mrs. Kimble, who has the fortune of being the Duke of Massingale’s housekeeper.”

“Reeves! You—what did you discover?”

“The duke dotes on his granddaughter. She is apparently quite a favorite with the staff, too. I also discovered that the duke is not fond of his daughter-in-law and that his health is failing rapidly. In fact, there is some worry that he has not long to live.”

Christian paused. He hadn’t heard a word about the duke’s health. Damn it, was it possible he’d spent his whole life dreaming of vengeance on the man who’d ruined his mother, only to be cheated by death?

He quirked a brow at Reeves. “Anything else?”

“Yes. It seems that Lord Massingale is concerned his daughter-in-law is interested in a man, one Lord Bennington, who is quite close to Lady Charlotte. The housekeeper seems to think the man is a menace of some sort, though I could not discover quite why.”

Christian grimaced. It was ironic that he’d spent weeks and weeks infiltrating Massingale’s estate and had gotten no closer than the stables while Reeves had merely taken a trip to the local market, cozied up to a housekeeper, and discovered as much information as Christian’s month of hard work. “Old or ill, the duke is still responsible for my mother’s death.”

“Old or ill, he is
possibly
responsible for your mother’s death,” Reeves said gently. “You said
yourself you had not yet collected enough evidence to prove your case.”

“I will have it soon enough.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Damn it! Christian raked a hand through his hair. He hated being ungracious. Still…He shot a hard glance at Reeves. “If you find out anything else, you will tell me?”

“Yes, my lord. Without fail.”

“Thank you. You are an exceptional man, Reeves.”

“I try, my lord.”

Christian took a last look at himself in the mirror, then turned toward the door. “I am off to the park, then.” Within moments, he was striding down the hallway, the morning sun slanting across the polished floor. His entire body was focused on the upcoming dance he was to perform. He had to win his way into Lady Elizabeth’s confidence. He had to. One part of him was rather excited about the prospect; but another reminded him rather forcefully of the fact that—had circumstances been different—he might well have pursued the intriguing Lady Elizabeth on her own merits alone.

He could not stop his active imagination from picturing the lush and lovely Elizabeth in his bed. Just the thought of her lithe form stretched naked across his sheets, her honey-streaked hair spreading around her, that expression of amusement and intelligence sparkling in her eyes…until, of course, her eyes darkened with passion from that surprisingly warm brown to heated black.

Or
would
her eyes darken with passion? Perhaps they’d light up.

He suddenly realized that the little bits of information he’d collected about the lady over the last few weeks had not given him a very accurate picture at all. He knew, for instance, that she preferred the quadrille to all other forms of dance. That she did not often ride in the park unless it was in a carriage. That she favored comedic plays rather than sober, sad ones. These were useful pieces of information, all discovered with cunning and guile. Still, he did not know what she wanted, what she feared, and perhaps—even more important—who she really was.

He paused in the hallway, the faintest hint of unease settling between his shoulder blades. For a long moment, he stood staring at the floor.

Then, a sudden resolute look in his face, he turned on his heel and went into the library to his desk. He uncapped the ink and dipped a pen, then wrote a single line on a bit of foolscap. That done, he shook it dry, returned the ink and pen, tucked the paper into his pocket, and left once again. In the hallway, he took his hat and gloves from the footman and walked out the front door to stand on the step, feeling as if he’d made a huge decision.

And he had. He was only doing what he had to. What the tragedy of his mother’s death required. That was all.

Jaw tight, Christian made his way down the wide marble steps, his riding boots clicking briskly. Now was not the time to question his own
motives. It was ridiculous the way he’d allowed Reeves to cast shadows on his carefully thought out plans. He knew damned well what he was doing and he didn’t need his father’s old butler giving him moral advice.

Things hadn’t come to that low of a pass. Not yet, anyway.

Sighing, he took the reins of his favorite mount from a waiting groom and swung up into the saddle. “Let the siege begin,” he said under his breath, pressing his thighs against the huge brute of a horse and letting the animal speed his way to the park.

A
s Christian cantered toward the park, he caught sight of Lady Elizabeth and her cousin, Mrs. Thistle-Bridgeton, the woman who’d been serving as chaperone the night before. It had taken very little effort to learn the cousin’s name; now all Christian had to do was find a way past her to Elizabeth.

Impervious to his presence, they swept by in a rather showy carriage, the black lacquered sides catching the light almost as much as the matched blacks that pulled it.

The vehicle was enough to excite attention, every inch gleamed with newness. But the combination of the gorgeous horses and the shimmer of Beth’s golden hair against the red velvet seat pulled the eye far quicker than mere money and position could account for. She was, quite simply, a stunningly beautiful woman.

It was a good thing he was protected from feeling more for her than was seemly. Her connection to her grandfather would forever keep her charms from working on his jaded palate. She was the key into her grandfather’s world and nothing more, no matter what the troublesome Reeves might wish to imply.

Christian watched as she leaned forward to speak to her cousin. There was something innately graceful about Elizabeth. He wasn’t sure if it was her gestures, the way she held her head, or the genuine charm of her person, but just watching her was a fascination in and of itself.

It really was a pity she was his enemy by birth. Still, he refused to feel poorly for admiring her beauty. How could he help it? Just seeing her there, reclining in the seat, dressed in a trim Russian-styled short coat, a white crown bonnet adorned with bluebells on her golden hair, he thought she looked like a wood nymph stolen from the forest.

His playful gelding shied in pretend horror from a flower cart that rumbled past. “Easy, Lucifer!” The beast snorted and pranced, arching his neck and blowing through his nose. Christian eased his heels into the animal’s sides, keeping a firm hand on the reins. Lucifer recognized the
touch of his master and quieted, though not before he gave one last defiant snort.

Christian turned his horse toward the park gates, following a short distance behind the cabriolet. The wind rose just as they passed through the gates and lifted a curl of Beth’s golden hair about the edge of her bonnet. Christian’s body tightened instantly. He could picture her as she’d been at the ball last night, her full lips pursed with interest, her eyes dark with unasked questions.

The wind lifted the tormented curl and pulled it along the edge of her bonnet, a golden banner. Christian thought of her hair, of her porcelain white skin and how it would look against his own darker coloring. His body tightened even more, his groin aching ever so slightly. Damn, but what he would give to see her in his bed, divested of her finery and trappings, nothing between them but unbridled passion.

Shaking his head a little at his own foolishness, Christian adjusted his seat in the saddle. Lucifer tossed his head and whickered as if laughing.

Christian leaned forward and said into the horse’s ear, “I am not amused.”

Beth’s vehicle reached the outer loop of the path. Christian nudged Lucifer forward as a noticeable stirring of motion began at the side of the pathway. A small number of men—about five in all—who’d been rather listlessly sitting upon their mounts or leaning against their carriages, surged forward like ants scurrying from a kicked over anthill. They leaped upon their horses and
climbed hurriedly into their carriages and then they merged, mingled, and dashed toward the cabriolet.

Christian frowned. He’d expected suitors, but…only five? A woman with Elizabeth’s fortune alone could count on at least twenty suitors in the park on any given day.

It was odd in the extreme.

What made the situation even more curious was that the five men surrounding the cabriolet were all known to be seeking a woman of fortune. What was afoot? Besides fortune, Lady Elizabeth was beautiful and the daughter of a blasted duke, for heaven’s sake! Surely there were men who would wish to court her based on those pronouncements rather than her dowry?

Christian glanced at Lady Elizabeth, but could detect no nuance in her person to show her feelings at being left in such thin company. By Zeus, he needed to find out what was occurring here.

Lady Elizabeth laughed at something her companion said, the sound drifting back with the wind to land delicately on Christian’s ears. The curve of her pink lips seemed to beckon him forward, though he could not get near her on the narrow path due to the horses crowded about the cabriolet.

A flash of impatience flared, and suddenly, despite the fact that it complicated his plan, he found that he wished every man in sight to Hades. The reaction was so instantaneous, so thorough, that he drew up, frowning.

Somehow, perhaps because he needed her for his plans and had been listening to reports of her
existence for the last six months, he’d begun to think of Elizabeth as…his. He stiffened in his seat. What the hell was he thinking? That sort of thing could lead to a far more serious relationship than he cared to claim. So why was he sitting here, battling a most uncomfortable and unfamiliar surge of bitterness? A feeling almost akin to jealousy?

Unconsciously, Christian tightened his grip on Lucifer.

The horse shied in reaction. Cursing a little, Christian fought to bring Lucifer under control, though he never stopped watching Beth. She’d seen the approaching suitors and was now leaning forward to say something to her coachman—perhaps urging him to move onward. But if that was her intent, it was too late; the pathway that wended about the park was blocked before she even made the first turn.

Damn them all to hell and back, the bounders. His only option now was to separate his quarry from her erstwhile fortune-seeking entourage. It was rather like trying to extricate a particularly juicy piece of meat from the jowls of a pack of salivating wolves.

Fortunately, Christian was more wolf than any of the others. Unlike the lily white pampered pets before him, he’d made his own way in the world, fought for his own food with sinew and stealth, teeth bared the entire way.

He turned Lucifer toward a side path and brought the restless horse through a low bracket of brush a short distance up the path. He caught sight of Elizabeth, her eyes meeting his for the
space of a second. To his immense satisfaction, she reacted instantly. Her face brightened and her eyes flashed with pleased recognition, her lips parting as if to say his name.

But just as quickly, she rethought her reaction, for she bit her lip and looked away, her color high.

That decided it. “Come, Lucifer,” he murmured. “We are summoned.” Christian touched his heels to the sides of his mount. The gelding sprang forward as Christian guided him between the side of the cabriolet and the men who attempted to ride next to it.

No horse was a match for Lucifer. He sneered at the other mounts, snorting and baring his teeth. The other animals, as pampered and protected as their owners, took one look at the aggressive gelding and shied out of reach, away from the cabriolet.

Soon, Christian was in place beside the carriage. “Lady Elizabeth,” he said, touching his whip to the brim of his hat, smiling down into her eyes. “You look”—he let his gaze drift over her—“lovely. A rose in a hothouse of daisies.”

In Christian’s experience, a normal maid—especially one so inexperienced—would have been immediately thrown into a flutter of unease and excitement. But Lady Elizabeth was made of sterner stuff.

Her brows rose ever so slightly, and she said in that slightly husky voice of hers, “I beg your pardon, but have we met? I don’t believe I know you.”

A smile danced in her eyes, a dimple quivered on one rounded cheek.

For an instant, Christian completely forgot his quest. He forgot he was in the park, on his horse. He forgot that there were other people about. He forgot everything but the smiling eyes of the woman before him.

He leaned forward. “My lady, it is my most fervent wish that you did know me. Well.”

Her lips quirked in a delicious half smile. “Well, then. Perhaps that is something we can remedy, my—”

“Beth!” Her companion—Mrs. Thistle-Bridgeton—grasped Elizabeth’s hand and said, “Careful!” in a warning tone very similar to the one she’d used the night before.

Elizabeth sent her cousin a reluctant glance, then winced as if remembering something unpleasant. “Oh yes,” she said in an irritated tone.
“That.”

Christian did not allow the smile to slip from his face, but all his senses sharpened. What was this? He struggled to understand.

Beside Christian, the Duke of Standwich was trying desperately to keep his rather plump mare under control. The normally placid animal wildly eyed Lucifer and tugged her reins in a most unseemly manner. “My lord!” Standwich huffed, sawing unbecomingly at the reins. “Pray control your mount!”

Christian glanced down at Lucifer, who was prancing with glee beside the cabriolet but otherwise minding himself with fair decorum. “My mount
is
under control. Your mare is the one who is unruly.”

Standwich’s mouth thinned, even as he had to
pull his restive horse back onto the path. “Lady Bud never behaves in this manner—”

“I beg your pardon,” Christian said, trying to suppress a grin and failing. “Did you call your horse ‘Lady Bud’?”

Beside him, Elizabeth gave a short gurgle of laughter. Christian flashed a smile in her direction, their eyes meeting a moment.

Standwich’s face reddened. “Yes! Yes, I did call her that. It is my mother’s mare, if you must know. I only borrowed it because I thought it would behave prettily in a lady’s presence.” The duke sent a resentful glare at Lucifer. “Unlike
your
mount, which is not fit for public usage!”

Christian rubbed Lucifer’s neck, which made the animal pick up his feet a bit higher. “I don’t believe you have any right to question my horse. Nor I yours. If you wish to ride a prissy animal, that is none of my concern.”

“Though my mare’s name is Lady Bud,” the duke said hotly, “she is not a weak animal. She’s just called—oh, dash it! I am not explaining myself to
you.
” He sniffed, his back so stiff it was a wonder he could still ride. “Besides, she’s nothing like my usual mount. My horse is twice the animal of that brute you’re on!”

“What’s its name?”

The duke blinked. “Name? I don’t—”

“What is the name of your horse?”

A deep flush rose in the duke’s face. “That doesn’t have anything to do with—”

“Afraid to tell me,” Christian said with satisfaction. He glanced down at Beth and winked.

She colored, a quiver of laughter touching her lips.

The duke audibly ground his teeth. “I didn’t name the horse myself! He was already two years old when I bought him and—”

“Perhaps his name is…
Sir
Lady Bud?”

“No! Of course not!”

Christian shrugged. “Fine. Don’t tell us your mount’s name. I daresay it is nothing unusual.”

“It is too exotic! It’s Bathsheba!”

“You named a horse Bathsheba?”

“I didn’t name it, I tell you! Not that it matters. I find Bathsheba a lovely name.”

“That’s a horrid name for a horse. It’s far too exotic and should be given, instead, to a creature capable of beauty and passion and desires.” Christian turned to smile down at the lady. “Someone like Lady Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth’s cheeks pinkened though her companion was not so circumspect. She choked out a laugh. “La, Beth! You, as Bathsheba!”

The duke sputtered out a protest. “B’God, Westerville! Quite improper of you to say such things!”

“Nonsense,” Christian said, leaning down so that only Beth could hear him. “Would you like to be rid of these fleas, my love? Or have you not yet finished amusing yourself at their expense?”

Beth’s eyes met his with a warm look. “Fleas? Surely not.”

The words were no sooner out of her mouth than her companion cleared her throat in a very telling manner. Lady Elizabeth glanced at her friend, then colored and gave a short nod.

Intriguing. Christian leaned down to speak yet again when Standwich’s clumsy horse knocked against Lucifer.

Lucifer instantly whipped over to nip at the bumbling mare, which balked and tried to get away, bumping into the horses of two other determined gentlemen.

“Blast it, Standwich!” said one gentleman, glaring at the duke. “Take heed what you are about!”

His companion added with a heavy French accent, “Perhaps you should move to the back of the group if you cannot control your mount any better than that!”

Christian noted with amusement that several of the suitors had already given up and had fallen behind. There were but the three of them left, and he had procured the only spot where one could actually converse with the lady.

He leaned over to Lady Elizabeth from Lucifer’s saddle. “If you will not call these lumps of manhood ‘fleas,’ then how about ‘rats’? They are swarming in a pack, look as if they’d be delighted to nibble your toes given the chance, and several have rather frightening facial whiskers reminiscent of that species.”

Elizabeth laughed, her eyes crinkling beneath the brim of her bonnet. She looked damnably fetching at that moment and incredibly feminine.

She opened her mouth to answer him when Mrs. Thistle-Bridgeton interrupted brightly, “They are more like little yapping dogs, don’t you think, Beth?”

Lady Elizabeth’s gaze narrowed annoyingly on her companion. There was a moment of silence, during which time her cousin sent her a warning look of such intensity that Christian raised his brows. Whatever warning Mrs. Thistle-Bridgeton communicated, it caused Beth to sigh. She sent Christian a rather apologetic look before saying, “S-s-s-so, my lord. How would you rid me of this pl-pl-plague?”

For an instant, Christian was too surprised to answer. Lady Elizabeth winced at his expression, her cheeks flushing a bit before she looked away. He didn’t think he’d heard her speak in such a halting manner before, but perhaps he’d simply missed it; God knew her chaperone didn’t seem to want her to speak at all.

Not surprisingly, Mrs. Thistle-Bridgeton broke the silence. “My cousin has some difficulty in forming words, as you can see.”