Lady Vixen (55 page)

He
was fairly certain that Jennings-Smythe had not recognized him. But given time
it was probable that he would connect the privateer Captain Saber with the
London Christopher Saxon, and Christopher wanted no part of the denouement that
would follow.

The
hour was late, but the idea of sleep was not particularly appealing, and
searching for a way to pass the time, he sought out Buckley and Kettlescope.

After
a fruitless search of several clubs, he found the two of them in Kettlescope's
lodgings. There were two members of the Horse Guards with them, and the four
were rather the worse for drink.

Kettlescope
regarded him with a bleary eye and offered him a glass of wine. Though resigned
to joining them, Christopher drank his wine with little enjoyment. But his
distaste for the scene vanished and his eyes narrowed in concentration when
Buckley muttered, "Been celebrating—Kettlescope's going to sea!"

"Really?
Where are you off to?" Christopher asked indifferently.

Kettlescope
gave him a sleepy grin. "Thash a secret! But I'm to report for duty and
hold m'self in readiness!"

Buckley,
holding his liquor excellently, snickered, "A pony to a monkey, you're off
for America! Everyone knows we're launching another offensive."

A
beefy member of the Horse Guards piped in sagely, "No one knows yet who'll
lead the attack, but I've heard that Wellington turned it down and that
Pakenham is hoping to escape the American campaign. It's anyone's guess who'll
be the commander in chief."

Staring
into his wine, Christopher murmured dryly, "I wonder if anyone really
knows
anything
about the American attack. I've heard for months that one
is planned, but no one seems to know for certain when or where." Smiling
disarmingly, he added, "I think my friends, you were just looking for an
excuse to get blind drunk!"

"Not
so!" Buckley growled disagreeably. "I tell you, I saw the memorandum
by accident on Major Black's desk yesterday."

"Oh,
yes, another famous memorandum!" Christopher mocked, but his eyes were
alert and his thoughts racing. Buckley was just drunk enough to be indiscreet,
and the conversation had sprung up so naturally and opportunely that
Christopher couldn't tamp down the certainty that tonight he would learn
something.

"It's
true! It was all there, the troops, the destination, and the date!"

"Really?"
Christopher asked, his disbelief plain. "If that is so, which I doubt, my
friend, suppose you tell us what it said."

Buckley
opened his mouth, then shut it with a snap. "That's secret
information," he muttered, recalling himself. "I shouldn't have
mentioned it."

"Exactly!"
Christopher agreed. Then almost as an afterthought he said, "But if Major
Black leaves this memorandum lying about so carelessly, it's surprising that it
hasn't been lost."

One
of the Horse Guards laughed. "God, Saxon, that's rich! The War Office is
always losing their damned precious memorandums. One was lost just a month ago
concerning a supply shipment needed in a bloody rush, and it took them almost
two weeks to find it! In the meantime one of the ranking officers was screaming
it had been stolen. Very embarrassed he was when it turned up in a file on his
desk!"

Christopher
joined in the ripple of amusement, but inwardly he cursed the interruption.
Without being obvious he had to get back to that damned memorandum. It was the
first real piece of evidence he'd heard of since he'd been in England, and he
sure as hell wasn't going to let it slip by. Laughter crinkled his eyes as he said
idly, "Well, let us hope Major Black's memorandum doesn't suffer a similar
fate!"

And
his luck was riding high as Buckley took the bait. "Ha! Not bloody likely!
The major now has it locked up tight as a virgin in a nunnery!"

"Oh?"
Christopher queried sardonically. "I seem to remember that more than one
blushing virgin went missing from some of those old stone nunneries."

Buckley
smiled patronizingly. "That may be, but in this case our little virgin is
locked up tightly in an iron safe in the major's office!"

Apparently
losing interest, Christopher shrugged and said, "Perhaps so, my friend.
Perhaps so."

He
forced himself to remain for another hour, laughing and drinking, but he was
already working on a plan. Walking slowly toward his lodgings in the predawn
hours he knew he was going to steal that memorandum. Steal it, and soon. But
not too soon, he thought with frustration, remembering unpleasantly that
September thirtieth would be the date of the next American ship.

With
his thoughts in turmoil, he entered his rooms and absently undressed. If he
were to steal the memorandum immediately, he would be in the unenviable
position of having in his possession a document that could hang him. To hold it
for almost thirty days was madness!

But
to wait could be disastrous. He knew where the memorandum was at this moment,
but would he be able to say the same thing in a week or two?

Lying
sleeplessly on his bed, he mulled over the night's revelations and searched for
a way to put what he had learned to his advantage. There was no question that
he would have to allow a day or two to elapse before wandering casually over to
the War Office and casually inspecting Major Black's office and the iron safe.
The safe gave him little concern—his agile and sensitive fingers could open any
lock.

Stealing
the memorandum posed few problems; it was the timing that was his greatest
obstacle. With a groan he cursed the fate that dropped this plum in his hand
two days
after
the August rendezvous! He dared not wait before stealing
the memorandum for obvious reasons, but what in the hell good did it do him if
he had to wait nearly thirty days before he could set sail for New Orleans?

A
sleepless night presented no solution, and the next morning Christopher sat
staring blankly at nothing in particular, still seeking a way out of his
dilemma. Only one thing was a certainty—the knowledge that before the week
ended he was going to have the memorandum in his possession. The only way he
would be able to conceal the memorandum's theft was to replace the original
memorandum with a fake and hope no one would detect the difference. To effect
such a forgery, however, he would have to bring in another person, and this he
had no desire to do.

The
obvious course was to bring in Higgins. Not only was he absolutely convinced of
Higgins's loyalty to the United States, he knew Higgins to be a master forger—
indeed it was this talent that had led to his being in the British Navy in the
first place, prison having been his other choice.

Though
Christopher had not confided in Higgins, he often suspected that the older man
had a very good idea why they had actually come to England. But not wishing to
involve anyone else in what could be a very dangerous scheme, Christopher had
kept his valet and friend deliberately in the dark.

But
it did not take Christopher long to realize that he had no choice but to
include Higgins; he was the only person who could be trusted.

Once
the British found the memorandum gone, or once it was decided that it had been
stolen, there was no doubt that their plans would be changed—which would make
the memorandum he held useless. So there simply
had
to be a forgery
lying in that damned safe.

For
a long minute he considered telling Higgins immediately, but hoping another
solution would present itself, he put it off. If nothing else came to him by
the time he was ready to steal the memorandum, then and only then would he tell
Higgins.

Shaking
off his abstracted mood, he dressed quickly, exchanging only the most
commonplace remarks with Higgins. As usual Higgins read his master's mood. Idly
he inquired, "Something in the wind, Guvnor?"

Christopher
sent him an affectionately exasperated look. "Nothing that won't wait.
I'll talk to you about it later. Right now I'm going to call on my grandfather.
He'll know by now that I am back in town, and unless I want a thundering scold,
I had better go and set his mind at ease." Shrugging into his jacket, he
finished, "Tell the landlady that I'll not want dinner here this evening
and do as you wish for the rest of the day. Don't look for me before
midnight."

Christopher
arrived at Cavendish Square well before the hour that social calls began.
Consequently he caught Nicole and Simon still at the breakfast table; Regina
and Mrs. Eggleston had not yet descended from their rooms.

Simon
was delighted to see him, and much relieved by his vigorous appearance. He
started to order another place set for him at the table, but Christopher
forestalled him by saying lightly, "Don't bother. I have already eaten
this morning. A cup of black coffee would not be amiss, though."

Nicole
ignored him, concentrating fiercely on her rasher of bacon and poached egg. The
sudden breathlessness that assailed her at the unexpected sight of him
infuriated her and made her even more determined to have nothing to do with
him.

Last
night she had vowed she would dance beneath his gibbet and, by heaven, she
would keep that vow, she thought grimly. She was
not
going to continue
with this silly infatuation for a man who obviously cared for no one.

Unfortunately
she couldn't leap to her feet and sweep regally from the breakfast room, it
would be too distressing to Simon. And despite Simon's apparent willingness to
condone Regina's attempts to keep her and Robert apart, Nicole was very fond of
the old gentleman and had no wish to upset him. Determinedly she kept her eyes
studiously averted from the dark-haired devil across from her.

Though
he seemed to pay her no attention, Christopher had certainly noticed the
uncompromising set to her fine jaw. He had seen Nick assume that expression too
often aboard
La Belle Garce
not to recognize it. But if the stubborn
expression reminded him of Nick, certainly nothing else about her did.

Almost
leisurely, only one ear attuned to his grandfather's comments, Christopher
appraised her as she sat there so pointedly pretending he wasn't at the table.
Wearing a gown of apricot jaconet with ivory lace ruching down the front, and
with the burnished curls framing the stormy features, she looked particularly
fetching. And Christopher knew a sudden urge to catch her in his arms and to
make her as aware of him as he was of her. As he sat staring at her his gaze
was drawn involuntarily to the sultry curve of her lips and his mind strayed
from what Simon was saying.

Aware
that he no longer had Christopher's attention, Simon hesitated then rambled on,
watching the two of them with growing interest. As he continued to talk, just
as if his grandson were listening avidly instead of barely conscious that he
was in the room, Simon discovered with satisfaction that it was as obvious as
the nose on his face that those youngsters were definitely drawn to each other.
It was also exceedingly apparent, he decided disgustedly, that they were either
too obdurate to admit it or too stupid to realize it. Pigheaded fools, the both
of them! I wonder if I...

Hastily
Simon drew back from that thought. No, he'd be damned if he was going to turn
into a meddling old busybody. Let the pair of them work out their own solution,
he wasn't about to stick his head in that hornet's nest! But it did relieve him
to see that there was a foundation to Regina's contention that Nicole and
Christopher were not indifferent to each other. It made it easier for him to
continue to nourish the anger he had felt against Robert when he learned of the
accident that had led to Christopher's wounding. And as long as he remained
angry with Robert, Robert couldn't very well ask him about the truth of the
engagement between Nicole and Christopher, he reminded himself. Besides, he
admitted ruefully, he wanted Nicole and Christopher to marry! Deep in his heart
he acknowledged that he did
not
want Robert to win Nicole's affections
under any circumstances.

Christopher,
realizing abruptly that he had been only half listening to Simon, jerked his
gaze away from Nicole and said, "I beg your pardon? What did you say? I'm
afraid I was thinking of something else."

A
wicked twinkle in his eye, Simon barked, "Well, pay attention then! I
asked if you were going to join us at Brighton for the remainder of the season.
We're leaving on Monday and I don't expect we'll be back in London till the
spring." Seeing Christopher's look of surprise, Simon added by way of
explanation, "After a few months on the coast at Brighton, I always end up
at Beddington's Corner for the winter, swearing I'll not step foot from it
again. But come spring, the urge to come to London grows too strong for me, and
I find myself once again in Cavendish Square. Then the whole damned cycle
starts all over again. You'll probably discover it is the same with you."

Christopher
merely smiled noncommittally, thoughtfully absorbing this new information.

Brighton
was the favorite sea resort of the prince regent, and since the prince had
begun to patronize it several years ago, the small village had become the
preferred haunt of the members of the
ton
during the fall months. And
Brighton, Christopher remembered with mixed emotions, was not more than a few
miles from Rottingdean and his rendezvous with the American privateer. Almost
thinking out loud, he said slowly, "I have a cottage near Rottingdean, you
know—it's where I have been these past weeks. Rather than join you at Brighton,
I think perhaps I will stay there and ride in each day for whatever delights
the town has to offer."