Lord Suitor (17 page)

"Would
you like to know why, my lord?" Tessa placed her hands on her hips and
hoped he could feel the metaphorical daggers she threw at him. It was as well
no physical implement was to hand, except her chamber pot. That would only be
useful if she'd used it, and she could empty the contents over his head. As it
was empty and her aim so poor, she'd probably hit the lamp and burn the house
down. The strength of her ire surprised her. She would cogitate on why it was
so, later.

He
smiled warily. Perhaps her emotions had reached him. "Please do."

"It
is my pleasure. I have no worries, my lord, because if you were the last man on
earth, I'd prefer to remain an old maid and on the shelf. Get out."

He
blinked, and Tessa stuck out her hand and waved in the direction of her open
window. Never again would she leave it unlocked. "That way, as you seem to
prefer it. Or down the main stairs if not. I do not much care as long as you
leave me."

“Now,
ma p'tite
," he began.

It
was the last straw. Tessa picked up the heavy—and sadly empty—chamber pot.

"Out.
Never ever speak to me again. Out." Her voice rose as he stayed where he
was. "If I aim at the window, I'll hit you." Her voice rose. "Out.
Out..." She pulled her arm back and threw the porcelain.

In
horror she saw it fly through the air toward Nat's head.

He
ducked.

The
pot hit the windowpane, and both shattered in a loud explosion. Glass and
porcelain rained down like a winter storm.

"That,
my lord, will bring the servants running. I suggest you leave."

He
took a step toward her. "Tessa, my love..."

"Oh,
just go." Tessa choked back a sob and closed her eyes. "If you love
me as you profess to do, go away."

When
she opened them, he was gone.

She
sank down and cried. What a mess they'd made of everything. She wasn't ready to
admit a lot more was down to her than Nat.

Chapter Seventeen

"Where's
Tessa?" He hadn't wanted to inquire or quiz anyone, but knowing she had returned
to the capital before he was able to leave Devon, he had to ask.

Sybille
jumped, presumably at his peremptory tone, as well she might, Nat allowed.
However, he had to ask someone, and she seemed the best bet. The rest of her
family were conspicuous by their absence, except for Dare, who just glared at
Nat whenever he saw him and walked off in the opposite direction. Nat wondered
what Tessa had said to him, or whether he had just drawn his own erroneous
conclusions.

Nat
had experienced a worrying few days before word came back that the Frenchman
had left the area and the latest smuggling run had gone smoothly. Then he set
off to London posthaste, to repair the damage he'd caused. The trouble was,
he'd not seen hair or hide of Tessa and the staff of Birch house were naturally
closed lipped about her whereabouts. Theo and Mijo were absent from town as
they went to visit one of Theo's old friends who was ill, and Stanley was able
to report neither Doris nor Tessa traveled with them. Unfortunately Stanley
didn't know where either of them were.

Nat
had expected Tessa to be at Lady Amersham's Ball. It was one of the highlights
of the season, but as far as he could tell, she hadn't attended. He was getting
increasingly concerned.

"Please,
Sybille." Nat accepted he was begging, but needs must, and he was desperate
for news. He'd come across Sybille as she walked away from the supper table and
accosted her. "Where is she? How is she?"

"I
have no idea where she is," Sybille said frostily. "And as to how she
is? That is nothing to do with you."

He
rather thought it was all to do with him.

"You
mean she hadn't told you what a mess I've made of everything?" He touched
Sybille's arm briefly. "That I lost her faith and trust in me?" He
dropped his hand. "It was not her fault, any of it."

Sybille
opened her eyes wide. "Mess?"

Nat
nodded. "Mess. I regally went about things in the wrong way."

Sybille
glanced around the crowded ballroom. "Hmm, she didn't tell me that."
However, to Nat's dismay, Sybille didn't mention what Tessa
had
spoken about. "This is no place
to talk," Sybille said. "Can you call on me in the morning and take
me for a drive?"

"Of
course, but..."

"Thank
you, my lord, I'd love to dance," Sybille said loudly and pinched Nat's
arm.

He
bowed and led her onto the dance floor where a waltz was about to begin and
looked back at the scowling man who had occupied the space they vacated. If
looks could kill, his heir would be picking the hymns for Nat's funeral anytime
soon.

"Have
I queered Bankfoot's pitch? He is looking daggers at me."

"I
hope so," Sybille said. "Oh, not about the daggers, but the rest. I
do not like him, and he harries me."

"Shall
I call him to accounts?"

She
looked horrified. "No, oh no. I just need a breathing space from
him."

Nat
pirouetted her elegantly around a corner. "Consider it done. I'll deliver
you to your chaperone. Who is it?"

"My
godmother, Lady Felix. She's sitting with the Dowager Duchess of
Melksham."

They
danced on in silence until the music ended. "Eleven? To drive?" he
asked, as they approached Lady Felix. "I'll bring my phaeton."

"Perfect."
Sybille curtsied, and Nat made his bows to the ladies, chatted for a few
seconds, and left the ball. He had plans to make and people to see. If Sybille
couldn't—or wouldn't—help, he knew a man who both could and would. However, it
seemed both underhanded and deceitful to employ Buckner if he could use his own
methods to gain information. Nat was uneasily aware that to pump Sybille for
information was equally as unethical, but he still intended to see what she
would tell him. Something had to be done, and soon. He may have an idea how to
see if Tessa really meant what she said, but he wasn't that enamored with it.

Nat
whistled as he walked down the street with a menacing gait and swinging his
Malacca cane in time to his footsteps. It was perhaps too early for the petty
thieves and villains who lay in wait for drunken bucks to stagger home, but it
paid to be careful. Cubby had reminded him of the attitude needed to make those
up to no good wary of approaching you.

Fifteen
minutes later, Nat reentered his house in a considerably better mood than he'd
left it. At one point two ruffians had watched him warily from the other side
of the road, but left him well alone. The watch had greeted him pleasantly, and
Nat replied in the same vein.

Simmonds,
his majordomo, closed the door behind him, and a footman helped him out of his
coat. Nat thanked them both. He had never been one of the "servants are
lesser mortals" brigade. He valued them and knew their worth.

"Brandy
in my study, please, Simmonds." He needed to think. Nat entered his
favorite room in the house and stirred the banked-up fire to life with the
firedog. Once the coals were blazing and firelight flickered over the walls, he
sat in the overstuffed and comfortable chair to one side of the hearth. It was
his favorite place to ponder.

A
knock on the door brought him out of his reverie. After he bade the caller to
enter, one of the footmen did so and handed him his decanter and glass. Nat
made a note to ask Simmonds to ensure a carafe was left daily. Not that he was
a lush, far from it, but it seemed silly to expect a servant to bring the stuff
in when it could be there waiting. After all when he was alone, his study was
usually the room he repaired to. It made sense for his refreshments to be
waiting if he desired them.

"Thank
you. Please tell Judd I'll be up shortly." Nat waited until the man had
left and sniffed the aromatic liquid appreciatively and then sipped it slowly. The
rich, smooth taste of the brandy coated his throat and warmed his innards.
Stupidly, the taste reminded him of Devon and Tessa. Not conducive to a clear
head and thinking straight.

Nat
stared morosely at the fire. How on earth could he have got it all so wrong? All
of a sudden, the brandy tasted like poison, and the fire heated him in all the
wrong ways. He tossed off the contents of his glass and stood up. A cold wash
to cool himself and then he might as well retire for the night, and let Judd
finish for the day. Nothing could be achieved until the next morning, if then.

*****

Promptly
at eleven Nat presented himself at Birch House. Sybille didn't keep him waiting
long under the disapproving eye of Thurbelow, the Birches’ long-serving majordomo
in town.

"Does
he think I've transferred my attentions?" Nat asked as he gathered up the
reins and tooled his phaeton toward the park. "Or does he think I've done
something so awful Tessa has gone into a decline?"

Sybille
laughed. "Neither, he thinks you are dragging your heels. Or Tessa is. I suspect
he's trying to make up his mind which. My lord, I have to tell you, I do not
know what went wrong between you. All Tessa told me was there would be no
marriage, and she refused to discuss it. She seemed somewhat agitated, and I
thought it best not to press her on the subject."

Nat
raised one eyebrow. It was not like either lady to be silent on that way. Both
were vociferous and opinionated. "Then, tell her—" He paused and
negotiated the tight turn through the park gates. "Tell her I won't bother
her again, but my offer still stands."

As
she was acting so out of character, he rather thought she regretted her hasty
words. Or was it just wishful thinking on his part? Whichever, it was time to
execute the next part of his plan. Things could not be allowed to stagnate. He
grinned.

"You
look like the cat who has the cream," Sybille said. "May I ask
why?"

Nat
checked where they were and slowed his horses to a walk. "I've listened to
your words carefully." Did he imagine Sybille paled and bit her lip in a
manner reminiscent of Tessa? "When you speak to Tessa, which even if you
do not know where she is at this moment, I assume you will communicate soon, I
have a message for her."

As
he thought, Sybille colored prettily and looked at her gloved hands. "It's
not as easy as all that, my lord. My hands are tied so to speak. The last time
I saw her, she was both angry and upset, and apart from wishing every form of punishment
known to us on you, she would say no more. Nevertheless, I er, well, of course,
if we communicate, I will pass on any message from you."

"Sybille.
I was not born yesterday, nor did I come up to town on a milk cart. I am under
no illusion that although you speak the literal truth, and do not know where
she is at this precise moment, you do keep in touch. So pass this on. I will no
longer pay her attention, court her, or do anything to make her think I'm
interested. Any moves toward our communicating, or indeed anything else, must
come from her." He urged his horses on once more. "If she wishes to
speak to me, or changes her mind, she knows where I am. I was in the wrong, and
I accept that. It doesn't alter my stance, or how I feel, but life must go on. Now
let us change the subject. Do you repair to the country when the season
ends?"

Luckily,
Sybille followed his lead, and the rest of the drive passed pleasantly. By the
time he set her down at Birch House, he had her laughing at his quips and in a much
better frame of mind that earlier. As he bowed over her hand, she cleared her
throat.

"I
will pass on your message, my lord. If I have the opportunity."

"Please
do. Now excuse me if I do not enter with you. I have a luncheon date with
Susanna Hart." Nat turned on his heel and regained his phaeton.

"Wait."
Sybille walked back toward him. "Susanna Hart?"

Nat
nodded. "She is a possible candidate for my wife, now Tessa has spurned
me, don't you think?" He drove away, well pleased with the morning's
activities, leaving Sybille standing at the bottom of the steps leading up to
the front door.

Her
mouth was agape, and she had a white knuckle grip on the handrail. He chuckled.
It had gone much better than he thought. Now it was up to Tessa to make the
next move.

Nat
prepared to be amused. If he didn't get a knife in his side, he just might come
out the victor.

Chapter Eighteen

Tessa
read the gossip page and gritted her teeth.

What
had Sybille reported word for word? Oh yes…

"I will no longer pay her
attention, court her, or do anything to make her think I'm interested. Any
moves toward our communicating, or indeed anything else, must come from her. If
she wishes to speak to me, or changes her mind, she knows where I am. I was in
the wrong, and I accept that. It doesn't alter my stance, or how I feel, but
life must go on."

Nat,
it seemed, was now on the prowl, and it annoyed her. More than that, it hurt.
She accepted she was contrary. She'd turned him down, so what right did she
have to complain? However, after enduring his actions with so many eligible
women for several weeks, she'd had enough. It was enough to keep her at home,
indisposed.

"With
a bad temper," Sybille said forthrightly. "You cannot have your cake
and eat it, Tessa. You know what Nat said. It is now all up to you."

"He
is fickle." She flung the paper onto the floor. "How can he profess
to love me and discard that love so quickly?"

Tessa
paced the tiny sitting room she and Sybille had appropriated in the London
house. The others knew not to intrude. With an exasperated hiss, she kicked the
offending paper into the air, to watch it flutter to the floor with the
offending article uppermost. "Susanna Hart, Lavinia Merton, and that
simpering idiot Agatha Castle. Why, any one of them would bore him within a
sennight. Why is he escorting them?"

"Why
should he not? You told him you wouldn't accept his offer." Sybille
grabbed hold of Tessa's skirt and pulled her to a halt. "Stop pacing and
tell me this. Was whatever he did so bad that you can't forgive and
forget?" She asked the question gently. "You're miserable. Arthur
says Nat has a black dog riding him, and his friends are giving him a wide
berth. Hell, he even tried to call Arthur out, and Edgar Pollett had to
intervene. Several mamas have said in no uncertain terms that Nat has gone off
the rails, and his misspent youth is once more rearing its ugly head. Therefore,
they have forbidden their daughters to socialize with him. Others of course see
it as a challenge to reform him. Elizabeth Sharpe thinks he is about to offer
for her."

"Rubbish,
she would bore him to death even faster than any of the others." Tessa
snapped the words out. "She hasn't a thought in her head above what gown
she should wear. Lud, she told me once that she thought a man and a woman
should not have to share a carriage, let alone anything else. Heavens, if she
saw his pego, she would run a mile. He is all too much a man for her."

Sybille's
eyes widened. "And you know this how?"

"The
usual wa...ah... I am outed." Tessa colored, rolled her eyes, and spread
out her hands in supplication. "Oh, it's all so complicated, and as ever
my temper got the better of me." Tessa sighed and wiped a recalcitrant
tear from the corner of her eye.

"What
was it like?" Sybille asked curiously. "As good as Maman tells?"

"No."
Tessa shook her head, and Sybille's face fell. "It is so much better. I
can not describe how my emotions were, but take it from me, Maman did not
exaggerate as we supposed."

"Tessa."
Sybille put her hand over her mouth to cover the most unladylike snort she emitted.
"You hussy."

"Oh
yes, I wish it was still so. Dammit, Sybille. I miss him, and yes 'it'
so." She would
not
cry. The time
for that was over. It was decision time. "Sybille," Tessa said
slowly. "I need yours and Mitcham's help."

Sybille
stared at her, and Tessa did her best not to squirm at the sudden understanding
she saw in her sister's eyes.

"Do
you want Arthur to dig a grave and me to stand lookout? If so, I want to borrow
your pistol," Sybille said placidly. "Papa won't give me one."

Tessa
laughed and shook her head, happier than she had felt for an age. "That's
because you can't shoot straight."

“Well,
it's not fair. You can't throw a dead cat and hit a ten-foot wall."

"True."
Tessa shook her head at the thought of even wielding a cat of nine tails for
any reason. "Mind you, once I aimed and almost hit the target. Only once.
However, somehow I have a deadly aim with a firearm and never miss my target.
Hence I have a pistol. This time I rather anticipate I will need it. Your
throwing skills are nigh on unsurpassable. Hence you will have a handful of
rocks in your pocket."

"Ohh,
what are we going to do?"

Tessa
took a deep breath. "Kidnap Nat."

*****

"You're
crazy. Are you really sure you want to go through with this?" Arthur asked
as he escorted Sybille and Tessa away from the ball they had attended. True to
his word, Nat hadn't approached Tessa at all. He had sent one brief piercing stare
in her direction—a glance she felt stripped away all her defenses— and then he
had totally ignored her presence, even when they passed in the corridor on the
way to the supper room.

At
first it had saddened her, then made her angry. Tessa suspected it was that
anger that carried her forward.

"I
do. As long as you and Sybille carry out your part of the plan, I will do the
rest." She rubbed her clammy hands together and realized she still wore
gloves. "After all it's not as if my behavior will put me on the shelf.
I'm there already."

"But
not in disgrace," Sybille said worriedly. "This could ostracize you
forever."

"Then
I could retire to my own house in Devon that my godmother left me, and keep
cats," Tessa said with an insouciance she didn't really feel.
"Sybille, I must try. Now off you go. I'll wait in the carriage as
planned."

She
let the doorman hand her into her carriage and watched out of the window as it
moved off toward the edge of the park. So much hinged on everything going to
plan, and she had to hope and pray her co-conspirators did their job.

Tessa
thought about her reasons for her actions. Tit for tat? No, not that. She was past
that emotion. More, she decided for privacy. Total and utter privacy where no
one could disturb them, and spoil what they might eventually gain from their
meeting. Apart from that, Nat had said the next move must come from her.

The
carriage lurched around a corner and over some uneven cobbles and stopped. The
door opened, and Stanley and Doris helped her out.

"The
other carriage is waiting, my lady, and everyone knows their roles."
Stanley ushered her across the road and around the corner to where an
undistinguished black coach with four black horses harnessed to it stood
waiting. "The rest will be here in five minutes, and then we'll go before
anyone wonders why we are loitering. Once we reach your destination..."
His voice trailed off.

"We'll
leave you to it," Doris said and chuckled softly. "Although we're
stopping in the village. My auntie lives nearby, and well, she thinks we're
wed."

"We
will be soon," Stanley said. "As soon as we can. His Lor'ship has a
cottage earmarked for us."

"Hush."
Doris prodded Stanley. "I told you not whilst my lady is unwed. Now, miss,
in you get. I can here a coach acoming." She handed Tessa into the vehicle.
"Good luck."

"Thank
you." Tessa suspected she'd need it or she'd lose a lady’s maid. Because
no way would she allow Doris to sacrifice her happiness.

She
sat back in the corner and waited impatiently. Her heartbeat sounded loud in
her ears, and she jumped as a nearby church clock struck the hour. Was she mad?

The
wheels of the approaching carriage rumbled toward her, getting louder by the
second, and she gulped. This was it. When the noise stopped, she waited, dry
mouthed, to see if there was any hint of an altercation.

Nothing.
Almost silence, which would have been eerie except for the jangle of horses’
bits and the squeak of a vehicle's springs.

The
door to her coach opened, and a long, dark shape slid across the floor toward
her.

"He's
out for at least long enough to get there. I reckon I've put him off brandy for
life. Now, he'd be best left on the floor, or he might fall off the
squabs," Arthur said. "We'll see you at the other end. Are you sure
you don't want someone to ride in the coach with you?"

"I'm
certain," Tessa said firmly. If he did waken before they reached their
destination, she wanted no one but herself to be around to take the blame and
his undoubted wrath.

"So
be it. See you in an hour or so." The door shut, and within seconds the coach
moved forward and through the quiet back streets toward the north.

Once
the capital was left behind, the coach picked up speed, and Tessa saw the value
of her "parcel" resting on the floor and not on the seat. Especially
after they turned off the reasonably smooth main road and down the lanes of the
countryside.

She
glanced down at Nat, who hadn't stirred, and wondered what he'd say when he
woke up. Well, it was too late to turn back; she'd have to hope for the best.
At least she wasn't taking him to a barn.

Five
minutes short of two hours, the carriage stopped outside a tiny cottage. For
the past half an hour, they had passed by no dwellings, and for at least ten of
those minutes, they'd been traveling through a wood of oak and elm.

If
Tessa hadn't been given her destination and directions of how to get there, she
would be totally lost. They could be eight miles from town, or eight hundred.
It was impossible to say.

Only
once had Nat seemed to rouse, but it was short lived. For several miles he had
been mainly still and only rolling with the movement of the vehicle.

She
stood up as the carriage door opened, and Stanley looked in.

"All
right?" he asked baldly. "Ready?"

"Yes
and yes. Do let's hurry in case he wakens. I want you all gone and him all
secure before that happens." She waited until Stanley and Arthur took hold
of Nat between them and carried him toward the cottage, and then she followed
with Doris.

Sybille
stepped forward, and Tessa embraced her sister with love. "You stop in the
carriage. Arthur will be with you in a trice, and it will be easier and safer for
you. And, Sybille?"

Sybille
looked at her with a query in her eyes. Her expression was easily discernable
in the moonlight.

"Thank
you."

"I
hope you say that tomorrow."

So
did Tessa. She hurried into the cottage, saw Nat safely bestowed onto a bed, and
shooed the others away. Then she gazed pensively at Nat, who was stretched out
on the bed, his arms and legs still bound.

"Well,
now I've got you captive, what should I do?" She sat down on the edge of
the mattress and continued her ruminations out loud. "I fear I forgot one
major point. How to make you accept I want you, and do so wish to be your wife?
That I understand you must have had a reason for what you did and how you did
it. For seducing me. No." She shook her head. "It was no seduction. I
was a willing partner. I think half the problem was my annoyance with myself
for not knowing you were my smuggler and vice versa. Ah well, once you wake,
I'll have to throw myself on your mercy."

"Oh,
there's no need to wait. I'm ready, willing, and able."

Tessa
jumped and fell backward off the bed.

*****

Well, that went well.
Nat opened his eyes and wondered
where the hell he was. His memory of for however long—he knew not how long—was
somewhat hazy, even to the point he had no idea of whether it was hours or
minutes since he drank brandy and played cards with...
Arthur.
They'd left the ball together, and he had a vague
recollection of Arthur saying he felt unwell and of Nat bending over his friend.
Then nothing except for odd snippets of conversations he couldn't hear, a
frightful headache, and lots of bumps and jolts, until finally he was put on
the bed where he now lay.

Somehow
he hadn't been surprised to hear Tessa's voice, and her words. It intrigued him
to find out what she intended to do next.

"Shall
I join you there?" He rolled onto his side and looked down to where she
was sprawled. Her skirts had ridden up, showing her well-turned ankles and shapely
thighs. "Though I fear if I land next to you, I'll never be able get up
again. Hmm, it would allow you to do as you please. My body is yours, my dear,
to use at your will..." He grinned. "As long as it does not involve
my pego and a sabre."

Tessa
sat up and rubbed her elbow. "Well, not a sabre exactly." She tilted
her head to one side, and her eyes glinted with mischief in the pale candlelight.

Nat
was glad no one had thought to blindfold him. As he looked at Tessa still
dressed in the ball gown she had worn earlier, his heart, his cock, swelled. She
was everything he desired. "Then may I ask what you have in mind?"

"This."
She stood up and carefully slid the low lacy neckline of her dress down her
arms and let it bunch around her waist. Then slowly she took an end of the
ribbons of her chemise in each hand and pulled them undone to let the soft lawn
shift follow the path of the silk and lace gown.