Love's Price (Lord Trent Series) (27 page)

“Honestly, Westwood,” a woman tittered. “You and your ward? How cliché!”

James stared them all down, while Miranda grinned, anxious to have them recognize that she was glad they’d been discovered.

Something was supposed to happen now, but she wasn’t sure of the sequence. A stern, fatherly figure was supposed to order James into the library for a private talk that would end with a proposal of marriage. But instead, a man at the rear of the group pushed his way forward.

“Let me through, let me through,” he brusquely decreed, and the others split so he could approach.

Shortly, Jonathan Bramwell, Aiden’s younger brother, emerged.

“James,” he dramatically announced, “this message was just delivered. It’s from Aiden. Another captain brought it back for him. He said it was urgent.”

He handed James a sealed envelope as they all gathered around. Everyone was on tenterhooks, watching as James ripped at the seal, as he tipped the letter toward the light and began to read.

Frowning, he crushed the letter into a ball and clutched it over his heart, and he staggered as if he’d received a hard blow.

“What is it, man?” Bramwell asked, looking stricken. “Is it bad news? Is he dead?”

A deafening silence ensued, then James chuckled and shook his head.

“No, he’s not dead. He’s been found, very much alive. He’s hale and healthy, and Aiden will have him here in a few days.”

The crowd exploded in wild cheers, and Miranda fixed a smile on her face and pretended to be ecstatic, too.

London. Home.

Tristan peered out at the drab buildings, at the gray sky, and he laughed and stepped onto the gangplank.

Thousands of people had come to see him debark, and as he appeared—with James at his side—the wharf erupted in pandemonium. Women swooned. Bystanders screamed and threw flowers. Off in the distance, cannons were fired.

James had warned him about the frenzy that his rescue had created, but all the same, he was surprised by it.

He halted and waved, which ignited more mayhem, then he started down, gazing out across the teaming throng, but he didn’t see Harriet anywhere. He tried not to be disappointed, but he was.

He’d asked one of the sailors about her, but was told she’d already left, and Tristan was stunned that she hadn’t waited to say goodbye. Not that he necessarily
deserved
a goodbye, but still...

He sighed and continued on, his legs shaky from his recent illness. Just after arriving on Bramwell’s ship, he’d come down with the worst influenza, having been laid low for over two weeks, which had severed things with Harriet in a way he’d never intended.

After he’d recuperated, he might have sought her out, but a spate of storms had effectively wrecked whatever slim opportunity remained to redeem himself. After the weather had cleared, he’d meant to visit her, but Bramwell had convinced him not to.

Coward that he was, he’d let Aiden badger him about his place in relation to Harriet. Tristan was going to marry Miranda. Where—precisely—did Harriet fit into that scenario?

He knew Bramwell was correct and he should forget about her, but it seemed wrong to leave without a farewell.

He jumped down to the dock, and a bevy of James’s footmen forged a path to the carriage. Suddenly, the crowd parted, and there was Miranda, pretty and fetching in a lavender-colored dress, a matching bonnet.

“Tristan!” Trembling with relief, she rushed forward to greet him.

He pulled her into a tight hug. “Hello, Miranda.”

“I can’t believe you’re here! I just can’t believe it! I was certain you’d perished. This is a miracle!”

Her eyes glistened with tears, and he leaned down and kissed her on the lips. The embrace was very sweet, very chaste, and when he realized it bored him silly, he pushed away the disloyal thought.

This was Miranda. Innocent, perky, flirtatious Miranda. His fiancée. Soon to be his bride.

A footman opened the carriage door, and Tristan helped her in. Then it was his turn, but he couldn’t follow.

Feeling momentarily panicked, he glanced around. He was tall enough that he had a wide view, but Harriet was nowhere to be found, and a flood of melancholy washed over him.

While on Bramwell’s ship, she’d been close by, so it had been easy to live with his disavowal of her. If he’d wished to change his mind, he could have strolled over to the hatch and descended to her cabin.

But now...

Once they drove away, he’d never see her again. If he wanted to get hold of her later, maybe to say hello or to check on her, he had no idea how to contact her.

“What is it?” James asked, coming up behind him.

“I was looking for the woman who was stranded with me. I should tell her goodbye.”

At his mentioning Harriet, it seemed as if the entire mob froze, every ear cocked in his direction.

James scowled and whispered, “Do you think that’s wise?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? We’re friends. She saved my life.”

A vision flashed, of those desperate, frantic hours out on the ocean where he’d been so gravely wounded. She’d nursed and encouraged him, and despite what anyone might ever say to the contrary, he’d survived because of her.

How could he go off without her? A life without Harriet was no life at all! What was he doing? Why was he here with all these strangers? He didn’t belong with them. He belonged with
her
.

Alarm swamped him, and he nearly bolted, but James laid a steadying hand on his arm, dragging him back to the present.

“You claim she’s your friend,” James murmured, “so you should be aware that this horde is here to see her—more than you. The worst stories have been spread about her.”

“What kinds of stories?”

“Rumor has it that she’s a prostitute, that she frolicked naked with Bramwell’s whole crew.”

“That’s a bloody lie!”

“I’m sure it is, but if you seek her out, you’ll only fuel the scandal by drawing attention to her.”

“We were friends,” Tristan said again.

“Forget about her,” James counseled. “It’s all in the past.”

Miranda popped up in the window. “Did you tell him about the party?”

“What party?” Tristan queried.

“Drat it!” She grinned. “I’ve ruined the surprise.”

“We’re having a celebration at the house,” James explained. “Everyone is waiting for you.”

“Oh...”

He glanced around a final time, and far down the wharf, he thought he saw Harriet with a dapper-looking blond man, but he wasn’t positive. It didn’t matter anyway.

Spinning away, he climbed into the coach. James followed, the driver clicked the reins, and they hurried away.

Harriet hid behind a mast, trying to stay out of the way as sailors rushed by, finishing chores so their shore leave could begin.

She should have already debarked, but at any moment, Tristan would step out onto the deck and proceed down into the crowd. It would be her last chance to speak with him, and she was having trouble working up the courage to approach him.

From the instant they’d been rescued, she hadn’t seen him again. Not during her horrid bout of influenza. Not during the rough storms that had hit afterward. His behavior had made it clear that she meant nothing to him, and his rejection was killing her like a knife stuck through her heart.

Still, she wanted to say goodbye, and she didn’t understand why it was so difficult. She’d never been shy or timid, but the world was moving too fast. It was loud and hectic, and she couldn’t find her balance.

A door opened up near the bow, and two men emerged. They were tall and handsome with dark hair and vivid blue eyes. From the cut of their expensive clothes, they were obviously very wealthy, an aloof duo of affluence and power.

As they marched by, it took Harriet several seconds to comprehend that the man on the left was Tristan. He’d been bathed and barbered, and he was so changed that she hardly recognized him.

The fellow who accompanied him had to be his aristocratic brother, and she could feel her separation from them as blatantly as if they’d built a wall to keep her out.

As they walked to the gangplank, people saw them and erupted in cheers, and she crouched down, wondering what to do.

After they’d docked, she’d dawdled on the ship because she’d stupidly supposed he’d relent and summon her to Bramwell’s cabin before he departed. But he hadn’t, so there was no reason to linger, but she couldn’t force herself to leave.

She had no money and nowhere to go. And she was very, very sad. She tiptoed to the rail and peeked over, and from her higher vantage point, she could observe the whole scene. Tristan fought through the throng, and ultimately, he arrived at a coach. A fetching young woman greeted him, and he kissed her on the lips.

If the Lord Jesus had suddenly appeared in the sky, Harriet couldn’t have been more stunned. A wave of jealousy swept over her, then a wave of hurt.

In all the times they’d been together, in all the times they’d talked and loved and reminisced, he’d sworn there was no one special in his life.

The lying bastard!

Reality was a bitter tonic to swallow, and she stumbled down to the wharf, barely able to maintain her footing. Immediately, an obnoxious drunkard hustled up to her, the odor of alcohol strong on his breath.

“Did you come off the ship?” he inquired.

“Yes.”

“Is Harcourt’s doxy still on board?”

“His doxy?”

“Yes,” another man said. “We heard she lured him to his doom—like one of those mermaid creatures the sailors fear.”

She was peppered with questions: “Is she beautiful...What’s she wearing...Is she dressed or naked?”

They were leering and offensive, apparently watching for her—for no purpose she could fathom—but they were expecting a flamboyant and gaudy person, so they didn’t realize who she was.

“I don’t know anything about Captain Harcourt or his acquaintances,” she claimed, and she hurried away, traveling in the opposite direction from Harcourt. She was so intent on escape that, at first, she didn’t notice someone calling to her.

“Harriet! Harriet!”

She whirled around and—to her astonishment—she saw her cousin, Nigel.

While she’d previously found him to be fussy and cruel, she was so relieved to see a familiar face that her dislike vanished in a thrice.

“Nigel? What are you doing here?”

“The gossips kept saying that Harcourt’s companion was named Harriet. I don’t know why, but I took a chance that it might be you.”

“Oh, Nigel, thank you, thank you. That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

She staggered, her knees weak, and he reached out to steady her.

“I’m here to take you to Brookhaven.”

“But Uncle Richard! He won’t—”

“My father died, so the estate is mine now, and
I
get to decide who resides there. Mother and I want you to come home.”

“You’re joking.”

“No. And Helen is there. She’s waiting to welcome you.”

“Helen is there? I’d hoped to find her, but after so much time has passed, I had no idea where she might be.”

“Don’t fret, Harriet. I’ve got everything under control.”

With a palm at the small of her back, he urged her down the street until they’d left the uproar far behind.

“I’m so glad you came for me, Nigel. I’m just so glad.”

“I thought you might be.”

There was a carriage parked on the corner, and as they proceeded toward it, a man climbed out. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

“Here she is, Mr. Radley,” Nigel declared. “As promised.”

Radley studied Harriet and grinned. “Harriet Stewart, you’ve led me on a merry chase.”

“Who are you? What’s happening?”

She started to back away, but Nigel grabbed her.

“Don’t fight it, Harriet,” Nigel said. “You can’t win.”

“Win what? What are you talking about?”

“Get in nice and quiet like,” Radley commanded, “and you won’t be harmed.”

“Harmed!” Nigel scoffed. “No one is to be
harmed
. Just take her and go. I’ll be by shortly to pick up my money.”

Harriet gasped. “Your
money
.”

“Yes,” Nigel replied, calm as can be. “Did I neglect to introduce you to Mr. Radley? He works for Bentley Struthers. You’re a dangerous felon, and I’m collecting the reward for your capture.”