Margo Maguire (20 page)

Then a dangerous thought intruded, but Christina pushed it aside. Now was not time for thinking, but for pure rapture. That’s what her liaison with Gavin was about, and not . . .

Well, it certainly was not about anything else.

G
avin did not want to move, but he was too heavy to stay where he was. He slid off Christina, but pulled her close and kissed her forehead before nestling her under his chin.

The thought that he might not be able to protect her from Chetwood worried him. There was no functional reason the baron should be able to get to her once she arrived at home, but he had resources Gavin did not. He had help. And he had strong motivation, it seemed.

But what could it be? By now, Chetwood had to know the will was changed. Certainly Windermere had seen to it. Could it be anger? Revenge? But for what? For being a legitimate heir to the duke? For having the right to a portion of Windermere’s estate?

Gavin supposed that was likely it, especially for a man with the extravagant tastes—as well as the debts—he was reputed to have. Chetwood would have been infuriated by the loss of a significant portion of wealth that he’d come to believe would be his. But he could not possibly think he could get away with causing any harm to Christina.

“You built up the fire,” Christina said.

“Mmmm.” She snuggled close, fitting him so perfectly. Her warm, womanly scent surrounded him.

“You don’t think Baron Chetwood turned up at Newport by chance, do you?” she asked.

“No.”

“I don’t understand. If Windermere changed his will . . .”

“It doesn’t make a lot of sense. Chetwood would have made himself available to receive news of your grandfather’s demise, so I’m sure he was informed of the change in the duke’s will.” But Chetwood was a scoundrel of the first order. If the rumors were to be believed, he and his wife had squandered most of their own fortune, and were now dining out on the certainty of Windermere’s imminent demise. But nothing Chetwood did could alter Windermere’s bequests to Christina and Lily.

Gavin was missing something. For years, he had made a point of knowing what his enemies wanted. He knew their motivations, their resources, their weaknesses. He’d been able to anticipate their moves, which was what had made him so effective, and what had kept him from losing his own life.

His lack of information regarding Chetwood chafed. After witnessing the man’s near violence to his wife at Windermere, Gavin should have realized the baron would have no qualms about hurting Christina or her sister. They’d been his only competitors for Windermere’s wealth, and now they’d seen to it that Chetwood did not inherit everything. He had to be as angry with them as he’d been with his wife that afternoon Gavin had seen them together at Windermere Park.

“I’ll keep you safe, Christina.”

“I know you will,” she said sleepily. He felt her drift off, but found it difficult to do the same.

He needed facts. He wished he had a few men to circle back to Newport Pagnell to keep an eye on Chetwood and to report his activities. But he could not send Trevor or Hancock—they were needed to drive the carriage and protect Christina.

Gavin tried to put together the pieces of the puzzle. If the baron had discovered Christina’s identity—as he surely had done, for he had resources Gavin had not possessed—he would know where to find her in London. Gavin wondered if Chetwood had been tracking her for long. Maybe he knew about the blackmailer.

No. Christina had not told anyone about it—except him, whom she’d asked to help. So Chetwood could not have any idea why she was hurrying down to London . . .

But he must. He had been ahead of them at Newport Pagnell. As though waiting for them.

Gavin was too tired to think clearly. He settled in close to Christina, aware how important it was for him to get some sleep so he could be fully alert on the morrow, for who knew what the day would bring.

Chapter 20

T
he gravity of Christina’s situation came back to her with force when they reached Town. The weight of grief and responsibility for whatever had happened to Lang burned in the pit of her stomach. She would confirm that he was dead, or have to deal with the consequences of his desertion.

Looking back at Gavin as he tied his horse at the front of the house, Christina knew he did not intend to stay, not even for a short while.

And her misery grew.

She blinked back a sudden spate of tears and took Theo’s hand. It was so absurd, allowing herself to become attached so quickly. It was just an affair, after all, and she would do well to remember the limits of their liaison.

She started for the door, but Gavin stopped her.

“Christina.”

She looked back at him—so handsome, so capable—and reined in her instant flash of desire.

“I planned to take Theo with me,” he said.

“Right,” she said, though her heart was in her throat. She felt her lip begin to quiver and bit down on it to stop. Gavin had said from the first that he would take Theo to his sister. This ought not to be a surprise.

But she’d become so accustomed to having the little boy near, and . . . it was as though this parting were some pale foreshadowing of her eventual separation from Gavin. She swallowed and managed to mask any sign of her foolish distress.

“I . . . I thought he could stay here until . . .”
Drat.
If only her voice did not betray her.

Gavin’s jaw tightened for an instant, then gave a quick nod. “Aye. Keep him here with you for now.”

“Where will you be?” she asked, but felt no calmer.

He followed her into the house, but went no farther than the entryway as the servants worked around him, bringing in luggage. “I need to pay a visit to my sister,” he said with a quick glance at Theo, “then scare up a few friends to help with what must be done these next couple of days.”

Christina’s heart skittered in her chest. The fear she’d felt last night when they’d evaded Baron Chetwood returned in force. “You’ll go to the church?”

“Aye, I need to refresh my memory. But I want to locate Chetwood first.”

She could not hide the panic that must have shown on her face. If Chetwood was as dangerous as Gavin seemed to think, then he just ought to avoid him. She was in her father’s house now. And safe. “Gavin, no.”

He ignored her protest and put a hand on Theo’s shoulder. “Theo, listen to me. For now, you’ll stay here with Lady Fairhaven, all right?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy replied, and Christina saw signs of worship in the child’s eyes. She took great care not to show any such emotion in her own. Or her fear.

“Gavin, I don’t think it’s such a good idea to broach the lion in his den.”

“He is no lion, Lady Fairhaven, but a tiny foul snake.”

“Small snakes can bite, too.”

“I’ll see this one’s fangs blunted.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Will you come back tonight?”

“I doubt it.”

He said it so offhandedly, his casual manner yet another warning for Christina to rein in her emotions. What she believed had passed between them the night before must have occurred only in her imagination.

She retreated, taking a step back. “Well, then. I . . .”

“I’ll return tomorrow.” He ruffled Theo’s hair. “I’ll see you then.”

He was gone so quickly, Christina barely had time to realize the door had closed behind him. She gathered her wits and introduced Theo to the housekeeper, who took Gavin’s exit as a signal to approach.

“Mrs. Wilder, please send for my father’s tailor to come and make a few sets of clothes for young Theo. He’ll need to be dressed from the skin out. For . . . for country living.” Gavin might have rescued Theo and taken responsibility for him, but there was no reason Christina could not see that the boy was properly outfitted.

“Of course, my lady. I will see to it immediately.”

Jenny came downstairs and collected Theo. “Come with me, young man, and I’ll show you the nursery.”

“Thank you, Jenny. Bring him to me in the parlor when you’ve shown him his room.”

Christina went to her own bedchamber to change out of her traveling clothes. She put on a gown of dark red—not quite mourning, but not overly colorful or frivolous, either. Besides, she was not expecting any callers.

Not even Gavin.

A night apart was no catastrophe. She could certainly sleep alone—she’d done it her whole life. A few days in Gavin Briggs’s arms had not changed her so very much.

Besides, this was the way lovers conducted affairs. Edward had not gone to Mrs. Shilton every night—Christina recalled many evenings when he’d stayed at home. Perhaps it had been his way to keep his distance from his paramour, to keep their association well-defined.

It hurt to think that was what Gavin had just done. Truly, there was much for him to do before he placed the money in the lectern at the church on Sunday morning. Besides, she hated to correlate anything about Gavin with Edward’s actions. The two were nothing alike.

She paused at her dressing table, turning her thoughts to what he intended to do. The danger would be when he came into contact with Baron Chetwood.

Christina knew she ought to trust him, trust his judgment. Just because he did not trumpet his abilities didn’t mean he was without them. She’d boasted to her cousin of the way he’d dealt with the thieves at North Riding. And she’d seen him disable Theo’s uncle with barely a twist of his wrist.

But Lord Chetwood . . . She suspected the man was pure evil.

After all, he’d sent killers to murder her sister, a woman who was innocent of anything but having the misfortune of being a recipient in Windermere’s will. Gavin was right. Chetwood truly was a snake.

T
heo needed to become accustomed to Eleanor and Rachel, but Christina was not ready to let him go, and Gavin had not had the heart to take him from her. She was under too much pressure now, and he would not add to her distress.

But there would come a day when he would take the boy and part ways with her. In frustration, Gavin rubbed his tired eyes and decided he could not dwell on it now. There was much to do before he took her packet of money to the lectern at the back of All Hallows by the Tower.

More reluctantly than he ought to have felt, he left Christina at Sunderland House and made his way through the streets of London to the home of his cousin, Hettie Mills.

Hettie had been more than generous, taking Eleanor in when her pregnancy could no longer be hidden and she had nowhere to go. When Gavin learned of her predicament, he’d sent money whenever he was able, but he doubted it was ever enough.

That would change once he had his money from Windermere. Fortunately, he’d made a contractual provision that he was to be paid whether or not the duke lasted long enough to meet his granddaughters. All Gavin had to do was get Christina to Windermere Park to reap his reward.

Gavin sincerely hoped events on Sunday did not interfere with their journey back to Windermere. If the blackmailer turned up, Gavin was sure he could apprehend him, and the rascal would then admit to lying about Lang being alive. It would be a blow to Christina . . . and he feared she had not prepared herself for disappointment.

She was much too full of hope.

On the other hand, finding evidence that Lang was alive was going to complicate matters, not the least of which would be a court-martial and possible hanging.

Gavin dreaded the thought of it, for Christina’s sake. He would not wish such a horror upon anyone’s sister . . . but especially his sweet Christina. She’d been through too much already.

Gavin did not want to think of complications now. He had not expected to develop such an extraordinary connection with Christina . . . and he was not quite ready to put an end to it. He was not the fool her husband had been.

He arrived at Hettie’s house, and Eleanor greeted Gavin with a tight embrace, clearly happy to see him. “It’s been weeks, Gavin!”

He smiled at his younger sister. “Pursuing a good cause, I assure you.”

“Well, come in, dear brother, come in!”

Eleanor was a conventional beauty, five years Gavin’s junior. Her hair was long and light brown, and neatly pinned at her nape. It was lovely, but predictable; nothing at all like the dark, whimsical curls that had so captivated Gavin. Or the full lips that held him in thrall.

He stifled his thoughts of Christina and took pains to put aside the memories of their nights together. But it was not easy. Their bed play had been astounding.

He’d told himself it was just sex, and he’d truly believed it, until last night. Something more was developing . . . something he could not—nor did he want to—define. His original mission had become more complicated than he liked, but this visit to Eleanor would go a long way to helping him to put matters in perspective.

Gavin took a purse full of coins and put it in Eleanor’s hand, but she protested its weight.

“This is too much Gavin. You must have need—”

“Soon, neither of us will be in need. In a few days, I’ll leave for Windermere again and collect my payment from the duke.”

“Then you’ll buy the house in Hampshire?”

He grinned. “Aye.” And there it was. Everything he’d striven for these past few weeks during his search for the Windermere granddaughters.

“Oh, Gavin, I can hardly wait. Rachel will love the country.”

Gavin shrugged and followed his sister into the small kitchen where their spinster cousin, Hettie, was keeping an eye on Rachel, Eleanor’s nearly two-year-old daughter. Gavin hoped the country would suit them, and he would finally be able to put his past behind him.

As would his sister. Gavin knew Eleanor had been devastated by the news of Mark Stafford’s death, not just because she was pregnant with his child, but because she’d truly loved him. They had planned to marry as soon as Stafford returned from the war, but a French bullet had kept him from her.

Stafford had been an honorable soldier, a light horseman who’d faced his enemy head-on. He’d been nothing at all like Gavin.

“Gavin, lad, we didn’t expect you!” Hettie cried, taking Gavin’s hand in hers. “Look Rachel, here is your uncle!”

Sweet little Rachel smiled up at him and Gavin was humbled by her utter trust in him. He hated to think how she would have been treated had Eleanor been allowed to stay in their father’s house. Just like Theo, no doubt.

“We’ll soon have an addition to our little family,” Gavin said.

Eleanor smiled broadly. “Oh my dear heavens, Gavin! You’re taking a bride? How wonderf—”

“
No!
No, not at all,” Gavin said.

Eleanor looked puzzled. “What, then? Who?”

“A young boy,” he explained. “We took him from his uncle before the old man could beat him to death.”

“Oh dear!” Hettie cried.

“How old is this boy?” Eleanor asked.

“We’re not exactly sure. He’s older than Rachel, but small . . . probably about five years or so,” Gavin replied. “And much too quiet. Guarded,” he added, more to himself than to his sister. But at least he’d started to come out of himself under Christina’s care. “Can you make room for him here for a few weeks while I’m gone to Windermere?”

“Of course,” Hettie said. “There’s space for a pallet in the parlor. I expect the lad will be more than comfortable there.”

“Thank you, Hettie.” Gavin excused himself and his sister, taking Eleanor’s arm to draw her into Hettie’s small parlor for a private chat. They sat on two threadbare chairs near a window with no view but that of a dark alleyway.

“Will there be trouble with the boy’s uncle, Gavin?”

Gavin shook his head. “No. Even the local magistrate favored us taking the boy.”

“Us?”

He wondered if the magistrate would have been so quick to give him Theo if Christina had not used her influence. She’d acted quickly in the boy’s best interest. He admired her for it.

“Aye. Our party. Lady Fairhaven’s group.”

“Lady Fairhaven?
She
is . . . the duke’s granddaughter?”

“She is.”

Eleanor was quiet a moment. “I’ve heard of her. There was a good deal of gossip about her a year ago.”

It disturbed Gavin to hear that people had been talking about Christina—likely after the outrageous manner in which her husband died. It was just the kind of thing that would create a stir, and cause innuendos about her wifely inadequacies.

Yet he knew Christina possessed not the least imperfection. She was blameless in her husband’s indiscretions, and the man had been a fool not to know what a treasure waited for him in his own house.

“Her husband died,” he said. “I’m sure there was talk.”

“I believe Lady Fairhaven left Town for a time.”

“Circumstances brought her back to London. I . . .” He hesitated, unwilling to cause Eleanor any worry. “I’ll be taking her to meet her grandfather in a few days.”

Eleanor nodded. “We’ll take good care of your young charge, Gavin. What is his name?”

“Theo.”

“Why was he being beaten by his uncle?”

“No reason except for being a bastard orphan. The proverbial whipping boy.”

“Oh, my dear brother.” She smiled. “Always so tenderhearted.”

Hardly. “I’m not the least tenderhearted, Eleanor, and you need to know it. I’m not even sure if it’s such a good idea for me to live with you and Rachel. I’m thinking of buying the house and then—”

“Nonsense. I would have my daughter know the only honorable uncle she has.”

Gavin clenched his teeth, all too aware that Eleanor barely knew him anymore. He was no more honorable than their elder brother. Perhaps even less, for Clifford had never sat in the crook of a tree with his rifle on his shoulder, waiting for his prey to walk into his sights.

“There will be plenty of money as soon as Windermere pays me what he owes me. It’s just a matter of time.”

Eleanor frowned. “What’s troubling you, Gavin? Is there some complication with Windermere?”

He shrugged. “It’s nothing I can’t manage. In a couple of weeks, I’ll have ten thousand pounds in my possession—more than enough to buy the manor and get you and Rachel established in the country. And Hettie, if she will come.”