Regina Scott (2 page)

“I am not her mother,” Mrs. Price put in, laying a hand on the woman’s arm and acting as if she would tug her away from Phoebe. “And I think we truly must go.”

Meredee Price did not seem agitated to find herself the rope in the middle of a tug-of-war contest. “What my stepmother means,” she said calmly, gaze rising to meet his and serving to fix him in his place, “is that we haven’t decided how long we’ll be staying in Scarborough. We may depart this very afternoon. I’ll send word if we’re able to accept your kind invitation.”

He’d been mistaken. No Saxon princess this, but clearly the queen and just as regal. He inclined his head in acceptance of her dismissal, but Phoebe’s face crumpled. “Oh, but you can’t leave! I just know we’ll be the best of friends!”

Miss Price’s smile was a gentle quirk of her peach-colored lips. “Then I’m certain our friendship will survive any absence. Good day, Lady Phoebe, my lord.”

Chase could see the protest building in the stubborn set to Phoebe’s little chin. He refused to allow
her to stage a greater scene than she had already done. He took Miss Price’s hand from his sister’s and bowed over it. “Your devoted servant, Miss Price.”

She curtsied more fully this time, and when she rose he was surprised to see a shadow cross her eyes, like a raven swooping across storm clouds. Although Phoebe and Mrs. Price made their farewells in polite tones, Chase didn’t think it was his imagination that Meredee Price’s grip on her stepmother’s arm was every bit as fevered as Phoebe’s as they hurried up the beach for the shops and houses beyond.

He only wondered who she was running away from—Phoebe or him.

“W
hat were you thinking?” Mrs. Price lamented as they hurried along the crowded streets that led through the town. “We cannot dine with Lord Allyndale! We daren’t stay in Scarborough another minute! Oh, my poor Algernon—hunted from pillar to post!”

“Calm yourself,” Meredee said with assurance she was far from feeling. “Lord Allyndale obviously saw no connection between us and the Algernon Whitaker who so offended him.”

“Well, of course not,” Mrs. Price huffed. “Nor would he have noticed us if you hadn’t made a spectacle of yourself!”

Meredee bit back a retort. Angry words would do none of them any good now. She had only been trying to help. And even if she had known the girl was the sister of Algernon’s sworn enemy, she wouldn’t have let Lady Phoebe struggle. She’d never been able to
overlook the pain or fear of others; it was in her very nature to offer help when it was needed.

“Be that as it may,” she said, leading her stepmother past the shops overflowing with bright fabrics, exotic scents and fine literature, “we have been discovered. We have only to explain the situation to Algernon, and I’m certain he’ll see the wisdom of escaping.”

Mrs. Price nodded and said no more, as if she needed her breath to climb the remaining way up the hill to the Bell Inn, where they had taken rooms. Meredee was just as glad for her silence. She could not stop thinking about their meeting with Lord Allyndale.

When Algernon had confided to her a fortnight ago in their London town house that he feared Allyndale would challenge him to a duel, the man he’d described had been a monster. “He’s completely unreasonable,” he’d fretted, pacing about the yellow silk–draped bedchamber that had been hers since she had finished her schooling. “There’s no use talking to him or begging his pardon. If he issues a challenge, I’m a dead man.”

“But the magistrates,” she’d protested from her four-poster bed where he’d found her that night. “Surely you could go to them, explain the situation. Dueling is against the law.”

Algernon smiled at her as if he envied her her innocence. “Dueling may be against the law, but the
magistrates will turn deaf as soon as they hear who’s involved. Allyndale is too powerful. Word at White’s is that he’s already forced one fellow to flee for the Continent.”

“But why?” Meredee asked, fisting her bedclothes, never doubting the word of those who thronged Lon don’s most famous gentlemen’s club. “Why would he seek your ruin?”

“It doesn’t matter,” her stepbrother had replied, pausing in his pacing to meet her gaze. His deep blue eyes had been mirrors of despair. “He has taken me in dislike, and he will not rest until he’s made my life hell.”

Meredee shivered, remembering. Lord Allyndale was obviously a man who toyed with the lives of others just for the thrill of power. She could not allow Algernon to fall into his clutches. She’d proposed the plan to flee and the place to hide, sure that the earl would soon find someone else to torment. Yet here he was, on their very doorstep!

She had to admit she was a bit disappointed.

She’d expected eyes that flashed with dark intentions, a face slack with dissipation, a body gross with indulgence. But Lord Allyndale was well-formed, with broad shoulders that filled his tailored coat and long legs that showed well in chamois breeches. Her father had always said that evil could hide behind a winsome smile, but she still thought some trace
should be visible, if only to warn away those with the insight to look for it.

She had looked today, but she could not see the creature Algernon feared. Lord Allyndale’s smile held a pride and love for his sister; the way his arm draped around her shoulders spoke of a desire to protect her. And the way he’d gazed into Meredee’s eyes—so sure, so deep—why it had nearly taken her breath away.

Had she mistaken the name Algernon had uttered with such despair? Or could her stepbrother have misunderstood the earl’s intentions?

When they reached the inn and sought out her stepbrother, she wasn’t surprised to find him still in the little whitewashed bedchamber under the eaves. While Meredee and Mrs. Price had been willing to rise early to shop and then to bathe in the sea, Algernon was only now peering into the mirror over his mahogany washstand in his shirtsleeves and scraping his lathered chin with a razor.

“Allyndale, here?” He dropped the razor into the porcelain washbowl, heedless of the soapy water that splashed his otherwise spotless yellow pantaloons. As Meredee carefully closed the door behind her, he turned to stare at her and his mother. “Are you certain? Did he speak of me?”

“He did not,” Mrs. Price put in. “And thank God for that!”

Meredee could only agree. Of course, she would not have been so bold as to ask God for Algernon’s
safety. God never answered her prayers for large things—her mother’s recovery from the carriage accident that had taken her life when Meredee was only eight, her father’s healing from the illness that racked his body and cut short his studies as a conchologist, even her own situation with Mrs. Price. Now she just asked for little things, like patience.

“Lord Allyndale did not connect us with you,” Meredee told her stepbrother and explained how they had met the earl.

When she finished, she fully expected Algernon to wipe the foam from his face and set about packing. Instead, he began pacing the little inn room, taking three strides from the multipaned window to Meredee’s side where she perched on a ladder-backed chair next to his narrow bed. It seemed her stepbrother’s mind only worked properly when propelled by the energy of his long legs.

“But Lady Phoebe was all right?” he asked.

Trust Algernon to worry about the pretty girl first. “I sincerely doubt she was in any danger,” Meredee assured him. “I am no hero.”

He sent her a grin that broadened his narrow face and lit his deep blue eyes like sapphires in candlelight. “Well, you’ve been known to bail me out a time or two.”

“And I haven’t?” Mrs. Price immediately protested.

Algernon’s smile softened. “Certainly you have,
Mother. I wonder sometimes how I manage to tie my cravat without advice from the two of you.”

“Then listen to me now,” Mrs. Price ordered. “We should leave. It’s the only way to be certain we’re safe.”

Meredee bit back a sigh. Her stepmother was right. But when would she get to the Yorkshire Coast again? She’d been suggesting the trip for five years, but Mrs. Price saw no need to return to the area where her second husband had met his end. Yet Meredee could only keep her promise to her father by coming here.

“Not necessarily,” Algernon said, holding up a hand. “Regardless of how Meredee feels about the matter, Lady Phoebe clearly believes Meredee saved her life. We may be able to use that to our advantage.”

Meredee felt as if the room had chilled and rubbed one hand along the sleeve of her blue cotton gown. “What do you mean?”

“Yes, Algernon,” Mrs. Price demanded. “You insist we flee this fellow, at considerable inconvenience I might add, and now you wish to embrace him?”

“Not me, Mother,” Algernon replied patiently. “Meredee.”

“Me!” Meredee hated the squeak in her voice. Why couldn’t she have a solid voice, a commanding voice? Her voice was high and soft, like a bird chirping, and as easily ignored, just as her family ignored her now.

“Meredee?” Mrs. Price shook her head, gray curls bouncing. “Unthinkable. I will not allow you to put her in danger. Besides, I do not know how I should get on without her.”

As Mrs. Price was neither infirm nor forgetful, Meredee could not see herself as so indispensible. Of course, it would cost her stepmother more money if she actually had to hire a companion instead of relying on Meredee for every little thing.

“We must all make sacrifices, Mother,” Algernon said as if agreeing with Meredee’s thoughts.

“But exactly what sacrifices must I make?” Meredee asked.

His smile was kind. “Nothing onerous, I promise. Merely accept his offer. Dine with him and Lady Phoebe. See if you can get him to confess why he’s come to Scarborough.”

Algernon had no idea what he was asking. Dine with his enemy? Surely her face, her least word would betray her. She was certain that Lord Allyndale had taken her measure on the shore, but the way he had touched her hand, bowed over it as if she were a great lady, had confused her more than anything else. The look in his eyes said he esteemed her.

All because she’d had the good sense to tell his sister to set down her feet.

Meredee shook her head. “No, I can’t do it. Even if Lord Allyndale is a monster, I cannot lie to him.
If he asks me about you, I’ll be the one making a confession.”

“Ungrateful girl!” Mrs. Price cried, shaking a finger at her. “And where would you live if Algernon wasn’t so generous?”

Meredee stared at her hands, clenched together in her lap. She couldn’t bear to see the censure in her stepmother’s gaze. She didn’t understand why her father hadn’t made provision for her in his will, outside of leaving her his collection of seashells. Algernon had inherited the entire estate. Both Mrs. Price and she lived on his largesse. And she was truly grateful for Algernon’s kindness.

“Mother, please,” Algernon said. “Meredee is the best sister a fellow could ask. I probably wouldn’t be alive without her wise counsel.” He walked to the chair and knelt in front of her, forcing Meredee to meet his gaze.

“Have I asked too much of you?” he said softly. “Is it such a terrible duty to go to a fine house, eat fine food, be treated like the lady you were meant to be?”

Meredee felt tears burning her eyes, and she dashed them away with one hand. “You make it sound like a party, but all I see is a battle.”

“And who better suited to go into battle on the side of righteousness than my brave sister?” he insisted. “Who nursed Father through two years of pain and suffering? Who helped Mother see him buried? Who
even now keeps us all from going mad in times of trouble?”

“Kind words,” Meredee countered with a sniff. “But they would be much more convincing if they hadn’t been uttered from behind a face covered in foam.”

Algernon barked a laugh and rose. “See? I knew you’d come around.” He strode to the washstand, picked up the linen towel hanging there and wiped off his face. “So, you’ll do it?” he asked, his gaze meeting hers in the mirror. “You’ll have dinner with Lord Allyndale and see what you can learn?”

Meredee sighed. “Yes, I’ll do it. I’ll go pen a note to the earl right now. May God have mercy on us all.”

Chase could not shake the feeling that something wasn’t aboveboard with the redoubtable Miss Price. She’d run from him at the beach as if the very forces of hell were at her heels. In his experience, a person who ran had a reason.

What was hers?

A few pointed questions of the crowd before he took Phoebe home were enough to learn Miss Price’s direction. He thought about her actions all the way home and wasn’t surprised when a boy brought a politely penned note from her accepting his invitation to dine. Even in writing Miss Price evinced none of the sentiment his mother and sister preferred. An
intriguing woman. Surely a call at the Bell Inn would not be too much attention for the woman who had saved his sister’s life.

He had just started out from the house he had rented for the summer when he spotted Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam coming up the drive. He hadn’t stopped to think when he’d invited his friend to join him and Phoebe in Scarborough. He and Trev had both had reasons for wanting to avoid London for a time. Now it struck him as singularly good luck that he had someone as savvy as Trevor in train.

“Out for a ride?” Trev asked, back straight as a soldier’s in his navy coat. He patted his horse, Icarus, on the neck.

“I’m on an errand,” Chase replied. “But you’re welcome to join me. In fact, I’d appreciate your insights.”

Trevor’s green eyes lit, and he pulled the black gelding in alongside Chase’s bay mare. “What’s the to do? A new tract of land? A faster horse? A better coat?”

“My estate is larger than needed, my horse is fast enough and there’s nothing wrong with my coat,” Chase countered.

Trevor adjusted his top hat on his dark head and avoided looking at Chase’s bottle-green coat. “As you say.”

“Much more of that, and you can whistle for your supper.”

“Don’t I usually?” Trev replied, with an edge of itterness Chase could not like. Trevor’s desires frequently outstripped his pockets. Chase was more than happy to house and feed the friend he’d known since his school days, but he suspected that Trevor chafed at the kindness. That was one of the reasons the baronet had begun taking on inquiries for society, to avoid living on his friends’ largesse.

As they rode through the cobbled streets among elegant town houses and square stone inns, Chase filled him in on the afternoon’s adventure.

“And I take it the lady piqued your interest,” Trevor said as they rounded the corner and sighted the Bell Inn just ahead.

Chase shrugged. “There’s more to the woman than strength and vitality.”

Trev’s dark brows shot up. “Strength? Vitality? Do you speak of a woman or a horse you’re considering purchasing?”

“A lady to be sure,” Chase answered with a smile. “But something about her doesn’t set right.”

“Of what do you suspect her?”

Chase scowled at him. “Am I that much of a tyrant that I must suspect everyone I see of dark motives?”

Trevor merely eyed him.

Chase sighed. “Very well, I admit that I wondered why she of all the people acted. At least a dozen women were bathing this afternoon along the shore,
with a similar number of women assisting them. Why did she alone rush to Phoebe’s aid?”

“Perhaps she sought to bring herself to your notice, ingratiate herself to the Dearborn family.”

“And what a coxcomb I am to suspect it, I know.”

“You have cause,” Trevor said quietly.

Chase shifted his weight on the saddle. He didn’t need the reminder of how one man had nearly destroyed his sister. He would not let anyone hurt Phoebe.
You honored me with intelligence, strength, and resources, Lord. Give me the wisdom to use them.

They rode into the coaching yard of the Bell Inn, a respectable two-story stone building with flower boxes under the multipaned windows. The common room inside was neat and clean. The polished oak tables and ladder-backed chairs welcomed visitors to chat before the rough-stone hearth taking up much of the left wall. A word to the landlord was enough to see their horses stabled and tankards placed before them in a quiet private parlor while they waited for a boy to take word up to Miss Price and her stepmother. Miss Price returned alone, in a remarkably short time, hurrying through the door as if keeping Chase waiting was the worst sin imaginable.