The Counterfeit Gentleman (14 page)

“Then I will share my memories with you,” he said calmly, beginning to rub his thumbs on the back of her
hand. “The first thing I remember—and I have no idea how
old I was—I was sitting in our apple tree, throwing green
apples at another little boy, whose identity is likewise lost
in the mists of time.”

“Undoubtedly not an incident he recalls with any degree
of fondness,” she said, and he could feel the tension begin
to leave her hand.

“My best memories are connected with sailing,” Digory
said, and he felt her hand twitch spasmodically in his. He
knew full well that he was venturing into a dangerous area.
Whatever her feelings had been previously, over the last
few days Miss Pepperell had developed a strong aversion to
the sea. But perhaps if she borrowed some of his happy memories of sailing, her own terrifying memories would
fade all the more quickly?

“I can still recall the first time Jem’s father took us out
fishing with him. I am sure we were more hindrance than
help pulling the nets in, but we felt such pride, such delight,
when the catch spilled like quicksilver into the bottom of
the boat.”

He continued to talk quietly about people and events he
had not thought of in a quarter of a century, and whether it
was the sound of his voice or the feel of his hand holding
hers that finally put her to sleep, he could not say.

Nor did it matter, not even when he awoke stiff and sore after a third night spent sleeping in a chair.

“You look absolutely miserable,” she whispered, but she herself looked more bright-eyed and cheerful than he’d yet seen her. “At least after we are married, you will be able to
sleep in bed with me.”

He did not bother to correct her.

* * * *

They made better progress the second day of their journey since Digory deemed it unnecessary to continue using
the back roads, and when they stopped at dusk—this time
at a more respectable inn—he offered no excuse for sharing
her room. But Bethia did not question his right to do so, for
fear he might change his mind and decide it would be better to hire two rooms.

He left her alone while she changed into her nightgown, and when he came back, she was sitting up in bed, the covers pulled around her.

“We could have easily made it to London yet tonight,”
he said, shutting and bolting the door behind him.

Staring at him across the few feet of room that separated
them, Bethia felt her heart begin to speed up. Why had they
stopped here then? Could it be that he wanted to take what she had offered earlier? After three nights spent sleeping in a chair, did he mean to share her bed tonight?

She could not say him nay, no more than she could prevent the color from rising to her face at the thought of his
arms around her—of his mouth pressed against hers—of
his heat burning through her.

“But we need to arrive in London at a time when it is least likely that anyone who knows you will be out and
about, which means in the morning hours when the
ton
is
still abed. I have given instructions to Big Davey to harness
the horses before daybreak.” Without meeting her eyes,
Digory walked across the room and stared out the window.

Disappointment pierced Bethia’s heart like a cold piece
of steel, and at first she could not trust her voice enough to speak. Finally, she said, “Will you come sit by me again?”

“And tell you tales to keep the nightmares away?”

No, she wanted to say, it has nothing to do with nightmares. After two days of sitting next to you in the coach—
of being alone with you in our own private world—I cannot
bear for there to be any distance between us. I need
...
I
want...

But she could not put into words the aching need she
now felt, and yet her torment was so great, she could not
keep from climbing out of bed and walking over to him and
laying her hand on his back.

Instead of taking her in his arms, however, Digory turned
away and walked the few feet to the chair already posi
tioned by the fire. Settling down in it and stretching out his
legs, he stared at the flames licking at the logs. “Once when I was about ten, Jem and I decided we were big enough to take the boat out alone.”

His low voice rumbled on, but Bethia heard not a word
he said. She did not want to hear his stories; she wanted to
feel safe and secure, and for that she needed to be as close
to him as possible.

And he wanted to be with her also. Despite his deliberate
rejection of her, she knew it had cost him dearly to walk
away from her. She marveled at his will power, even while wondering just how much control he actually had.

What would he do if she sat down on his lap? Would he
wrap his arms around her and hold her tight? Or would he unceremoniously dump her on the floor? It would be worth the risk of a few bruises to find out.

But no matter how much she wanted to discover how he would react, she found she could not be so brazen. On the
other hand, there were two chairs by the fire ...

Before she could have second thoughts, she walked over
to the empty chair and sat down mere inches away from
him. Emulating his posture, she slid down in her seat and stretched out her legs so that her bare toes—her already almost frozen bare toes—could be warmed by the fire.

Fearful of another rejection, she did not look at him
when she held out her hand in invitation. He did not take it at once, but at least he paused in his recital of childhood
mischief. She could almost hear him mentally weighing the
risks involved in touching her, but finally, to her great re
lief, he took her hand in his and began again to speak.

It was not as much as she wanted, but it was better than
nothing—far, far better. The warmth now flowing through her veins came from his touch rather than from the fire in
front of her. Staring into the flames, she relaxed, relinquishing her thoughts and giving herself over to her dreams.

* * * *

By the time the coach carrying Mr. Harcourt rumbled
through the poorly lit London streets, he had not only real
ized it was vital not to let anyone know he had been out of
London for the past several days, but he had also come up
with a simple way to guarantee that if questions were
asked, various of his minor acquaintances—not his best
friends, of course—would provide him an alibi.

To begin with, he would not hire a hackney to convey
him from the coaching inn to his rooms. No, he would simply melt away into the crowd. That way no one would have
any reason to link him to the vicar who had just returned
from Cornwall.

The second thing he needed to do was create confusion
in people’s minds as to which of the Harcourt brothers had spent the last week in London and which had not.

To accomplish that, he would ask a chance-met acquain
tance if he had seen his brother. If the man replied that he had seen the older of the two, then he himself would pre
tend that he had spent the last several days looking for the younger.

If, on the other hand, the acquaintance said he had seen
the younger of them, then he himself would pretend that he
had been searching London for days, trying to run to
ground the older of the two.

Before the night was over, enough confusion would thus
be created, and in addition the idea would be firmly fixed in
assorted minds that he himself had been in London the en
tire time.

It was bound to work, especially if he sought out men
whose minds were already befuddled by strong drink.

* * * *

It was still dark when Bethia woke from a deep, dream
less sleep, and she was surprised to discover herself tucked
snugly into bed. Bethia knew at once that the shadow crossing soundlessly in front of the window was Digory. Already
he was so much a part of her that she thought she would
have known he was near even if she were blindfolded.

A few minutes later the light from the single candle
chased the darkness back into the corners of the room.

“I am awake,” she whispered. “Is it time to get up?”

“Yes,” he replied, coming to stand by the bed.

His face was so familiar and so dear to her. Reaching
out, she ran her fingers gently over his features, skimming
over his forehead, stroking down his cheek now rough with
whiskers, lingering on his lips, which were softer than she
had expected.

He shut his eyes momentarily, as if in pain, then he
stepped back just enough to be out of reach of her hand. “I will go make sure Big Davey and Little Davey are awake.
Please be dressed and ready to go by the time I get back.”
His voice was again harsh and colder than the air in the
room, and in a moment he was gone.

He had left the candle behind so Bethia did not have to dress in the dark. And he also had given her the knowledge
that he was not immune to her touch. Once they were
wed...

Oh, please, dear God, let my aunt be agreeable to this
marriage, and let the wedding be soon, ran like a litany
through her head all the time she was packing her things for the last leg of their journey.

* * * *

Bethia peered out the window of the coach and won
dered if London seemed different only because it was early
morning and the streets were filled with heavily loaded
carts and peddlers hawking their wares and servants hurrying along on errands.

Did the familiar streets and squares seem so strange only
because the members of
haut ton
were not to be seen
strolling and riding and driving about? Or was it because
she herself was not the same person she had been when she
had been abducted less than a sennight ago?

Had London changed? Or had she changed?

She rather suspected the latter.

The coach stopped in front of a strange house, and Dig
ory said, “Make sure your hood is pulled down far enough
that no one can see your face.” Then he adjusted her cloak
himself, as if not trusting her to do a proper job of it.

“Where are we?” she asked, stepping down to the pave
ment.

“At Lady Letitia’s house,” Digory replied, grasping her
elbow and hurrying her across the sidewalk and up the
steps to the door.

Although Bethia was not personally acquainted with
Lady Letitia, she knew the elderly lady was the most infa
mous matchmaker in London, and her exalted status im
pressed even Bethia’s aunt, who counted herself fortunate
to be on a nodding acquaintance with Lady Letitia.

Which did nothing to explain what they were doing on Lady Letitia’s doorstep at such an uncivil time of day.

Digory’s forceful knock quickly brought a servant to
open the door, and despite orders to keep her face well hidden, Bethia raised the edge of her hood just enough that she
could see who it was—the butler himself, apparently, to
judge by his age and his clothing, and a very stiff-rumped
one at that.

To her surprise he ushered them in without demanding to know their names or their business, and as soon as the door
was shut behind them, he even unbent enough to smile.
“Lady Letitia has not yet come down, and since you did not
let us know you were coming, I am afraid your room is not
ready. I shall give orders to have a fire lit there immedi
ately, but you will have to wait in the breakfast room for a
bit.”

“Do not scold me, Owens,” Digory said. “I would have
sent word I was coming if there had been time.”

Without waiting for the servant to show them the way, Digory grasped her elbow again and headed for the back of the house, going straight to a pretty, sunlit room that obviously served as the breakfast room.

“I believe you have been lying to me,” Bethia said,
throwing back her hood.

“How so?” he asked, untying her cloak and lifting it off
her shoulders.

Too angry at his deception to look at him, she stalked
over to the French doors and stared out into a tiny, well-tended garden. “You have claimed that you do not belong
in my world, and yet you run tame in Lady Letitia’s house
hold.” Turning to glare at him, she continued, “My aunt’s
fondest dream is to be taken up by Lady Letitia for a turn
around the park in her carriage, and you appear to have
your own room in her house. Indeed, it makes me wonder if
anything you have been telling me is the truth.”

Digory chuckled, which made Bethia want to hit him.
Then he crossed to stand in front of her, and his smile made
her want to kiss him. Really, the man was totally impossi
ble.