The Counterfeit Gentleman (7 page)

* * * *

The sound of men’s voices woke Bethia from a deep
sleep, and for a moment her mind was filled with the terri
ble need to remain completely motionless so that her ab
ductors would not notice she was awake, else they would
force more laudanum down her throat.

But as soon as the muzziness cleared from her mind, she remembered clearly the events of the day before, when she
had awakened from a drugged stupor filled with hideous
dreams only to find herself trapped in a waking nightmare
that was worse than anything that had come to her in her
laudanum-induced slumber.

Hearing Mr. Rendel’s voice in the other room, she re
membered how he had magically appeared to save her from
a watery grave. And she remembered also how his hands
had felt on her waist—remembered how safe she had felt in
his arms.

Her suggestion of the previous day had apparently not
been totally inspired by the punch, because even now, stone sober, she could not think of any better solution to her present dilemma than to marry him.

The only problem was that Mr. Rendel had not taken her
proposal as seriously as she had meant it. But that was a
minor matter and soon remedied. Once he understood what
a wonderful opportunity she was offering him, he would not be slow to seize it. She was, after all, an heiress, and
she knew from experience that gold was a more powerful
lure for men than a pretty face and a dainty ankle.

With difficulty she fought her way free from the tangle
of quilt and bedclothes and stood up, wrapping the quilt
around her again for want of anything else. Remembering
her mental debate of the previous afternoon as to whether
or not a quilt constituted proper attire, she realized that Mr.
Rendel had had good reason to think her more than a trifle bosky.

The room was dark now, the only illumination coming
from a single candle, and tiptoeing over to the door, she
opened it enough that she could peek out and see who was
there.

At the sight of the large men filling the other room, she
had to fight off the urge to scurry back to bed and hide herself under the covers. But gathering her courage around her like a second quilt, she noiselessly shut the door and looked around for something to wear.

She discovered that her dress, which she had left drying
in front of the fireplace in the other room, was now draped over the back of a chair. It would seem that Mr. Rendel had
come in while she was sleeping.

Her face grew hot just thinking about him standing be
side her, looking down at her there in his bed. What had he
thought? Had it been difficult for him to resist the temptation to slide under the covers and take her in his arms?

Or had he been a gentleman and kept his eyes carefully
averted? More than likely he was too much in love with the
owner of the ebony brush to feel the least bit tempted by a stranger he had dragged out of the sea.

Holding up her dress, Bethia found it was little more
than a rag, which was hardly surprising after the rough
treatment it had received. Made of delicate lawn trimmed
with velvet ribbons, it had been designed for activities no
more strenuous than sitting and sipping tea; it had certainly
not been intended for use as a bathing costume.

Fortunately, there was another, less tattered dress folded
neatly on the chair. Mr. Rendel had not been able to pro
vide her with a lady’s gown in the latest mode, but she
could hardly fault him for that. The garment of homespun
linsey-woolsey was at least clean and not the least bit re
vealing.

And it was also vastly warmer than her own gown had
been, she discovered once she had dressed herself. Until
this moment she had not realized how much comfort a lady
sacrificed in order to be stylish.

Fighting off an unexpected timidity at the thought of see
ing Mr. Rendel again—and feeling especially bashful about
facing a large group of strange men—Bethia opened the
door, but did nothing to call attention to herself.

* * * *

“I only hope they try to fight,” Harry said, raising balled
fists. “I wouldn’t half mind cracking their skulls together.”

“Remember, our purpose is to capture them alive so we can find out who hired them,” Digory said sharply.

“A little pain will only loosen their tongues,” Harry
pointed out with a shrug, and no one in the room saw any reason to contradict him.

Briefly, Digory outlined his plan, which was quite sim
ple, and when he finished, a soft voice from the doorway
said, “When is high tide? Do we need to get started soon?”

Digory turned and saw Miss Pepperell standing in the
doorway, her eyes still soft and heavy with sleep. How long
she had been listening, he had no idea, but apparently she
had heard most of their plans. “We? You are not coming
with us. You are staying here where you will be safe.”

“Alone?”

Her voice betrayed her fear, and looking around, Digory
saw to his great displeasure that his colleagues were not
blind to her charms. They had all risen to their feet as soon
as she had spoken, and now they looked ready to fall at
her
feet in rapt adoration.

But he was in charge here, and his orders were not to be
disregarded as blithely as were the King’s laws. “You are
in no danger alone in my cottage,” he said firmly, “and it
would be extremely foolhardy for you to come with us, so I
shall not listen to any objections.”

His crew thought different. For the first time since he
had brought them together, they did not immediately ac
cede to his wishes. Despite his having made it perfectly
clear that the matter was closed, they began trying to per
suade him to change his mind. He should have realized that
after a year under someone else’s leadership, their unques
tioning obedience, which he had once taken for granted,
was no longer his to command.

“It just don’t set right with me to leave the young lady
alone here,” Harry said, looking at Jem instead of at Dig
ory.

“Suppose they’ve already discovered that she didn’t
drown? Then what?” Big Davey asked.

“And suppose they come skulking around here while
we’re down at the cove and find her alone?” Little Davey
added.

“The chances of that happening are most unlikely,” Dig
ory pointed out, holding back his temper only with diffi
culty.

“But not impossible,” Harry said. “Someone may’ve
seen the two of you yesterday climbing up the path from the beach, and people gossip, and you can’t say for sure
those two villains have been sitting in a pub with nothing more on their minds than their next mug of ale. They may
have been nosing around on their own, sniffing out danger
ous information.”

Miss Pepperell chose that moment to leave her post in
the doorway and join the group, and seeing the fatuous
smiles on his companions’ faces made Digory realize he
was only wasting precious time by arguing.

In fact, given the way they were looking at her, if she
even mentioned wishing to marry him, his formerly loyal
men would probably fall all over each other in their rush to
drag him before the vicar. “Turncoats,” he muttered under
his breath, but none of them paid him the slightest atten
tion.

Not daring to meet his eyes, Miss Pepperell smiled
sweetly at the others and seated herself at the table. Look
ing up at them, she said, “I have been thinking that if I put on my own gown and lay down by the edge of the water,
those horrible men would—”

“No!” came in unison out of five masculine throats.

“You are not going to be the bait,” Digory said, and this time his men sided firmly with him.

“A decoy ain’t a bad idea, though,” Harry said. “My wife
could take the dress you was drowned in and stuff it with straw and rig it up to look as if it was you.”

Then another thought relative to Miss Pepperell’s cloth
ing popped into Digory’s mind, and he made an even
stronger effort to divert that young lady from her purpose.
“Speaking of ladies’ gowns, has it occurred to any of you
that if those men see a female with us, they may forget their
orders to have Miss Pepperell’s death appear an accident
and shoot her down on the spot?”

There was dead silence, as the men, and Miss Pepperell also, recognized the validity of his objection.

Then Jem spoke up traitorously, “Do you know, she’s about the size of my littlest brother, and wearing a suit of his clothes and with her hair tucked up under a cap, she
could easily pass for a boy. Besides, I’m sure she’ll
promise to stay out of sight behind the rocks until the fight
ing is over.”

There were murmurs of agreement from the other men,
and a rapturous smile from Miss Pepperell for Jem, and
Digory realized that if he did not get things under control quickly, someone would next be offering to arm her with a
dirk or a brace of pistols.

Bowing to the inevitable, he finally agreed that Miss
Pepperell could accompany them. With a rapturous smile
that was enough to break a man’s heart, she hurried to fetch
her old dress and give it to Harry.

With the eagerness of a young lad in the first throes of
calf love, Jem promised to drop off a suit of boy’s clothing
before dawn, but even with nothing left to discuss, neither
he nor the other men made any move to leave. Instead, they
all showed every sign of hanging around until dawn just so
that they could bask in Miss Pepperell’s smiles, which she
was dispensing all too liberally. In the end Digory virtually threw the besotted men out of his cottage.

Alone at last with Miss Pepperell, who did not look the
least bit repentant, Digory forced himself to be stern.
“When did you first suspect that one of your cousins was attempting to enrich himself by foul means?”

Bethia’s mind was instantly flooded with all the horrible
memories, which for the moment she had been able to push
out of her thoughts. Staring into Mr. Rendel’s eyes, she
found herself quite unable to speak.

Or was she tongue-tied merely because his gray eyes
were so bewitching? As desperately as she wanted to turn
away from his penetrating gaze, which seemed to be look
ing into her very soul, she could not break free from the
spell he had cast over her.

Was he experiencing the same thing she was? Could he
feel this bond that connected them—the powerful force that
linked her fate with his? Or was it only in her imagination that they were forever bound together?

He got up from the table, and turning away from her, he added another log to the fire, then stood looking down into
the flames.

With his back toward her, she found herself able to talk
quite normally, her voice steady and casual, conveying no
trace of her inner anxieties and confusion. “Actually, all
three of my cousins tried fair means in the beginning. Al
though none of them had previously paid me the slightest note, after the reading of my grandfather’s will, they began vying with each other quite openly for my attention. I was
quite bombarded with flowers and other small tokens of
their esteem, and as soon as the period of mourning was
over, they appeared on our doorstep one after another and
asked my aunt’s permission to address me.”

Bethia suppressed a shudder at the memory of how un
pleasant and distasteful it had been, then continued, her
voice growing more and more wooden as her emotions became more and more heated. “Cousin Wilbur hastened to
assure me that since we are only first cousins once re
moved, there is no problem with consanguinity. Cousin
Gervase felt my only possible objection might be the difference in our ages—he is twenty-two years older than I am—but he explained that being around me made him feel quite
youthful. And Cousin Inigo actually gave me his word of
honor as a gentleman that he would give up all his mis
tresses once we were married.”

Instead of returning to his place at the table, Mr. Rendel
sat down in the upholstered chair by the fire. “I am sur
prised that you were able to resist such impassioned proposals,” he said with a smile.