The Falcon and the Sparrow (11 page)

Chase allowed his gaze to wander over Miss Dawson. She did not answer his question but sat with the poise of a lady, her hands folded in her lap. Brown lashes like a young doe’s feathered over her cheeks, which had returned to their golden glow. Her hair, falling in a disarray of curls from their tussle, only added to her beauty. She bit her bottom lip, draining the normal rosy color in one spot, and fidgeted in her chair. Still she did not look at him, and he found himself yearning for one glance from her magnificent amber eyes.

“Was there something you wished to discuss with me, Admiral?” The tone of her voice made it obvious she wished to leave.

Scanning the floor, Chase retrieved the money purse and handed it to her. “An advance on your wages, Miss Dawson. I thought you might need the money.”

She took the velvet satchel and nodded. “Thank you. Will that be all?” Her gaze flickered again over his desk, and he wondered what she found so fascinating about its contents.

“How are you and William getting along?”

“Splendidly, Admiral. He is a fine lad.”

Of course, Chase already knew that William had taken to his new governess. Every night he had come home that week, he’d heard the boy’s laughter bubbling through the house. One particularly lonely night, Miss Dawson’s and William’s voices, accompanied by a harpsichord, had floated through the rooms like a healing balm, infiltrating the diseased walls and eradicating the death and sorrow festering within them—if only for a moment. Music and laughter, two things that had not graced this house in years. Yet why did the sound of them make Chase so uneasy?

Shaking off the uncomfortable thoughts, he withdrew his sword and laid it upon his desk. “Does he obey you? if not, you may call upon sebastian when I am not home.” He rubbed his chin, regarding her.

Miss Dawson brushed a curl from her forehead and finally offered him a direct gaze. “There is no need, Admiral. I am perfectly capable of handling your son. And if I may be so bold, I believe you misjudge him. He has a kind disposition.” she hesitated. “He longs for his father.”

“He has a father.”

“But not one who is present.”

Chase felt a twinge in his jaw. “I must do my job, Miss Dawson, or William will not have the food, clothing, or tutoring he needs. He is a child and does not understand such things.”

“He understands more than you know, Admiral.”

Chase slammed his fist on the desk.

Miss Dawson jumped. “My apologies. I misspoke.” Her voice barely audible, she rose from her chair.

Cursing under his breath, Chase veered around. Guilt pricked his conscience. Clearly her comments had been borne out of a concern for William. Suddenly he thought better of turning his back on her again and spun around to find her grabbing her shawl
and starting toward the door.

“If I have your permission, I will take my leave now,” she mumbled.

Without thinking, Chase grabbed her arm, halting her. She raised her eyes to his, uncertainty and fear flickering within them. For moments, they stood gazing at each other in silence. He wanted to take her in his arms again, to comfort her, to wipe away the tears that now pooled in her eyes. Why? Confusion and fear churned in his stomach.

“I fear you have formed a wrong opinion of me, Admiral.” she tugged her arm from his grasp and took a step back. “Perhaps like your sister you believe Frenchwomen to be naught but wanton playthings.” she drew a shaky breath.

Chase grimaced, regretting his touch upon her not only because of its effect on him but also because he clearly had frightened her again. “I assure you, Miss Dawson, I do not share her views.” He sighed, unsure how to make her see he was not the knave his actions portrayed. He searched her warm eyes, so different from the cold, angry sheen that covered his sister’s gaze.

“May I ask why you forgave my sister so easily? Her behavior toward you was beyond reproach.” The gracious act still baffled him. Why, if they had been men, a duel would have resulted from such a scurrilous affront.

She pressed her shawl against her chest. “Who am I not to forgive others when I have been forgiven so much?”

Chase grunted. He assumed she meant by God. “And what horrid things could someone so young have done that required forgiveness?”

“ ’Tis not so much what we have done, but the condition of our hearts, Admiral. A wrong motive can be just as evil as a spiteful act.”

Forgiveness.
Chase had been taught about God’s forgiveness at church all his life, but he had never felt he was forgiven, had never witnessed anyone else receive forgiveness in a way that changed him, and had never really seen true forgiveness in action.

Until that night.

He narrowed his eyes upon Miss Dawson, wondering why she fascinated him so much. “And what might your motives be?”

Her face blanched, and she shifted her eyes to the floor. “To care for William, Admiral.”

“Yes, of course.” Clasping his hands behind his back, he began to pace as thoughts of his sister brought back his promise to attend the ball. He stopped and studied Miss Dawson. Her gaze darted to the door. It appeared the little sparrow yearned to fly away. He moved to block her path then gave her a reassuring smile.

Attending the ball would not be so unpleasant if he could escort Miss Dawson. And it would serve another purpose, as well. Though he could not imagine any foul play on her part, her suspicious behavior did give him some pause, and this way, he could keep a weather eye upon her all evening.

“One more thing, Miss Dawson, and then you may go.”

“Yes?”

“I wonder if you might do me a favor.”

A line of wariness creased the corner of her lovely mouth. “Perhaps.”

He chuckled at her hesitancy. “As you know, my sister has badgered me into going to the ball at Lord and Lady billingsworth’s tomorrow night.” His throat went dry, and he swallowed, wondering at his sudden nervousness. “I smell a trap, and one I fear only you can help me avoid.”

“
Moi?
I do not understand.” Her delicate brows crinkled together.

Chase leaned toward her. “Would you do me the honor of attending the ball with me?”

Miss Dawson’s face reddened again so quickly it reminded Chase of red and white signal flags being raised and lowered on his ship.

“But how could that help?” she stuttered, tossing a hand to her chest. “I mean to say,
non
. Absolutely not. I could not possibly.” she moved to circle around him.

He stepped in her path again. “You would be doing me a grand service.”

She gazed up at him, her eyes shifting between his. “But your sister—surely she loathes me enough without inciting her further? And besides, what would people think?”

“People? They would see naught but Admiral Randal escorting his governess to a dance. They will think what they will, regardless of what they see.” He shrugged. “What does it matter?”

Miss Dawson pursed her lips and glanced away. “Nevertheless, I cannot. Now if you please.” she made a move to get by him. “May I go?”

Chase stepped aside, disappointment expelling a huge gust from his lips. She swept past him in a whiff of lilacs and moved down the hall with a superior gait that belied the timid girl she portrayed.

Suddenly she froze and turned around. Chase thought to make a dash into his study, not wanting her to know he had been staring at her, but he couldn’t tear himself away from the vision of her standing in the dark hall with beams of moonlight dancing around her like angels.

“Very well, Admiral. It would be my pleasure to attend the ball with you.”

He studied her, wondering at her sudden change of heart but afraid to press her any further. “Very good.” He bowed and watched her turn and fade into the darkness. Elated at her acceptance, he wasn’t foolish enough to think that she had agreed because of any affection for him.

No, something else was going on with this intriguing French-woman, something mysterious, something even dangerous, perhaps. Had she intended to strike him with the candlestick? He shook his head and gave a quick snort. It made no sense. Nothing about the woman made any sense. She fascinated him. And what was even more fascinating to him was that he now looked forward to this ridiculous dance with great anticipation.

Yes, this ball would prove to be very entertaining, indeed.

D
ominique pulled her blue muslin pelisse tighter around her neck against the morning mist swirling around her. Only in London did the fog seem to possess the unnatural ability to move through fabric as well as skin. Yet riding atop the chill, pleasant memories bounced over Dominique—memories of her mother lovingly insisting she and Marcel bring extra cloaks whenever they intended to visit the city.

As if reading her thoughts, Larena glanced up into the gray sky. “We may actually get to see the sun today, miss.”

Following her gaze, Dominique saw nothing but a bowl of soot capping the city, save for a few light cracks where the sun’s rays attempted to slice through the pudding-like fog.

“But what difference does the weather make when we are going shopping?” Larena’s crimson curls bobbed beneath her bonnet as she walked next to Dominique. “ ’Tis most exciting, isn’t it? shopping for the ball tonight?”

“Yes, I suppose.” Dominique attempted a weak smile. Larena had jumped at the chance to accompany her down bond street—where all high society shopped—to the Grafton House, the only draper’s shop Dominique could afford. Apparently dress shopping was not one of the chambermaid’s normal activities, but why would it be when no lady had lived in the Randal home these past three years?

Her exuberance was almost catching—almost—for Dominique
wasn’t entirely sure she’d made the right decision in agreeing to accompany the admiral. The thought of the upcoming evening caused a tightness in her chest that had kept her up most of the night and made her ravenously hungry that morning. For breakfast, she’d consumed three poached eggs, two pieces of toast smothered with jam, sausage, and five cups of strong tea, and now she found she was hungry all over again.

Horses clattered over the cobblestone streets, pulling elaborately painted phaetons and landaus that carried their well-dressed passengers to whatever grand events were happening that day: a horse race or cricket match or perhaps just a stroll in Hyde Park.

Dominique edged around a peddler selling muffins, and her stomach rumbled at the sweet smell of fresh-baked dough. She pressed a hand over her complaining midsection and decided not to embarrass herself further by eating any more in front of Larena. They passed a window filled with clusters of tightly wound hair in every imaginable color and style. Dominique twirled a finger around one of her own chestnut locks as she examined the wigs, amazed at the variety and the prices.

“If I may be so bold…” Larena gave Dominique an inquisitive glance as they continued on their way. “You should be honored the admiral asked you to the ball. He hasn’t escorted a lady to a dance since…well, since his wife died, I suppose.”

“I
am
honored.” Dominique sidestepped a young lad racing down the street with an orange in his tight grip. An older gentleman followed quick on his heels, yelling, “Thief! Thief!”

She turned and watched them coil their way through the crowd. “Poor thing. He’s probably starving.”

Larena tilted her head and gazed at Dominique before they started forward again.

“I do not wish to give people the wrong impression. I’m only going as a favor to the admiral,” Dominique stated.

“A favor? Is that what he’s calling it?” Larena’s lips curved upward, lifting a small freckle at the corner of her mouth.

“Yes, and that is all that it is.” Dominique raised a stern brow at her chambermaid, but her thoughts quickly turned to the feel of
the admiral’s arms around her. That had been all she had thought about during her long, sleepless night. She had closed her eyes only for a second, not wanting to witness the candlestick bashing his head, when suddenly she’d found herself locked in his embrace—a warm, strong embrace that for a brief moment made her feel safe, secure, and cared for. A feeling she’d not enjoyed for a very long time.

A gentleman approached, lifted his top hat at the ladies, and allowed his gaze to scour over Dominique as he passed. She recognized the look, the same hunger she’d seen in the admiral’s eyes—or was it? The admiral’s gaze had held something deeper, and the warm sensation it produced in Dominique frightened her. She must avoid him; she must do what she came to do and leave as soon as possible; and she should definitely not go to a dance with the man. But what choice did she have? if she didn’t go, he would be at the ball with the key to his study in his pocket, and she would spend another night alone in his home, banging her head against the oak barricade. Since her attempt to pummel him unconscious hadn’t worked, she saw no other option than to feign an affection for him that would bring her close enough to somehow remove the key from his person. And what better way to accomplish that than a dance?

Larena said something, but Dominique couldn’t make it out amidst the cacophony of sounds clamoring in the streets. Well past eleven o’clock, the city seemed to instantly burst with life. Bells of street peddlers rang through the streets, echoing off the brick walls of the exquisite shops lining the avenue: jewelers, tailors, candle makers, booksellers, tea dealers, watchmakers, and purveyors of every imaginable luxury that London society could afford. A German band began to play inside a tavern, horses whinnied, children laughed, and the constant grinding of carriage wheels over the cobblestones only added to the orchestra of madness.