Willing allies. Who would have thought?
He let some distance grow between him and the now quiet carriage so he could think clearly. Seeing the crested conveyance leaving the city as he’d made his way back to Trelissick’s townhouse had been a stroke of luck indeed. Only now he had no clothing and not enough food in his saddlebags to last very long. The effect was that he appeared penniless and in need of a traveling party.
He couldn’t have planned it more perfectly.
Now all he had to do was divine the right time to recruit Miss Germaine and find out what the hell was going on.
Once they’d left London, he became less convinced about the facts of the whole situation, but for the moment he would have to wait it out. It wouldn’t do for Trelissick to start asking questions about why he was asking questions.
If the all-powerful marquess knew who he really was, it would be Patrick’s life at risk. But that was a chance he would take willingly now honour was at stake. He had disgraced himself and his name but he would find redemption. And if it turned out he was too late for redemption? Then he would have revenge. He wasn’t leaving Trelissick’s side without one or the other.
Chapter Nine
The trip to Worcester felt agonizingly slow to James. He was desperately tired and wanted to doze but he just could not relax enough to let his guard down when it came to Daniella. He still had no clue as to why she was so…so…willing. He simply could not accept that any woman would prefer shipboard life to a settled home with a comfortable husband and children to love. All women were born with that ambition stitched into their bones and no unconventional upbringing or hoydenish streak could pick it out.
Daniella’s attitude in the last day or so showed she was confident she held the power in their exchange. She had shown the ton she was a spoiled brat in need of a firm hand, and possibly a spanking, but as she sat opposite him, her back straight, her little chin high in the air, he wondered just what her strength and stubbornness would cost him. And his family.
He shook his head and let it fall back once again against the squabs. He hoped he was doing the right thing in all of this. Never would he just give up. As long as there was the hope that his mother and sister were alive then he would fight.
As the carriage began to slow beneath him, James lifted the curtain back on the window to reveal cottages and pastures sown with the season’s crops soaking up a light rain. They were approaching the edge of the town and he figured now was the best time to lay down the law with Daniella.
When he glanced back to where she sat at the end of the bench on the corner furthest from the door, she glared right back at him. He wondered if she was still upset that he hadn’t shared all of his intentions with her. His current plan really was very simple. If any rumours were to reach ears in London, they would be so scattered and puzzling that no one would know which were true and which were lies. Then when he returned to London, indeed if he returned, the wildest of the gossip could be laughed off and the tamer could be woven into a credible story. No irrevocable damage would have been done to his sister’s name or, for that matter, to Daniella’s. She might profess not to care but as a man of honour he would not contribute to the wrecking of a lady’s prospects.
Gossip was hideous. A person’s reputation could be irretrievably lost if a rumour was strong enough—truth rarely came into it. Indeed the harder a person fought to deny the gossip, the guiltier she appeared. For twelve months James had laboured to restore his family name, to restore dignity and honour so his sister could make a good match and they could each go about their lives. He wanted to see his beloved family again, but he knew restoring them without too much malicious chatter was his obligation as much as it was his desire.
“Do you know,” her voice sounded as if from a distance, pulling him back to the carriage, to their predicament, “if you told me what it is my father has of yours, it would make it easier for me to assist you.”
He shook his head again. “I don’t need your assistance for that. Only your directions after we cross the border.” When she opened her mouth to argue, he held his hand up between them. “Although your cooperation does help.”
She snapped her mouth shut.
“When we arrive at the modiste, we must be quick. I want to be back on the road within the hour.”
“And what if there are no dresses ready-made?”
He looked her up and down from her dainty, albeit ruined, slippers to his sister’s ill-fitting dress right up to her wild untamed hair. “You had better hope there are. And get yourself a hairbrush and pins as well.”
Self-conscious at his words, she reached up to smooth her hair but then seemed to think the better of it, her hand dropping back to her lap. “Anything else, Your Majesty?”
He was saved when the carriage came to a stop and Hobson opened the door. He was still pale but appeared to be holding up.
“We’re here, milord.”
“Good. One hour is all we have. Hobson, I’ll need you to gather us some food so we don’t have to stop again until sunset. Patrick can stand guard by the carriage and Willie can stay where he is just in case we have to depart quickly.” He waited for Hobson to nod his understanding and then turned back to Daniella. “Are you ready?”
“What is my part to be today?”
“I think you will be my paramour in need of a more suitable wardrobe.”
Her lips lifted at the edges. “It is as well I plan never to return to your precious London, then.”
“Just play along.”
She nodded once but the smile never left her lips.
“And please don’t improvise. The less you say, the better it will be and the less identifiable we will be to anyone asking after us. Let me do the talking.”
“As you wish.”
Her easy acquiescence was a concern but they didn’t have time to stand about and argue.
When James jumped to the ground to hand her out, Patrick had caught them up and reined in his mount, waiting for his orders.
“I’ll need you stay here and stand guard with Willie. If we’re not out in one hour, come rushing in with an urgent message.”
Patrick raised his brows but nodded and made himself more comfortable in the saddle.
Daniella emerged, put her hand in his, and let him help her to the cobbled ground. She was as regal as a princess in a ball gown. She looked more a pauper in a potato sack; he could have chosen her a better, newer, grander dress from his sister’s collection but he had been of a mind to punish her in harmless ways at least.
Misgivings sat low in his belly as he pushed through the single door of the modiste’s establishment. This is what he hated about not having a clear plan. In battle it was easy to predict the men’s reactions, his own and the enemy’s, but in this battle, where women were not only involved but key players, he wasn’t equipped with the necessary knowledge to pre-empt them.
“Bonjour, monsieur, madame, I am Madame Perèt. How can we help you today?”
Madame Perèt was a small, lithe woman with greying hair and wrinkles framing intelligent eyes. Her French accent rang rather truer than those of many London lady’s maids.
“My…” he hesitated for effect “…wife, needs a suitable wardrobe for travel and I was told you were the lady we needed to see?”
The lady in question looked his “wife” up and down before addressing him once again.
“Are you traveling to London or away from?”
“To London,” James lied, “but then we may travel back, so we will need some warm items.”
“Will she be attending balls and such?”
James didn’t miss the imperceptible rising of the modiste’s brows nor the tightening of her shoulders. Just as he suspected, this madame was another on the edge of her seat to await gossip. A tale she could share with her friends and be the first to spin what she wanted about the gentleman and the woman he claimed as his wife even though Daniella wore no ring.
“No. She will not.”
“As you wish.”
He switched his gaze from Madame Perèt back to Daniella, who wore a small smirk. “I will leave you to choose your gowns, m’dear.”
“Oh no,” Daniella purred in a way that made his hair stand on end. “You must stay and help. After all, it is your money we spend, darling.”
“I trust you,” he grated out.
Daniella gave the modiste a mock look of frustration and then sauntered over to him. Did she really just saunter? After purring?
“Very well, then, I shall have everything made up in pink.” She ran a finger slowly down his cheek to his chin. “The marquess absolutely loathes pink, do you not, darling? And I believe breeches may also be in order, no?”
His teeth ground in his mouth and it took all of his strength not to shake her. They were supposed to leave rumour and innuendo, not their names and addresses. “No pink and certainly no breeches.”
Better than an actress on the stage, she squealed and jumped on the spot, clapping her hands together. “So you’ll stay and help with the gown choices?”
“I suppose I must.”
“Excellent. Let us get started.”
The modiste watched the exchange with perplexity. James wanted to rake his hand through his hair until the urge to throttle his hostage left him but that would show Madame Perèt that Daniella’s taunts had substance to them. So far the modiste didn’t look as though she would ask questions but the hour had barely begun. He had a feeling he was in for far more than colour choices but he sat and fixed a smile to his face. It would be a very long hour indeed.
*
His paramour, was she? Fine. Let him see some amour firsthand then.
He could have told the modiste she was his ward or niece or something along those lines. Their ages weren’t so close. She guessed the marquess to be around three-and-thirty—he couldn’t have risen so high in the army if he was much younger.
Which reminded her that he hadn’t actually spoken about the army and she hadn’t had a chance to interrogate Hobson either. There was still a great deal she didn’t know, which made it difficult to know whether Trelissick was friend or indeed foe. What if her father gave his precious items back and Trelissick refused to let her go? He had no reason to keep her—unless this wasn’t only about a trade and there really was more to the tale? It was so frustrating not knowing.
“Do you wish for privacy, madame?”
Just as Daniella was about to nod and thank the woman, Trelissick interrupted. “I really don’t want to let my wife from my sight, if you don’t mind?”
Daniella knew it for the challenge it was. He meant to discomfit her into being good. “Of course, whatever my husband wants. After all, he has seen my skin before.”
When his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, Daniella smiled her victory. But only for a moment. A man’s form was something she was used to from her time on the ship. The hands often discarded their shirts on a hot day. But she certainly hadn’t. Anytime she even rolled her sleeves too high or loosened the ties on her shirt too far, her father had been there to remind her of her sex. As if she could ever forget. She wondered if James had ever removed his shirt to toil. Would the dark hair on his forearms cover his chest and the ridges of his abdomen as well…?
She stood silently, not once breaking eye contact with Trelissick, until the modiste returned with several ready-made dresses for her to try. She gave her back to the modiste and Madame Perèt deftly undid each tiny button down her back. When she felt the borrowed gown sag, she gave a little wriggle until it dropped to the floor around her ankles with a whoosh.
That left Daniella in nothing more than an almost transparent shift and barely there stays. The gown she had worn to the virgin auction was made of silk so fine it was translucent, and it wasn’t designed for substantial underthings. As she lifted her chin and pretended she was comfortable in her near nakedness, his jaw tightened but he didn’t look away. He kept his eyes glued to her face and forced a wider smile.
For the next forty minutes Daniella tried to ignore Trelissick as much as she could. She didn’t make eye contact again, but did as the modiste instructed. She tried to choose out gowns that she could fasten herself but ladies’ fashion just didn’t allow for doing much on one’s own.
“Do you have anything that is not so extravagant?” she asked Madame Perèt.
“Such as?”
“Such as a sturdy gown for walking or working?”
The modiste looked back at Trelissick. “Why would the…lady…wish for a gown like this?”
“My wife enjoys gardening and worries when the maids cannot remove the stains.”
“You should not worry about such things, madame. Your husband will simply buy you a new gown, no?”
Trelissick nodded. Daniella glared. “Since my maid had to stay behind, who will help me with these dresses?”
He rose and came towards her, a predatory look replacing his earlier annoyance. “I’m sure I will be able to manage.”
“You can’t. It’s not appropriate.”
“As you said, I have seen your skin. And since we sleep in the same bed—” he raised his hand, his thumb smoothly stroking her cheek in a caress more intimate than she had managed earlier “—I will be there to help you in and out of your clothes.”
It was Daniella’s turn to gulp. “You won’t always be there.” It more hope than a question.
“Yes I will, ma chère.”
The world stopped moving about her in that moment. She knew he was trying to get a response out of her, daring her to put an end to the charade but also knowing she could not, she was lost. The warmth of his fingers on her neck, of his breath against her chin, caused her heart to race, caused her to sway into him until her chest was almost leaning against his, her eyes on his mouth as she waited for his next move.
But then Trelissick snatched his hand away and stepped back. She nearly stumbled without his support. What the hell?
“We’ll take two day gowns, the riding habit and the nightgown. My wife will also need underthings, shoes if you have them and a woollen cloak. Hers is not suitable for cold nights.” He snapped out the orders and it was clear the army major had returned. Thank the Lord. She wasn’t sure how much longer it would have been until she forgot where she was and begged him to kiss her.
Chapter Ten
What was wrong with him? He wasn’t a child. He didn’t accept a challenge when the challenger was clearly insane. What else could explain her behaviour? Had she been trying to prove something to him by tricking him into staying while she undressed?
He sure as hell had proven to her that he was in charge and that all his faculties were in order. But only just.
“I bet you’re happy.” The bane of his existence sulked in her corner of the carriage, arms crossed over her now covered chest, sullenness drawing her mouth into a frown as her body rocked with the motion of the road.
“Happy?” He bloody well was not. The, ah, state their little act had left him in had hurt. A lot. His arousal had been almost impossible to hide from Daniella and the modiste.
“Imagine the fury when my father discovers I am your harlot.”
“I don’t think your father will actually learn of any of this before I hand you back to him. You can deal with all of that down the track. Any pursuers, on the other hand, will hear of chaperoned siblings in one town and an outrageous marquess and his doxy in another.” Perhaps if she understood that part of his plan she would stop tormenting him.
“Anthony will have your head.” Though she didn’t sound entirely convinced of that herself.
“You think he’ll blame me? He’ll know you are the bad influence, not me.”
“Do you even know my brother?”
He had seen Germaine from afar. At a horse race. Despite saving the prince’s life, he was not universally accepted yet, especially as all of London knew who his father was. Who their father was. “Not personally, no.”
“He’ll force you
to marry me if he catches us up before we get to Scotland.”
“I doubt that.” Of course it was a possibility. But what he didn’t know was whether Germaine would hold his sister’s honour high enough to call him out. Would he risk his neck for a sister who sold her virginity? Who swam in the moonlight in nothing more than her skin for half of London to see? A sister who tried to disgrace herself within the circles he wanted to be a part of? Hell, even James needed to shore up his place in those influential groups. For two years he had tried his hardest to erase the blemish his brother had left on their lives when his addiction to opiates became known. The Trelissick name had been nearly drowned in scandal when Bow Street investigated whether his brother had killed their father and then himself, or whether the reverse was true. He could have told them his father was incapable of hurting anyone, let alone his eldest son.
The story they’d concocted had concluded robbery but it had taken quite a substantial bribe. Not many believed the official causes of death and speculation spread faster than a sandstorm in the desert.
The last letter James received from his father was a plea for him to return and help him to help John. He wanted James to cash in his commission and return to the family seat.
But he hadn’t done it. In London, as the spare, he was next to nothing. He hadn’t been able to make a difference to anything or anyone. Anytime he wanted to try something new or daring, he would be encouraged down another path. The second sons of England weren’t destined for bigger things. They were to stand in their brother’s shadow. They were to stand in the bubble of possibility of a tragedy befalling. Only then could they become visible and worthy.
His father never asked for more than his unending commitment to the Trelissick name and then the Lasterton title. If James hadn’t been filled with ambition, he would have been there to save both his brother and his father. Instead, he had been at war, killing, maiming, working for his mad king and uncaring country. It was almost as if his father thought him the same as Daniella did. An officer sitting in a tent while the men around him charged to their deaths.
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