“It’s just a pity that you can’t attend the presentation at court, too,” Mama went on cheerily, “although perhaps Grey could get an invitation for you if he spoke to the right people.”
“Please do not put him to that trouble,” the major said in what sounded more like a command than a request. “Attending Beatrice’s debut ball will be quite enough for me.”
Gwyn winced. This must be sheer torture for him, being forced to go into society when he didn’t want to. But that might work in her favor. Perhaps he’d let her talk him into staying at the town house once or twice while she went with friends into society. Friends she could get away from easily. Once was all she would need to get Lionel’s money to him.
“What made you decide to join us in London in the first place?” Mother asked. “Bea was sure you would not come even if she asked.”
His gaze flicked to Gwyn for the briefest of moments before he jerked it away and said dryly, “I missed her.”
Gwyn barely suppressed a snort, and she could see her brother trying hard not to laugh.
“Well, that is lovely.” Mama leveled a dark gaze on Thorn. “I wish the twins were so close to each other. But Thorn has never forgiven Gwyn for not coming back to England with him when he returned to claim his title.”
“Mother,” Thorn said in a pained voice.
“What? It’s true.”
“Perhaps so, but it’s of no interest to the major, I’m sure,” Gwyn said. “He doesn’t want to hear about our family squabbles.”
“On the contrary,” Major Wolfe said, “I am all ears.”
And all eyes, too, apparently, for he was now watching Gwyn with an intensity that did odd things to her insides.
“It began when Gwyn had this particularly troublesome suitor,” Mama said.
Gwyn shot Thorn an imploring look, but for once he seemed at a loss for words.
“I forget the fellow’s name,” Mama went on. “Was it Hazle-something?”
Hazlehurst had been another of Gwyn’s suitors. Thank heaven for Mama’s spotty memory. And for Gwyn’s rather lengthy history of being courted by men whom she ended up not marrying.
“Yes, Mama, it was Hazlehurst,” Gwyn said, lying for all she was worth.
“Anyway,” Mama went on, “I gather that Thorn was nasty to him, so the man went off to join the navy. And Gwyn never forgave him.”
“Hazlehurst?” Major Wolfe searched Gwyn’s face. “Or Thornstock?”
“Both,” Mama said. “Washed her hands of them both.”
“Can you blame me?” Gwyn said with a sniff. “Thorn had no business running Hazlehurst off, and Hazlehurst had no business allowing himself to be run off by Thorn.”
“Especially for something as trivial as your brother being nasty to him,” the major said. “If this fellow Hazlehurst couldn’t hold his own in such a circumstance, the navy must have given him quite the rude awakening.”
“I’m sure it did,” Thorn said, apparently finally getting his wits about him. “I’ve heard that floggings are common on a man-of-war. Is that true, Major?”
The man shrugged. “It depends on the captain. I’ve seen it happen a great deal on some ships, and not at all on others.”
Thorn had apparently found a subject that interested the major, for they launched into a discussion about how marines were treated on naval ships, the battles Major Wolfe had been in, and all sorts of other manly military subjects.
Under other circumstances, she would have found the conversation fascinating, too. Today, however, she listened with only half an ear, unable to concentrate on anything except her relief that the disaster had been averted.
But for how long? What if her mother revealed something else about the past that forced her to lie? Or was Mama now satisfied that she’d said her piece on the subject?
Clearly, Gwyn’s debut was going to be fraught with more peril than she’d expected. Because the last thing in the world she wanted was for Major Wolfe—or anyone in her family—to learn the truth about her past with Lionel Malet.
Chapter Five
They had stopped to change horses every hour, and occasionally one or the other of the ladies had disembarked to use the necessary. But that had not been often enough for Joshua to get out and exercise his bad leg. Normally, he wouldn’t have needed the exercise until they stopped for the night, for he would have stretched out his leg enough to keep it from cramping.
Unfortunately, that was impossible while he sat across from Lady Gwyn. He wasn’t about to thrust his booted foot beneath her elegant green carriage dress. For one thing, he didn’t wish to soil it, or the expensive-looking cloak she wore over it. For another, even if she didn’t misinterpret his actions, he feared the very idea of having his boot beneath her skirts would start his imagination roaming to other forbidden places.
Yet no matter how he tried to arrange matters so he sat across from his aunt, who probably wouldn’t care if he encroached on her space, he always ended up across from Lady Gwyn. Either his aunt or Thornstock or both were behind that. He couldn’t imagine that Lady Gwyn had anything to do with it. She’d been quiet ever since he and Thornstock had begun discussing the military.
After a while, she fell asleep. Only then did he dare to slide his boot beneath her skirts, but it was too little, too late. So when they stopped in front of the Golden Oak Inn, he practically leaped from the carriage in his eagerness to escape the confined quarters. All he wanted now was a short walk to get the feeling back in his leg, a fine meal, a glass of brandy, and a chance to sit before the fire soaking his bad foot and calf in a bucket of warm water.
He was glad he would get to do all of it alone if he wished, because the duke had informed Joshua that he would have his own room. Being a “war hero” apparently had its advantages.
“Where are you going, Gwyn?” he heard his aunt ask.
“For a walk, Mama. I need some fresh air. I won’t be long.”
Bloody hell, the woman was even now heading across the innyard in her fancy cloak and hat, bound for the archway they had just come through. Thornstock, who was already escorting Aunt Lydia into the inn, halted long enough to nod to Joshua. Obviously, Joshua’s post as bodyguard started now.
Barely suppressing a curse, he altered his course to head for the young woman. “Lady Gwyn!” he called out.
She paused to look back, clearly surprised. “No need to come with me, Major. I’m sure you want a mug of ale as badly as Thorn.”
“You cannot walk in a strange town unaccompanied, madam.”
“Why not?” She turned to continue on. “I walk alone in the country all the time. And it’s not even dark yet.”
“It will be dark shortly.” He caught up to her. “And anyway, dark or not, Malet could have been following us the whole way, watching for just such a chance to kidnap you.”
“I doubt that. He—” She halted, as if realizing she’d been about to say something unwise. Then she drew her cloak more closely about her. “Fine. But I fully intend to see Great St. Mary’s Church before I return. So are you sure you wish to go that far? That walking with me won’t . . . um . . . pain your leg?”
He debated whether to speak the truth, and finally decided he had nothing to gain by lying. “Not walking would pain it after such a lengthy ride in a coach. My leg cramps if I sit for too long in one spot.”
“Oh, dear,” she said, sounding genuinely upset. “I had no idea. Is there anything we could do to help?”
Let me thrust my foot as far under your skirts as I dare tomorrow? Take my leg in your pretty hands tonight and knead it until I fall asleep?
Damn. “No,” he said curtly. “It’s something I’m used to dealing with.”
“Well, I do hope you’ll tell us if we can make it better.”
“I will.” Time to change the subject before the image of her making it “better” in any number of lascivious ways sent his mind down unwise passages. “So, I’m curious about something. What exactly did your brother do or say
to this Hazlehurst fellow that made the man run off to war instead of staying around to marry you?”
“First of all, it wasn’t certain that Hazlehurst would have married me even if he had stayed around.”
“Were you an heiress back then?”
“Yes.”
“Then he would have married you.” The minute the words left his mouth, he realized how insulting he sounded. “My God, that was not—”
“For your information,” she clipped out, “I didn’t mean that he might have chosen not to marry me. I meant that I might have chosen not to marry him.”
“Of course. Pardon me, Lady Gwyn. When it comes to matters of marriage and the heart, I tend to be cynical. It colors every word out of my mouth.”
Silence was all he got for that answer.
He tried again. “It goes without saying that you would have your pick of the men, but I figured any man would be a fool not to marry a woman as beautiful and accomplished as you, especially when a fortune was also involved. You and your brother had already made it clear that this Hazlehurst didn’t have the sense God gave him, so—”
“Oh, do stop, Major. My feelings aren’t so bruised that I would fall for that balderdash. I can tell when someone is flattering me.”
That took him aback. Though her tone was peevish, it certainly didn’t sound insulted anymore. Bad enough that he’d gushed like that to a woman who probably received compliments as a matter of course—he wasn’t about to admit that he’d meant every word of that “balderdash.”
They walked a little way in silence, past the carriage house and the stables next to it until they emerged onto the main road in Cambridge. Their inn was in a less-populated part of town, so they were mostly alone for their walk.
He understood why she was so concerned about his leg holding up, but honestly, he walked great distances on the estate every day. He merely had to walk them slower than most.
As they were entering the area that contained the university buildings, they approached two men unloading trunks from a cart in front of a tavern, laughing and joking as they carried a trunk inside. It was the kind of idyllic scene that could take place in any town in England.
Joshua and Lady Gwyn had just passed by the cart when a loud crash sounded behind them.
It instantly catapulted Joshua back to the deck of the Amphion, to the explosion cutting through their rigging . . . and both side’s men. Instinct sent him whirling into a crouch and, scarcely aware he did it, he drew his flintlock and cocked it. It took him a few more precious seconds to notice the open trunk with its pewter mugs clattering over the cobblestones.
The two fellows who’d dropped the trunk froze at the sight of his pistol. He froze, too, disoriented.
Suddenly, he felt Lady Gwyn’s hand covering his. “I think there’s no need for the gun just now,” she murmured.
An agony of shame swamped him. Damnation, what was he doing? “Remove your hand, Lady Gwyn,” he said tightly. “I have to uncock the pistol.”
She did. He rose and went through the complicated process of uncocking his weapon safely.
Then he rounded on her. “For God’s sake, never, ever touch a man’s hand when he’s got a cocked pistol in it!”
She swallowed hard. “I–I’m sorry. I was just—”
“I could have shot them.” He couldn’t seem to calm himself. “I could have shot you. If I had turned—”
“But you didn’t,” she said, though her flaming cheeks showed she’d taken his warning to heart. She grabbed his arm to draw him away from the two men, who were now watching with avid curiosity. “Everything’s fine.”
“Everything is not fine.” He was still quaking at what he could have done. “We should return to the inn.”
“Not until you’re calmer.” Still clinging to his arm, she continued on toward Cambridge proper.
He went along, even as his heart hammered in his chest. “This is why I shouldn’t be going to London, shouldn’t be acting as bodyguard to anyone, damn it. I need quiet places, preferably with no one around.” Or he needed to be in the Royal Marines again, where his behavior would seem normal.
“Balderdash. You realized what you were doing pretty quickly, I’d say. No harm done.”
He lifted a brow at her. “You’re still gripping my arm as if to keep me from hurting anyone. Don’t tell me it’s no harm done.” When she released his arm self-consciously, he said, “Now you know why the residents of Sanforth steer clear of me.”
Especially the women, who had begun to regard him with alarm whenever he went into town.
Yet Lady Gwyn wasn’t doing so. “Have you reacted that way before? At home in Sanforth or on the estate, I mean?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“How often?”
He gritted his teeth, though she had a right to know. “A few times.”
“Have you ever shot anyone? Hurt anyone?”
“Not yet. But—”
“Then you are dealing with it as best you can. And for what it’s worth, I, too, jumped when they dropped that trunk behind us.”
“You didn’t shoot anyone.”
“Neither did you.” She smiled doggedly. “Now, we’re going to change the subject and finish our walk.”
He stared hard at her. “You’re rather high-handed for a woman.”
“You’ve met my family, haven’t you? When we’re all together, it’s the battle of the dukes, everyone struggling to get their own way. I have learned that if I want my own wishes considered at all, I have to throw myself into the fray with the rest of them.”
In spite of everything, that made him smile. Her assertion reinforced the impression he’d gained of her family himself.
They walked a short distance more.
“Magnificent sunset, isn’t it?” she said, apparently determined to cheer him up.
He hadn’t noticed. But now he made himself pay attention to where the sun sank low on their right, washing the sky with swirls of pink and orange and purple. “It is.” He nodded toward an impressive building. “Is that the church you wished to see?”
“Yes. I try to visit it every time we come through here. I’ve always admired the Late Perpendicular Gothic style of Great St. Mary’s. I like the clean lines, the symmetry, and the lack of stained glass. And because of the latter, what I like best right now is how the dying sun looks like red flames in the reflection of the plain windows.”
He mustered up an answer. “I sometimes forget that sunsets are more than mere indicators of coming weather at sea. ‘Red sky at night, sailors’ delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning’ and all that.”
“Given your years aboard ship, do you find the red-sky thing to be true?”
“Generally.”
She sighed. “I often wish I could paint a sunset, but I can’t do it justice.”
“No one can. Nature has the monopoly on sunsets. I’ve yet to see one in a painting that didn’t look forced.”
“That’s rather harsh, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps. I haven’t seen many paintings.” He glanced at her. “I didn’t know you were an artist.”
She gave a rueful laugh. “To call me an ‘artist’ is to call my cloak a sail. I can sketch plans for a ha-ha or a folly in no time, but to paint a reasonable approximation of such a building and do it justice? I’m hopeless at that.”
“Ah, yes, I forgot about your interest in architecture.”
“That’s because you hardly ever see us,” she said lightly. “Mama has invited you to dinner countless times and you never come. Just think of the riveting conversation you’re missing. Only last week, Sheridan and Mama got into an extended argument about how a cravat should be tied.”
Grimly, he shook his head. His life seemed miles away from theirs.
She tucked a curl under her fancy hat. “So now that you’ve been reminded of my love of architecture, you must tell me what you have an interest in. Because somehow I doubt that it’s catching poachers and bre
eding retrievers and whatever else a gamekeeper does.”
“You guessed that, did you?”
“It was hard not to. You’re so grumpy whenever I see you that I can only assume it’s because you don’t like your post.”
“My post is fine. It’s just . . .”
“Not what you thought you’d spend your life doing,” she said.
“Exactly.”
“But you keep doing it because you’re afraid of hurting anyone if you do anything else,” she persisted.
“Yes.” Surprised by her insight, he shot her a dark look. “I thought we were going to change the subject.”
“Right,” she said, smiling faintly. “So what did you think you would spend your life doing?”
“Leading men into battle. Discussing strategy with other officers. Traveling to new places that were . . . were . . .”
“As far away from England as possible,” she finished. “I know the feeling. I truly did not want to return to England myself, although I am learning to be content. With the war going on and all my family living here now, it’s unlikely I’ll ever be able to return to Berlin, no matter how much I miss it.”
“Is that the real reason you didn’t come back with Thornstock when he asked? Because you didn’t want to leave Berlin and your parents?”
“Partly.” She dragged in a heavy breath. “And partly because Thorn was returning to an estate and title and great wealth. Whereas I would have been returning to—”
“Nothing. Except a position as the sister of a duke with an estate and title and great wealth.”
“When you say it like that I sound spoiled,” she muttered.
“I didn’t mean it that way.” Bloody hell, every time he opened his mouth, he insulted her. He thought for a moment, trying to choose his words carefully. “Everyone wants something that is theirs alone. If you had returned with your brother, you would have lived in his shadow the way I live in your family’s shadow. If anyone understands why you didn’t want that, it’s me.”
Looking gratified by his words, she slid her hand in the crook of his elbow. His blood warmed at the touch. God help him, how he wished he didn’t respond to her like this.
The Bachelor Page 5
