The Captain and the Wallflower

by Lyn Stone

  He acted as if everything was settled between them, almost as if they had been married for ages and well past the first bloom of passion.

  She recalled how he had said he loved her when she was standing on his shoulders next to the barrel of gunpowder. Was that a momentary expostulation because she could climb like a monkey and had ripped out that fuse? Hardly the most enviable of circumstances to hear such a thing.

  Caine never asked even once whether she loved him. Did he take that for granted? Well, she had told him only that once in the heat of anger. He must say it first and mean it before she would admit it again. But perhaps he really didn’t love her, in which case, she shouldn’t admit it at all.

  Caine was totally unlike himself since the explosion. This playfulness of his, while endearing in its probable intent, now made her wonder if his brain had been affected by events, as well. She was bored, restless and also a bit annoyed by what seemed very like condescension of his part.

  “We really should discuss what happened,” she said, suddenly too impatient with him to avoid crossing swords. “Why do you always refuse?”

  “I merely change the topic.” He tapped her on the nose. “Because you need to dwell on happy things until you’re well again. And there is nothing you can do that isn’t being done to right matters. Wildenhurst is already under repair.”

  He traced the side of her face with his finger, peering at it as if to check for undiscovered damage.

  She batted his hand away. “You know very well I mean we should speak of my uncle and what he’s done, not of the house. What have you heard? Is there any news of him?”

  “The search is still on. That’s all I know.”

  He reached into his pocket and drew out a length of string. “Cat’s cradle. Ever played that?” He began looping the string around his fingers. “Pull this one.”

  Grace groaned and closed her eyes. “You are impossible.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Neville arrived at Wildenhurst that afternoon. Grace and Caine were having tea off trays in her chamber when Judd announced him.

  “Come in, cousin,” Grace said as she held out a hand. “Thank goodness for your company. This man is driving me to distraction!”

  “My current goal in life,” Caine admitted. “Hello, Neville.”

  Neville bowed over Grace’s hand as he laid his other on Caine’s shoulder. “I see you’re both in fine form today. So happy to see you smiling, Grace.”

  After a few more pleasantries, he gave Caine a meaningful look and inclined his head toward the door. “You and I have a bit of business to discuss, if Grace will excuse us.”

  “If it concerns the incident with my uncle, I wish you would include me,” Grace said. “I’m quite well now, except for an occasional spell of dizziness and I promise not to swoon. Caine tells me nothing.”

  Neville looked to Caine for permission.

  “Knowing nothing is definitely more trying than hearing the facts,” she prompted. “I imagine the very worst.”

  Caine nodded with obvious reluctance.

  “Very well. Wardfelton must have gone directly back to the town house,” Neville told them. She could almost hear him grit his teeth. “He was there when I arrived to question his staff. They all swear he was there that entire night. When I accused him of setting the charges, he laughed.”

  “He denies it?” Grace asked, astounded. “How can he deny it?”

  “That’s no matter,” Caine said. “Harrell can identify him as the one who delivered the gunpowder, the very one who put a barrel of it in the root cellar. We have him dead to rights.”

  Neville disagreed. “He has six employees who will vouch for his presence there in London at the time. You have only the one.”

  “What of his sympathies with the French? How did he answer that?” Caine asked.

  “Unmentioned, because I have no proof whatsoever and it would have alerted him there is an investigation underway. When I said that you two would bring charges of attempted murder and testify against him in a court, he very patiently explained that you both have good cause to ruin him. That you, Caine, had threatened him with precisely that. And that you, Grace, strongly resented his assuming your father’s title and having care of you because you are willful to the extreme. He cites your plan to marry a total stranger without his consent. And he further swore that you promised to slander him in the worst possible ways.”

  “What lies!” she cried.

  “Of course they are, but a magistrate might not view them as such. He’s quite persuasive. And he is an earl.”

  Caine smiled without humor. “He will never see a court. I vowed that from the beginning.”

  “You can’t kill him, Caine,” Neville warned. “I can’t let you do that. You would hang.”

  “But he will be dead first.”

  “No!” Grace exclaimed, grabbing Caine’s arm. “Listen to me. He dares not make another attempt. He cannot, without everyone knowing, now that he’s been accused. You have to let it go, Caine.”

  Caine had grown calm. Deathly calm as he spoke. “Wardfelton is responsible for at least four deaths, including your parents’, Grace. And he would have murdered both of us and possibly half this household. He is without conscience and was abominably cruel to you. How can I possibly let that go?”

  “He must be stopped,” Neville agreed. “Men convinced they are above the law will dare anything. But as it stands now, the law won’t touch him. I can’t prove his treason and you can’t prove murder or even his attempt at it.” Neville thought for a moment, then held up a finger. “We must let him hang himself.”

  “Get him alone. I have rope,” Caine said, shifting restlessly, obviously eager to get on with it.

  “No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Neville said with a half smile. “But I’m almost certain that if Wardfelton believes he’s gotten away with everything, he’ll want to gloat to someone. A man such as he will need to. His old cohort Sorenson is dead. Who will he boast to then?”

  “Neville’s right,” Grace said, nodding. “That’s exactly how he is. He won’t be able to stand not crowing about his cleverness.” She looked to Neville. “But to whom would he go? He hasn’t any friends, or any acquaintances who would not be horrified by his actions.”

  “Precisely,” Neville agreed. “It would have to be someone whom he knows could do absolutely nothing about it.”

  “Grace,” guessed Caine immediately.

  “Me?” she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “He wouldn’t dare show his face to me now. Not with all the protection I have about me. He would be mad to try.”

  “He is mad, Grace,” Neville said. “Caine is right. It will be you he wants to taunt, to dare you to speak ill of him afterward and he will probably leave you with a threat for good measure.”

  “Only, he will never leave,” Caine promised.

  “Oh, stop it, Caine,” Grace said. “Go on, Trent.”

  “We shall let him confess his cleverness to Grace, and there will be hidden witnesses,” Neville said. “Reliable ones, with the authority to arrest him.”

  Caine took Grace’s hand in his and gave it a fond squeeze. “I hate to put you in the position of bait, but I believe he will come eventually whether we do this or not. At least we can be in control of the meeting instead of having him spring a surprise visit in the middle of the night as he did before.”

  Neville added, “He won’t be coming to kill you now that he thinks the threat of your accusation is over, Grace, so the danger to you is slight.”

  “It had better be nonexistent,” Caine corrected. “So when should we do this and
how do we get him to come when we want?”

  Neville smiled. “Simple enough. Invite him to your wedding.”

  *

  The Plan, as they now termed it, necessitated yet another delay in the wedding. Two weeks wait ensued so that invitations could be sent, received and replied to, and arrangements for three times as many guests could be made.

  The Plan, in order to justify Wardfelton’s invitation, required a larger guest list. Twenty or thirty at least would be included, many of them friends and peers of the Hadleys, other neighbors near Wildenhurst. Also attending would be the several gentlemen of Neville’s acquaintance, one from the War Office. Caine wondered whether Wildenhurst would be too small to accommodate everyone.

  Structural repairs on the cellar had been hastened and the kitchens were shored up, making the upper floors secure. Everything save a few minor surface fixes had been done. He had hired a bevy of workmen out of London who excelled in construction. The repairs and everything else had progressed so smoothly it worried Caine. He had grown so used to crisis on top of crisis, he kept wondering what catastrophe might happen next. The feeling left him on edge.

  Now, on the day before the wedding, Caine wondered if the ceremony would really happen or if some other unexpected calamity would prevent it. But perhaps it was only frustration that plagued him. He wanted Grace so desperately and she had become as elusive as the holy grail.

  Though she seemed well enough for anything now, Grace had not come to him again in the night. Mrs. Oliver had taken to sleeping in Grace’s dressing room with the door left open. She insisted on doing that in the event Grace had a relapse.

  All parties involved knew that was not the case. Mrs. Oliver had obviously guessed that he and Grace had anticipated their vows at some point and made it her business to see it did not happen again, at least not before it should.

  Grace’s injury had demoted her to Little Miss again, he supposed. Grace found all of this highly amusing, judging by her expression when he made the slightest suggestion that they needed to be alone.

  “Patience, love,” she would say and look at him as though he should reply to that in some way.

  He thought he might go mad with the waiting and sorely needed more distraction if he was to endure.

  The afternoon delivery of the mare he had purchased from a local trader proved a welcome interruption of his libidinous musings. The anticipation of giving Grace a gift lightened his mood considerably.

  The roan was a beauty. He gave her a pat and handed the reins to the groom. “Walk her around to the stables and make her shine, Jacky. Put on Lady Grace’s new saddle, too.”

  He could hardly wait to present the mare to Grace, to see the pleasure on her face and to watch her ride. He imagined her flying across the meadows, wind in her hair, exultation on her face and in every line of her strong, slender body. Yes, just thinking of that expression of flying free she would wear, so like the one…

  He shook himself sharply and whipped his mind back to the matter at hand. His gift to her.

  While he searched for her in the house, Caine thought back to the first night they had met. He had promised her diamonds and she would have those in her ring. She had opted for a mare and new sidesaddle instead of the curricle and matched pair.

  He had promised her freedom, too. He would give her more choices than most women had, but he doubted he could leave her alone for very long at the time. She didn’t seem to want free of him anyway.

  “Grace?” he called as he entered the kitchens, the last place he’d thought to look, of course.

  “In here,” he heard her answer. “The still room.”

  He entered and saw her, covered chin to knee in a large white apron and wearing gloves as she plied a mortar and pestle. “Stirring up spices?” he asked. “Put it away and come with me. I have a surprise!”

  She looked up from her task. “Will it wait a few moments? This has to be completed before I leave it or it will dry out.”

  Caine leaned against the wall to watch. “Of course. No hurry.” Her efficiency impressed him. No wasted effort, no dithering, no pause to question her actions. “You seem to be doing everything yourself,” he commented. “Should I hire more help?”

  She worked the pestle as she glanced up. “No. Some things I prefer doing myself. Besides, we have taken on so many new people to serve as guards, more hiring would cut into estate profits. As it is, those are minimal at best.”

  “Are they?” How would she know about profits? “Harrell has complained to you?”

  Her hands stilled. “Not at all. We discussed ways to economize, of course, once I studied the finances and began keeping the records.”

  Caine straightened, frowning. This was his fault. He hadn’t had a chance yet to examine the Wildenhurst books. Straightening out Hadley Grange’s affairs and dealing with Town expenses had consumed so much of his time and effort. He had assumed that Harrell had things in hand here. “Grace, I never meant you to burden yourself with that sort of thing.”

  “You said I might do what I would with the place, and Mr. Harrell has been in a strut since I came, what with managing the guards’ schedules, as well as seeing to the crops and tenants. Not to worry, my maths are quite adequate.”

  “I don’t doubt it, but this is too much of an imposition.”

  “Nonsense.” She tossed him a smile as she began bottling the substance she had mixed. “I enjoyed keeping my father’s records and did a fair job of it. This is not so different. Only, on a larger scale. It’s interesting to me, far more so than sewing, doing little watercolors, playing a pianoforte and the like.” Her grimace at that list was endearing. “Mother despaired of me, but Father approved.”

  “What a delightful daughter you must have been!” Caine said with a chuckle. “Well, I approve of you, too, as you shall soon see.”

  She began clearing the table and called to one of the scullery maids to wash up. When she had discarded her gloves and apron, she blew a strand of hair from her eyes and raked another behind her ear. “Now then, you have a surprise you say?”

  Caine offered his arm. “Indeed. I keep my promises.”

  And she exceeded hers. Perhaps having a wife might be a deal more advantageous than he once thought. A small weight lifted off his shoulders and he guided her to the stables with a spring in his step.

  “Close your eyes!” he ordered her, and gave Jacky and the other grooms a jerk of his head to dismiss them. The boys scurried out, grinning at one another like little jackasses.

  He led Grace to the mare that was tethered to a support post between the rows of stalls. The little mount’s coat gleamed in the sunlight that streamed through the open doors. The groom had braided a portion of mane and secured it with a ribbon. Nice touch, Jacky Boy, he thought with a smile.

  “Now, Grace, meet your newest friend, Sienna,” he said.

  Grace opened her eyes and the look on her face was priceless. In speechless wonder, she reached out and touched the mare. “For me?”

  “All yours,” he assured her with a grin.

  Grace burst into tears, threw her arms around his neck and wept like a child.

  Caine was unused to weeping women and hardly knew what to do. Grace never cried! He had done something really wrong. This had to cease! “Please don’t!” He patted her back, held her head to his chest until she stopped. “I’m sorry, I thought you would like her,” he muttered.

  She grasped his face with her hands and kissed him soundly. When she released his lips, she whispered, “I love her and you are the dearest man!”

  Caine’s heart swelled as he kissed her ba
ck. Nothing wrong, then. Everything right. She tasted of cinnamon, nutmeg and tears, smelled of the spices and all that was Grace and felt as slender and pliable as a willow in his hands. Everything right.

  A loud equine snuffle intruded on his entirely impossible hope of a quick roll in the hay. Taking his future wife to a hayloft and having his way with her was hardly the thing. Still, it was a worthy fantasy for all that. He released her with a half laugh of regret. “I suppose you’ll want to ride?”

  She laughed with him, not even attempting to deny her own arousal. It was so evident in her pinkened cheeks, the way her pupils nearly eclipsed the blue of her eyes and the rapid rise and fall of her breath. “I suppose I should want to.”

  He slid one palm over her breast. “We could go inside.”

  “The house is bursting with people,” she replied.

  He kissed her neck and whispered, “The accounting office will be deserted. And I should examine your figures.”

  She laughed low in her throat and pushed closer to him. “A singular figure is what you have in mind to examine…and it definitely could stand your attention.”

  She linked the fingers of one hand with his and gave the mare an absent pat with the other as they wandered out of the stables.

  “I have this overwhelming urge to race you inside,” he muttered to her as he nodded in passing to Jacky and the lads. They were punching each other and hiding grins behind hands.

  “Tempting to rush, but that would draw attention,” she replied. But her steps hastened a little even as she said it.

  Caine delighted in her frank desire, her playful nature and her unabashed straightforwardness. He even appreciated her eye for propriety, no matter how inconvenient and totally useless it was at the moment. He knew his desire was evident to anyone who cared to look in his direction, but perhaps in her relative innocence, she was unaware of that.

  They entered the house through the kitchen door and almost made it to the main corridor when Neville intercepted them. “We have an idea you’ll want to hear,” he announced. “Come in the library. Trent’s waiting.”