“I know.” Chase caught her hand in his and looked at it for a minute before he bent to kiss her finger where the talisman ring lay. It fit her slender finger perfectly, which was strange, for Chase would have sworn the ring was larger. He ran his thumb over the strange surface, a shiver of heat filling him.
Somehow, instead of looking at the ring, he found himself looking into Harriet’s eyes. Drowning in the warm brown depths, the ache that was always deep in his soul, easing for a moment. She shivered.
“Cold?”
“No. I was just—” She looked down at her hand where the ring rested. “I must dress.”
“Yes.” But he made no move to get up. Instead, he kissed her fingers, first one and then the next.
A noise sounded in the hallway.
Harriet’s eyes flew open. “Did you hear that?” she whispered.
The noise sounded again.
“Oh no!” She struggled beneath him. “We must rise.”
Chase obligingly moved to one side and smiled down at her, secure that she wouldn’t hop out of bed too quickly since her hair was firmly beneath his elbow. He felt amazingly invincible. Strong and powerful.
She tried to lift her head. “You’re on my hair.”
“If you rise, they will only catch you standing nude in the center of my room.” Not that that was a bad thing. Chase rather liked the thought of Harriet standing naked in the center of his room, her thick chestnut hair falling over her shoulders, her firm bottom within reach.
“We can’t stay here forever.”
He bent and kissed her chin. “We can try. Stay where you are and when they knock, I’ll send them away. If I use a large enough voice, they won’t dare come in.”
A soft knock came at the door. “Mr. St. John?”
Harriet looked up at Chase, her eyes wide. “It’s Sophia,” she whispered.
“I know,” he whispered back, a little amused by the alarm in Harriet’s normally calm gaze.
“Mr. St. John?” Sophia asked again, this time rattling the doorknob.
Harriet gasped.
“Who is it?” Chase growled the words rather than said them, as if he was a pirate. “I’m just getting dressed for bed.” He paused, then added, “I’m naked.”
There was an audible gasp outside the door, so comical that Harriet pressed a hand over her mouth, her eyes crinkled as she fought back a laugh.
Chase grinned at her and winked.
“Oh dear,” Sophia was heard to say. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you. And I wasn’t going to open the door or anything—I just wanted to see if Harriet was about.”
“She’s not in here, if that’s what you mean.”
“Of course I didn’t think—that is, I was just trying to—Oh, bother!” Sophia sighed loudly. “I must find Harriet.”
They never let the poor girl alone. Chase was aware of a strong desire to fix that, to take some of the burden off Harriet’s slender shoulders.
But meeting her gaze, he realized that she would not thank him for such interference. He bit back a sigh.
He smoothed back a thick strand of Harriet’s brown hair from her cheek, noting the silky texture. The light from the lamp glistened on her chestnut locks, bringing out hints of red and gold. She glinted a faint smile up at him, her lips quivering slightly.
Sophia’s voice sounded again, this time closer as if she was pressing her cheek to the door. “I’m sorry to bother you at all, Mr. St. John, but it’s important. Harriet must come downstairs right this moment.”
“This late? It must be ten o’clock.”
“I know. But Mr. Gower has arrived and he says he must speak with Mother immediately. The bank will not wait another day for their payment.”
Chapter 21
Gambling comes in many forms. Some people wager on cards. Some on horses. And some on their own hearts.
Mrs. Brandon St. John, newly returned from her honeymoon, to her husband, as they made their way to Treymount House for an emergency family meeting
A short time later, Harriet paused outside the sitting room and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked as she always did, except a trifle flushed.
Perfectly plain and proper, her gown smooth and unruffled, her hair pinned neatly on top of her head. No one would look at her and know that she’d just been seduced by the most handsome man in the world.
Well, the most handsome man in Sticklye-By-The-River, anyway. Who was to say that there weren’t more handsome men out and about?
She thought of Chase’s blue eyes, of his thick black lashes, of the way his hair fell over his brow, of his muscular arms and shoulders…she shook her head ruefully. What was she thinking? There simply could not be a better-looking man in the entire world.
“Harriet!” Mother bustled up, a worried expression on her face. “Thank goodness we found you.”
Sophia joined them. “There you are, Harri! Where were you? I looked everywhere.”
Harriet offered a casual shrug. “I was in my room doing some mending and I forgot the time.” There. That sounded plausible.
Sort of.
Sophia frowned. “No you weren’t. I looked there. I even looked in your dressing room and in the kitchen and in the barn and in the—”
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Mother said as if exasperated, “it doesn’t matter where she’s been. All that matters is that she’s here now.”
Harriet frowned at her mother’s concerned tone. “Why the uproar?”
“It’s Mr. Gower.” Mother’s eyes were troubled. “Harriet, I believe he has proof that our guest is not the captain.”
Harriet’s throat tightened. “Has he said something?”
“He began to, but I told him you really needed to be present and then I left him to find you.”
That was probably a good idea. Mother didn’t have the calmest disposition under pressure.
“Gower didn’t come alone,” Sophia added. “He has two members of the board of directors with him. They look as solemn as Sunday.”
Harriet’s heart sank. “Oh no.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Mother said. “What a horrid night. First Lady Cabot-Wells grilled the poor captain over dinner, then Mr. Strickton comes roaring in about Stephen, and now this.”
“I spoke to the captain about Stephen. Apparently my mutton-headed brother mistook something that was said about Lochinvar as an invitation to behave like a barbarian.”
“Lochinvar?” Sophia’s mouth dropped open. “I never thought—why that is what Lochinvar did, isn’t it? He rode right into the gates of the castle and stole his beloved away. Only not on a plodding farm horse. And I rather doubt he lost his grip and dropped her on her head into a muddy field.”
Mother’s mouth folded with disapproval. “Your brother has no sense whatsoever, especially when it comes to the fair sex. I’m only sorry that the Stricktons had to witness Stephen’s outrageous folly.”
Harriet smoothed her skirts, “I cannot believe Mr. Gower would visit so late in the evening. It is quite rude.”
“So I thought,” Mother said. She hesitated, biting her lip. After a moment, she said, “Do you think we might prevail upon Mr. St. John to—No, of course not. We couldn’t ask him. He’s done so much already.” Her cheeks touched with pink. “I didn’t mean to cause him any pain, and I hope he’s aware of that. It just seemed that, since he’d already lost his memory, it wouldn’t hurt if he thought he was someone important, even if—”
“Mother, Mr. St. John never lost his memory,” Harriet said.
Mother blinked. “Never? Then why did he agree to be the captain?”
“I think…I think he thought to help us. He was on his way out of the country when the attack occurred, leaving some unpleasant business behind.”
“My goodness!” Sophia said, her eyes bright. “What unpleasant business?”
“I don’t know. He hasn’t offered to tell me. But he has been so kind as to agree to stay and play the part of the captain until the shearing
is finished.” And then he’d be gone. Harriet’s heart ached at the thought.
“How kind of him,” Mother said. “Whatever Gower has to say, it will seem far less relevant while there is a live, breathing man standing before him, at least claiming to be the captain.”
“Precisely.” Harriet straightened her shoulders and glanced at her mother and sister. “Are you ready?”
Mother patted her white hair while Sophia smoothed her skirts. “I think so,” Mother finally said.
Harriet went to the door and opened it.
Mr. Gower immediately turned from where he was standing in conversation with two other men. “Miss Ward.” He bowed. “Mrs. Ward. And Miss Sophia. Allow me to introduce Mr. Picknard and Mr. Silverstone from the bank.”
Harriet curtsied, as did Mother and Sophia. “What a lovely surprise,” Harriet said, though it took all of her persuasive powers to keep her expression pleasant. “To what do we owe the honor of this visit, late though the hour?”
“I’m sorry about the time.” Mr. Gower seemed to grow taller as he glanced at his two companions from the bank. “There is a problem with the extension.”
Mr. Picknard shifted uneasily. “Yes, ah…as you know, the extension was granted based on Miss Ward’s supposed fiancé, Captain Frakenham.”
“Supposed?” Mother said, blinking. “What do you mean ‘supposed’?”
Mr. Picknard rubbed his red nose. Large and heavy-set with reddish hair and a large, drooping moustache, he resembled an untrimmed sausage stuffed into a black coat. “By supposed we mean to say that there are some questions as to just who and if Captain Frakenham actually exists.”
Gower’s expression gleamed with triumph. “Someone has been guilty of fraud. Someone has attempted to trick the bank by falsifying reports. Someone has—”
“Oh for the love of God,” puffed Mr. Silverstone. Taller than either of the other men, and dressed with quiet distinction, Silverstone appeared far better bred than either Gower or Picknard.
In fact, Harriet had the impression that here was the man who made all the decisions at the bank.
He shot a hard look at Mr. Picknard from beneath heavy gray brows, then turned back to the ladies, paying special attention to Mrs. Ward. “I hope you will pardon our intrusion this evening, but Mr. Gower has uncovered a seeming discrepancy in the stories we’ve been hearing about this Captain Frakenham. I’m certain you can straighten this all out. I thought perhaps we should wait until tomorrow, however”—he shot a sharp glare at Gower—“I was informed that it would be foolhardy to let this situation go on another day as certain individuals could disappear.”
Harriet smoothed her damp palms on her skirts. Everything was at stake. “Mr. Silverstone, I assure you that no one has attempted to defraud your establishment. Indeed, within the week, we should have the money for the payment and—”
The door opened. Mother gave a sigh of relief. “Captain Frakenham!”
Chase bowed. Only it was not the man Harriet had grown used to seeing these last few weeks, wearing Stephen’s discarded clothing and a floppy brimmed hat. Chase had gathered his own garments and now stood before them dressed exactly as he really was—a London gentleman of fashion. And not just any gentleman of fashion, but obviously one raised amidst untold wealth and privilege.
For some reason, the sight made Harriet’s heart sink.
Oblivious to her feelings, he smoothed his sleeve as he walked forward. It would have been difficult to suggest an improvement on the man before them—his blue coat was perfectly cut, smooth across his broad shoulders and tapering to his narrow waist. His buff breeches fit his long, muscular legs, his black boots were shined until they resembled glass. His snowy white cravat was knotted and tied in a way Harriet had never seen, but she recognized the touch of a master when she saw it.
“There you are, Captain!” Mother said, breaking the awkward silence as she bustled forward.
He took her hand and bowed over it. “Indeed. I was just enjoying a glass of port in the library when I heard that you had guests.”
“Indeed. This is Mr. Gower, whom I believe you’ve met. And this is Mr. Picknard and Mr. Silverstone. They’re from the bank.”
Harriet noticed that even Mr. Silverstone stood a little straighter when Chase nodded briefly in his direction.
“Gentlemen,” Chase said in a bored tone. He looked back at Mrs. Ward and offered a glinting smile. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
She laughed nervously. “Of course not! We’re always glad to have you with us, Captain.”
“Indeed,” said Sophia, casting a sly glance at the bankers. “I don’t believe we will be detained much longer now that you’ve arrived.”
Mr. Gower stepped forward, his gaze on Chase, a superior smile curving his wide mouth. “I would greet you, as well, but you are not who you say you are. There is no Captain Frakenham.”
Harriet held her breath, but Chase merely lifted his brows. “What do you mean by that?”
Mr. Gower’s superior attitude thickened. “I did some research. There is no record of a Captain Frakenham or of a ship coming to port in Whitby. None.”
Every eye turned to Chase. He shrugged. “No?”
“No.”
“What exactly are you suggesting, Mr. Gower? That I am an apparition?” Chase held out his hands. “Do I look like an apparition?”
Silverstone cleared his throat. “Mr. Gower, perhaps there is a better way to—”
“Who are you?” Gower said, his sharp gaze on Chase. “Tell us now.”
Chase laughed softly, genuine amusement in his voice.
Harriet relaxed at the sound. He wasn’t the least intimidated and she took comfort in that fact.
Gower scowled. “Damn it, sir! This is not a cause for levity. You are not who you say you are.”
“No?”
“No.”
Chase tilted his head to one side, a smile still warm on his lips. “Perhaps I should ask you the same question—who are you?”
“I am a banker, sir. My credentials are impeccable.”
“And I am a sea captain. Until proven otherwise.”
Triumph flickered across Gower’s face. “It has been proven otherwise.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out two folded sheets of paper. He held out the first one. “I wrote to the harbormaster at Whitby. He has never heard of your ship, nor you.”
Chase took the paper and scanned it. “Harbormaster? By the name of Crenlin? You’ve been fooled, Mr. Gower. The harbormaster at Whitby is a Mr. Johnston.”
“That cannot be.”
“I hope you didn’t pay this man for his information.” Chase fixed his gaze on Gower’s face. “Did you?”
Silverstone and Picknard waited. Gower turned deep red. “I only gave the man two shillings to pay for post—”
“Tsk. Tsk. I fear you’ve been taken for a fool, Mr. Gower. I daresay this man is a resident of one of the pubs along the waterfront and takes great pleasure in thieving from men making inquiries.” Chase shook his head. “Just look at the poor spelling in this missive.”
“Spelling? What difference does that make?”
Chase held the ragged letter up to the light, a look of distaste on his face. “It is horridly stained, too. No doubt by cheap gin of some sort.” He held the letter out to Gower, who almost snatched it from his hand. “I would not believe a word I received from this man, whoever he is.”
Silverstone and Picknard appeared uneasy.
“Captain,” Harriet said, “please do not take offense. I’m certain Mr. Gower did not mean to imply anything unsavory about you.”
Silverstone held out his hand. “Gower, let me see that missive.”
Face red, Gower handed the letter to the banker.
Silverstone peered down his nose at it, squinting in the dim light thrown off from the three lamps that illuminated the room. After a moment, he sent a steely glare at Gower from beneath his bushy brows. “Did you meet the man who sent this?”
Gower mutely shook his head.
“A sad business, this. I’m afraid I have to agree with the captain.” Silverstone handed the missive back to Gower. “I hope you have some other proof that the captain is not who he says he is.”
Gower’s face turned so red that for a moment, Harriet thought he might explode into a boiling mass of invectives. Instead, he stuffed the missive into his pocket and held the other one out to Mr. Silverstone. “Of course I have more proof. I think even you will believe this one.”
Silverstone took the letter and read it, his lips moving slightly. Harriet’s heart sank when she noticed how the man’s brow lowered with each word.
After a moment, Silverstone looked at Chase, a considering expression in his eyes. “This letter is from Admiral Hawkins-Smythe. He states that he is familiar with every captain in the naval service and that he has never heard of you.”
Picknard snorted. “Well, there you are! The admiral lives not ten miles from here and is very well known. He served almost forty years in His Majesty’s service and knows every ship that England has ever put to sea.”
Harriet rubbed her brow. What a mule. She knew the admiral well and she was certain he could discredit Chase.
Undeterred, Chase shrugged. “The admiral has never heard of me, and I have never heard of the admiral.”
“What?” Silverstone asked.
“I captain a merchant ship, owned by a private company. The only way your admiral would know me is if he had, at some time, boarded my vessel to search for contraband or some such nonsense. Which has never happened to a ship under my command.”
Silence fell on the small group. Finally, Silverstone sighed. “He’s right.” The banker sent a hard look at Gower. “I think we’ve taken enough time away from these good people.”
“Yes, but what about—”
“Do you have any more evidence?” Silverstone asked, his lip curled with distaste as he waved the letter in the air. “Something more than this.”
Gower’s mouth whitened. He struggled as if to say something, but no words would come out.
Harriet almost pitied the man. Almost. “Mr. Silverstone, Mr. Picknard, I’m so sorry you wasted your time this evening.”
How to Treat a Lady Page 23
