by Amy Corwin
“I am quite well—just a little bruised,” she said, gliding across the floor as smoothly as possible. When she took firm footsteps, she had to grit her teeth against the jarring motion that made her bruises flare to life.
“Please—sit down.” He gestured to a settee near his chair. Glancing down, he hastily bent and began collecting the printed sheets. He was wearing thin cotton gloves to protect his fingers from the ink, and he couldn’t prevent himself from fussily organizing the papers into the correct order. Finally, he folded the newspaper along the original lines and placed it squarely on the center of the table at his elbow.
“Mr. Hodges, I have something I wish to discuss with you.” Hannah cleared her throat and rested her right forearm over her left in her lap. “I have received some bad news.”
“Not the letter my uncle brought from the bank, I hope. We have all been concerned about the contents of that note.” As he studied her, his brows furrowed, and he frowned. “Do you have the letter with you? Perhaps I can be of service to you.”
“Not at the moment. No.” She took a deep breath. “It appears I am no longer the heiress I was originally. The largest part of my fortune has been lost—the courier absconded with it before it could be deposited in the Bank of England.”
“My dear Miss Cowles!” Henry leaned forward and tried to take her good hand, but she pulled it away with a twisted smile.
“I thought you should know—and we must inform the dowager, as well. I do not think that the mere possibility of a title, particularly not one of baron, can make up for such a loss.”
“No,” Henry murmured thoughtfully, sitting back in his chair. “However, there may be income from the estate…”
“Perhaps. However, if they are in ruins, it may take a great deal of capital to set them to rights before any income can be derived from them. Assuming that it is even possible to restore the title and estates to my family—my husband, to be more precise.” She leaned toward him. “The risks are great for so small a reward, particularly when one’s affections are engaged elsewhere.”
Henry blinked. “Elsewhere? I assure you, Miss Cowles, that I am very fond of you.”
“I will not mince words. There is someone you are a great deal fonder of, if you would only thrust the ridiculous matter of titles aside. Lady Alice admires you greatly, and I believe you harbor a great deal of affection for her. It would be a good match for both of you, if you would only consider it.”
A flash in Henry’s gray eyes told her that not only had he considered it, he was in favor of it. But just as quickly as the light appeared in his eyes, it died. He shook his head. “Blackwold…”
“Yes?” Blackwold strolled into the library, looking as cheerfully disheveled as ever. His neckcloth was completely missing today, his waistcoat hung open, and his linen shirt was crumpled. His brown jacket looked as if he’d slept in it. The fresh scents of sea air and bay from his shaving soap whirled into the room around him, and Hannah couldn’t help but smile.
A warm rush of emotion filled her, tightening her throat. “Mr. Hodges was advising me,” she said, smoothing her gown over her lap. “I received word that my inheritance has been lost. I have decided to return to Boston to discover what can be salvaged.” She flushed and glanced first at Blackwold and then at Henry. “Unfortunately—and embarrassingly—I find I will have to write my lawyer to request that he purchase a ticket for me. I have no account here on which to draw.” Though she could, if necessary, sell her jewels as a last resort. A terrible last resort. Once sold, they—and the memories they carried of her mother wearing the glittering stones—would be gone forever.
“Henry—get out,” Blackwold said, flopping into a wing chair next to his cousin. He hooked one knee over the arm and began swinging his foot.
“I beg your pardon!” Henry stood. His glance alternated between Hannah and Blackwold.
“Get out—Lady Alice is in the garden, no doubt weeping decorously and much more in need of your advice than Miss Cowles.” He studied his fingernails and bit off a hangnail on his right hand. “Had a bit of a shock.” Flashing a grin at his cousin, Blackwold jerked his head back to fling the hair out of his eyes. “Seems our lawyers couldn’t come to terms on the marriage contract.” He sighed. “Well, you can’t say we didn’t try.”
“You—you are not betrothed?” Pale, Henry’s hand clenched and unclenched at his sides. He licked his lower lip.
“No. We are not. Most definitely not.”
“I beg your pardon.” He jerked a bow in Hannah’s direction before smoothing his hair with a shaky hand. “Dreadful news. Shock. In the garden, you say?”
“Garden. Go.” Blackwold pointed to the door. “Hie thee hence, varlet.”
With shaky legs, Henry surged toward the terrace door, randomly bumping into furniture and shoving it out of his way before he managed to reach the French doors and stumble through them.
“What about Gina?” she asked, trying to control the elation fizzing through her, making it nearly impossible to remain seated. Her toes tapped the carpet in front of her chair.
“What about her?”
“You cannot send her to London and callously force her into marriage with some titled nincompoop. She and Mr. Furlong—”
“She shall have her Mr. Furlong, if she wants the beanpole. Contrary to any tales of woe she may have whispered into your ear, her father is ridiculously indulgent. If she wishes to marry Miles Furlong, then marry Miles Furlong she shall. Though why she should be attracted to a bespectacled beanpole is past understanding.” He scratched his neck below one ear. “The Hodges are not all cold-hearted murderers.”
“Well,” Hannah said. Initially relieved that Gina wouldn’t be forced into a loveless marriage, she soon shifted uncomfortably and flushed. She owed him an apology—she had suspected him of terrible deeds—and she couldn’t help but believe that she was in some way responsible for the death of his uncle. “I am so sorry.”
“You wish more Hodges were cold-hearted murderers? What a bloodthirsty little minx you are.” He rubbed his chin and yawned. “Well, I can’t say as I’ve ever wished to murder anyone, but if it will make you happy… Did you have someone particular in mind, or just the first stranger who knocks on the door?”
“No!” A laugh caught in her throat. “Please stop it—I’m trying to be serious.”
“Well, I’ve always considered murder to be a quite serious business.”
“I was only offering you sympathy—”
“Don’t. No need to remind me of Lady Alice. The thought of being managed fills me with horror.”
“What?” She stifled a giggle and tried to maintain a serious expression. “I meant, I’m trying to offer you sympathy over your uncle.”
“Why?” He tilted his head and studied her with gleaming, amused eyes.
“Well—I mean—he was your uncle.”
“Unfortunately.”
As he studied her, she felt a flush heating her cheeks. “Last night—how did you happen—that is—thank you… Oh, you know what I am trying to say.” She threw her good hand up in a gesture of helplessness. So many conflicting emotions and questions plagued her that she hardly knew where to begin.
“You left that blasted note behind, you know. On your bed. Found it when I came to continue our discussion.” He grinned at her, his foot swinging more rapidly.
“Why did you come to my room to chat? Your betrothed was right next door—how could you?”
His brows rose. “My betrothed? She never was my betrothed. Wanted to be—thought she might do—but… No. And you should have realized, Miss Cowles, that I have been bedeviled with concerns for you and your safety. Knew wreckers were working the coast, and someone was working with them. Why the devil didn’t you confide in me?”
“I didn’t know! I told you, all I saw was that ridiculous ring you all wear. How was I to know which one of you was wearing it?”
“The eyes—”
“The eyes!” She snorted. “N
o one could see the difference between little chips of diamonds and topaz! During a storm, no less!”
“His voice is unmistakable.”
“Yes, it is,” she replied sharply. “Under normal circumstances. When one isn’t being assaulted by wind and waves.”
He shrugged and chuckled. He sobered almost immediately, though, and glanced at the hallway door. “The dowager is taking it badly, however. I must ask you, Miss Cowles—”
“Hannah, please.”
“Hannah, please.” His mouth twisted into a shy grin. “I dislike begging—even in dogs—but might you maintain your exquisitely perceptive silence concerning my uncle’s activities? My grandmother believes you were injured trying to save my uncle’s life. The tale is that he must have seen something that drew him to the cliff—a ship in distress, perhaps—and the gale caught him. An unfortunate accident.”
“I will do so, never fear. But what shall you say when she questions why he was in the garden at night? Surely he can’t see the ocean from the vicarage?”
“No.” He laughed. “But that is not difficult. My uncle provided the excuse, himself. He claimed a ferocious dislike of superstition. Of late, he’d been trying to disprove the tales of a Lady of the Mist. I suspect his diligence in rooting out the superstition was actually to provide him with an excellent way to explain his other, less savory activities if he should be seen around the cliffs at night.” He shrugged. “Regardless, it is a well-known excuse and should serve us well enough.”
“I wish…” She pressed her lips together and gave her head a shake. “Why did he have to jump?”
“He knew he would have been arrested and questioned.” A shadow passed over Blackwold’s face. He stared, unseeing, past Hannah’s shoulder. “He must have known I was working with Farley, the local Customs Officer—and an idiot if ever there was one—to put an end to Carter’s activities. I would have liked to question him, though, to discover who else was involved.” He shrugged and let out a long breath. “I did know they used the church’s crypt to store some goods. I had hoped the wreckers did so without Carter’s knowledge.”
“But after I saw that ring, you knew it had to be one of you.”
“Yes.” His mouth twisted. “And I knew I was not involved.”
“I see, and I’m sorry.” She suddenly felt empty, bereft of purpose and alone. She shifted on the settee uncomfortably and cradled her injured arm again. She raised her chin and looked at Blackwold. “As I was explaining to Henry, I would like to return to Boston—to determine the extent of my losses.”
“I can’t say that I’m impressed with your lawyer’s competence thus far, but my man can ensure he gives us an accounting. I shouldn’t worry about it.”
“Well, you may not be worried about it, but I am! I can hardly stay here as a guest of your grandmother’s for the rest of my life! Particularly after… Well, all things considered.”
“Why not? You haven’t even reached the month mark, and several of Grandmother’s acquaintances have managed to squeeze out twice that time. One lady managed an entire year.”
“I have no wish to take advantage of her! Even you admitted that I was not the imposter you feared I was, so it should not be too difficult to believe that I have behaved in good conscience the entire time I have been here!” She stood up and instantly regretted it. All the blood seemed to flow out of her head. She swayed and pressed cold fingertips to her temple, waiting for the room to stop spinning.
Blackwold got to his feet as well and strode over to her, steadying her with one firm hand on her shoulder. Warmth spread through her at his touch, and she felt the prick of tears.
How could she go? She loved him so much that she could barely keep from catching his arm and drawing him close enough to bury her face into his coat. She wanted to breathe in his mingled fragrance of salt air, bay soap, and the underlying rich scent of his sun-warmed skin.
Trying to find something from which to build a wall, something strong enough to shield her heart, she fixed her gaze on his wrinkled shirt. No matter what he said, surely he’d felt something for Lady Alice, or he wouldn’t have been so complaisant about their near betrothal.
He would never admire someone like her—a young, sweet girl.
And she couldn’t forget that he’d been the one who disputed her identity so vociferously. He hadn’t trusted her then, and she saw no reason for him to harbor any affection for her now, despite his teasing kisses.
In the end, she would have to return to Boston sooner or later. So in silent desperation, she thought again of Lady Alice. She was a flimsy barricade, to be sure, but she was all Hannah had.
And she was fairly sure that the dowager and Lady Northrop would have something to say about the sudden change in the couple’s understanding.
“But what about Lady Alice?” Hannah asked, her voice squeaking. Her feet danced nervously as she tried to think—to remain calm and disinterested.
“Lady Alice? Again?” He let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Perhaps she can obtain music lessons when she goes to London. Otherwise, I don’t have much hope for her. Henry has quite a good ear for music.”
“I wasn’t talking about the pianoforte. That is not at all what I meant, and you know it.” She laughed and couldn’t help adding, “You are not tone deaf, either. Are you?”
“Actually, I am,” he replied apologetically. He shifted her closer, staring down at her tenderly as he brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek. “So the fact that Lady Alice is somewhat less than competent at the keyboard doesn’t matter to me in the least. But my grandmother is a brilliant musician—or was before her hands were crippled with arthritis—and Henry is quite musical. So, I heroically threw myself into the breach last night. It was only my admission of that inexcusable weakness that forestalled any need for Grandmother to comment upon that wretched girl’s performance. Or for Henry to notice the fissure in Lady Alice’s perfection. Noble of me, was it not?” he asked, pretending solemn modesty, despite the wicked gleam in his brown eyes.
Snorting with laughter, Hannah tried to maintain a calm and serious demeanor, but failed miserably. “Please stop making me laugh—it’s very cruel and unsuitable of you.”
“But I love your laugh—it fills our darkest rooms with sunshine. And it is the one thing I can count on to be honest and pure. So I can not, and will not, promise not to make you laugh. I will do so in as many circumstances, and as often, as possible.”
She smothered a giggle. “Well, I wish you luck for I am returning to Boston—”
“You are not returning, my dear girl. You are my Miss Cowles, lately of Boston, and that closes the matter.”
“I can’t stay here,” she murmured, despite the touch of Blackwold’s lips upon her own. “Lady Alice—”
“Will you forget Lady Alice?”
Her fragile wall crumbled. Her right hand touched one of the wrinkles in his shirt, smoothing it as she shook her head.
“Well, that is unfortunate as you can’t leave.” He gently deepened the kiss, angling her to avoid crushing her injured arm.
“I—”
“Miss Cowles—Hannah—for once in your life, consider someone else’s sentiments.” Smiling, he pressed his lips to her forehead.
“I have done nothing else!”
He raised his brows as he grinned at her. “I hadn’t noticed any particular care for my feelings.”
“Your feelings?”
“My heart has been in your careless hands since my grandmother fished you out of the ocean.”
“Your heart?! Fished me out?!” Laughter mingled with snorts of aggravation as the breath caught in her throat. A warm feeling rushed through her. “What of my feelings?”
“What of them?”
“This is not a laughing matter.” She broke off in a helpless fit of giggles before she gasped and clutched her injured arm. “Oh, please, don’t make me laugh—it hurts.”
He sobered immediately and pressed a tender kiss to her cheek. “Then
accept my apologies and my love—I would never hurt you. I did my best to ensure your safety.” A look of anger hardened his face, and the hand he’d slipped behind her head tightened for a moment. “I nearly failed you—”
“But you did not.”
“You were injured.”
“My arm isn’t even broken—I believe Dr. Burland was very disappointed by that. And I couldn’t even persuade him to bleed me. All-in-all, a very unsatisfactory ending for a heroine.”
“I do love you, Hannah,” he said, his gaze catching hers.
“Well, that’s fortunate, because I love you, as well. Even when you make me laugh when you know it hurts.”
“I’m a beast.”
“Yes, you are. A great big brown bear of a beast.”
“Then will the beauty tame the bear?” His gaze drifted to her mouth.
She smiled, her world expanding as wide as the sunlit sky over the ocean. “Not tame—love.” She reached up and brushed the shaggy brown lock of hair out of his eyes, and laughed for the sheer joy of it. His hair felt so soft, so warm as the strands threaded between her fingers. “Just don’t make me laugh—at least for an hour or so. Please.”
In answer, he kissed her, making it impossible for her to think of laughing, or crying, or ever returning to Boston again.
###
Take a peek at the next Regency Rendezvous Novel
The Earl’s Encounter
Wendy Vella
A threat to the man Milly loves forces her to break their betrothal and flee London. Four long years later, cruel fate throws them together once again. But Milly must deny her feelings, for the threat to his life still exists. He can never know that the woman behind the thick glasses she now wears is Lady Millicent Lawrence.
Joseph, Earl of Ellsworth, is furious. How can his former betrothed believe that padding in her cheeks and a pair of glasses could possibly disguise her from him? The love he once felt for her turns to searing resentment. Now he must decide what to do with her.
