A Matter of Honor

by Kit Tunstall

  She stifled a groan and tried to force a polite smile. “Good evening, Mr. Bradleaf.”

  “Miss Stanhope, er, Lady Stanhope.” He bowed at the waist, extending a gloved hand. “The Lancers is beginning, m'lady.”

  She looked at the dance floor, where dancers were lining up to perform the modified Quadrille. “I have never been good with the intricate steps, but thank you.”

  He shrugged. “No matter. I shall keep you company.”

  She bit back a sigh, resisting the urge to tell him he would not be winning the bet circulating among the gentlemen of Boston. “There is no need. That young lady looks eager to dance, yet lacks a partner.” She pointed to a painfully shy young girl who retained much of her baby fat.

  He frowned. “I am certain someone will ask her.”

  Rebecca fluttered her lashes at him as she fanned herself. “It would be gracious of you to invite her, sir. You are quite popular among the younger men and will surely set the trend.”

  His mouth tightened, but he nodded. “If it pleases m'lady.”

  “It does.” She watched him walk away with a stiff set of his shoulders, barely biting back a giggle. Her mirth turned to annoyance as she searched for a way to dissuade him. Unlike many of the other gentlemen, he seemed deliberately obtuse. He ignored her brush-offs, while returning for more. His persistence was driving her mad.

  She turned away from the sight of him escorting the awkward girl onto the dance floor and froze. Across the room, she saw a gentleman speaking to a small huddle. He wore a black overcoat, white shirt and waistcoat, and long pants in place of the knee breeches many of the men still favored. He wore white gloves on his hands and clutched a top hat. Unlike the other men, his blond hair wasn’t carefully curled and styled.

  She squinted, trying to place him. He seemed familiar, but she couldn't tell from her current angle. Rebecca took a few steps to the right, until she had a clear view of his face. A wave of dizziness passed over her, and she struggled to catch her breath. How different he looked in those clothes instead of the white shirt and tan breeches. Her pirate had transformed into a gentleman.

  She felt nauseated and breathless. Rebecca ignored an approaching man, detouring around him to make her way to the balcony. She stepped into the cool night air, relieved to find herself alone. She leaned against the rail and sucked in air as if she had been recently drowning.

  It couldn't be. That man could not be Christoph. What pirate could pass among civilized people? Yet, he had been educated and articulate. He had been logical and methodical in approaching their bargain, and had kept his word. Could it be that he was passing himself off as a member of polite society?

  She lifted her head as the music stopped and someone spoke. Her curiosity piqued, she hovered near the door of the balcony, gazing up at the man standing on a step a few feet above the crowd. Her eyes memorized every detail, convincing her he was the man who had taken her virginity.

  “Thank you for coming to my home this evening. I have missed Boston and America. It is with great relief that I return to our fair city and rest before my next voyage.”

  His voice sent shivers up her spine. It was him. There could be no doubt, despite the superficial differences such as clothing and etiquette. What should she do?

  Her eyes fell on a soldier nearby, but she discarded the idea. She was reluctant to report him to authorities, because she was not anxious for others to know the details of their encounter.

  She had to leave before he recognized her. What might he do to protect his identity and secret? Murder did not seem farfetched, as he and his cutthroats had slaughtered five of her crew.

  Rebecca pushed her way through the crowd, seeking out her sister and Philip. She saw them near the foot of the staircase and hurried toward them, keeping her face turned from Christoph's direction.

  When she reached them, Rebecca grasped Elizabeth's arm. “I must leave.”

  “What? We have not been here more than a half-hour. It would be impolite to leave now.”

  “I am not feeling well,” she said in a rush. “A headache,” she added quickly, seeing her sister's concern. “I will take the coach and send it back for you.”

  “That shan't be possible, m'lady.”

  Rebecca stiffened as his voice came from behind her. He was close enough to touch her, but didn't.

  Elizabeth bowed her head. “Lord Hanover.”

  He lifted her gloved hand and kissed it. “Mrs. Gallow.” He turned to incline his head to Philip. “Mr. Gallow.”

  “Sir.”

  Rebecca shivered as his icy blue eyes rested on her. She tilted her chin up and tried to meet his stare without faltering.

  “This is my sister, Rebecca Stanhope.”

  She resisted the urge to tug her hand away when he lifted it to his mouth. She shivered when his hot breath caressed her fingers through the thin silk. “M'lord.” Her voice emerged as a croak.

  “I could not help but overhear your quandary, m'lady. I am afraid your carriage is boxed in at the moment.”

  “I shall take a cab.”

  He shook his head. “It would be unsafe to allow you to return home unescorted.” Christoph turned back to Philip. “I shall see your charge home.”

  “We could not impose.”

  “It is not an imposition. I find myself weary of the social niceties already.” His lip curled. “It takes little for one to become jaded.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I shall see Lady Stanhope home before I return to my bed. It has been a wearing journey.”

  “I am sure.” Rebecca gave him a simpering smile. “I could not keep you from your bed, sir.”

  “Nonsense. It shall be my pleasure to see you home.” His eyes spoke words too vivid to utter in polite company.

  She had no trouble interpreting them. Before Rebecca could form another protest, Elizabeth settled the matter.

  “You are most gracious, m'lord.”

  He smiled at her. “Call me Alex, m'lady.”

  She stiffened, prepared to expose him…anything to avoid enduring the ride back to her sister's home in his presence.

  Christoph's mouth twisted into a parody of a smile. “That is a lovely necklace.”

  Her eyes widened at the deliberate mention of the necklace. Was he reminding her he wasn't the only one with secrets?

  Elizabeth blushed and nodded. “Thank you, Alex. It was my great-grandmother's. Only recently did it come to me.” She flashed Philip a quick smile. “Mama forgave my hasty marriage,” she whispered to her husband.

  Rebecca opened her mouth, uncertain what she would say, but he had spirited her from the room before she could think of anything. With dizzying speed, she was standing beside him, with his hand resting lightly at her waist, wondering how they had gotten outside.

  He lifted a hand to flag down a passing hansom. When the driver stopped, Christoph opened the door for her, and then asked for the address. Once he had relayed it to the driver, he joined her in the coach, lowering the curtain on the window.

  Rebecca glared at him. “How dare you pass yourself off among polite society?”

  He laughed. “It may interest you to know I was an aristocrat long before I was a privateer, m'lady. You would think it challenging to turn from gentleman to pirate, but one picks up a great many skills necessary to plundering in the company of other nobles.”

  She snorted. “Privateer? Do you imply America sanctions your actions?”

  Christoph shrugged. “In the past, I confined my business transactions to foreign vessels and gave my government no reason to stop me.”

  “But, why? Surely, you do not need the money? You are a Viscount and own an import business.”

  He lifted a brow. “You know much about me, Rebecca.”

  She colored. “My sister told me something about you, but I did not know you were a murdering pirate.”

  He leaned forward. “Murder is subjective. I prefer to think of it as an unpleasant aspect of my former occupation.”
/>
  “Ask my crew if they feel that way.”

  White teeth flashed against his tanned skin. “No one made them protect the cargo.” He sighed, leaning back against the rocking seat again. “Would it make a difference to you to know I was simply collecting payment for a debt your father owed me?”

  Rebecca's mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “Lord Stanhope was not a reliable associate, but I did not know that until it was too late.” He shrugged. “After exhausting other channels, I chose the only recourse open to me. I came out of retirement for a brief time.” He winked at her.

  She shook her head. “You lie.”

  “Do I?” He looked beyond her shoulder. “How did your father die, Rebecca?”

  “You bastard.” Without thought, Rebecca launched herself at him, pleased when her hand connected with his cheek. If only the glove hadn’t softened the blow, she would have been even more satisfied.

  He captured her hands in his, holding her pressed against his body. “So eager, m'lady.” He bent to kiss her.

  She turned her head away from him. “My father made mistakes, but he was not a bad man.”

  Christoph followed her twisting head, resting his lips against her ear. “He was a man without honor. He owed half of London money and died in a staged argument to escape his debts. He paid Lord Fenwick to shoot him through the heart.”

  “No.” Tears burned behind her eyes. “Why are you doing this?”

  “You deserve the truth, and you must know it all, or you will expose me.” He pulled her further into his arms, ignoring her futile struggles. “I am no longer a pirate by profession, but I do not like to be taken advantage of. Your father cheated the wrong man.”

  “Pirate or no, you are ruthless and heartless.” She tried to wrench away from him, but he didn't loosen his hold. “My father would never have done what you accuse him of.”

  He sighed. “I did not think you would believe me.” He released her left hand and grasped her chin. “Know that you will be sullied if you choose to spread tales about me. I circumvented the law so that your father's debt was settled with me, but I do not make a habit of such acts anymore.” He shrugged. “In my youth, perhaps I built my empire by less than scrupulous methods, but I no longer employ such tactics.”

  “I am supposed to believe you? What proof do I have?”

  “My word.”

  She frowned at him. “I do not trust you, Christoph.”

  He smiled. “I know.” His voice lowered. “My name is Alexander Christoph Hanover, m'lady. I prefer Alex.”

  Her eyes widened. “If you are no longer a pirate, why lie about your name?”

  “It was inevitable that you would eventually find your father's papers and see my name listed as an associate to whom he owed a substantial amount. You could not connect me to Christoph.”

  “Your explanation is too neat.”

  “Believe me or not. That is your choice. All I truly require from you is silence, and will ensure you receive the same from me.” Once more, he lowered his head to kiss her.

  Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut, warring with her conscience and desires. As his mouth settled on hers, she sagged against him. She opened her mouth to allow his tongue inside, moaning softly as it slid against hers. She buried her free hand in his hair, straining to get closer.

  “Rebecca, I have thought of you often,” he whispered against her lips after pulling away. “Your soft skin, delicate scent, and beautiful hair. I ache to be inside you again.”

  She swallowed, biting back an admission of thoughts of him. “Why did you leave the necklace?”

  He leaned away from her. “What does it matter?”

  “I must know.”

  Alex sighed. “The cargo on the ship was adequate to cover the debt. I had no right to take the necklace.”

  She blinked back tears. “You had no other reason?”

  He hesitated, then shook his head.

  “I see.” She bowed her head. “Please release me.” She returned to the opposite seat and opened the curtain when he loosened his hold. Rebecca looked up at him as soon as she felt composed. “Thank you for the escort home. I see Elizabeth's block in sight.” She turned her head to look at the open window on the door. “You shall have my silence.”

  “I promise none will hear of what transpired between us.”

  She inclined her head, swallowing a lump of moisture in her throat as the cab halted before the Gallows' home. Rebecca opened the door and stepped out, pausing when his hand fell on hers. “Yes?”

  “I did not mean to hurt you, Rebecca.”

  She forced a brittle smile. “You have not hurt me, Lord Hanover. You are naught but a criminal, despite your words. How could one such as you hurt me?”

  His mouth tightened. “My mistake, m'lady. I sometimes forget women of your station have no emotions not inspired by greed and propriety.” He thumped on the side of the door. “Driver, return to my home.”

  Rebecca watched the cab disappear from sight before she touched her lips. She could still feel the imprint of his on them. She bit her knuckle to suppress a sob as she turned and ran into the house. She bypassed the butler and hurried up to her room, where she threw herself on the bed and sobbed. Confusion filled her. Was he telling the truth, or had he fabricated a web of lies in the time it took them to exit his home?

  Chapter 8

  Rebecca awoke with a sour stomach and a pounding head. She saw Nora hovering over her and realized she had fallen asleep in the lavender gown. “What time is it?”

  “Just after eleven, m'lady. Lady Elizabeth asked me to wake you.”

  Rebecca sat up, groaning at the assorted aches and pains accrued from a night of sleeping in an awkward position. “Why?”

  “The modiste arrives at one.”

  She groaned. “Not another round of fittings?”

  Nora shrugged. “Your sister did not say.”

  With a groan, Rebecca slid from the bed. A wave of nausea caught her by surprise. “I—”

  Nora pushed her gently on the bed and set a tray of tea and toast beside her. “The cook tells me this helped Lady Elizabeth early in her condition.”

  Rebecca shook her head, accepting the cup of weak tea automatically. “I do not understand.”

  Nora's gaze dropped to the floor, and her face colored. “When your sister had morning sickness, weak tea and toast helped her.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Morning sickness?”

  Her voice lowered to a whisper. “It happens to many women early in their pregnancies.”

  She blinked and burst into laughter. “That is impossible. I am not with child.”

  “M'lady—”

  “He told me he would ensure I did not have a baby.”

  Nora shrugged. “I do not know much about such matters, but I do not think there is a way that always works to prevent babies.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “It cannot be. You are mistaken, Nora.”

  “When did you last have your monthly, m'lady?” Nora's face was bright red. “Oh, that your mother was here for this,” she whispered.

  “Well, I—” She frowned, counting backwards. Rebecca flinched when she realized it had been more than a month.

  Nora sat on the bed beside her, grasping her hand. “You must take a husband immediately.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “I will not be used, nor will I use someone and foist my child on them.”

  “Think of your child. Do you want to raise a bastard?” She said the last word so low that it was more of a breath than a sound.

  Rebecca crumpled against her former nanny. “How did this happen?” She buried her face against Nora's chest, trying to stifle sobs. What would she do? It was intolerable to take a husband she didn't love, but she loved no one. It wasn't love she felt for Christoph—Alex. And for all she knew, he had a wife. What had she done?

  Chapter 9

  “You look peaked tonight, m'lady. I have heard you left Lord Hanover's indisposed yesterday evening.�
�

  Rebecca forced a wan smile for Bradleaf. “Yes. I have not recovered yet, but Elizabeth insisted getting out would do me good.” In fact, she had chosen to go to the Drendens' ball in hopes that a man would catch her eye and sweep her off her feet—right into a marriage bed before he realized her deception. Unfortunately, her heart wasn't in the hunt.

  His voice sounded strained. “I have also heard you left in the company of Lord Hanover.”

  “He was kind enough to see me home.”

  William shook his head. “His reputation is unsavory, m’lady. You must be careful.”

  She bit back the hysterical urge to laugh. “He was a perfect gentleman, Mr. Bradleaf.”

  “Surely you have heard the rumors?”

  She lifted a brow. “Rumors?”

  “They say he made the money to start his company by plundering vessels when his brother refused to share the family fortunes.”

  “A pirate, you say?” She shrugged. “I had not heard that nonsense, but I cannot imagine it to be true.” She frowned when he took her hand, instinctively trying to pull away.

  His grip tightened. “I beg you not to fall for his charms. Allow me to save you from yourself.”

  Rebecca succeeded in extracting her hand from his. “What are you speaking of?”

  “May I call on you tomorrow after I speak with Philip? He is your guardian while in Boston, is he not?”

  “I suppose, but why must you speak with him?” She took a sip of her drink, trying to disguise her concern. There were few reasons why Bradleaf would seek out Philip, and none of them could be good.

  “To plead for your hand.”

  The punch sputtered from her mouth when she choked. When she had regained her breath, Rebecca stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I want you for my wife.”

  “You do not know me. We have met less than a dozen times.”

  He placed his hand against his chest. “I know I love you.”

  She snorted. “More likely, you love the thought of collecting the ever-growing pot from the local gentlemen's clubs if you succeed in persuading me. I am certain my inheritance is added incentive.”