His Secret Heroine

by Delle Jacobs

  "Miss Englefield, although I do find your company most enchanting, I had not expected to mislead you. But I am afraid I must say quite bluntly I am not angling for a wife."

  "I did not think so," Chloe said, and allowed a small smile to comfort him. "But you are playing at something, and I must wonder what. Could it be that you mean instead to prevent some connection on my part?"

  Castlebury licked his lips as if they were very dry.

  "Lord Castlebury, since you have been blunt, I shall be also. I am perfectly aware that you do not desire marriage, and in all charity I must say you have not led me to believe such. But you do continue to dominate my company, thus preventing me from achieving my aim, which is a suitable husband. So, although I do enjoy your companionship, I must ask you to cease or at least lessen your attendance. Otherwise, I fear I shall be forced to call upon you to make good on my expectation."

  Castlebury licked his lip again, and Chloe saw that he really was not afraid of her threat after all, but was simply being cautious in playing his hand. A sly look crossed his solemn face, and he crossed the salon to where she stood by the chimneypiece.

  "Miss Englefield." He took her hand. "I fear to inform you that I am not motivated by your blackmail, but it is the truth. Charming as you are, I would never choose to marry a woman who had eyes only for my closest friend."

  Chloe's eyes widened, and fluttered as she looked away, down to the hand he still held firmly.

  "Nevertheless, I must honor your request, at least in part. But at the same time, I must make a request of you, that you reconsider my dear friend Lord Reginald, and give less thought to Lord Vilheurs. Considerably less thought."

  Chloe wavered between slapping him and laughing out loud, and in the end, contained both impulses. "So that is it, then? You are assigned to protect me from Lord Vilheurs?"

  He winced. "Not assigned, my dear Miss Englefield. I keep your company because I choose to do so. But I do not trust Vilheurs. It would not be at all a good connection for you."

  "That is not for you to say, Lord Castlebury."

  "Nevertheless, I cannot simply stand aside."

  "You cannot? I should never think to tell you who you might or might not marry. If you cannot allow me my right to choose, then I shall have to refuse your company entirely."

  "Miss Englefield—"

  "Please, I must ask you to choose."

  Castlebury groaned. "Very well, it shall be as you wish."

  As Chloe watched the handsome young man depart, she wondered what it was she had won. And it was beginning to look as if Lord Vilheurs was the only choice she had left.

  Chapter Eleven

  So, Reggie figured, he not only had to figure out how to get Chloe to marry him, but how to save her sisters, as well. It was nice to know the real problem, but what to do about it was another matter entirely.

  He would understand if she married another man for her sisters' sake, but he saw danger in that for her. A man like Castlebury would not hold the deception against her, but Castlebury also wouldn't marry her in the first place. Nor would Bibury, who simply didn't have the blunt to marry. And Reggie shuddered to think of the fate of two young girls as well as Chloe in the hands of a man like Vilheurs. One more reason Reggie had to find a way to marry her, himself.

  But how? If his book sold modestly, which was the best he could reasonably expect, and if he managed to keep on writing and selling as he believed he would, he could support Chloe. But he couldn't help her sisters. And his father would still cut him off, so that would only make things worse.

  Reggie even thought of sacrificing himself for his love. He could go to his father and agree to marry Portia, if his father would help Chloe get custody of her sisters. Fortunately for Reggie, he quickly realized the futility of such a sacrifice. The duke would never bother with negotiations since he already believed he could force Reggie to marry Portia.

  Reggie spent weeks in the pretense of not caring while he pondered his new dilemma, seeing Chloe everywhere he went, and exercising the utmost politeness and good manners, now and then escorting Chloe himself to keep up the front of amiability. Perhaps it might have been easier if he had merely decided to abandon hope, but he had never been one to give up his dreams.

  She was there, everywhere he went. Time after time, they found themselves face to face, with the rest of society slowly sliding away, leaving them almost alone. But not entirely alone, for Vilheurs was always there, with Lady Lavington by his side, always encroaching.

  Sometimes he sought the solace of the open sea, the only balm he could find for his aching soul. He could not make himself write, for the moment he picked up his pen, thoughts of Circe invaded.

  He happened to be with Castlebury in Hatchard's when the first copies of the book, most bound in simple boards, were placed on the shelves. Feigning no more than mild interest, he picked up the red leather bound copy and marveled at how small it was, almost entirely covered by the span of his hand. How had so many sheaves of paper and hundreds of hours of his life been compressed into anything so tiny?

  The Adventuress. By Roger Beauchef. Not very original. He'd argued for Lionel Mannering, or Lionel anything, as long as it was utterly different from his real name. But Ludwick had his mind set, and he owned the press. Reggie had had a hard enough time talking the fellow into limiting his editing. Reggie leafed through the thin paper, catching phrases here and there that brought some memory to mind.

  "Roger Beauchef?" queried Castlebury, also thumbing through a copy. "Who does he think he's fooling?"

  Reggie hissed at him. Castlebury flipped his eyebrows in a most fashionable way.

  With a guilty smile, Reggie bought the first copy Hatchard's sold. Castlebury bought one for himself. Before the end of the week, the shelves had been restocked twice. He heard the novel mentioned at the clubs, and once in a salon, enthusiastically discussed by the curious.

  Everyone was buying it, and Ludwick was ecstatic. He went into a second printing almost immediately, and then a third. Everyone loved Circe. But then, Reggie was not surprised. She was the perfect heroine.

  And Ludwick's ecstasy translated into guineas in Reggie's pocket, a modest income, but real. The elusive Roger Beauchef, alias Reggie Beauhampton, could have just about anything he wanted now. Except what he really wanted.

  Midsummer came and went, and Reggie still did not pay his addresses to Portia. Reggie didn't have the cheek to confront his father about the allowance he knew would be withheld, but he was surprised when he heard nothing in response to his failure to give the duke what he demanded. No cold glares or threats. In the past, any time he had tried to outguess the duke, an uneasy feeling had taken hold in his stomach, and this time he felt like his gut was tying itself in knots.

  And everywhere, he saw Chloe, and somewhere in the background, his mother, or Lady Nuttley, or one of the grande dames. Lord and Lady Mythe, and Castlebury, too. Was everyone in on the mischief? If his mother had started it, then, yes, probably everyone was.

  He couldn't figure out how they managed it. Chloe was easy enough to get where someone wanted her to be, for once a gentleman took her arm, she was rather obligated to go along wherever he led her. But how did they always know where he was going to be? How did they always manage to get him precisely where they wanted him? He could be standing behind a post and somehow they'd find him.

  Since it all fit in quite well with his plans, though, Reggie did nothing to stop their maneuvering. But he could see the pain, almost like fear, in Chloe's face, and he just wanted to scoop her up in his arms and carry her off to someplace safe and quiet. And solitary.

  Reggie went to the Doolittle Ball, as usual having to forcibly remind himself to slow down and make a gentlemanly entrance. As he gazed about, searching for Chloe, his feet having just touched the glossy marble ballroom floor, when he jumped at the unexpected touch of a white-gloved hand on his arm.

  "Dear Lord Reginald," cooed a voice as sticky as tree sap.

  L
ady Lavington. Trapped.

  He winced. Whatever it was about the woman that made her believe he had any interest in her, he couldn't imagine. She simply refused to allow a man to turn her down. He wished he had the ability to be a rudesby and simply give her the set down she deserved. But she was Mythe's cousin, after all. And since he had been the target of unkind rejection more than once in his life, he knew what it was like.

  "I am so happy you have come at last, dear Lord Reginald," she gushed. "What a crushing bore it has been without you."

  Reggie glanced about frantically, but saw no escape. Perhaps he could manage being a rudesby in spite of himself. Nothing else worked with the woman. And her collusion with Vilheurs was becoming so blatantly obvious that, for whatever mutual purpose they had found, Reggie's animosity against her was doubling. Yet he could not quite manage the harsh words that formed in his mind.

  "Lady Doolittle has always been a lovely hostess," he replied lamely.

  "Oh, but you are always too kind, Lord Reginald." Lady Lavington rubbed her hand over his arm in that very way that made him want to slap it away. "There are so many more delightful ways to spend one's time, don't you think?"

  He did, and this wasn't one of them. Nor was he about to steal off behind the rhododendrons with a woman who spent so much of her time seeking out the company of men for nefarious purposes. Or so he assumed. He had never actually heard of any such success, but it was altogether likely no man wished to brag about the encounter.

  "Ah, there you are, Beauhampton."

  Reggie turned to see Castlebury escorting Chloe, who was wearing that same soft green that made her eyes look like jade.

  Castlebury's mouth was drawn out into what Reggie might almost call a smirk, for it certainly was not a smile. "Miss Englefield was complaining to me you had not arrived. It is nearly the end of the second set, and the waltz is to be called next. You did promise it to her, did you not?"

  Chloe slanted narrowed eyes in Castlebury's direction but said nothing.

  But Reggie couldn't help but grin. "Indeed. And how kind of you to bring her to me."

  Nor did Chloe object as he took her arm.

  "And that leaves me with the lovely Lady Lavington," Castlebury said as he took up the red-headed lady's hand.

  Reggie didn't waste time looking at what happened behind them as he urged Chloe away from the brangle that had previously entangled him, as far across the ballroom as he could manage while they waited out the remainder of the second set.

  "Quite a sacrifice on Lord Castlebury's part," he said to Chloe.

  She nodded glumly. "I cannot say I am all that glad to be dragged to your rescue, either," she replied.

  "Ah, but we did vow to help each other. Are you not supposed to be helping me find a wife?"

  Chloe's eyes searched the ceiling as if praying for divine relief. "And who that might be, I cannot fathom. Perhaps Miss Amy Soren? But I cannot imagine she would know what to do with you."

  The very picture amused Reggie. "Watered down milk, to be sure. As I have no notion what I would do with her either, I am sure we would not suit."

  "And were you not supposed to help me find a husband?"

  "Castlebury?" he offered. "Bibury?"

  "Oh, indeed. The conspirators."

  "Conspirators?"

  "Only yesterday I found myself standing right beside you. I had but to turn around, to find my escort, Lord Bibury, had utterly vanished."

  Indeed, Bibury had entirely disappeared just that quickly.

  "He seems a bit too tall to fade into a crowd, don't you think?" Reggie asked.

  She nodded. "Lord Bibury is one of your conspirators, is he not?"

  "My conspirators?"

  "Don't mince words with me, Reggie. It seems the harder I try to stay away from you, the more they push us together. Just like Castlebury, Lord Bibury pretends to be courting me, but he is not. None of them are. They are merely holding your place for you, and they do not intend to relinquish that place to anyone but you."

  He smiled. "They think we belong together. Perhaps we do."

  "I feel as if the entire of society has affianced me to you. But it is not possible, Reggie. I cannot give up on my sisters. Don't you understand?"

  "Dance with me," Reggie said. It was a question he'd prefer not to answer.

  She shook her head.

  "Dance with me, or it will look odd."

  She assented, with a sigh that spoke of all her frustration and pain. She was right, of course, for Castlebury kept her quite tied up, as did Bibury or St. James, or any one of the cadre of his other friends who stepped in. But none of them would be brought to the altar with any ease. It was for her own good. He just wished she could see that.

  The waltz was of the new variety in which partners faced each other, slower and soft, yet still lively, the most perfect music for dancing that had ever been written. He placed his hand at her waist in a precisely proper way, and they kept the perfect distance between them that propriety prescribed. The battle against his impulses lunged into full sway. He ached to complete the embrace, and he could feel the tension in her, like a cat being held against its will.

  So he whispered in her ear, the way he used to gentle frightened mares. Nothing of any substance, just soft and tender words.

  "Stop," she said. "Reggie, I cannot bear this. Please do not make it any harder for me. Can't you call them off, Reggie? You know I must find a husband."

  "It will be all right, my love," he said. "I promise you."

  Chloe's lashes lowered, and he thought he saw the sparkle of tears.

  "Look at me, love."

  She blinked and kept her gaze on the buttons of his coat.

  He wanted to draw her into an embrace, even here in the middle of this crowded ballroom, but Reggie held her in exact perfection, precisely the way he must. "This moment is ours, my love. Feel its magic."

  She glanced up, puzzled, and he could see he had been right. A flick of moisture clung to her lashes.

  "The music plays just for us," he whispered. "The thousand candles burn in honor of our love and make your beautiful green eyes glow just for me. For all that we are among a hundred friends, we are alone together, and the waltz is our embrace."

  She tilted her head, just the tiniest bit, and sighed.

  He leaned close to her ear, breathing in her lavender scent. "You wear the fragrance in your hair like a crown. I could bend and touch my lips to yours, and taste the sweetness of your kiss."

  "Reggie—"

  In the hand he held to her waist, he felt her tension ease, a tacit consent to their love. His throat tightened around a huge lump that could not be swallowed down. His heart ached.

  "Forget what has gone before," he said, as the world around him faded away. "What will happen does not matter, for we have this moment and it is ours forever. No one can take this from us. Only feel it with me, Chloe. For now, we are one."

  She did not have to move closer; their bodies did not have to touch. Their embrace was theirs, the pulse of the waltz was their lovemaking, their moment eternal.

  They did not speak again until the dance ended and he returned her to the care of her aunt. Then Reggie left the ball.

  Remembering those painful moments, his heart seemed to twist. She had relinquished her defenses, accepted the comforting he had tried to give her. But the dance that had lasted mere seconds for him must have been an eternity for her. His eternity had begun the moment they parted. But now he knew what he was going to do.

  He'd sell the Xanthe.

  * * *

  Now, at last, things had changed. The time had come to make his move. At last, he had the security she needed, for The Adventuress had outstripped his wildest expectations. He had a way to support her and give her back her sisters.

  And soon, the Xanthe would be sold. He was sure. He even had Warrenton quietly feeling about for buyers.

  The heavy, moist heat of midsummer invaded London, with the air so thick it was like breath
ing water. The city was abandoned for the green countryside, and Lord and Lady Mythe called for a house party at their estate in the Cotswolds where the days were greener and more temperate. The perfect occasion to win Chloe back. Reggie rode down on a bay gelding.

  At the gate, Reggie sprang down from his bay gelding with a sudden bolt of excitement. Hands on hips, he swung around in a slow arc, surveying the estate and grounds.

  He had to admire the work Lord and Lady Mythe had done in restoring the rambling stone Tudor manor since they had acquired it several years ago. From the original construction in the reign of Elizabeth, each generation had added on until it had almost swallowed up its core, but Mythe's work had restored the original to prominence. The sprawling grounds, bright with floral color, spread out from two restored courtyards, and along one side, one terrace followed another and another in tiers down a sloping landscape that led to a forested brook and a small lake.

  And just for fun, Mythe had restored the old maze, the way it had been when the Virgin Queen herself had wandered through it.

  A place for lovers. It suited Mythe and his lover-wife.

  Reggie let loose a chuckle. Terrence and Sylvia, but he had never called them that. If ever he had seen a couple who seemed less suited to each other, he couldn't remember, but he wanted a marriage like theirs. With such friends, he need not allow the poor example set by his parents to taint him.

  He raced up the white stone steps, hallooing to friends and acquaintances in their blossom-colored garments as they meandered along the walks and gardens. Standing at a huge entrance that seemed more gate than door were Lord and Lady Mythe.

  "Lovely afternoon, Mythe," he said. "Lady Mythe, it is as lovely as you." He took her hand.

  Lady Mythe snickered. She never liked being told she was lovely, even though she was. "Good that you could come, Lord Reginald. Your usual chamber is prepared, and your man has arrived."

  "A few surprises, though, Reggie," said Mythe.

  Reggie raised an eyebrow.

  "Your cousin, Miss Nightengale. An unexpected guest of Lady Creston."