His Secret Heroine

by Delle Jacobs

  Chloe walked over to a branch of candles for a little more light. It was just a little book, bound in red leather with gold lettering. Rather new, but it looked like it had been read several times, for the thin paper of the pages was starting to curl at the corners. Two tiny scraps of newsprint marked places.

  "The Adventuress," she read. "By Roger Beauchef." Something about that felt ominous.

  "Ooh, it sounds so romantical the way you say it," said Miss Amy. Her cooing was becoming annoying.

  "Oh, do be still, Miss Amy." Lady Mythe moved next to Chloe. "Do take it in the vein it was meant, Miss Englefield. It is really sort of a tribute, you see."

  "A tribute? What do you mean?" Chloe opened the pages to a torn paper bookmark in the middle and read silently.

  As the fierce wind whipped her sodden golden curls and molded her wet garments against her ambrosially delectable form, Circe shouted...

  Circe? Where had she heard that? Hadn't Reggie called her Circe once? His Siren of the Seas?

  She flipped back to the cover. Roger Beauchef. Reggie Beauhampton! It had to be!

  Ambrosially delectable form? What was this?

  Chloe flipped back the pages and kept reading, seeing herself everywhere, line after line, with light green eyes and curls just like her own, described as a hoyden of the worst sort, a flagrant adventuress, blatantly displaying her charms like a light-skirt in Covent Garden!

  But if you could, would you not like to have such an adventure? Reggie's words, from their first sailing trip.

  He had! He'd written the book about her! Made her a laughingstock before the entire of the beau monde!

  She slammed the book shut and whirled around, violent heat flushing her cheeks as she searched for escape.

  Lady Mythe touched her shoulder. "Now, my dear, you mustn't take it that way. I am sure he did not mean it."

  "He told me he was writing poetry!"

  The low rumble of jovial men's voices invaded the room. Men who had already begun their evening drinking, who were full of chuckles and merriment and practical jokes. Was that where this had begun, with men making merry at the expense of women?

  And there he walked, at the head of the pack, jostling about with all his very good friends.

  The moment they spied the unusually silent women, the entire clutch of men to an abrupt and equally silent halt. Chloe stared, openmouthed. The lump in her throat felt like a wad of rags.

  "Uh oh," said Castlebury.

  Chloe looked down at the little red book and back at Reggie, and she watched all that jovial male camaraderie fall from his face as he stared at the book in her hands and reality dawned. So he really had written it. For a brief moment, she had hoped it was a prank his friends had pulled.

  Not her Reggie!

  Blinking back her tears, she tossed the book toward a table, only half hoping it found its mark, and spun around to run through the doors at the far end of the long lavender saloon.

  * * *

  Reggie watched her flee, Miss Hawarth in her wake, knowing the worst thing he could do at the moment was to run after her.

  "I take it," said Castlebury in a low drawl, "you have not previously explained the matter to her?"

  Reggie shook his head. He'd meant to. He'd even had the opportunity, but had let it pass. More than once. No, worse, he had deliberately avoided facing the issue, waiting until he could find the right way to tell her.

  Just as he was avoiding facing his father.

  Miss Amy broke into tears. "I did not mean it that way! I truly did not!"

  "You are such a featherwit," said Portia. "I tried to warn you, but no, you thought it was so romantical."

  Miss Amy gasped. Tears flooded down her cheeks as she fled the saloon with Lady Constance. Mythe put out a hand to stop Castlebury from following her. Castlebury glared back at Portia.

  "Well, she is a featherwit," Portia said, jutting her chin.

  "I'd say she's not the only one," Castlebury replied through clenched teeth, and turned his back to Portia to face Reggie. "But I wonder what overset Miss Englefield?"

  Reggie opened the book and fanned the pages. "I suppose it depends what she read. There were a few places where Ludwick changed the words."

  "Probably one of those places with a bookmark," Portia said, looking over Reggie's shoulder. "Where did the bookmarks go?"

  "What bookmarks?" asked Lady Mythe, also looking over Reggie's other shoulder.

  "They were there," said Portia, reaching for the book. "Little pieces of newsprint." She thumbed the book and turned it upside down. "Somebody must have fanned it, and they fell out."

  "Well, it's of no matter," Lady Lavington said. "I fear we must deal with the more serious matter of Miss Englefield's hurt feelings, though I must say, I cannot think what was so disturbing in the book. I should have been flattered, myself."

  Lady Creston sniffed, and her little brown eyes shot flames at Lady Lavington. "But of course you would. Miss Englefield, however, is a young lady who should not have been subjected to such a humiliation. Lord Reginald, I am appalled. I cannot imagine what the duke has to say."

  "He doesn't know," Reggie replied, although he suspected that would quickly change. "In any event, the responsibility is entirely mine. But I never meant to demean her. I simply found her the most fascinating young woman I have ever met, and as I was unable to get her out of my mind, she simply became a part of the book. She was the perfect heroine."

  "And a hoyden, if ever there was one." Lady Creston's nostrils flared. "Our Miss Englefield is certainly not like that."

  "But," said Lady Mythe, "Reggie's heroine is certainly a lady of extraordinary courage. Lady Creston, might I impose upon you to take everyone in to supper? I believe I should go see what I can do to smooth ruffled feathers. Let me have the book. Perhaps I can persuade her to read the good parts instead."

  Lady Mythe cast a reassuring look to Reggie as she departed. But he'd done it now. Chloe would never trust him again. Why should she believe he had meant to explain, when just this very afternoon he had passed up an opportunity?

  He found Portia on his arm as he walked into supper, and Lady Lavington sat to his right. The lavish meal should have been wonderful, and undoubtedly was, but it seemed so tasteless he couldn't eat it. He drank his wine altogether too fast.

  He jumped when he felt a hand pat his leg.

  Lady Lavington smiled, a little too graciously. "Do not let it concern you so," she said. She patted his leg again. He tried to move, but there was no place to go. "Very young ladies are so very easily overset. But then, they are not familiar with the ways of the world, are they?"

  Reggie clenched his jaw as he felt the hand patting his leg again, moving up his thigh. He stiffened and pointedly picked up her hand and placed it back on her lap. "Many ladies prefer to remain unfamiliar with the ways of the world, Lady Lavington, and I rather think most gentlemen prefer them that way."

  Portia was taking a sip of wine, and coughed unexpectedly.

  Mythe looked at his second cousin, clearly aware of her latest transgression. "Lady Lavington, I should like a moment of privacy with you in my study tomorrow morning."

  So Mythe was also angry. But Reggie didn't care. He just wanted Lady Lavington to leave him alone. And even more, he wanted to see Chloe and take away the pain he had caused her. But he couldn't go up after her. That would only make things worse.

  He sent Portia with a message, but Portia was not admitted to the chamber. And of the ladies who had departed abovestairs before supper, only Lady Mythe returned.

  "As well as could be expected," Lady Mythe responded to his furtive question. "The ladies have decided to take supper in their chambers."

  Reggie asked again for just a word with Chloe, and when that failed, begged Lady Mythe to go up and plead his case for him.

  "Oh, I think not, Lord Reginald," she replied, and he saw more than a touch of censure in her eyes. "Enough damage has been done. In the event, you will have to plead your own
case. If she is willing to listen, of course. And you do understand, that will not be tonight."

  The edict was clear. He was not under any circumstances to make contact with Chloe.

  Reggie gulped down another glass of wine. He left the men at their after-dinner port and roamed about the estate in the dark, walking like a demon along the gravel paths, and even running when the urge hit him. When he returned, even the men had taken to their chambers, and he went alone into the library, with a snifter of brandy, and pawed through book after book, finding nothing to ease his agony. He went back to the immense drawing room and the gathering of men, where he found yet another glass to fill with brandy. The fog of too much drink began to settle in.

  * * *

  "Reggie. Reggie. Wake up, you dunderhead. Wake up."

  His brain felt like it was wrapped in cotton wool, and his mouth tasted like it. Reggie shook his head and tried to sit up.

  "Portia. What are you doing in my chamber?"

  "You aren't in your chamber, you harewit. You're still in the drawing room, draping yourself over this chair like you're a tapestry. Wake up, Reggie, this is important."

  After blinking several times and shaking his head, the evening began to come back to him. Despite Mythe's prodding to either join the men or go to his chamber, he had stayed belowstairs, unwilling to consign himself to the circumstances, hoping for one last word that Chloe was willing to listen to his pleas. But hour after hour passed. Most of them, he couldn't remember, so he was not precisely sure when he had finally dropped off to sleep in the chair.

  "What is so devilish important?" he asked. "And what the devil are you doing up, Portia? Need I remind you that you are a single young lady with a reputation to protect?"

  "You should talk. I read that book, too, you know, and I should be very insulted if you had said such things about me. But you've got to stop them, Reggie. I don't care if you've drunk the wine cellar dry."

  "Stop who? Why?"

  "That blasted Lord Vilheurs and Lady Lavington!"

  "Portia, do not curse, and please do not yell."

  "I am not yelling. I am in fact whispering. If you don't do something quickly, Miss Englefield— Reggie, listen to me!"

  Chloe? Vilheurs and Lady Lavington? What the devil?

  "Reggie, listen. I couldn't sleep so I sneaked down to the library to find a book. Yes, I know I should not have, but read me a scold another time, please. I heard Lady Lavington talking with Lord Vilheurs."

  He didn't find that particularly surprising.

  "She gave him something, and I think it was the key to Miss Englefield's chamber."

  "The devil! What makes you think that?"

  "Because this afternoon before you arrived, I saw Lady Lavington leave Miss Englefield's chamber, and I thought it was odd. But I didn't realize until tonight they are not friends."

  "That doesn't make it a key, Portia."

  "Don't be obtuse! I heard Lord Vilheurs tell Lady Lavington to wait ten minutes, then stir up a fuss and get people to go with her to Miss Englefield's chamber. He said to make sure it seems like Miss Englefield invited him and gave him the key."

  Reggie sprang to his feet. "When was this?"

  "Just a few minutes ago. Hurry, Reggie. He is going to her room at precisely one of the clock, and Lady Lavington is to appear there ten minutes later. You haven't much time."

  Reggie looked at his watch. Ten of the hour, and the hands seemed to be moving almost visibly. He couldn't stop Vilheurs before he got there, for the damnable man could simply claim Reggie was making the whole thing up to discredit him, and that would only improve Vilheurs' standing in Chloe's eyes. But if Vilheurs got there first, Chloe could be endangered, at the least her good name would be besmirched simply by the man being found in her chamber. And Chloe would have no choice but to marry Vilheurs.

  If he could get Chloe out of there, then Vilheurs would look like the scoundrel he was when he was discovered alone in her chamber. It would not necessarily look good that Chloe wasn't there, but it would be better than letting her be found there with Vilheurs.

  Reggie couldn't just go up to Chloe's room, himself. If he got caught there, that would also blight her name. Besides, he had no key, and Chloe would certainly not open up her chamber to him. And if he sent Portia, she might get hurt, or also be compromised.

  "Go to your chamber, Portia, and don't say anything to anyone about this."

  "And leave it for you to bumble? I shall not."

  "Yes, you will. I have your good name, such as it is, to worry about, too. And you need not fear. I stake my life that no one will hurt Miss Englefield."

  "I don't know. What are you going to do?"

  "Her chamber opens onto a balcony. I'll get her out onto it."

  "How the deuce? I mean how are you going to do that?"

  "It will just take a bit of climbing."

  "Oh, you're going to climb up those vines when you're already three sheets to the wind?"

  "I'm very familiar with ratlines, Miss Portia Nightengale."

  "That's stupid. Come to my chamber."

  "Oh, no. No funny stuff now, Portia. I haven't got time."

  Portia put her fists on her hips. "You are such a slowtop. My chamber is on the balcony, too."

  She yanked his hand and started across the hall. He ran after her. "I can't go into your chamber, Portia!"

  "Yes, you can. My door is a lot more hidden at the dark end of the corridor. And besides, you won't have to knock like a perfect numskull, like you would if you went to her door."

  Well, it was a definite improvement over climbing up vines that might or might not pull down from the walls. And while he couldn't exactly say he trusted Portia, her story made altogether too much sense. Reggie ran down the corridor after her, up two flights of the back stairs.

  "Remember how I said there were bookmarks in the book, only they were gone?" Portia whispered as she ran.

  Reggie nodded, knowing she couldn't see him.

  "I saw Lady Lavington stuff something into a vase, and when I went to look later, that's what it was."

  Reggie muttered under his breath. At least Portia was paying attention to things. Perhaps his obnoxious cousin wasn't so bad, after all.

  Once in the ladies' wing, they moved on tiptoe, and Reggie watched over his shoulder, feeling like the interloper he was. Silently, Portia pointed to Chloe's door. No one stirred on the floor. No candlelight glowed beneath the door sills. Reggie prayed silently no door would open as they sneaked along, and he counted the doors in between. At her chamber, Portia pushed down the handle and all but shoved Reggie inside. She ran to the curtained balcony door and wrenched it open.

  "Good luck," she whispered, and shut the door behind him.

  The full moon illuminated the long stone balustrades of the balcony's railing like a silver path, guiding him to Chloe's chamber. Reggie ran along, one hand skimming the moonlit stone

  There were two long balconies, and they were not connected.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The gap between the two balconies was too far to leap, and a stone terrace stretched out, two stories below. Reggie could picture himself found flattened on the paving stones the following morning. They would say he did it for love.

  Just below the level of the balcony, a string course cut its horizontal line at the first and second floor level, wide enough for a toe, but not a whole foot. Heavy vines clung to the tone walls all the way to the ancient structure's roof. Would they be strong enough if the string course carried most of his weight?

  Exhaling a tense breath, Reggie pictured his Circe at the helm. She would never give up in the face of danger. Nor would his Chloe, his real heroine. Nor would he.

  He climbed over the thick stone rail and held onto it while he lowered one foot to probe for the string course beneath its overlay of ivy. He found a foothold. He hoped. Facing the wall, he gripped the rail, then vines, and worked the other foot through the greenery. One hand, one foot, other hand, other foot
, he progressed over the face of the wall, feeling tendrils ripping free with each grasp that bore his weight. The heavier vines held better, but they massed too thickly, obscuring the string course. With a rip, one handful of vines pulled free. Reggie lunged and grabbed another, his body dangling free, swinging. Vines gaped away from the wall, ripping like fabric.

  He plunged downward, banging against the stone. With a shove against the wall, he leapt and grabbed a thick vine with the other hand. It held.

  He groped with his toe, seeking a crevice, and found only a meager branching in the vines that barely held the toe of his boot. Gritting his teeth, he looked down at paving blocks that seemed to have grown harder since he left the safety of the balcony. Nothing for it but to go on. Gingerly he lowered his weight into the tight space and climbed.

  The vine tore free. Reggie fell back, but his foot was wedged. He hung suspended by his hands from the tough vines and climbed back up to the string course and safe footing. His heartbeat drummed in his ears as his feet groped around and found a toehold. A few feet higher, and he could reach the opposite rail. But the only vines available looked treacherously weak.

  Well, he couldn't stay here.

  Reggie groped about, yanking and pulling until he found one that didn't yield to the mild pressure he put on it, but he already knew it wouldn't hold him long. With a deep breath, he threw left hand past right and lunged for the precarious vine. The sickening ripping sound echoed in his ears as he leapt once more, scrambling for toeholds, hanging for dear life from one puny vine after another.

  He hurled himself at the balcony rail and scrambled to safety. He leaned against the wall, breathing hard. Chloe's door would be the first one he reached. Was he still in time?

  And what the devil was he going to do with her when he got there? He could hardly expect her to cross back to the safety of Portia's chamber. He'd have to think of something.

  Reggie jostled the door handle. It moved beneath his hand and the door squeaked open.

  "Chloe, wake up."

  The bed rustled and squeaked as she gasped and sat up, clutching her blankets.