A Gentleman ’Til Midnight

by Alison Delaine

  The whirlwind that was London picked up speed throughout the morning. While Katherine was being fitted into a dark green creation that threatened to push her breasts entirely free, an invitation arrived to dine with a Viscount and Lady Hathaway. Phil advised a polite refusal. While Madame Bouchard had her bundled into midnight-blue watered silk, Dodd came to inform her that Holliswell’s men had arrived but that he had not let them in and had instead sent them away with the rest of their boxed possessions. And while Madame Bouchard’s apprentice tried to pin together a downright-indecent copper creation, the solicitor arrived.

  “So there is nothing I can do,” Katherine said half an hour later, pacing back and forth behind Papa’s desk in the library, dressed once again in her familiar tunic and trousers.

  Mr. Allen watched her through keen, brown eyes that hadn’t aged a day in nearly eleven years. His wig sat perfectly straight, and his gaze was unnervingly steady. “Not of a legal nature, no. If they decide to hold another hearing on the matter, I can do my best to argue your case. Your father was the most well-liked Scottish representative member,” he added. “Very highly respected. His loss came as a blow to many. The bill may well fail, even under...these particular circumstances.”

  These particular circumstances. Those, of course, included her tragic fall into shame and her subsequent rise to power and wealth, which, if she’d been a man, would have opened doors—not closed them. “It would seem my acquaintance with Captain Warre truly is my best hope.”

  “Tactless as it may sound, his misfortune became your good luck. Had you returned without such a feather in your cap, so to speak, the picture would be very bleak indeed.”

  “The picture is bleak now,” she snapped.

  “Lord Croston is very powerful. Highly acclaimed.”

  Lord Croston. Captain Warre. That she should need him, be dependent on his goodwill, was terrifying—never mind her plan to use him for exactly this purpose. Using him and needing him were two very different things.

  “There is, I suppose, one other option,” Mr. Allen said.

  Her heart leaped. “What is it?”

  “You could marry.”

  “Marry!”

  “A strategic alliance. Doubtful the Lords would attaint you then, as they’d be unlikely to take another man’s rightful property. If you’ll forgive me, as highly esteemed as your father was and as vast as your estates are, it should be a simple matter to find an acquaintance of your father’s who’s willing.”

  Her mind rejected the idea the way her body might reject a bit of rancid meat. “Absolutely not. Marriage is out of the question.” Even as she said it, Captain Warre’s face rose in her mind. “As you said, Father was well loved. Odds are against the bill passing.” The ball of rage and fear in her stomach testified otherwise. “And now that I’m here, I can work to curry favor among society.” To exploit her connection with Captain Warre, in other words.

  “You can,” Mr. Allen said, too reasonably.

  “I’ll not marry a stranger for convenience’s sake—someone who cares nothing for me, or worse, for Anne.”

  “I was thinking Lord Deal might be an agreeable possibility. He is hardly a stranger.”

  Lord Deal. Her memory conjured up a kindly old face and a ready smile. “He would be Father’s age. At least.”

  Mr. Allen shrugged. “There are plenty of well-situated young dowagers who might tell you that’s not such a terrible thing.”

  Good God. It was a sickening plan. She could never go through with it. Would never need to. Would she?

  “Marriage is not the answer,” she said sternly. “At least, not until it becomes clear the only way to keep Dunscore is to take a husband.” And if that day ever came...well, she would marry an ancient bachelor with no backbone and learn how to administer hemlock.

  She stared at Mr. Allen, and he observed her passively in return.

  Just then, Dodd appeared in the doorway with a note on his silver tray. She met him halfway across the room. “Thank you.” She tore through the seal and quickly read the contents. “Speak of the devil,” she said to Mr. Allen, and read aloud.

  “Your return to Britain brings me much joy. Of course, I will do all I can for you in your dear father’s memory. You must do me the honor of attending an intimate gathering at my home this evening—my annual Musicale and Confectionery Extravaganza. Indeed, this will be perfect.

  Yours, etc.—”

  She looked at Mr. Allen. “Perfect?”

  He smiled behind steepled hands. “I daresay I am inclined to agree.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “WE’RE DAMNED GLAD to see you, Croston, but we’ve got one of His Majesty’s ships at the bottom of the ocean and a damned infidel on the loose in London, and I’ve got no patience for evasive answers.”

  James leaned back in his chair and stared across the table at Admiral Wharton, whose abrasively loud voice was swallowed up in the vast chamber. He’d thought walking the halls of the Admiralty might give him a new perspective. Make him feel something.

  It hadn’t.

  “I’ve seen no evidence that Captain Kinloch’s become an infidel,” he told them.

  “Devil take it—”

  “And do enlighten me as to which points I have evaded. I’ll be happy to clarify.” James shifted his gaze to Admiral Kenton and raised a brow. The three of them had been seated at this table for the better part of an hour, accomplishing nothing.

  Admiral Wharton exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Damn me, but we should have taken the Henry’s Cross off the line.”

  “Now is a bloody useless time to admit that,” James bit out. And nearly six hundred men were dead because of it. But he wasn’t here to repair the navy—he was here to be finished with it.

  Admiral Kenton shifted impatiently in his chair and checked the notes he’d scratched. “Did you have an opportunity to inspect the hold?”

  “For Christ’s sake, Kenton, we’ve been through this already. I won’t sit here and repeat myself.” No, the Possession hadn’t taken any ships while he was on board. No, there was no contraband in the hold. No, he hadn’t taken any jam with his rolls at breakfast. This was bloody ridiculous.

  Wharton drank deeply from a glass of brandy, set it back on the table and looked at James. “With all due respect, Croston, you’ve done a damned sorry job of taking that woman to hand.”

  “There’s been no reason to take her to hand,” James said.

  “No reason!” Kenton exclaimed.

  “Listen here, Croston. We cannot have a ship of questionable legality captained by a...a female renegade loose on the waters of the Mediterranean doing whatever the hell she bloody pleases. You were supposed to put an end to it.”

  “If I’d seen her do anything illegal, anything even remotely contrary to the interests of the Crown, I would have.”

  “For God’s sake, Croston—”

  James leaned forward. “If you thought she was a pirate, you would have had her arrested by now. Someone would have come forward. Filed a complaint, made accusations. The Mediterranean is hardly a remote body of water. But you have nothing, because there is nothing.”

  “Did you get a look at her papers?” Kenton asked. “Bills of lading?”

  “And how would I have done that? Asked to see them? She would have laughed in my face. Understand, sirs, that I was little more than a guest on her vessel.” Quite a bit less, in fact, but the admirals did not need to know the details.

  For a moment the only sound was the scratching of Kenton’s quill, and then he snorted. “Suppose there’s been more than a few guests in her vessel, eh?”

  James’s fingers tightened reflexively around his glass.

  Wharton noticed, and his eyes narrowed slightly. “Was she truly in command of her ship? Did she have th
e loyalty of her crew?”

  “Yes. Hell, the Possession ran with better efficiency than any ship of the line I’ve ever seen.”

  Wharton tucked his chin.

  “And without a single unseemly activity on her captain’s part that I was aware of,” James added. “And I don’t have to tell either of you that on a ship that size everyone is aware of everything.”

  One of Wharton’s bushy gray brows edged upward. “Defending her virtue, Croston?”

  “Virtue!” Kenton exclaimed. “Rumor says she’s got some Moor’s bastard daughter.”

  “Irrelevant.”

  “Not to her virtue, it isn’t. Don’t believe all that stork business, do you, Croston?”

  James quashed an urge to lunge across the table and grab Kenton by the throat. Instead, he reached into his coat and drew out his resignation letter. “I think we’re finished here, so I shall give you this.” He tossed the letter in front of Wharton. “My resignation.”

  Wharton’s chin disappeared into his fleshy neck. “That’s preposterous. You’re in line for commodore.”

  “Let someone else have it.”

  “No.” Wharton shook his head, staring at the letter. “No. We need you.”

  “What in God’s name for?”

  “We need that woman under control! If she’s attainted, there’s no doubt she’ll leave England for good. We cannot let that happen—she’s been a nuisance long enough.” Wharton drummed his fingers tensely on the table. “She needs a husband.”

  James’s heart sped up. “I’ll not accept that commission, either.”

  Kenton blanched. “Good God!”

  “I’d never suggest anything so preposterous,” Wharton thundered. “I have no fear of finding someone willing to acquire Dunscore through marriage. It’s her willingness that concerns me.” Now Wharton pinned his aging eyes on James. “We need you to arrange a marriage she will accept.”

  James let out a laugh that felt like a strangle. “You’re trying to get me killed.”

  Wharton scowled. “Are you saying—”

  “What I’m saying, Admiral, is that Katherine Kinloch will accept nothing less than her birthright, free and clear.” And that I’ll kill any man that touches her.

  No. God. He didn’t give a bloody damn who touched her.

  “I plan to have her activities in London carefully observed.” Wharton leaned back in his chair, studying him intently. “The slightest hint that her loyalties do not lie squarely with the Crown, and she will be arrested.”

  “What the devil for? She’s done nothing.”

  “So you’ve reported for three years.” He looked at James meaningfully. “And yet we know that during that time she overran at least one Barbary ship. Likely two.”

  “I reported those incidents when I learned of them.”

  “And a fine gloss you put on them, too,” Kenton said. “An investigation into what you saw or didn’t see is not beyond the realm of possibility.”

  James stared at him. “There’s no need to threaten me, Admiral.”

  “Afraid we won’t like what we learn, Croston?”

  “Not at all. I simply have business to attend to—” business that involved cognac and solitude and no tempting female sea captains “—and I dread the idea of anything interfering with its immediate commencement.” But already it was clear that there would be no immediate commencement.

  An investigation. It could drag on for months—years—while they called his honorable service into question and accomplished nothing.

  He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. Bloody hell. Perhaps the admirals’ plan wasn’t so off the mark. Perhaps if Captain Kinloch married the right man—a peer, and one in good favor—then she would have Dunscore, and he could be done with this entire bloody business.

  Right. As if she would ever consent to marry simply because it was expedient. As if any man in London could possibly deserve her.

  “By all means,” he said irritably, “let me keep watch on Captain Kinloch while she’s in London and use my best efforts to barter her on the marriage mart.”

  Wharton narrowed his eyes. “This is serious business, Croston.”

  “You’ve made that clear.” James stood up. “Now. If you have nothing else, I must take the helm of my new command.”

  * * *

  BY THE TIME Katherine’s coach rolled up in front of Lord Deal’s that evening, fear had begun to take root.

  She held the curtain aside with a finger and looked out. Lord Deal’s windows blazed festively in the night, and a line of carriages ejected beautifully dressed members of the beau monde in front of the door. She fisted her hand against the urge to pull the bell and order the coachman to drive past.

  Tonight was necessary. She would reestablish her connection with Lord Deal and take note of people’s reaction to her—that was all. Lord Deal was well loved and had always been so kind to her. He would be an excellent ally. Yet still dread winged drunkenly through her belly, so she fixed her mind on Anne.

  Anne warming herself by one of the fires in Dunscore’s great hall.

  Anne pushing her fingers into the wet, gravelly sand on Dunscore’s shore.

  Anne turning her face to the wind atop Dunscore’s ramparts.

  The coach slowed to a stop. Katherine tried for a deep breath, but the corset prevented it. Madame Bouchard had outdone herself in a few hours’ time with the dark red silk and a black, bead-encrusted petticoat and stomacher that created a dramatic effect. Perhaps too dramatic, Katherine thought now. Too dark. The woman in the looking glass just before she’d left for Lord Deal’s looked nothing like the starry-eyed girl who had happily tasted the joys of her first Season twelve years ago. The touch of kohl around her eyes, the dark curls lying artfully across one shoulder, the flesh swelling high above her stays—they made her look wicked when she needed to be charming. Fallen when she needed to appear angelic.

  The carriage door opened, and for several heartbeats she sat paralyzed by her own vulnerability. And then she forced herself to move. Jet beads sparkled on her red slippered toe as she extended her foot from the coach. Captive inside a prison of whalebone, she needed assistance even with this. Reaching out to the footman, she gripped his hand to climb out.

  But the hand she gripped did not belong to the footman. It belonged to Captain Warre.

  “A wise decision, leaving your cutlass behind this evening,” he murmured, helping her to the ground.

  His touch rippled across her skin like a hot gust across a still sea as she stepped into the night, with panniers jutting out stiffly at her hips and stays making it impossible to breathe normally.

  “I could hardly win society’s approval if I hadn’t.”

  “Approval?” He raked his gaze over her, lingering in forbidden places. “My dear Captain, nobody will approve of you. Our goal is mitigation, not acquittal.”

  The man who had swabbed her decks and polished her cannons was gone. In his place was not even a naval captain in blue, cream and gold, but the Earl of Croston in dark green brocade and a silver-embroidered waistcoat. A white shirt embellished with the subtlest ruffles lay stark against his sea-bronzed skin. At his side hung a Royal Navy sword.

  His power hummed through her, and the physical connection of his hand was dangerously comforting.

  “I am not on trial,” she whispered sharply, pulling from his grasp.

  “On the contrary,” he said. “Every word that falls from your lips will be entered as evidence in the court of society’s opinion.” He gave her a look. “As well as every chair and footstool you pitch into the street.”

  She scoffed. “I shed no blood.”

  “Commendable indeed. In any case, it would seem I am to be your constant companion, according to the plan you outlined aboard the Possession.” />
  Her eyes locked with his in a mutual memory. Her back to the wall, his hands on her breasts. Her fingers in his hair, his tongue mating with hers. Bodies on fire. Her shove, his push. William’s fist.

  Even now, a hint of yellowed purple marred his jaw.

  “Excellent.” She offered her most predatory smile and hoped he didn’t see her shiver.

  “But there will be no room for your tricks this evening,” he warned grimly. “More depends on society’s favor than I would wish. My brother will not be moved. His heart is involved, or so he believes.”

  Her own heart sank. “Clarissa Holliswell.”

  “Yes.”

  Already the carriage was pulling away and another was coming up behind it. Captain Warre guided her toward the entrance, where music and light spilled from inside the house. A woman in front glanced over her shoulder and let her gaze sweep over Katherine. Behind them, more carriages arrived and more glittering fashionables picked their way toward the entrance. Their stares burned into her back.

  “I spoke with a few men during a brief visit to Westminster,” he said under his breath as they climbed the steps. “It seems your unexpected return has sparked interest in the bill. It’s a good guess the second reading will be approved.”

  A light-headed rush threatened her balance, but she recovered quickly. “It would seem your debt is proving more difficult to repay than you once imagined.”

  His lips tightened to reply just as they swept into the house, and there was no more time for talking. The majordomo announced them. A commotion undulated through a crowd that was too large to be “intimate,” and all eyes turned their direction. The room fell silent and suddenly she was fifteen again, shimmering in her first real gown, gliding into her first assembly where every face held the hope of a new and exciting acquaintance.

  They held no such hope now. The light-headedness returned with a vengeance.