by CJ Archer
He crossed his arms and regarded her with an unreadable expression. The lightness of moments ago vanished in a heartbeat. "I have no intention of giving you any of it."
"Ah."
He dropped his hands. "Ah?"
"I thought as much."
"Thought what?"
"That this..." She waved a hand at the space between them, much too narrow for comfort. She stepped back. "This change in you was too dramatic to be real. I don't know what your plan is, Mr. Redcliff, but I want you to be aware that I know you have one."
He crossed his arms again. "Sir Oswyn should employ you."
"As a diplomat?"
He snorted. "Hardly. I meant as a spy." Before she could contemplate that, he spoke again. "If we are to get along at all, Miss Appleby, there is one thing you need to understand. You cannot make me do a thing you say."
"Sir Oswyn did tell me you weren't the sort to take orders well." He lifted an eyebrow. "And I have no intention of forcing you to do anything against your will," she said. "Indeed, you must want to give up or your cure will not last long. But there is one thing you need to understand about me. I am very patient."
His lips flattened. Those hawkish eyes narrowed. She got the feeling he was reassessing his first impression of her. She wasn't entirely sure whether that was a good thing or not.
"Perhaps you should hear how I plan to treat you," she said.
"By all means waste your breath." He dipped his head and a thick lock of dark hair fell over his forehead, half covering one gleaming eye. "Although I'd rather be listening to you talk about more interesting matters. We could go somewhere private if you like." His voice was barely a hush but it affected her much more than a shout ever could.
A shiver brushed across her skin. It wasn't from fear—Sir Oswyn had assured her his spy was an honorable gentleman, although she was beginning to wonder if Sir Oswyn knew Mr. Redcliff had a darkness running through him like a cold, black stream.
No, her reaction could only be from desire.
She drew in a fortifying breath. Desire she could manage. It was fleeting. That's all this was, a basic attraction to an attractive man. It didn't involve emotion or trust or any of those qualities a true relationship was built upon.
She swallowed heavily and stepped back once more. At least she now understood Mr. Redcliff's plan. He must be trying to seduce her in order to make her leave. Perhaps he thought his attempts would send a plain blue-stocking like her fleeing back to her safe country cottage.
It would have been funny if the circumstances making her the least likely candidate for his seduction weren't so tragic.
She smoothed her hands down the front of her slate grey dress and leveled her gaze at him. "My treatment involves substituting part of your opium intake with a herbal headache tonic. As we progress, the amount of opium will lessen and the herbal powder increase until your body adjusts to having none at all."
"And what am I supposed to do while my body is adjusting to the lesser amounts of opium? Thrash about in agony-filled nightmares?"
So he knew what withdrawing the powder would do. Interesting. Did he know because he'd already tried? "I will not pretend that it will be easy. While your body and mind adjust to the withdrawal, your nights will become a living hell."
"Spare me the details."
"No. I will not. You need to be fully aware of what is ahead. You may become violently ill. Your body will ache, you will—."
"I know." He spoke with calm, quiet authority.
"Then you will also be aware that being alone during the nights will not be a possibility. Not until you are fully recovered. It's my duty to keep you safe."
There was that devilish grin again, the one that made her blood run hot and cold. "Offering to keep me company?" he said. "My bed is large enough—."
"Trent's presence will suffice."
"Not for me."
She pressed her back against the sideboard. "Please refrain from this ridiculous behavior, Mr. Redcliff. Not only will it not work but it's embarrassing for us both."
His jaw set and a shadow passed over his face. "You're right. Please accept my sincerest apologies."
"Very well." At least now that she had confronted him, Mr. Redcliff knew she was not the sort to succumb to his flirtations, no matter what the reason behind them. A good thing. Most definitely a good thing.
"It's just that I find your presence here..." He looked to the ceiling and must have found the word he required amongst the rosette plasterwork because he said, "Unsettling." He smiled sheepishly at her and all her nerves stood to attention. He possessed the most unexpectedly charming smile and that voice...so smooth and deep and thoroughly compelling, she could listen to it all day. "It's just that you are..." He cleared his throat and studied his boots. "You are quite a, er, how can I put this delicately. You...intrigue me, Miss Appleby."
"I do?" Over the years, working first with her father and then on her own, patients had often flattered her in an attempt to have their opium returned to them. Several had pretended to seduce her. Only one had succeeded. But she'd never once been told she was intriguing. And with such sincerity too! If she didn't know he was a good spy and therefore liar, she'd have believed him.
"You do," he said. The charming smile vanished, replaced with a frown.
"Is something troubling you?"
He shook his head and shoulders, much like a duck shakes water off its feathers. "My visitors," he said quickly. "I was thinking about my aunt and sister. I expect them this afternoon and I want you to dine with us."
"I prefer to keep my association with you on a professional level, Mr. Redcliff. That doesn't include dining with your sister and aunt."
"I think you would have dined with me last night if I'd asked you."
"You are my work, Mr. Redcliff, your visitors are not. I do want to discuss what must be done for your health but not with your family present. Therefore I see no need to dine with you tonight or any night they are in residence."
Two footmen entered and began clearing away the dishes from the sideboard. Georgiana moved towards the door. "Good day, Mr. Redcliff, I'll not occupy any more of your valuable time this morning."
He caught up to her before she was through the door and pulled her aside to allow the footmen to leave. "You cannot hide away in your room the entire time you are here, Miss Appleby."
"I see no reason why I can't, interspersed with the occasional walk."
"Very well," he said, letting her go. "As you wish. Although I do think it cruel of you to leave me alone with my relations at such a time as this." The smile was back, along with the spark in his eyes. It melted their glacial depths with considerable speed.
"As I recall, you were the one who invited them, Mr. Redcliff, knowing full well that it would coincide with my commission here."
"You have me on that. Very well, I accept your refusal to dine with us. For now. However I warn you I may need rescuing from time to time. Separately, Aunt Harry and Philly are endurable but together they can be a snow storm. It's wise to run for cover."
She couldn't help laughing at the image.
"Good," he said, although she wasn't quite sure what he was referring to. Did he think getting her to smile somehow meant he'd scored points in their game? "As I said yesterday, my house is at your disposal, as are the servants. Please make yourself at home."
It was rather touching, even though it was false sincerity. It would suit his purposes to have her believe him concerned for her wellbeing.
He bowed then headed briskly up the stairs. She waited a few moments before going up to her own room. She put on a short dove-gray spencer jacket over her dress, tying it firmly at the throat, and fetched her reticule, bonnet and gloves. She checked her appearance in the hand mirror and was struck by the flush in her cheeks. Mr. Redcliff had put that color there with his flirtations and talk of intrigue and desire. Her blush deepened and she quickly returned the mirror to the table, face down. a walk would do her good.
<
br /> ***
Alex didn't know why he felt compelled to follow Miss Appleby. Perhaps it was because he desired to know more about the mysterious woman who'd entered his life in order to ruin it.
Although he'd tried to find out as much as he could about her when Sir Oswyn had told him of her imminent arrival, he'd not had time to learn much. She was the daughter of a physician noted for curing opium addiction, but she'd been left only a modest allowance upon his death. She'd continued his work but had found commissions thinning, something which Alex attributed to her sex. Not many men wanted to be told what to do by a woman. He could personally vouch for that.
But apart from those obvious facts, he knew little else about her. He'd not even known how pretty she was until he'd seen her standing in the doorway of his study. She tried to hide it with those awful gowns and a severe hairstyle but it wasn't something easily hidden. Her beauty threw up another mystery—why was she not yet married? She may be poor but she was educated and sensible. She would make a superb doctor's or curate's wife.
And yet she was scratching out a meager living doing a thankless task.
He wasn't entirely sure how following her would shed light on her mysteries but it gave him something to do. Since his return, he found London dull. He'd been hoping the Season would liven things up a little. It seemed they had, although in a most unexpected way.
The irony of his actions in light of events the day before wasn't lost on him. He'd spotted his pursuer but Alex had no intention of allowing Miss Appleby to see him.
It was easy to follow her. Her pace was leisurely and she kept to the busy streets, pausing frequently to peer in shop windows. The only shop she actually ventured into was a milliner. From his vantage point at the edge of the bow window, he saw her studying a bonnet trimmed with pale green ribbons and small white flowers. An assistant approached her and Miss Appleby returned the bonnet with a shake of her head.
Moments later she emerged and continued up Bond Street. The fashionable shopping precinct was awash with giggling debutants and their mamas in search of the right colored silk for their ball gowns, ribbons for their hair or the latest riding habits to be seen in at Hyde Park. None of them noticed Alex, or Miss Appleby for that matter. In her unadorned Quaker-ish style, she was simply not given a second glance or even a first one. After another hour in which she did nothing more than look through shop windows, he headed back to Mount Street. He'd not learned a thing about her except that she was a great walker. Perhaps next time he was being followed he should simply stroll about to bore his pursuer.
He climbed the steps to his townhouse and was met at the door by Worth who must have been watching for him.
"How was your walk, sir?" the butler asked. His usually bland voice held a hint of curiosity. He must have known Alex had been following Miss Appleby.
"Invigorating." He handed his hat to Worth who looked a little grayer beneath his pallid complexion. "Is everything all right, Worth?"
"The Marchioness of Weatherby and The Lady Phillippa Redcliff have arrived, sir. They have taken to their rooms."
"Ah. That explains your grim demeanor."
He could have sworn Worth smiled. "Would you like them to be informed of your return, sir?"
"Thank you, Worth. I'll be in my study."
He'd been in his study all of five minutes when the door opened and a breathless Philly burst in. "Alex, there you are! How inconsiderate of you to be out when we arrived!"
He rose to catch his sister as she threw herself into his arms and kissed his cheek. "Hello, Philly. I didn't think you were arriving until this afternoon."
Philly hopped about then perched on the edge of a chair, looking as if she would spring up at any moment. "We left yesterday. I absolutely insisted because I wanted to stay at an inn overnight."
"Why?"
"For the adventure of course." She looked at him as if he were a dolt.
"And was it?"
She screwed up her pretty nose. "Not really." She tapped her fingers on her knee then seemed to realize she was fidgeting and stopped. But only for a moment and then she began to flick her fingernails until Alex glared at them pointedly. "Sorry," she muttered, sitting on her hands. "I'm trying to be still, I really am." She sighed. "Aunt Harry says I'll never find a husband if I don't sit still."
"And how does Aunt Harry know that piece of wisdom?"
"Experience," said the lady herself from the doorway.
"Aunt Harry," Alex said smoothly, as his sister wriggled in an attempt to smother her laughter. "What a lovely surprise. Philly was just telling me you stayed overnight at an inn for an adventure." He took both his aunt's outstretched hands and kissed the cheek she lifted to him.
"We did and I for one hope the child has got that silly notion out of her system. If not then your Aunt Adelaide can chaperone her next time. Her constitution is far stronger than mine and she wouldn't mind if her room's walls were so thin you could hear the couple next door...breathing. Loudly."
"And a lot," Philly chimed in with a grin directed at her brother.
Aunt Harry gave her a disapproving wince.
"Oh Alex," said Philly, "it's so good to be in London finally!" She jumped up and trotted over to the window. "What a lovely view! Look at all those people, what fine clothes and pretty bonnets! I can't wait to go shopping. Oh Aunt you will take me today won't you?" she asked without turning around. "And such beautiful carriages and elegant horses. My goodness but that gentleman rides superbly, just look at him! I wonder who he is. Do you know him, Alex?"
He peered over her shoulder at the retreating horseman. "I don't think so."
"Oh, pity. But you do know most of the gentlemen in London, don't you? I am relying on you to introduce me to all the best ones."
"Phillippa," Aunt Harry scolded with a lift of her finger, "a lady should not prattle."
Philly sighed. Alex had a feeling his sister would find being a lady rather dull. She'd been brought up in the family's country estate, Longmore, by their widowed aunts, Harriet and Adelaide, after Alex's parents' deaths nearly fifteen years earlier. Whereas her much older brothers had been away at school and university most of their lives, Philly had been adored and indulged by their childless aunts. Her days had been spent riding horses, playing with the local children out of doors and generally doing as she pleased. Various governesses had despaired over her lack of aptitude for her studies and her unwillingness to sit still through even the briefest of lessons.
Alex wasn't quite sure if having her debut at only sixteen was such a good idea, but Staunton seemed to think it would tame her.
She needs to learn what society expects of her, and the sooner the better, Staunton had said.
Since Alex had been overseas at the time of the decision, his response had arrived too late, something which his brother no doubt had depended upon.
"Well, Alex," Philly said, turning her bright blue eyes on him, "do you know many of the eligible gentlemen?"
"Some," he said, "but they are mostly my age."
"Oh," she said glumly, "they're old."
"Positively ancient."
"Nevertheless you will be attending as many events with us as possible, Alexander," Aunt Harry said—not asked, said. Stated. As if it were a fact.
"They're not really my thing," he said. "Society balls and the like are for the young."
"And the single." Aunt Harry tilted her rather pointed chin at him.
"And you aren't yet married," Philly said with mischievous glee.
"I don't think either of you understand," Alex ground out. "I am not looking for a wife."
Aunt Harry waved her hand dismissively. "Fiddlesticks. Of course you are. Every man needs a wife. You more so than most."
"Me? Why?"
"You seem to get yourself into a great deal too many scrapes. A sensible wife would be just the thing to settle you. No more gallivanting around the Continent and getting into trouble." She wagged a finger at his injured arm.
"Ho
w kind of you to notice, Aunt, I didn't think you cared."
"Of course I care! Don't be so beastly, boy. Adelaide and I have been worried about you. It's about time you were married so someone else can do the worrying and give our nerves a rest."
Ah. So that was it. His sister was having her debut at the tender age of sixteen as an excuse for his aunt to also find Alex a wife. His immediate future stretched out before him, tedious evenings of balls and parties and soirées where he'd have to smile and make polite conversation and pretend that all was well in his world. He blamed his brother. It must be his doing. Marry Alex off to a suitable, sensible wife and keep him out of trouble, that's what Staunton would be thinking.
"There's just one problem," he said. "My nurse might not like me attending these hectic society engagements."
"Your what?" Aunt Harry had been running a gloved finger over the gilt frame of a large oil painting of Longmore, no doubt looking for her old adversary—dust—but she suddenly straightened and pinned him with one of her famous glares.
"My nurse."
Philly giggled. It ended with a snort and she covered her mouth when Aunt Harry focused on her.
"She's taking care of me while my injuries mend." He rubbed his arm where a thick bandage was covered by his sleeve.
"You seem remarkably fit to me, Alexander," Aunt Harry said without moving her lips. "I doubt a nurse is necessary."
"On the contrary. She is. Vitally. I find I can't get along without her."
"If that's so then where is she?"
"Ah. Yes." He studied a letter on his desk to avoid the two pairs of eyes watching him. He might be one of Sir Oswyn's best spies but that was because the French never interrogated him with their equivalent of Aunt Harry. Heaven help England if they ever did. "Out I believe."
"Out?" Aunt Harry tutted. "Not a very diligent nurse is she?"
"I don't know," he said honestly. "She's hardly been here an entire day. She has an excellent reputation," he felt compelled to say.
"That may be so but she has no authority to detain you. I shall expect you to attend all the necessary events with us. And I mean all."
Alex was sure she did. He just wasn't sure they agreed on the meaning of necessary.
