by Cheryl Bolen
Surely Lady Daphne had not . . . No! That was unthinkable. As tolerant as she was of other's indiscretions, Daphne held herself to a higher ethical standard. Hadn't she admitted the self-imposed code of conduct that prohibited her from disparaging another person's character? Even if that person was guilty of vile acts? His fingers absently sifted through her lustrous hair. "Two hundred years ago you'd have been burned at the stake."
She lifted her laughing face to his. "For a witch? Because I can predict occurrences?"
"Exactly."
"I'm not in the least clairvoyant, Captain. I'm merely a student of--"
"Human nature," he finished with a laugh.
"Thou knowest me too well."
"Knowing you intimately is part of the ruse we're hoping to perpetuate." Not that he knew her intimately, of course.
"The regent would be most proud of you."
Despite his endeavors to keep her warm, the intensity of her shivers increased.
"You need to go back inside," he said in a gentle voice. "You'll take a lung infection."
"I'm never sick."
He had to admit he could not picture Lady Daphne prostrate. She was far too capable. "Still, it wouldn't do for you to get sick and be useless in our investigation. Please, allow me to take you back inside."
"Not until you tell me everything."
"You've already guessed the most relevant part."
"She really did wish for you to seduce her today?"
"I'd rather not elaborate."
"Tell me this, at least." Her hand coiled around his neck. God, but she was making him crazy! Only the greatest amount of self discipline prevented him from kissing her. "Did you flatter her?"
"Excessively."
"And you hated yourself for it."
"Thou knowest me too well."
"As well as I understand the princess. It's fortunate that she's so malleable."
"But I daresay you're not surprised--owing to your vast knowledge of--"
"Human nature," she finished with a laugh. "Pray, Captain, when do you see her again?"
"Tomorrow afternoon."
"Your idea or hers?"
"Mine." He would rather Daphne not know the extent of his false flatteries. He neither took pleasure in duping the princess, nor did he expect said duping to win Daphne's admiration. More likely, Lady Daphne would never again trust him.
And he couldn't have that.
"Good," she said.
"Now, my lady, I will take you back inside."
* * *
A few minutes later they were climbing the stairs to the drawing room, and in a tall trumeau mirror she caught a glimpse of herself. Her cheeks flamed bright red from the recent exposure to the cold. A glance at Captain Dryden confirmed that those with olive complexion were not similarly affected by the cold. When her gaze flicked back to the mirror, she was utterly disappointed to find that she not only was not beautiful, she wasn't even tolerable looking. Her chest was flat. Her dress faded. Her unruly mane like a hedge gone wild. And her blasted cheeks looked like a pair of robin's breasts!
How could the mirror tell her something so vastly different from what she felt? In the courtyard a few minutes earlier--in the captain's embrace--she felt feminine, and pretty, and . . . something more. Something indefinable. She felt as if there was a special bond linking her to the sublime captain. She felt as if in his eyes she was beautiful. Pray, how could she have been so utterly foolish?
"There you are!" her father exclaimed, his gaze flicking from Daphne's red cheeks to her betrothed. "I've been looking everywhere for you." He slapped Jack on the back and lowered his voice. "Been stealing kisses from my daughter?"
"Papa!" Daphne's cheeks reddened even more deeply, especially given the fact that a distinguished looking man stood less than a foot away from her father.
Lord Sidworth turned to the distinguished looking man. "This is the Mr. Rich I've been telling you about." Then Lord Sidworth faced Jack. "Rich, you must make the acquaintance of Mr. Bottomworth. He's just back from Africa."
Uh oh. Daphne had feared such a meeting.
Mr. Bottomworth and Jack bowed to one another. "Sidworth tells me you've a diamond mine in South Africa?" he said to Jack.
"Indeed," Jack answered.
So far, so good, Daphne thought. The fewer words Jack said, the better.
"Amazing we've not met before," Mr. Bottomworth said. "I own the Citadel Diamond Mine."
Daphne's stomach dropped.
"The Citadel?" Jack said, smiling and nodding. "Know it well."
Not a bad response, Daphne conceded.
"Yours is . . . ?" Mr. Bottomworth asked.
Jack's glance flicked to Daphne.
"You're the owner of the Citadel?" Daphne asked Mr. Bottomworth incredulously.
He looked excessively pleased. "Why, yes. You know it?"
She settled a possessive hand on Jack's forearm. "Only by what Mr. Rich has told me about it. You must be very proud."
"That I am. A lot of years have been poured into that mine."
"I suppose you know how to speak Hottentot, too," Lord Sidworth said to his companion.
"Too?" Mr. Bottomworth asked, his puzzled gaze shifting to Jack.
"Rich speaks several languages," Lord Sidworth boasted, slapping Jack on the back again.
"Perhaps you've read his writings on ancient Greece," Daphne said to Mr. Bottomworth. "Mr. Rich is a noted Greek scholar." Anything to steer the conversation away from Africa.
"Then how did you come to be a miner?" Mr. Bottomworth asked, narrowing his eyes as he gazed at Jack.
"I inherited---" Jack said at the same time as Daphne attempted to reply.
"He won it in a---" Daphne started to say, their words colliding.
They both stopped. Jack flicked an impatient glance at Daphne. She prayed that Mr. Bottomworth had not been able to distinguish their words.
"What Mr. Rich meant to say," Daphne said, "was that he's always had an inherent interest in . . . "
"Warm climates," Jack finished.
"Ah, yes. I do miss the African weather," Mr. Bottomworth said. "Daresay the sun hasn't shone but a handful of days since I've returned to England."
"Dreary it may be," Lord Sidworth said, "but give me merry England any day. Wouldn't fancy being in a country where the natives were spewing Hottentot." He eyed Jack.
Jack nodded. "One becomes used to it. I remember the first time I was in India . . . "
She could have swooned with relief. If she were the type to swoon. Which she was not. Jack was finally on more familiar ground. He'd at least lived in India. While he spoke of the various Hindi dialects, her eye wandered. She must get Jack away from Mr. Bottomworth! To her enormous relief she spied her sister Virginia strolling the upper gallery. Daphne snatched Jack's arm. "My dear Mr. Rich, I do hate to interrupt your interesting conversation, but Virginia's been waiting eons to speak with us." Her gaze leaped up to the next level. "We simply cannot keep her waiting another moment."
A few minutes later she and Jack were striding up to Virginia. "If anyone should ask, dear sister," Daphne said to her, "do me the goodness of saying you had an urgent matter to discuss with my Mr. Rich. I'm afraid I fibbed to get away from Papa's utterly boring friend."
Virginia's gaze trailed past the railing to her father, standing one level below them. "Who is the gentleman?"
"A Mr. Bottomworth."
Virginia grimaced. "Any man with such a name would have to be a bore!" Her glance scanned the gallery. "Have you seen Sir Ronald?"
"Yes, he's playing cards," Daphne said to her retreating sister.
Virginia called over her shoulder, "I must go and see Ronnie."
"Come, let's walk along the gallery," Daphne said, slipping her arm through Jack's.
The narrow corridor was brightly lit by a dozen wall sconces--and surprisingly empty. "My dear lady," he said once he was assured they were alone, "we only barely managed to extricate ourselves from a dangerous situation."
The air swished from her lungs. "That was sheer terror. How do you manage living a life of deception?"
"One gets used to it."
Being used to danger and being comfortable with danger were two entirely different matters. Captain Dryden, she sensed, was not comfortable deceiving others.
She scanned the portraits of generations of Winthrops with little interest. Her thoughts were on Princess Caroline and her lust for Captain Dryden. "How I wish, Captain, I could make myself invisible in order to accompany you tomorrow to Princess Caroline's."
He patted her hand and laughed. "You'll learn everything soon enough."
"Not soon enough to please me."
"You obviously lack the virtue of patience."
"Thou knowest me too well." It seemed almost incomprehensible that she had not known him a week ago.
He stared into her eyes. "As you've come to know me, my lady."
Neither of them moved. Or spoke. Or--it seemed--breathed. She once again had that peculiar feeling that she was lovely. That Captain Dryden valued her companionship. She thought he might even be looking seductively at her.
And she was almost overcome with an excessive dislike for Princess Caroline--who would bask in Captain Dryden's attentions on the morrow.
Lady Sidworth's call broke the magical spell. "Dearest?"
Daphne looked up to see her mother raising a quizzing brow at her.
"Your papa's ready to leave."
Jack looked down at Daphne and squeezed her hand.
Chapter 11
When he brought the princess posies, she clutched them to her breast and favored him with a smile. That was when he saw that something deep green--was it spinach?--lodged between her two front teeth. His gaze dropped to the floor.
"I've been sinking about vut you said about voking making one slender," she began, nodding to him--thankfully, with her mouth closed. "And I've decided to take a vok vinever ze veather permits. I shouldn't vant to lose my figure."
He refrained from telling her she had lost that a long time ago. His glance flitted over her. Some men--he consoled himself--were actually attracted to older women. "Your figure is very agreeable to me," he said. Despite the extreme cold, the lady had eschewed warm worsted and had greeted him in the same thin, silk dress he had brought her the day before. She no doubt thought it displayed her best assets. Both of them.
Because it was a cloudy, frigid day, Jack had been convinced the princess would cry off their walk, but to his complete surprise she insisted upon a stroll upon the heath this afternoon. "Vair I vuz raised it gets much colder zan zis. Allow me to procure boots and a voolen cape," she told him just after he arrived.
He had to hand it to her. She was a trooper.
Even though the weather was dismal, it seemed more villagers flocked to the heath today than on the previous day. Had word got out that the princess was suddenly embracing the outdoors? Were these people hoping to catch a glimpse of a royal personage?
"I'm pleased that you've worn the dress again," he said. "I like to fancy that I'm your protector." He hated himself for making false flattery, but kept reminding himself that this woman could very well be threatening the regent's life.
"I should like a protector like you, Captain. You must tell me how your injury is." She looked up at him. And smiled.
Perhaps he should tell her about the pesky greenery that dangled between her teeth. But he could not make himself do so. He averted his gaze. "Alas, the injury's not healing as quickly as I'd like." Would that stave off an amorous tryst? God, but he hoped it would.
She drew closer to him. Though he could smell her strong perfume, it did nothing to mask her breath. She could certainly profit from Daphne's spearmint. The side of her breasts rubbed into his upper arm. The proximity to her did nothing whatsoever to excite him. And how peculiar, he thought, that the same proximity to skinny Lady Daphne was beginning to have a marked effect upon his anatomy. Not just his anatomy, either. Lady Daphne was invading his thoughts. During the day and at night.
A pity he was so unfit to claim that lady's affections.
"If zair is anything I can do to help," the princess said, peering at his crotch, "I vould be happy to oblige."
He could think of nothing more disgusting than having her Royal Highness oblige. "You're too kind."
They came abreast of a gathering of more than a dozen people who stood on the perimeter of the heath, gawking. Mothers shoved their children in front of them to ensure they got a view of England's future queen. As he and the princess drew nearer, they said in a chorus, "God save Princess Caroline."
A huge smile on her face, the princess nodded to her future subjects, then she and Jack continued on.
Now he felt wretchedly guilty for not telling her of the unsightly snippet of green that marred her smile. She had no doubt turned a few stomachs.
Seeing how kindly she reacted to the masses reminded him that she had chosen to adopt a lad born to the lower classes. "Tell me about the boy you adopted. Where is he?"
"My Villy vill be home from school for Christmas. I shall be most happy to see him."
"I should like to meet him."
They walked for some distance in silence, dry leaves crunching beneath their feet. "I understand King George is your uncle," Jack finally said.
Her brows lowered in concern. "He's a very good man. It breaks my heart to sink of the vay he has suffered."
"I daresay there's no one in the kingdom who does not share your deep affection for our infirm monarch."
She nodded. "He is my mother's brother. Family is very important to him."
"Obviously. Has Queen Charlotte not borne him fifteen children?"
"She must once have been exceedingly fond of him, but not since his illness."
Jack had heard that the queen was now terrified of the man she had lain with for so many years. "I've been told Her Royal Highness is much closer to your . . . husband than her husband was."
Princess Caroline sighed. "Zat is true. Zair is little love between ze regent and his father. To his discredit, ze king has always preferred Freddie."
"The Duke of York and Albany?"
"Yes," she said with a shrug. "Vould that he vuz the heir, he ze man I ved. He's much more agreeable zan ze odious man I did marry."
Jack was pleased she was finally discussing "the odious man she had married." The sooner he found out about the extent of her hatred, the sooner he could end the masquerade. "I know he's our monarch," Jack said, eying her, "but I cannot like the man you married. His treatment of you has been intolerable."
She laid a hand upon his arm and shrugged. "Such is my lot in life."
He patted her hand. "You're much too kind for the likes of him."
Disappointed that she did not concur, he wondered if she was the person orchestrating the attempts on the regent's life. If she had hired someone to murder her husband, wouldn't she have to meet with that person at regular intervals? "The heath must be lovely in spring and summer," he said, "but is it not difficult living so far removed from the higher echelons of society, your Royal Highness? Do you have callers?"
"Not so much from London, but zair are many fine ladies and gentlemen--and naval officers--who reside near me and who favor me wid their friendship."
"What about Princess Charlotte?" he asked.
Her eyes narrowed. "He's tried to turn her against me. Her own mother! But my daughter, she loves me--even though we see each other but infrequently."
Genuinely filled with compassion for her, Jack lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. Thank God for the rose-scented perfume. "He's a beast."
"Vorse zan a beast." They were walking so fast now that she had gotten winded. She came to an abrupt halt and held up her hand. "Pray, Cap . . ." She sucked in a deep breath and waited a moment before she continued. "Captain, I must rest."
He stopped and, brows lowered, peered at her with concern. "Forgive me for going so fast." His glance scanned the treeless heath. There wa
s no bench in sight. "Can you make it just a little further? I vow to slow down."
She pointed to a wooded area behind her house. "Perhaps we can make it to my greenhouse. If you walk more slowly."
"Then to the greenhouse we shall go." He felt beastly that he had not taken into account what poor shape the princess was in. Going very slow, they made it to the greenhouse in five minutes, then Princess Caroline collapsed onto a silk brocade settee in its center. Supported by gothic arches, the greenhouse had glass walls so that whoever sat on the bench there had a pleasant view of the heath. Not that it was pleasant today.
Jack fell to his knees in front of her. "Are you all right, your Royal Highness?"
A gentle expression washed over her face, then she reached to stroke his windblown hair.
When his lids lifted, she gave him a wide smile. His stomach roiled, his gaze slipped to her breasts. Anything was preferable to peering at the slimy piece of spinach wiggling from her teeth. Perhaps he should tell her. His gaze shifted back to her face. It was obvious to him that--perhaps because he had fallen at her feet--she fancied herself beautiful.
She preened. She eyed him with affection. She smiled.
She revolted.
He quickly averted his gaze. He did not have the heart to tell her about the persistent remains of her nuncheon. She was much too smug with herself. "Allow me to rest a moment," she said. "Zen I vill be fine." She patted the bench beside her. "Come sit beside me, Captain."
He dropped onto the bench, thankful that he would not have to look at her--and the offensive spinach--head on. Just as he was feeling rather content, he felt something on his thigh. Something moving--and weighty. Battling against his first instinct--which was to jerk away--he looked down.
The princess was rubbing his leg. Seductively.
Pray, Daphne, I am sick, he thought. His gaze shifted from his thigh to Princess Caroline's face.
She spoke breathlessly. "You may kiss me, Captain."
When her smile revealed the gruesome green, he was sure he was going to be sick. How could he stand to kiss her?
Then she puckered up and leaned into him, her eyes closed.
