by Gwyn Cready
“Excellent.” Gerard turned to him. “What’s your name?”
“Humphrey. Humphrey Bowman.”
“Well, well, Mr. Bowman, I am proud to count myself among your father’s many admirers. Tell him James Bond sends his regards, will you?”
The smugness began to evaporate. He nodded.
“Will you have any trouble getting Miss Hiscock to her house in the next quarter hour?” Gerard asked. “She’s given me her word.”
Humphrey’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “No, sir.”
“Good.”
Gerard offered Elizabeth his hand, which she accepted. She took the first step and turned.
“You seem quite intent on getting me home, Mr. Bond.”
“Long day tomorrow.”
Mischief rose at the corner of her mouth. “I hope so.”
Thirty-six
Lord Hiscock has a lot more to worry about than his cargo, Gerard thought. That girl is trouble.
For a moment he thought Serafina was gone; then she emerged from the shadows of a storefront just as the sight of Humphrey Bowman’s carriage faded into the distance.
“Well?”
“She knows where Hiscock’s new warehouse is.”
“Where?”
“South of the castle wall, but I didn’t get the street. She was distracted by the gown she was supposed to be picking up. I can pick up where I left off tomorrow night at the party—I promised I’d personally deliver the dress to her in the morning—but I couldn’t ask anything more. She was on the verge of becoming suspicious.”
“She was on the verge of becoming something else as well. I saw her face as ye spoke.”
Serafina had meant nothing unkind by the comment, but Gerard couldn’t forget the look on her face when she’d found out about his prolific past. “She appears to be able to fall in love with anyone—on a moment’s notice.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself.” She wove her hand into the crook of his elbow. “’Twas unfair of me to judge ye so harshly. You dinna trick women into your bed, after all. You are charming and good in a way few men can lay claim to. I bedded ye because I wanted ye.”
His heart contracted. She made him feel different than he’d ever thought he could. She made him want to be a better man. But what was the point of being a better man if he was doomed to leave her in little more than a day?
He pulled her into the same dark storefront. “I don’t want to go, Sera. We’ve started something here. I don’t know what it is, but I want more time.”
She laid her palms on his chest, and he felt it all the way to his bones. He caught her hands and held them.
“I canna lie to you,” she said. “I want more time too. But it’s not to be, and”—her voice caught, and she held herself very still until she’d mastered it—“and I’ve lost too much to want you and lose you too. So, please dinna make me want you any more than I do.”
“We can fight it—”
“We canna.”
“We can—”
“Gerard.”
He saw the pain in her eyes and fell silent. The hands, warm and alive in his—was he never to feel them again? The cheeks, curving into a majestic mouth; were they, too, lost to him? He traced every feature, every texture with his gaze, committing it to a place in his mind that would taunt him with echoes of it for the rest of his life.
She untangled her hands and let them fall.
“We need to get to the ship.”
He held out his arm, heart aching. “I’m at your service, milady.”
Thirty-seven
“Where did you send him?” Edward looked out the porthole window toward the dock, where Gerard was making his way back toward the city.
“I’ve not sent him anywhere,” said Serafina, irritated as always at Edward’s condescension. “He has things to attend to, and so do I. He’ll return in an hour and a half to collect me, which should be more than enough time to transact the business we have here.” She gazed at Gerard’s broad shoulders, bent slightly forward as he made his way up the long hill, and the measured stride, as if he’d walked seven leagues and would walk seven more. Then, perhaps sensing her prying gaze, he stopped and turned. Her breath caught. Though she knew he couldn’t see her, she felt the warmth of a communion with him and unconsciously stretched her arm.
Is that how I found you? Is there a bond between us that time and distance cannot break? Will I still feel it when you’re gone? Her heart cramped, a pain as sharp as a blade. Will I want to feel it?
Gerard thrust his hands in his pockets, heaved a visible sigh, and turned back to the hill. A wind blew the porthole shutter closed.
Edward settled into the chair at the captain’s desk. How less suited to the seat he seemed than Gerard.
“I knew you’d come,” he said.
“’Twas not much of a presumption. I intend to take possession of my muslin.”
“That’s not what I meant, Serafina. I knew you’d come because, despite everything that’s happened, there’s a bond between us.”
“The only bond between us is that between debtor and debt holder. You owe me the money you took from me. The muslin is but down payment on that sum.”
“You are forgetting what we had. We anticipated each other’s needs. We spoke a language no one else spoke. And in bed…” He blew out a small puff of air.
“Edward…”
“God,” he said, bending to stroke the fabric unrolled across his desk, “that is bloody fine muslin. It’s as sheer as a damselfly’s wing, and I’m told you can draw it through a wedding band. Just imagine it.” He looked at her, eyes gleaming. “The bride in her marriage bed. The wife awaiting for her husband.”
“The lover about to be betrayed. I like muslin for its strength.”
“Like the owner of this particular sample.”
“Hm,” she said coolly, then with a bit more warmth: “Thank you for giving this to me without a fight.”
“Bah! Truth be told, I’m feeling guilty about what happened.”
’Tis about time. She wondered disinterestedly if bedding Edward now would be anything like bedding Gerard, if he could be made to be generous and attentive now that she knew what generous and attentive was. She was certain the answer was no. Most men held on to their character at all cost.
“A little guilt would be good for you,” she said.
“I suppose I deserve that. I had every intention of us enjoying the profits of the cargo together when I started this. God, that seems a long time ago, doesn’t it, though it has not been a year. But fate—and my foolishness—intervened. I swear the women meant nothing to me—”
“Please,” she said, holding up a palm. “We’ve talked about this so many times.”
“Aye, but I have never told you that I… Oh, it doesn’t matter.”
“No, tell me.”
“Well, I spoke to the curate—’twas at my mother’s urging, I admit—and I began to pray for God’s help to change, to mortify myself of my coarse and selfish desires.”
“And did you?”
“Aye, I did,” he said, casting his gaze downward, “for all but one woman whose kindness and beauty I can’t get out of my head.”
“Edward—”
“I’ve lost the regard of many people. I know I have. But ’tis only yours I want to regain. I can’t stand to think you hate me.”
“Oh, Edward, I dinna hate ye. You’re weak and foolish, but I dinna hate ye.”
“Is there any chance,” he said, words running faster, “any chance at all, that you would allow us to begin again—as husband and wife—and try to find the happiness again that I cravenly destroyed?”
“No—”
“Don’t answer yet! Take some time to think about it. Give me your answer tomorrow night. I shall come to the inn, once I free myself from Hi
scock’s affair—”
“I shall be there myself.”
“At the party?” The surprise in his wounded her more deeply than any uttered insult could have.
“I’m not a fool,” he said quietly. “I know I’m the reason you’ve been cut from society, and nothing would please me more than seeing you welcomed back. Are you certain?”
“I’m in the party of Lady Kerr,” she said, defiant, “on the list she provided Lord Hiscock.”
“I apologize. When I asked if you were certain, I didn’t mean are you certain you’ll be admitted. I meant are you certain you wish to endure the scrutiny?”
Edward’s concern was valid. Fallen women were invited to attend some of the larger parties, especially if the party was meant to be more of a spectacle than an intimate affair, but the women were almost always included to appeal to the guests’ prurient interests or flatter their righteous superiority. She’d known this when she’d accepted Abby’s invitation.
“I’ll be of service to Lady Kerr. So, aye.”
“If you married me,” he said huskily, “no one could judge you again. I could right the wrong I’ve done to you. Promise me you’ll think about it.”
“Oh, my Lord—”
“Promise me. I’ll find you at the party.”
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll think about it. But I dinna wish to excite your hopes. I intend to say no.”
“You’ll think about it. That’s all I ask.”
“Might we return to the transfer of the muslin? If you’ll take me to the bolts, I can inspect them and sort them. Then I’ll oversee the transfer to a wagon, with the help of some of your men. From there I’ll see the whole lot delivered to a warehouse.” She paused, observing him closely, and asked the question she’d specifically come here to ask. “Do you by any chance have a warehouse you’d recommend?”
“Bah,” he said after a short hesitation. “They’re all the same. Choose whatever strikes your fancy.”
Thirty-eight
Numb, Gerard climbed the Royal Mile, the purple-pink clouds casting Edinburgh’s skyline into black relief. He’d been dragged here against his will, and he was about to be thrown back in much the same way. Is this how spells were supposed to work? With no room for negotiation or changed minds? He’d known her for two days, and already he knew, with as much certainty as he’d ever known anything, that his life would never be the same without her.
He was glad at least to be able to provide her some utility before he left. He didn’t know how much a relationship with Elizabeth Hiscock, such as it was, would help, but he knew he’d gotten a foot in the door as far as the girl’s trust was concerned. And he intended to help Serafina even more if he could.
Gerard was pleased to see the tailor through the open window of his shop, but before he could cross the street, he spotted Undine hurrying past the shops ahead of him, her pale hair gleaming as if viewed through water.
She turned before he could call her name and looked straight at him, sending an uncomfortable tingle down his spine. How had she known he was there? How did she know anything she knew? She put a surreptitious finger to her lips, hidden in a cough, and immediately he was as aware as a dog on a scent that someone was watching him. She turned again, her turquoise dress undulating like the surface of a lake, and stepped into a shop.
He ducked into the tavern next door to the shop and ran out the back into the alley. No one was there, and he went into the rear door of the shop Undine had just entered.
The shop sold trinkets—belts and hats and handbags—and he found her standing over a small glass case in which half a dozen pairs of pearl earrings lay on velvet.
Of course. Where else would I find her?
“Do you care for any of these?” she asked, finger hovering above the glass.
“Who did you see?”
“I didn’t see anyone,” she said. “But they were there nonetheless.”
“I assume it’s the three men that were following us before.”
“Well, they won’t come in here.”
“Why?” She inclined her head and he saw the sheer chemises folded like Hermès scarves on the counter. “Great.”
“Which do you like?” she repeated, still gazing at the case.
“It doesn’t matter if I like them.”
“I should think a man would like to see a pair of pearls on a woman’s ears that please him as well.”
As if I’ll be here long enough to see them.
“I wish I could afford more,” he said with longing, looking at his options. “I mean, I can afford more. Back in New York, I could buy her pearls as fat as your thumbnail, strung as long as your arm.”
“She’ll be as pleased with your earbobs as she’d be with the rubies of a sultan,” Undine said, adding with a faint grin, “Big is not a replacement for heartfelt. If more men learned that, women would be happier.”
He frowned, and not knowing quite what response would be appropriate, pointed to a not-quite-perfect pair of creamy, teardrop-shaped pearls hung from a small circle of tiny seed pearls. “I like those.”
Undine signaled the shopkeeper, who placed the earrings in his hand. He held them up, the iridescent weight swaying in the light from the shop’s window, and imagined the color against Serafina’s skin.
“They move,” he said. “She’ll like them.”
“You can be sure of it.”
The shopkeeper took them to wrap them up, Gerard moved a step closer to the chemises. “What do women like in these things?”
“Fetching designs, lightness of weight, ease of removal.” She laughed at Gerard’s face. “It depends where she plans to wear it.”
“At a party.”
“Ahh. In that case, the most important quality is the ability to make other women covet it.”
He shook his head. “But you don’t see it—at least at a party, right?”
“Oh, a flash here, a glimpse there.”
“Seriously?” Women would always be a locked-room mystery to him.
“Oh, aye.”
“Bits and bows?”
Undine nodded. “Aye.”
“Colors?”
“No. The whiter, the better. Purity, of course, and the display of wealth necessary to keep the fabric spotless.”
The owner of the shop returned with a small paper bundle. Gerard counted out the coins, relieved he had enough. “Those chemises there,” he said, “which are your biggest sellers?”
“Sir.” The lady turned a bright shade of pink.
“He’s from America,” Undine said, apologetic. “No propriety.”
“Oh, dear. Well, ladies do seem to like the ones with embroidery—thistles, posies, even sea serpents.”
Gerard gave his working mind the parameters and led Undine out in order to turn to a far bigger obstacle. “I don’t want to leave,” he said.
Undine, who’d been scenting the air like a life-size wolfhound, stopped abruptly. “I beg your pardon?”
“I don’t want to leave, and I think you know a way to allow me to stay.”
“I am not in the habit of trifling with people. Serafina invoked a powerful spell to which there is no recourse. Now that the steps you two took have been accounted for—and thank the gods none of them were irreversible—we’ll be able to restore things to their natural order.”
“Then send Sera back with me.”
“Is that what Serafina wants?”
His cheeks warmed. Damn, how he hated to be under this woman’s gaze. He felt like the frog he’d dissected in high school but with less chance of escape. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
“Let me know when you do.”
“What if one of the steps wasn’t irreversible?”
She gave him an arch look. “Ravishment, even by a man as skilled as you, does not mean a woman
has been rendered into an irreversible state of love. And many states of love are reversible, if it comes to that. One need only look at the men and women at the party tomorrow to see the truth there.”
“Marriage.”
“What?”
“Serafina and I are married,” he said, “or might be.”
Her eyes flashed. “’Tis not a thing one is generally unsure about.”
“It doesn’t matter how certain I am. If we are married, what does that do to the spell?”
“Besides rendering it too dangerous to attempt,” she said angrily, “marriage is the one complication that renders the spell impotent.”
His entire body relaxed. It was as if he’d been wearing a too-tight suit of armor. “I might ask why you didn’t bother telling me that.”
“I might ask why two people who couldn’t name a single reason why the spell shouldn’t be cast two hours ago would even think of marrying.”
He’d no idea fortune-tellers were so damned frustrating to deal with. He’d faced clients in lawsuits who were easier to work with. “Well, from now on, I’ll be at the wheel of my own ship, thank you.”
“Are ye married?”
“Aye. It happened the first night.”
“Fools.”
“Have you never been in love, Undine? That’s what it does to people.”
She schooled her features. “As you wish. I have to meet a contact here soon, so I must insist you disappear. And you’d better be telling me the truth because you’ll be sucked from your boots without as much as a good-bye if you’re not.”
He’d accept the risk. “I am.” He broke her gaze, nodded, and turned for the tailor. Half a dozen steps later she called, “What would you like me to do with the herbs?”
“Whatever you see fit.” Let ’em burn a hole in your pocket. I’m done with them.
Thirty-nine
Whistling happily, Gerard waited for the traffic on the Royal Mile to clear. Undine had disappeared almost literally before his eyes—from in front of a long brick wall in the time it had taken him to step out of the way of a tinker’s cart. But Edinburgh was his now—and more important, so was Serafina—for as long as he wanted, so Undine’s shenanigans hardly mattered, and he thumped the tinker happily on the back as he passed.
