“No, but if one doesn’t…” She shrugged.
“And what of you, Miss Palmer?” He glanced at her, his gaze meeting hers. “What are you looking for in a match?”
She laughed. “I am no different than Lady Cordelia with the exception that she has a responsibility to her family that I do not. Having no family to speak of leaves me free to marry without concern for anything save my heart. Still, I do want a man who will value my intelligence and treat me with respect and honesty. And yes, Mr. Palmer.” She gazed into his dark eyes. “I would very much hope for love.”
For a long moment they stared at one another, the crowds milling around them receding to nothing more than a faint hum in the background. It was an odd moment. Intimate was the word that came to Cordelia’s mind. Personal. Private. As if they were quite alone. Her heart sped up and she wondered wildly if he would try to kiss her. It struck her that as improper and dangerous as that might be, she might well allow it. Indeed she wanted nothing more than for this virtual stranger, this pirate, to take her in his arms and kiss her quite firmly here on the promenade and damn the consequences.
“Well.” He cleared his throat and abruptly the moment was lost. The noise of the crowd swelled once again. The waves crashed against the shore. The gulls cried overhead and everything was exactly as it had been.
And nothing was the same.
“Well indeed,” she murmured, and ignored the fluttering of her heart. “I should—”
“We should—” he said at precisely the same time.
“Return home.” Her voice had an odd, high-pitched tone and she gestured toward the direction of the house. “I’ve been gone entirely too long.”
“Yes, of course.” He nodded and they turned and headed back. “I should hate for you to be reprimanded for being gone too long.”
“Oh, I daresay, I won’t have any problem on that account.” Indeed, even if the boys and their governesses had returned, the house was so chaotic she doubted her absence would even be noticed.
They walked for a few minutes in a companionable silence.
“You mentioned honesty a moment ago,” Warren said abruptly. “Regarding what Lady Cordelia wanted in a husband.
“Yes?”
“She should understand that when it comes to business, clever and shrewd might on occasion be mistaken for dishonesty.”
“And has Mr. Sinclair’s cleverness been mistaken for dishonesty?”
“There is always talk,” Warren said reluctantly. “Prompted more by jealousy than fact.”
“I see,” she murmured. How very odd for Mr. Lewis to put the idea of dishonesty in her head. Unless, of course, he didn’t wish for her to marry Mr. Sinclair. Which made no sense whatsoever. Why would he care?
A moment later, Warren turned the conversation to an observation of the weather. They spoke of nothing further of importance on the way back, although they did discover a shared appreciation for Dickens and Dumas as well as the dark stories of Edgar Allan Poe. Cordelia talked about the great works of art she had seen in European museums, and he mentioned how intrigued he was by the ever-advancing science of photography and believed it might well be considered art one day. While his comments provided insight into his character, it was not as frankly personal and flirtatious as the tone of their earlier conversation. She was grateful for that. She wasn’t at all sure what to say in that respect. Or what she wanted to say. Or wanted to do. It was most confusing and more than a little exciting. Still, she did feel she knew him better now and liked what she knew as well.
Within minutes they reached the point where they had first met. “I shall take my leave here, Mr. Lewis. The house is not more than a few steps away and just across the road. I shall be fine on my own from this point.”
He hesitated as if he were going to argue with her, then nodded. “As you wish.”
“Thank you, Mr. Lewis.” She held out her hand. “I quite enjoyed our conversation. It’s been—”
“Unforgettable.” He raised her hand to his lips and she could have sworn heat singed her through her gloves and down to her toes. Or perhaps it was the heat of his gaze. The promise, the threat…the danger. “You do understand I have to see you again.”
“I fear that would be a dreadful mistake.” She drew a deep breath. “When?”
“Tonight? Tomorrow?” He squeezed her hand. “Soon.”
“I can’t tonight.” A very sensible voice in the back of her head screamed what a huge mistake this was. How very wrong it would be to meet this man again. How terribly dangerous he was to her well-being and her future and possibly her heart. She ignored it. “Every night near the Chain Pier there is music and often dancing and fireworks and great crowds. I shall make every effort to be there tomorrow night.”
“And I shall make every effort to find you. And do not doubt it.” His gaze caught hers. “I will find you.” He released her hand and smiled. “Until then, Miss Palmer.”
“Until then, Mr. Lewis.” She turned and resisted the urge to run. Instead, she walked in a brisk but sedate manner that belied the frantic beat of her heart and churning of her stomach and catch in her throat. She could feel his gaze on her even as she crossed the road and approached the house.
What was she thinking? Or rather, why wasn’t she thinking at all? This might well have the most disastrous consequences of anything she’d ever done in her entire life. If she realized that in a rational, practical sense, then it only made sense not to meet him tomorrow. Even as she greeted her sisters in an entirely natural manner and inquired as to whether or not the boys had returned, and climbed the stairs to her own room to discard her hat, she was trying to determine a course of action. The wisest thing to do would be to forget this nonsense, and Warren entirely.
Still, as intelligent as she considered herself, actual wisdom had never been her strong point. Surely one could argue that it would be wise to find out exactly why Warren made her feel as if something exciting and wonderful was about to happen before she married another man. Why it only made sense. And as foolish as it might be, she didn’t want to stop seeing him, and Cordelia had never been very good at denying herself something she wanted.
Besides, Warren Lewis might well be something of an adventure and who knew how many of those she had left.
When deciding to embark upon serious travel one should set one’s priorities and not flitter about in an untidy manner from destination to destination. A list is a handy tool for determining what one wishes to see in the span of one’s lifetime.
An English Lady’s Traveling Companion
Chapter 5
Dear Mr. Sinclair,
I was sorry to hear that you are unwell. I do hope the sea air in Brighton helps speed your recovery. It might interest you to know that while Brighton’s origin is that of a sixth-century Saxon village, it became quite popular only a hundred years ago when it was believed bathing in the seawater could restore good health. Now, of course, with hundreds of tourists arriving by train daily, it’s known as London by the Sea…
Daniel sat on the sea terrace at the Albion Hotel and stared out at the water, completely ignoring the sunset and grateful that he was very nearly alone. It was apparently either too early in the evening or too late in the day or somehow unfashionable at the seaside resort to sit out of doors with a glass of whisky in one hand and one’s doubts in the other. And a fine Scottish whisky it was too, very nearly up to the task of dealing with his doubts. But not quite.
He sipped the liquor and gazed unseeing at the channel. He wasn’t used to having doubts of any sort let alone doubts about whether or not he was doing the right thing. Certainly there had been occasions when he had been wrong and it had cost him. But those mistakes had usually involved business and had been rectified quickly if not always easily. No, Daniel Sinclair was not used to being wrong and he was certainly not used to doubting his decisions.
He heard the door to the hotel at his back open and footsteps approaching. Good, his glass was nearly empt
y.
“You were right, Daniel.” Warren pulled up a chair and sat down. “Brighton isn’t Baltimore but it’s a pleasant change from London. And the air here is”—he drew a deep breath—“not bad. Not bad at all.”
“Bracing,” Daniel said under his breath. “I’m glad you like it.”
“This was probably good for us, all in all.” A waiter presented Warren with a glass of whisky and he nodded his thanks. “It’s not a bad idea to get away from business for a few days. We have both been working entirely too hard.” He lifted his glass to his friend. “I commend you for thinking of it.”
“We’re not staying.” Daniel glanced at his friend. “I’ve realized the flaw.”
“Have you? And so soon.” Warren sipped his drink thoughtfully. “I didn’t expect that.”
“Regardless, I am willing to admit when I’ve made a mistake.”
Warren raised a brow.
“I am,” Daniel said staunchly.
Warren snorted.
“I know I can be stubborn on occasion.” Daniel tried and failed to keep a defensive note from his voice.
“On occasion?” Warren studied the other man. “Do tell me this flaw then.”
“I don’t like deceiving her.”
“Miss Palmer?”
Daniel shrugged. “She’s very nice and strikes me as both honest and honorable. You were right. She’ll hate me when she finds out.”
“That didn’t seem to concern you before.”
“Well, it concerns me now.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought the plan was to convince Lady Cordelia, through Miss Palmer, not to marry you. And therefore you could avoid ever meeting Lady Cordelia and avoid as well Miss Palmer knowing the truth.”
“It makes such sense when you say it.”
“I doesn’t make any sense at all.” Warren scoffed. “It’s the most convoluted, confusing thing you’ve ever come up with. Why, you can scarcely keep the players straight in this little drama of yours. It’s like—I don’t know—a game with no rules.”
“I’ve always liked games,” Daniel muttered.
“What you’ve always liked is winning. In games, in business, in everything.” Warren paused. “I’m not sure winning is possible in this situation.”
“Yes, well, that would be a flaw wouldn’t it?” Daniel snapped.
“One of them,” Warren said under his breath.
“I admit it has gotten rather tangled.”
“Good word for it.” Warren thought for a minute. “Maybe I can help. Wait here.” Warren stood and headed back toward the door. “I saw a chess set in the lounge.”
“I don’t want to play chess,” Daniel called after him. Warren ignored him. Daniel stared at the water and wondered how he was going to get out of this with his honor and his life intact. And without disappointing Sarah. He winced at the very thought of those green eyes flashing with disappointment. There was no question in his mind that she would indeed be disappointed in him if she learned the truth.
“Here.” Warren placed a chessboard on the table, dropped a handful of chess pieces beside it, then sat down.
“I said I have no desire to play.” This was absurd. Even if Warren was trying to get Daniel’s mind off his problems, the last thing he wanted to do was play a silly game. Or rather, another silly game.
“We’re not playing. At least we’re not playing chess.” Warren set the pieces upright and lined them up in a row. “Now this”—he picked up the black king and placed him in one corner of the board—“is your father.”
“It doesn’t look a thing like him,” Daniel muttered.
“And this”—Warren took the white king and placed him opposite the black king—“is Lord Marsham. These.” He picked up a white rook and a white knight. “These are Lady Cordelia and Miss Palmer. And this”—Warren plucked a black pawn off the table and set it between the white pieces and the black king—“is you.”
“I’m a pawn?”
“Somehow it seemed right,” Warren murmured.
Daniel drew his brows together. “A mere pawn?”
“I thought, given the circumstances, that you probably felt like a pawn.”
“Yes, I suppose I do. But I don’t like it. Either feeling like it or being it.” He picked up a bishop and waved it at Warren. “Couldn’t I be a bishop?”
“It doesn’t matter what you are, I’m just trying to illustrate your dilemma.”
“Good.” Daniel replaced the pawn with the bishop. “Then I’d rather be a bishop.”
“Fine. So for the two kings to get what they want,” Warren moved the kings together on the board. “The bishop”—he moved the bishop to stand beside the rook—” has to marry the rook.”
“Only if the rook wants to marry the bishop,” Daniel said quickly. “It’s entirely up to the rook. The bishop is simply a—”
“A pawn?” An annoyingly innocent tone sounded in Warren’s voice.
Daniel gritted his teeth. “Go on.”
“However, the bishop, in his infinite wisdom, wishes to avoid marriage and so is using the knight”—he put the knight between the rook and the bishop—“as a pawn.”
Daniel stared at the pieces. “Rather despicable of him isn’t it?”
“I’m not sure despicable is the right word. Close but not quite right. After all, his ultimate intentions are not dishonorable.”
There was something about seeing the bishop between the rook and the knight that twisted Daniel’s stomach. “He’s a cad. A beast.”
“No, old friend, he’s simply another pawn.” Warren paused. “Perhaps not the cleverest pawn but a pawn nonetheless.”
Daniel grimaced.
“A pawn with very few options.” Warren rearranged the board, placing the bishop in a square near the center, the two kings, the rook, and the knight on each connecting diagonal square, trapping the bishop who could only move in a diagonal direction.
“Poor little fellow,” Daniel murmured. “Between the devil and the deep blue sea.”
“One analogy at a time, if you please.”
“Still, you have to feel sorry for him.”
“He’s a cad, remember.”
“I can scarcely forget.”
“He is not, however, powerless. According to the rules of chess, the bishop is in a position to capture any of the four other pieces. By the rules of the game, both kings are now in check from at least one other piece.”
Daniel studied the board. “Or they can capture the bishop.” He glanced at the other man. “It all depends on whose turn it is.”
“Capturing either king would end the game. If”—Warren paused—“this was a game of chess, which it isn’t.”
“Pity.”
“Any move the bishop makes is bound to injure someone.”
Daniel sighed. “We’re no longer speaking in terms of chess, are we?”
“I’m afraid not. As I see it, however, the bishop—you—does have several choices. He can hope all will work out well and continue along the path he has already taken.”
“Deceiving Sarah and avoiding Lady Cordelia?”
Warren nodded.
“It sounds so bad when put that way.”
“It is bad,” Warren said firmly, then continued. “Or he can confess all to the knight, meet the rook, and agree to the marriage arrangement.”
Daniel shuddered. “Poor pawn.”
“Of course, that probably means the knight will despise him, the rook won’t look upon him favorably either and refuse the marriage, the white king will suffer great loss of fortune, and the black king will lose financially as well. Not to mention that his word will be suspect in the future.”
“I don’t think I like this game.”
“You started it.”
“You should have stopped me.”
“Yes, I should have but,” Warren shrugged, “I was ill. Not entirely myself.”
“Still—”
“I suppose there is one other choice. You
can flee.” Warren flicked the bishop with his forefinger up in the air where a sudden breeze caught it. It sailed over the balustrade of the terrace and into the sea.
“Someone is going to have to pay for that,” Daniel warned.
“Someone is going to have to pay all right.” Warren picked up his glass and swirled the amber liquid. “And it’s up to you to decide who and how dear the price.”
Daniel downed the rest of his drink and signaled a waiter for more. “Perhaps it’s time for honesty. Complete, total, utter honesty.”
“Honesty?” Warren paused while an efficient, silent, and no doubt curious waiter refilled their glasses. “You mean, tell your father you have no intention of honoring his word?”
Daniel nodded.
“Tell Lady Cordelia you have no desire to enter into any marriage let alone one that was arranged for you?”
“It’s sounds so…so harsh.”
“I can’t imagine how to make it sound better. You could say something like ‘My dear Lady Cordelia, while you are a lovely woman’”
“Amazon,” Daniel muttered.
“—and I’m certain you will make some man a lovely wife—”
Daniel snorted. “Who’ll run roughshod over any man no doubt.”
“—I am not in the market for a wife at this time. Lovely or otherwise.’”
“Definitely otherwise,” Daniel said under his breath.
“Which does sound somewhat less harsh, but I can’t imagine a really good way for any man to tell a woman he doesn’t want her.” Warren considered his friend for a moment. “Which brings us to Miss Palmer.”
Daniel sighed. “It does, doesn’t it?”
“Total, complete, and utter honestly means telling Miss Palmer that you started this charade—”
“She did approach me—or rather you—first.”
“And you did not correct her mistaken assumption that you were me because?…”
“Well, I thought, that is it seemed…”
Warren raised a brow.
“She was pretty. There you have it,” Daniel snapped. “But she was the one who started it all.”
Secrets of a Proper Lady Page 9
