by Sara Cardon
“Lord Grayson? Because of his injured leg?”
“It is more than that.”
“How can you tell?”
He smiled, looking a little like a predator. “Each time he faces an opponent he lets them believe they can win. Then his eyes twitch, and he ends it within one or two moves. I wonder if Lord Grayson gives them a sporting chance for their pride or his own.”
Lucy watched for the moment Lord Grayson decided to end it. He balanced on the balls of his feet, feigned left, then cut to the right. Steel scraped against steel, and Lord Grayson lunged, winning the bout squarely.
Captain Sharpe beamed and turned to observe her, his face holding in his excitement.
“He was quite skilled from all I could tell.” She watched the other guests as they viewed the tournament. Mr. Garvey’s exuberance was evident as he called the matches. Many of the ladies’ eyes were wide, and the men grimaced when a particularly bad move was executed.
Captain Sharpe rubbed his jaw, narrowing his eyes in thought. Seeing how much he enjoyed watching the sport made Lucy decide to stay for the entire tournament. Only, her focus was equally on the spectators as on the spectacle. One woman watched Lord Grayson with her hands at her waist, jumping each time he was almost injured. Lucy wondered if the woman was interested in Lord Grayson. Lucy looked for another woman she could ask and saw Mrs. Thorne.
“I would like to say a few words to our fellow guests. Would you like to come with me?”
“Yes. I could come,” he said, but his face was taut as he scanned the next opponent to face the winded Lord Grayson.
“You stay. I will speak to a few women and come right back.”
Relief flushed his face, and he beamed. “You are sure?”
Seeing his happiness at watching the sport, she was positive. “Yes. I’ll be back in a trice to watch with you.”
Sidling up to Mrs. Thorne, Lucy asked, “Who is that woman in the pink dress?”
Mrs. Thorne raised an eyebrow and followed her line of sight. “Ah, that is Miss Marleigh.”
“I believe she is in awe of Lord Grayson,” Lucy said, hoping Mrs. Thorne would share what she knew.
Mrs. Thorne’s mouth curved in what Lucy took as a smile. “I believe you may be right.” She studied the young woman a moment longer then turned her head towards Lord Grayson. His hair was damp with perspiration.
Mr. Garvey called, “En garde.”
Lord Grayson parried a jab then stuck his opponent on the chest. “Arret,” Mr. Garvey pronounced.
Lucy switched tactics. “What do you know of Lord Grayson?”
Mrs. Thorne tilted her head. “I know Lord Grayson only learned of his ascension to the earldom but recently. It came as a shock to him. The story is he’s been away in India for the past five years. Though honestly, I find that explanation wanting. In conversation, Lord Grayson had no understanding of shampooing. Brighton’s own famous Dr. Mahomed brought shampooing from India and says it is common there. I’ve noticed Lord Grayson knows more about the goods imported from India than about India itself.”
Lucy’s mouth opened then closed. “It is quite the observation. And a mystery too.” Miss Marleigh brought her cupped hands to her mouth. “A mystery I’m certain Miss Marleigh is eager to uncover.” She and Mrs. Thorne laughed.
After the tournament finished, Lucy knew she ought to separate herself from Captain Sharpe. She was enjoying his presence far too much. Ten more minutes, she told herself, as he drew her into wandering the house with him. Outside, the rain kept a steady rhythm, making the manor cozy.
She and Captain Sharpe became engrossed in making up stories about the austere people in the portraits that littered the walls. It was far too easy to ignore the guests passing them as they walked the hallways—and too easy to ignore the time she kept spending with the captain. She really ought to take her leave.
They stared at an ornate painting of a pinched-faced man in a wig who was far too thin to be healthy, except around his paunchy middle. “This man posed while envisioning a fine meal,” Lucy remarked.
“Careful, Miss Brook,” Captain Sharpe whispered near her ear, “don’t let Mrs. Garvey overhear you.” She shivered from the pleasure of his nearness. “And you are mistaken. This man was clearly imagining a decent night’s rest. You can tell by how he stuffed a pillow in his shirt.” He pointed to the man’s rounded abdomen.
Lucy covered her mouth to laugh. Her cheekbones ached from all her smiling. “I stand by my notion that he is waiting for a hearty meal. That lump at his waist is a loaf of bread he’s hiding for later,” she quipped.
His deep rumble of a laugh caused her own laughter to bubble up. His gray-blue eyes were alight with mirth. He pressed a broad hand to the small of her back to lead her to the next hallway. She breathed in deep, basking in a buoyant joy.
As they neared the morning room, voices carried from within. Lucy wrapped a hand around Captain Sharpe’s arm—his solid arm—to stop him before they passed the open doorway. She tilted her head, catching a snatch of a recitation.
“I recognize this. Someone is performing The Taming of the Shrew.”
She listened intently, peaking in to watch the play from the doorway. His chest pressed into her back and something brushed the top of her head. His chin?
“A woman mov’d is like a fountain troubled—muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty,” the woman’s voice enunciated.
“You know this play?” Captain Sharpe whispered.
“Yes. It is Shakespeare.”
“And for thy maintenance commits his body to painful labor both by sea and land.”
“I can appreciate this part,” he said.
Lucy turned to smile at him outside the view of the door. He was closer than she realized, and she bumped into him. His warm hand clasped her back to steady her, sending a shiver up her spine. She had never noticed before how thick his eyelashes were, or the little scar beside his eye that mirrored one to the right of his mouth. The cleft in his chin drew her attention, and a desire to reach out and touch the spot.
The voices seemed to fade. Their breath mingled and his gaze caught hers. His eyes sparked with something she couldn’t define, and it charged the air between them. Warmth flickered in the pit of her stomach and flamed through her veins. Had he moved closer, or had she? His gaze dropped to her mouth. Lucy wanted to lean in, to give in to the pull between them. She clenched her hands. No, she couldn’t want Captain Sharpe when she was holding the truth from him. He was off-limits, except for his business.
He leaned closer. Panic pulled taut within her.
Applause sounded from inside the morning room. It startled Lucy like a clap of thunder, and she bolted back a step, breaking his hold. She sucked in a heavy breath and looked down, her brows pulling together. Had she taken leave of her senses?
She twisted away, fiddling with her dress in an attempt to keep her shaking hands busy.
The stillness between them suffocated her and she longed to fill it. Why had she stayed so long in his presence when he drew her in so completely?
“Did I do something wrong?” Captain Sharpe asked.
She shook her head. “Of course not. I only . . .” She tried to hide the tremor in her voice. With a huff, she dropped her hands to her sides. This would not do. She pivoted to face him. “You did nothing to offend me.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. It was hard to tell with his tanned skin, but was he blushing?
“I need a moment to myself,” she said, improvising. “I will see you at dinner.”
She slipped past him and fairly flew up the stairs to her room.
He’d almost kissed her. Was he daft? Jack rubbed a hand over his face, staring at the empty hallway. She’d run away, frightened. As she should in such a public area. He silently groaned that he had put her in such a position.
But at least he now knew she was affected by him physically. He straightened and smiled. He could work with that.
Chapter 14
Lucy tiptoed into the library and found Reuben tucked away in his corner by the window.
She absently rubbed the callous on her right forefinger. “You really ought to leave this room once in a while,” she teased.
He set his quill down and stood. “My legs could use some stretching.”
Lucy glanced out the window. Rain ran down the windowpane in muddy hues. “Perhaps a walk in the conservatory?”
He rolled his shoulders and glanced at the clock. “I daresay a short break is in order.”
Rain splashed against the glass encompassing the conservatory, the pelting drowning out the sound of their steps through the gravel. The air was damp and humid, thick with soil and greenery. Reuben pointed to an ornate iron bench among the trees and bushes.
“What is on your mind, Lucy?” His booming voice was hushed by the cacophony. Lucy sank onto the bench, her shoulders slumped. Her heart ached, taking a beating as hard as the punishing rain.
“I must confess, I never intended to think so highly of Captain Sharpe,” she said above the clamor. Captain Sharpe had to have guessed her attraction to him. “I did not mean to set out to deceive him, but I fear I have done so by keeping my association with the bank concealed.” Unease at her deception swirled upward, clogging her throat. “What am I to do now?”
He shrugged and leaned forward, his large hands bracing his knees. “I don’t understand the problem. This is strictly business. A half-truth about your responsibilities should not impact securing Captain Sharpe’s funds.”
“I told myself that my interest was strictly business. And I do want his account for the bank. But I’ve been fooling myself. He is . . .” He is a man I am fast falling in love with. “He is coming to mean more to me than his value on our ledgers,” she said instead, taking a deep breath of thick air.
“Business and matters of the heart do not mix,” Reuben shook his head.
Lucy gripped her forehead, feeling a headache coming on. His words pounded against her temples.
“Do not go all missish on us now. The other partners at Tilney’s need you to protect their interests, as do the employees—not to mention our current clients who stand to lose if Tilney’s fails.”
“Of course,” she said through her tight throat. She scrambled to find another solution, one that did not center on Captain Sharpe’s money. “Surely there is another option we could consider, one other than Captain Sharpe.” A bead of sweat trickled down her backbone.
Reuben shook his head. “Lucy, we are fast approaching the danger of closure unless we maintain funds. Tilney’s has heretofore held Captain Sharpe’s entire fortune. If we can keep his funds, we will be solvent. Need I remind you,” he said earnestly, “your welfare is in jeopardy if the bank fails. As owner of Tilney’s, your assets in both money and property will be seized.”
Lucy squinted through the darkening room. She would be left with nothing. And yet, her mind caught hold of a detail like a gust of wind. “Captain Sharpe’s entire fortune,” she stated, ashamed of her lack of concern before she knew him. “How is it we hold his entire fortune?”
Reuben raised and lowered his shoulders, at ease with the exposure Captain Sharpe risked by investing everything in one bank. “You were not troubled by it before.”
She tucked her chin, displeased with what this revealed about herself. “He should be using multiple banks to protect his investment.” No wonder his ill-mannered new solicitor had advised him to do so.
“People who are not used to affluence don’t always know how to manage it. His new solicitor is attempting to correct the oversight,” Reuben said patiently. “It’s in our best interest if Captain Sharpe maintains his existing course without moving his funds, however wide of the mark it may be for him.”
Lucy turned away from Reuben, her eyes unfocused. Outside, the settling darkness made it impossible to see. A murky image of herself reflected in the window. Tears pricked her eyes and she forced them back. If she allowed her desire for the bank’s success to muddle her integrity, then who would she be? A white lie, a half-truth, leading to her own self-deception? Could she conceal the captain’s financial risk to ensure her own security? She admired Captain Sharpe. Her relationship with him had the potential to develop, but only if based on mutual trust.
“It is evident Captain Sharpe believes you are trustworthy. You have done your part and now I will do mine. I will speak with him about continuing his investments at Tilney’s. Think no more on it.” He pressed his lips together and smiled.
“Drat.” She smacked her knees and shook her head. Now that Reuben wished to reveal her connection to the bank, she wished to keep it hidden. How their roles had reversed since they first began this far-fetched effort. “Do not speak with Captain Sharpe.”
“Lucy.” Reuben’s voice held a warning.
“I will tell him.” She must be honest with him before she allowed their connection to deepen. For her own peace of mind.
She risked not only her bank and her employees’ livelihoods, but also the entirety of her own financial security. If she lost Captain Sharpe’s growing admiration—his trust—she feared she also risked losing her heart.
Chapter 15
The rain tapered off as dawn appeared. Jack sought out Miss Brook at breakfast. She had faint dark circles under her eyes.
“You look tired, Miss Brook. I hope you slept well.”
She gave him a droll look and smiled. “I am well enough.” Her whole body seemed to sigh.
“No recurring dreams about lost souls?”
Some of the sparkle returned to her eyes. “I have not had that misfortune.”
He smiled. “Will you be joining the others on the upper lawn for games?”
A wry smile touched her lips. “And traipse through the mud? I’m not sure I can do so two days in a row. Will you?”
If she was there, he would do anything. How persuasive could he be? “I hear there is battledore. Do you enjoy activities like that?”
“I do indeed.”
Jack kept his satisfaction to himself. “I may need to join you after all.”
Her gaze dipped down, her lashes fanning her cheeks. When she glanced up, her sky-blue eyes held a shyness he’d not seen before. Hope soared in his chest.
“Perhaps we can take a walk along the paths near St. Peter’s Church?” he asked.
She bit her lip, drawing his attention against his will.
“I remember seeing a pond and a monument,” he said, waiting for her answer.
“I shall look forward to it.” She met his gaze. “At four bells in the forenoon watch?” she asked.
He chuckled. How he adored this woman. “By the heavens, I won’t miss it.” He bowed and made his exit.
In the foyer, a servant greeted him. “Captain.” The gangly youth hunched over as if uncomfortable with his growing height. “I delivered the message for you, sir,” he said conspiratorially.
Jack nodded crisply. “You’ve done a fine job. I thank you.”
The lad wore livery, but he reminded Jack of countless able seamen who wore slops. “Does she have any idea of the surprise?”
“No.” Jack grinned.
The servant beamed a toothy grin and strode away.
Jack couldn’t wait to see what this day would bring.
The shuttlecock careened through the air like a bird diving straight towards her. Lucy gripped the wooden handle of her battledore racket and whacked it. It popped and sailed. Her head was growing dizzy from watching the feathered shuttlecock flying back and forth, much like her thoughts.
Lucy passed off her battledore to a new player, unable to stay focused. Her mind swung like a pendulum, trying to decide how to broach the subject of her bank with Captain Sharpe. Must she reveal her connection to the bank? Why couldn’t she be like any other woman here, intent on only pleasure?
Lady Anslowe stood clear of the muddy lawn, her white dress billowing in the breeze. She waved, and Lucy waved back.
Lucy hitched up her
dress and picked her way around the puddles, laughing at herself.
“You seem to be enjoying the day,” Lady Anslowe beamed.
“I am. How are you faring?”
Lady Anslowe tilted her head back, allowing the sunlight to hit her face beneath her bonnet. “This is what I expected from a visit to Brighton. Sunshine.”
The waves lulled against the shore in the distance. Lucy bit her cheek, her thoughts churning. She hadn’t seen Captain Sharpe yet, but she kept looking for and thinking about him.
“Would you care to walk with me, Miss Brook? The pathway along the cliffs is breathtaking.”
Lucy nodded and retied her loose bonnet ribbons.
They followed a stone pathway and spoke of Lady Anslowe’s home. Talk of the estate stirred a longing in Lucy for a place to belong.
“It sounds lovely. You must enjoy living in a home of your own,” Lucy said.
Lady Anslowe hesitated a moment. “Home is such a lovely word, is it not?”
The breeze tugged at Lucy’s hair and dress. Looking down the cliff to the rocky beach below, Lucy’s thoughts dipped.
She may not be able to do right by Captain Sharpe with her bank, but if she could assist him in his goal with the court-martial, she would. “Lady Anslowe, I wonder if I could trouble you for a favor.”
“I will do what I can,” she answered softly.
“I remember you mentioned your husband is on the Naval Appropriations Committee.” Lucy hesitated.
“Indeed, he is.”
“Would Lord Anslowe be willing to advise Captain Sharpe? The captain is concerned over how best to broach a difficult problem. Perhaps Lord Anslowe’s experience in politics would help.”
Lady Anslowe looked off into the distance. “I have picked up bits and pieces of the issue. Of course I will ask him to help if he can.”
“Thank you.”
A soft gleam touched Lady Anslowe’s eyes. “The captain holds a tendre for you.”
Warmth filled Lucy, anchoring her in place with part fear and part hope.
