“You insist we be honest.”
“All right. I thought that the berry and orange buns would equal them in taste.”
“My lady, there is nothing that can equal your cinnamon buns.”
“Nevertheless I will keep trying.”
She spoke as though it was a challenge she would spend her life to achieve.
“We are all willing to sample, if it will please you,” the footman said and actually laughed.
“I am thinking that next I will try some with corn and cheese. Not sweet at all.”
Lester looked doubtful.
“Trust me, with butter they will be the savory equivalent of cinnamon buns.”
“I am a willing tester, my lady, if you think you will be well enough to spend so much time in the kitchen.”
“It is just what I need. You see, if you use the cheese that the dairymaid—”
“Olivia.” The duke’s one word was more than a hint that he had waited long enough.
“I will tell you tomorrow when you come for breakfast. If you will excuse me, Lester?”
“Of course, my lady.” The footman spoke hastily and stood as straight as a soldier, resuming his place by the door.
Olivia came back into the room. Lester closed the door behind. “You see, Lyn, I have this idea that savory buns could be as wonderful as sweet.”
“I, too, am a willing tester, and I, too, preferred the cinnamon.” The duke stood up and refolded the paper carefully. “You see, sir,” the duke said to Michael, “this place does have some egalitarian aspects. We are all testers for the finest baker in Derbyshire.”
Olivia smiled, lowered her head and wrinkled her nose, a sign Michael already recognized as pleasure and embarrassment. It added to the sweetness he found so endearing. He was not the only one who did. Apparently Lady Olivia Pennistan had managed to charm them all. With cinnamon buns, no less.
OLIVIA WISHED SHE could handle praise with more grace. How many times had her governess told her to “smile, curtsy and say, ‘Thank you.’” Instead, embarrassed by the praise, she would blush and hide her face so no one would see how pleased she was. She felt all of twelve when she did that. Maybe Lyn was right. There were times when she did not act her age.
“Olivia, listen to me. Stop thinking about the kitchen.”
Lyn’s voice was tinged with impatience and she gave him her full attention.
“It is time for you to go to your room. I want to speak with Major Garrett. In private.”
“Major? It is Major Garrett? You are in the army.” Olivia clapped her hands. She loved it when she was right. “I knew it! Tell me, how were the cooks able to serve hot meals when you were constantly on the march?”
“They didn’t.”
“I am so sorry. It must have been awful. But it’s true, how could they have a fire when you were on the move? Unless they went ahead and set up their fires where you planned to end the day.”
“Sometimes they would do that, but too often we did not—”
Lyn cleared his throat.
With a smile the major stopped mid-sentence and bowed to her. “Good night, my lady.”
“Olivia, go to your room.”
“Lyn, I wish you would not order me about as if I were a child. I am an adult. I will be of age in less than six months.”
“If that is true will you please be a sensible adult and go to bed?”
“I would think tonight is one night when I could be excused from sensible behavior.” She looked at Major Garrett hoping for support. His sympathy showed but he said nothing. “What about my tea?”
“The maid will find you if you go to your room. Take no detours, Olivia. Not one.”
“Please, Lyn. I do not want be left by myself yet.” Her heart hitched as she realized who she had forgotten. How could she? “Where is Big Sam?”
The major took a step closer, as though he wanted the answer, too.
“David has gone to find him.”
“Is he still out there? Oh poor Sam. He must have been so upset. He will come back all wet and cold and act as though it is what he deserves for not being with me. I should have gone with David.” Olivia reached out for the door handle.
“No, Olivia. You cannot join the search. I will not hesitate to order the major to restrain you if you are so foolish.”
“I am not an idiot, Your Grace.” She could be as chilling as he could. “Big Sam is very dear to me, but I was only going to ask Lester to be sure to let me know when he is back.”
“They have been so ordered.”
She held her tongue so he would know how annoyed she was. It was an effort.
“If you must stay, Lollie, go sit by the fire.”
“All right.” She tried to be as gracious as the queen, but it was compromised by a yawn that escaped without warning. Olivia dragged her cloak with her to her favorite spot near the fireplace. How many times had she sat here while Lyn worked, those long cold evenings after her governess left? Poor Tildy.
She made a little nest for herself in the great wing-backed chair closest to the warmth. “Thank you, Lyn. I will feel much safer here.”
When her brother did not answer she pulled her cloak around her like a blanket. There was no point trying to hear what they were talking about. The room was too big and they would whisper.
With one last glance at Major Garrett, she closed her eyes and concentrated on her favorite bedtime ritual. The one she fantasized about when the candle was spent but she was not ready for sleep.
She would plan the perfect dinner for him. Not every dish, just the ones that would be set closest to him. Ones that would suit him the best.
With the murmur of their voices for comfort, she considered the options. She did not know that much about him. He had apples, cheese, bread and watered brandy with him. So nothing elaborate. He had lived on army food forever.
Fresh Derwent trout to start. She would cook it, whole, in onion sauce. She would serve her new four-mushroom soup and lamb cutlets with rosemary. For something with color she would serve asparagus in pastry pockets.
The end was easy: the finest strawberries and cream. She would whip the cream herself. Or perhaps the berries would be better dipped in champagne, with a sweet cake for substance.
She yawned and wondered what a strawberry kiss would taste like.
“Olivia, before you doze off I have one more question for you.” The duke walked the length of the room as he spoke. Michael stayed where he was, but he could see that she did not open her eyes. Her “What is it, Lyn?” was filled with sleep.
“Tell me what you think of Major Garrett.”
That was not a question Michael wanted her to answer when she was half asleep. God help him, if that wasn’t a deliberate ploy on the duke’s part to catch her when her answer would be unguarded. Under other circumstances he might be interested in the answer. Given the intensity of their brief history.
“He is a good man.” She spoke through a yawn, said it again and went on. “He is not perfect. He is too stubborn and wants his own way. I cannot see him taking orders from anyone.” She opened her eyes and turned her head.
She was awake and, God help him, she was going to tell the truth. “He held me naked and even kissed me, but he never treated me as anything but a lady.”
With those bombs bursting in the air, Olivia leaned back, closed her eyes and fell asleep. Michael had never seen anyone go to sleep so easily after condemning another to a slow, painful death. He would wake her up with his shouts if what she said led to further bruising.
He, too, walked the length of the room, to stand beside the duke and see if she was really asleep. Her head dropped, her body relaxed, her breathing grew deeper.
Forget about her. Forget. Forget. He chanted the phrase a dozen times even though it was an impossible command as long as she was within sight.
“She has done that since childhood.” The duke’s voice startled him. “Fallen asleep in the space between two words.”
&nbs
p; “I envy that.” Michael smiled at her sweet, delicate face.
“You will never know it, Major. It is a gift only for the pure of heart.”
The duke turned away from his sister and waited for Michael to fall in beside him.
“Do tell me about the kiss.”
It was not a command. It was more a question from curiosity, the tone a judge would use when he already knew the answer and had decided on the punishment. The duke stepped back behind his desk and Michael was grateful to see that the pistol was no longer on his desktop.
“You want to know about the kiss.” He so wanted to ask the duke why he felt the need to live vicariously but restrained the impulse. “No, Your Grace, I will not tell you about it. Not one single detail.” Michael glanced back at Olivia’s innocent face. He had nothing, nothing to be ashamed of. A few errant thoughts but he had not acted on a one of them. “That kiss concerns only the two of us. I will swear on my honor that I did nothing to abuse her innocent heart.”
The duke did not question what honor he had, did not curse him as a libertine, did not insist on more of an answer. He looked troubled.
“Her heart was innocent. I don’t know now. There are some things all of us would prefer not to share.”
Michael understood that. The duke was not about to divulge his secrets, anymore than he was. He waited to be dismissed. What else was there left to talk about?
“Come over here.” The duke led him to a large table, surrounded by chairs, the surface covered with maps. Meryon sat down with his back to the room and gestured to a chair across from him.
This was a command and not an invitation. Michael wanted to ignore it. He had not done well with commands in the army, and had been naïve enough to think that those days were over with the sale of his commission. Amazing there was any naïveté left in his heart.
The duke waited, still seated but not at all relaxed.
“I want to find these men, Major Garrett.” He spoke to the empty chair across the table, then stood and faced him. It was not much of a concession but it was a start.
“Olivia said that you saved her life. That makes two members of my family you have rescued from death. Saving Pennistans is something you seem to have a talent for.”
“It was no more than one sentence, one lie. That is all I did for Gabriel. Hardly a rescue.”
“But it saved him. If you had identified him or Lynette they would not be alive now.”
He was right. Michael shrugged, hoping the duke would let it end there.
“I am asking for your help, Major, assuming that you have an interest in keeping Olivia safe. I ask you,” he emphasized the word ask, “to stay a while longer and tell me everything that you recall about the incident.” The duke sat down. “Olivia has told me as much as she can, but you will have another perspective, possibly more valuable. I am asking you, Garrett, not ordering you, well aware that, according to my sister, you do not take orders well.”
Not a total victory, but good enough, Michael decided. Without a word, he walked around the table and took a seat. With the wall at his back and Olivia within sight, he finally relaxed.
23
THE DUKE AND MICHAEL spent the next hour poring over the maps. Michael recounted every pertinent detail of their time together. Then the duke asked him to describe the two men he’d met at the cottage the morning after the storm.
“They gave their names as Smith and Jones, which tells me they have no imagination but they were so nondescript that those names suited them perfectly.”
Michael looked at the ceiling and pulled at the details. “Smith had an accent. Scottish, I think. He was better dressed but not well-dressed. The other was cast as a servant and probably was. Smith did all the talking.”
“And they would not tell you where they were from.”
“I asked Smith directly and he gave me a vague answer about traveling the Peak District.”
The duke nodded. “Which no one does this time of year.”
“Smith sounded as though he had been to school.” Michael added, “But even that is a guess.”
“Do you think he was pretending to be a gentleman?”
“I think he may have been one, Your Grace.” Michael looked at the duke with a rueful smile. “Fallen on hard times.”
The duke nodded and Michael was fairly certain that he understood the unspoken truth, that one man living hand-to-mouth could easily recognize another.
“They stayed at the place where they held Olivia. The shed where I put my horse showed signs of other recent occupation. They left hay and water, which made me wonder if they planned to come back or simply left in a rush when they found Lady Olivia missing. The yard was full of ruts from a carriage. That would explain why there have been no new faces in the village.”
The duke took it all in before he returned his attention to the maps, and said “What do you think the two of them will do now?”
“Try to find out what happened to Olivia. Report to their employer and follow his orders, or run away and hope never to be found.”
The duke considered Michael’s suggestions but kept his own counsel. That was his prerogative, but it did not make for much conversation.
Sitting for this long was a mistake. Fatigue pulled at him, and with an apology Michael stood up to add fuel to the fire. When the tea arrived, he took it from the footman, another excuse to walk off exhaustion. He set the tray on the table nearest Olivia and made sure the covering on the pot was adjusted to keep the tea hot.
When he returned to the table the duke was lost in thought, tracing boundaries on the map. Michael remained standing. “I have told you all I can, Your Grace.” When the duke nodded Michael went on. “That has earned me an answer to a question of my own.”
The duke looked up, obviously not welcoming the suggestion. Michael asked anyway. “Do you know why someone would kidnap her?”
“Yes.” Meryon did not hesitate. Or explain even though the silence between them grew tense.
“That annoys the hell out of me, Your Grace. You ask for my help but will not give me pertinent information. I have experience tracking men. I could find the kidnappers far more efficiently than a cosseted nobleman whose best skill is giving orders.”
The duke did not rise to the baited insult, but Michael did see his hand fold into a fist, the telltale sign of anger the duke was doing his best to control.
Michael braced his hands on the edge of the table. “You do not have to tell me what you know, much less what you suspect. The moment I told you where you could find Lady Olivia, I was no longer responsible for her safety. I have been reminding myself of that since I was made so unwelcome, first by your porter, then by your brother.”
His stomach still hurt from that punch. “In this instance, however, I find it impossible to think of myself first. That is why I am willing to tell you everything I can.”
The duke was still silent. Meryon watched him with a puzzled speculation that revealed only a little of some inner debate.
The duke would have made as good a spy as Gabriel was a poor one. “Your Grace, allow me to show you once more how an alliance works.” He straightened. “I learned something tonight. I give it to you because I do care. Not about your title or your castle. I care about Lady Olivia’s well-being.”
Michael stared at the tabletop and when he looked up again, he tried for a tone of voice that was not laced with disgust.
“Your protection of the castle is inadequate. You have to look no further than that excuse for a night porter at your front door. He abuses his power, does not do his work and wins you over with a submissive air that you are unable to see through.”
He went on to detail his two uninterruped circuits of the castle and his easy access through an unlocked window.
The duke tried not to show his feelings but his fist was white at the knuckles before Michael finished.
So, he was one of those men who did not want to be made aware of his shortcomings. Not that unusual, but i
n this case very selfish.
Michael’s assessment finished, the duke’s continued silence was as good as a shout for him to be gone. Michael made his way to the door. He glanced at Olivia and actually prayed for her safety, though it was hardly a prayer that would be well received in a church.
Silence followed him. Just before he left the room, Michael looked back to see if the duke had been turned to stone.
Meryon was standing, watching his progress with a small smile that should have made Michael feel more comfortable. It did not. It gave him pause.
“I always thought the army did its best to repress independent thought.” The duke leaned back against the table as he spoke, his arms folded across his chest. “I wonder how you, and my brother David, survived without a court-martial.” The duke’s tone was conversational, almost friendly.
“I was not in a traditional unit after the first two years. There was a reason for that,” Michael admitted, letting go of the knob. “I cannot speak for your brother.”
“Perhaps he will tell you one day.” As he spoke, the duke went over to his sister, stood quietly as if he were a mourner and this was where she had been laid out. He nodded to himself, and followed Michael’s path to the door. He approached him, speaking in a low voice.
“I have two goals now, Major Garrett. I want to destroy the men who did this. When I find them I will ruin their lives and what is left of their reputation.”
Michael nodded.
“This was an assault on my family honor that I will not tolerate. Even more important I want to keep my sister safe. It may be that her reputation will suffer even though she is the innocent in this.”
“I can see I have misread your silence again.” Michael allowed a smile. “Your brother was right. Your title does not exempt you from sensibilities.”
“David said that?”
“No, but that is what I understood from his comments.”
What a refreshing change. The duke’s anger was not aimed at him, unless Meryon still thought that Michael was one of the villains.
“Your Grace, you call me a rescuer with one breath and still do not seem convinced I am a hero. Yes, I have committed more crimes than any man in residence here, I am sure. All of it done in the name of king and country. Never once did I rape a woman, nor was I ever cruel for a selfish end. God is a master of irony if your sister’s ruin is the wrong I am held responsible for.”
Mary Blayney Page 40
