The Hired Hero

by Andrea Pickens

  Caroline looked past the palms. He was still there, still alone, still looking as black as a windswept sea. It was the scowl that made her take heart. Before her courage could desert her, she hurried towards him. Seeing as his back was against the wall he had no chance to escape.

  “Good evening, my lord.”

  Davenport gave a slight start of surprise, then muttered a passably civil greeting in turn.

  “I thought, for old time’s sake, I might take up the role of a man again long enough to ask you for the next dance.”

  His face betrayed a warring of emotion.

  She swallowed hard. Perhaps she had been mistaken after all. “Of course, if you would rather not...”

  By way of answer he took firm hold of her elbow and ushered her out onto the polished parquet. Suddenly he was ever so close. She could feel the warmth emanating from his broad chest, the pressure of his hand on the small of her back. As the captivating strains of the music filled the room, the earl began to move with the lilting tempo, guiding their steps with lithe grace.

  Caroline followed his lead effortlessly. For a moment, she closed her eyes, giving herself over entirely to the pressure of his hands, the measured strength of his long legs. Attuned as she was to the nuances of his touch, she felt the stiff tension begin to ebb out of his limbs as they glided across the floor. When at last she ventured to look up at him, she saw the color of his eyes had cleared, though the strange intensity still lingered.

  Though loath to break the harmony between them at that moment, she felt compelled to break the silence. Suddenly unsure of how to begin, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

  “Speaking of gentleman, I asked Lucien about the song...”

  Davenport’s brow furrowed in puzzlement.

  “Remember? You wouldn’t tell me what a sodomite was. You told me to ask my cousin. Well, I did.”

  The earl nearly tripped over his own feet.

  “But he wouldn’t explain either,” she continued, ignoring the incredulous look on his face. “He said he had a good mind to call you out for exposing me to such language. I still don’t...”

  The laugh began softly at the back of his throat, then reached such a volume as to draw inquiring glances from the couples around them.

  “You are still utterly incorrigible,” he said with a shake of his head.

  Caroline drew in her breath. She had approached the earl with the intention of being charming and ladylike, but somehow things had gone awry—as usual. Her cheeks reddened, but she decided as she had already made a mull of things, there was no harm in going on.

  “I know you find me totally lacking in delicate sensibilities, sir, and that you tolerated our acquaintance because you needed the money, but...”

  He opened his mouth as if to speak.

  “... but I still want to thank you for all you have done for me.” She smiled a little crookedly. “And to tell you that I shall greatly miss your company—despite everything, we had some fun.”

  “You have a rather odd notion of fun,” he murmured, his voice still rich with humor. His hand tightened on hers, and the odd look came back to his eyes. “I...”

  His sense of timing, flawless up to that moment, suddenly deserted him, for just then, the music came to an end.

  There was a milling about as couples around them began to glide from the dance floor A voice boomed out from crowd. “Julian! Haven’t seen you in an age. Meant to congratulate you on the title, don’t you know.” A gentleman of imposing girth, sporting a canary yellow waistcoat which only emphasized the size of his stomach, appeared to give substance to the words. “Though of course, perhaps ‘congratulate’ isn’t the right word, given the circumstances—brother and all. Still, you’ll be a far better earl than Charles, if I may say so.”

  He and his partner fell in step beside Caroline and the earl, oblivious to spasm of frustration that crossed Davenport’s face.

  “Kind of you, Stanfield” muttered the earl as he sought to steer away from the man and his partner.

  “Come, let us have a glass of champagne together after we have delivered these lovely young ladies to the next lucky men in line for their company,” continued the man as he gave a jovial wink to amply endowed matron by his side.

  The earl clenched his teeth to keep from snapping an uncivil reply. He turned to Caroline. “As I was saying...” he began in a low voice.

  Stanfield finished making an elaborate bow to his lady. Straightening with some difficulty, he clamped a beefy hand around the earl’s elbow and led him away.

  Well, thought Caroline, that was that.

  She had managed to make a perfect cake of herself. Drat Jeremy for encouraging her to think the earl might harbor any feelings other than disapproval of both her character and her conduct. Her words—all of them— had merely shocked him, though by now he should have gotten used to her unbridled tongue. The only saving grace was that in all likelihood, it hadn’t been possible to sink any lower in his regard than before she opened her mouth. Still, she wondered what he was about to say before the unfortunate interruption. There had been something about his expression.... She sighed. No doubt he was merely going to give her another set-down, spelling out in great detail her copious faults.

  She was saved from having to dwell any further on such lowering thoughts as a smiling young gentleman stepped up to take her hand for the next dance.

  * * * *

  Davenport watched her being led out for yet another set and took a long swallow of champagne. It seemed her dance card was, if anything, oversubscribed. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the cluster of eligible young lords hanging on her every move, more than willing to take up any slack in attentiveness. The chances of having a private word with her dwindled with every passing note of the violin.

  He forced himself to watch her movements—steps full of life, head tilted so that curling tendrils brushed the nape of her neck, hips swaying in a way that sent a rush of heat through him. Draining the rest of his glass did nothing to quench it. Of course she would be surrounded by a bevy of admirers. She was an heiress—and a damnably attractive one, though most of the young louts probably didn’t understand that her appeal transcended mere prettiness. It was her indomitable spirit that had him near baying at the moon....

  “Hello, Julian. Quite the evening. Enjoying yourself?”

  Davenport started at Lucien’s words, then merely glowered him.

  “Glad you could make it,” continued the young viscount cheerfully as he refilled both the earl’s glass and his own.

  “Hmmph.” Davenport clamped his lips together, determined to avoid any conversation. He was not in the mood, nor was he in charity with the young man at the moment. But for Lucien, he would be safely ensconced in front of his own hearth, with only his own visions of her to torment himself, not the real thing.

  Seemingly oblivious to the earl’s cool reception, Lucien drained his glass in one swallow and turned his eyes to his cousin.

  “Jackanapes, all of them,” he announced as he watched a thin Marquess with his hair cut a la Brutus lead Caroline through the steps of a country dance.

  Davenport couldn’t hide a look of surprise.

  Lucien smiled. “No bottom to any of ‘em. They’re all scared to death of her. Wouldn’t do at all.”

  “What wouldn’t?” asked the earl in spite of his resolve to remain indifferent to the viscount’s patter.

  “No, wouldn’t do at all.” Lucien went on as if he hadn’t heard. “What she needs is someone who’ll have the sense to let her ride neck and leather with him. Oh, maybe he’ll have to rein her in a bit now and then, but who of us doesn’t need a little guidance at times. Point is, she a rare spirit. Well I know it won’t be easy, but nothing worth having ever is.”

  Davenport shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I believe you’re foxed.”

  Lucien studied his empty glass. “I have probably drunk more than my uncle would have wished, but less than I intend to before t
he night is done. It is a celebration, after all.”

  “Yes, Jeremy deserves it.”

  “Indeed he does. Jeremy took a chance. Bravo for him! He had the guts to pursue what he wanted, regardless of how daunting the odds might have seemed.” The bubbles frothed up once again in the viscount’s glass. “Here is to taking chances, eh? Better to do that than be a coward and wonder for all one’s life about what might have been.” He threw back the contents and, with a enigmatic smile, left the earl in a state of even greater discomfiture than before.

  Another glance showed Caroline twirling around in the arms of some other gentleman, her graceful neck arched in laughter at some murmured pleasantry. Deciding that the evening was going from bad to worse, Davenport banged his own glass down and retired to sulk in the privacy of his own bedchamber.

  Midnight had long since passed before Caroline was able to cry off from dancing. The number of guests was finally beginning to dwindle and the musicians were showing signs of putting down their instruments for the last time. The evening had been a great success. Jeremy would no doubt find himself with more commissions than he could ever accept. So at least she had managed to be a positive influence in someone’s life, she mused, as her eyes involuntarily darted to a certain corner of the ballroom.

  Just as quickly she chided herself for being such a goose. How silly to have thought he might have remained to finish off their conversation.

  “Come, maybe this will lighten your spirits, cuz.” Lucien placed a glass of champagne into her hands, then slipped his arm in hers and led her to a more private spot. She was about to open her mouth in protest when he cut her off.

  “A stunning success, Caro, m’ dear. Jeremy appears as sought after as a diamond of the first water with twenty thousand a year. A toast is in order.” By now his speech had become a trifle slurred, but his feet were steady under him as he raised his own glass to his lips.

  Caroline peered at his flushed face. “Oh dear, Luce, I fear you are well in your cups. Pray, try to avoid Papa, so he doesn’t ring a peal over your head.”

  He grinned. “I think he’ll forgive me this one transgression. After all, this is a special evening, with much to celebrate—Jeremy. The documents staying out of that snake Farrington’s hands. Your safe return. Oh, and your future happiness.”

  Her head shot up “What...”

  “Saw Julian earlier. Told him he was a damn fool if he didn’t offer for you.”

  “You didn’t!” she gasped.

  “I did,” he asserted. “Well, not in so many words, but he is no slow top. I am sure he took my meaning.”

  Caroline colored with mortification. “I could strangle you, Lucien, truly I could,” she said in a tight voice.

  “Oh, fustian. A fine big brother I’d be if I didn’t look out for your happiness—you are in love with him, aren’t you?”

  She made a strangled sound.

  “Thought so.” He grinned again, and the mischief there melded with affection. “I like Julian. What’s more, I respect him. Always have. Just the fellow for you, since you won’t have me.”

  Caroline’s color was now akin to that of a boiled beet. “You really are addled in your cockloft,” she sputtered. “Why, he doesn’t even like me above half...”

  “Has he kissed you?”

  She stopped in mid-sentence, her expression changing from one of indignation to one of being caught out. “It didn’t mean anything,” she finally managed to mutter.

  Lucien laughed out loud—overlong to Caroline’s ear. She was spared further embarrassment by the approach of her father.

  “I think I shall take a stroll in the garden. I could do with a breath of fresh air,” he whispered, giving her a broad wink.

  “Coward!” she hissed.

  “It’s called strategy, m’dear. I’m getting rather good at it, don’t you think?” With those parting words, he disappeared in the shadows.

  The Duke slipped his arm where Lucien’s had just rested. “Now where has that young scamp taken himself off to?”

  “He’s gone to clear his head.” There was a touch of asperity in her voice.

  Her father gave a chuckle. “I can well imagine why he wishes to avoid me.” Then his head cocked to one side. “Now what has he done to overset you?”

  She gave a deep sigh. “Oh, it is of no matter. Just his usual teasing.”

  He opened his mouth as if to say something, then seemed to change his mind. Instead, he surveyed the nearly empty room. The flickering candles were burning low, but their soft glow still shed light over the festive array of flowers, the glasses of champagne still bubbling with good cheer.

  “You have done well, my dear. I am proud of you for showing such a kindness to your friend.”

  Caroline looked up at him in surprise.

  “I am proud of you in so many other ways as well,” continued the Duke in a halting voice. “Perhaps I don’t...well, that is...”

  Her surprise only deepened as she watched her father struggle for words in a way that was most unlike him.

  “Lucien brought up the fact that you may have the oddest notion that...that perhaps I might, well, regret that you are not a...” He took a deep breath. “I can’t imagine a more nonsensical thing. Surely you must know that.” He gave her a hard squeeze. “Perhaps I don’t give voice to my feelings as easily as some other men, but no father could be blessed with a more wonderful child—intrepid, intelligent, full of integrity. My dear Caro, you are the light of my life.” At that his arms came around her in a fierce hug.

  She blinked back tears as her cheek rested against his shoulder. “Oh Papa.”

  For a time, neither of them said anything as they just held each other.

  Then she raised her head. “It seems Lucien had taken it into his head to take over the ordering of my life,” she said rather shakily.

  Her father smiled. “Mayhap he has more sense than I give him credit for.”

  Caroline wiped at her cheeks. “Men,” she sniffed. “They always think they know best.”

  The duke dropped a kiss on her brow. “Ah, but we are quite quickly—and frequently—corrected of that delusion.”

  * * * *

  Davenport rubbed at his temples. His head felt as if a score of revelers had danced the night away on it despite the fact that he had not imbibed overly much throughout the past evening. Or was it still the same evening? It seemed he had lost track of all time as he lay tossing and turning in his bed, unable to fall into even a fitful slumber. He finally gave up even trying. Throwing off the covers, he rose and went to stand by the window, staring out into the blackness that still enveloped the terraced garden.

  The images of dancers refused to bow out of his head. Caroline with this man. Caroline with that man. He wasn’t sure what was worse—imagining her in the arms of someone else or having to endure the actual sight of her there. Things seemed to him to be as black as the outside, until one small ray of light pierced through his dark musings.

  She had told him she would miss him. Despite his ill-temper, his horrible moods and rough words, she still could say that. Maybe there was hope yet.

  Hope of what? His fingers drummed on the window casing. Perhaps it was high time to be entirely honest with himself. Much as he had tried to convince himself otherwise over the past few months, the thought of life without her was much like tumbling into an unfathomable abyss. And wasn’t the notion of such an empty existence even more frightening than the possibility of rejection? If he didn’t try, he would despise himself as a coward for the rest of his days. For cowardly was how he had been acting, and she deserved better than that. She had never backed away from her fears or doubts. She had the courage to say what she felt. He should do no less, no matter if she laughed in his face or told him to go to the devil.

  His mouth quirked ruefully on trying to imagine just what her reaction to his declaration would be. Somehow she seemed to be under the cork-brained impression that he didn’t have...any regard for her. Well, h
e had his work cut out for him. But for some odd reason he couldn’t lay a finger on, he suddenly felt more at peace with himself than he had for ages.

  He returned to his bed and fell into a deep sleep as soon as he closed his eyes.

  * * * *

  A soft knock on the door interrupted Davenport’s second attempt to arrange the folds of his neckcloth just so. He didn’t usually fuss over matters of dress but this morning he wanted to be at his best. Sighing, he left off struggling with the length of linen and bade the maid to come in. Indeed, he was looking forward to the early morning cup of coffee that he had requested be brought to his chamber each day—being a guest in such a well-run household as that of the duke had its little privileges.

  He turned from the mirror, ready to voice his thanks, only to have his mouth drop in surprise at the sight of Caroline standing before him instead of the expected servant.

  “Before you begin bear jawing at me,” she said in a rush, “I know I am behaving with like a hoyden again, coming to your room and all, but I simply had to speak with you, before you left for Highwood.” She hesitated while she took in a gulp of air. “Lucien told me last night that he had given you the idea— that is, he suggested to you that you should...” The color rose to her face and her eyes dropped away from his. “Drat it,” she stammered. “What I mean to say is, he told me he had tried to cajole you into...making an offer to me. I can’t imagine where he got the notion that...”

  “Would it be so very terrible if I did,” asked the earl, barely louder than a whisper.

  Her eyes came up slowly. “But you don’t even like me! I mean, you can’t forget that I stole your horse, called you all sorts of rude names, drank out of the bottle like a fishmonger, not to speak of making you drag me out of the mud, or putting your life at risk time and again.”

  “No,” he agreed. “I can’t forget those things. Neither can I forget the way you brandished a pistol at four men to save my skin or how you tended my wound...or how you called out my name as I held you in my arms. I don’t ever want you to call out another man’s name like that.”