by Jackie Ivie
“I’m not surprised,” Reg replied, “what with the way you insist on inhaling the stuff rather than drinking it.”
“Save your mirth, Reg. You’ll need it.”
Reg lifted his eyebrows at that information while Gil waved his butler out and wiped his eyes. He didn’t say anything as he poured a glass of whiskey and sniffed it appreciatively. He would’ve liked French brandy, but the state of affairs between the two countries was still tense. The price was more than he could afford. Actually, just about every luxury was beyond the range of his purse. His title came with land and responsibility, but ready cash was a dream. That was why he didn’t pressure Gil. It would be bad enough losing to Runyon without realizing he’d have to forego replacement of his cravats for another season.
“You’ve a bet on my marriage to Helen, don’t you?” Gil asked.
“Aye. With Runyon. But he’ll bet on which raindrop reaches the bottom of the sill faster. He told me the oddest thing. Something about Chaffin pipping you at the post, so to speak. Rumors of an elopement at Gretna Green with an heir already on the way. Nonsense like that.”
“So that’s why she did it.”
It was Reg’s turn to choke. It didn’t help that his friend just smiled and nodded until he finished coughing.
“Chaffin is the lucky fellow. Hell, she probably had him strung along in fine style, too. I should’ve known an earl would win her black heart over a simple title,” Gil told him. “But she didn’t have to ruin my life while she was at it.”
“Excuse me?”
“I should count myself lucky I didn’t have to fight a duel of honor over their elopement.”
“Are you speaking to yourself or me?”
“You know she trapped me, Reg. I couldn’t possibly have sired her child, if she’s even carrying one, because I gave off my attentions months ago.”
“Then why did you propose to her? Cupid’s arrow hit you?”
“She blackmailed me! Swore she’d put it out that I’d left her to face ruination. She purported to have love letters as proof. In my handwriting, of all things. Forged, no doubt, from my calling notes. I couldn’t allow a stain like that on the Tremayne name. And you know it. Think of my mother.”
“But it wasn’t true!”
“You go prove it, lad. With my reputation, I’m probably lucky no one thought of this scheme earlier.”
“How does Chaffin fit in?”
“Suppose she’s got him on the same lie….but he’s slower to take up the bait?”
“But it was you she was marrying.”
“True, but I’m a mere baron, Reg. An earl is the greater prize.”
“You expect me to believe she chose Chaffin over you?”
“Exactly.”
“And then what? Left you to face the scandal?”
“Worse.”
“Worse?”
“Much worse. I already said it. She’s ruined my life.”
“Nonsense. Your life would only be ruined if you had wed Helen.”
“Don’t press your brain, Reg. You’ll never figure it out. Trust me.”
“But I saw you wed. It just doesn’t wash. You’re having a joke at my expense, aren’t you?”
“You want to hear it, or keep guessing?”
“Oh, I’m all ears, Gil. All. But first, I’ll pour myself some more of this excellent Scotch. I will need another drink, won’t I?”
Gil chuckled. “More than bloody likely.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“Why, I do believe you’ve got red streaks in your hair, Lady Tremayne.
Brandy’s back stiffened at the cheerful tone, although she’d been secretly hoping for it. He’d been away for three days, and none of the others did anything except put their hands over their eyes and cry, or over their ears and run. She didn’t know how she was supposed to keep her mind acute with that lot.
“Curb your honeyed tongue, My Lord. There are ladies present, and you should know how shocked Lady Violet here can be.”
Gil looked at the flowers Brandy had set on each seat around her tea table and smiled.
“Well, it’s no use hiding your beauty under a bonnet any longer, love. Lady Violet, and her other acquaintances, are simply going to have to cover their delicate ears if they don’t wish to hear me appreciating it.”
He moved behind her pansy and placed his hands on either side of it as if blocking ears.
To her amazement, Brandy laughed. It wasn’t her crazed sound. It was genuine amusement. Oh, but this Gilly was a prize, not to mention easy on the eyes.
Gillian Tremayne probably had the appetite of a horse, but his pants fit him tightly enough to show fat if it started to settle. Brandy lowered her gaze as she realized that his pants fit very well, and she’d been staring.
“You don’t think Madame Lily will mind if I set the little dear down, do you?” Gil asked.
She stifled a giggle as he moved the blossom to the Aubusson carpet and settled onto the seat. The chair creaked, and she held her breath. The thin metal structure had been made for a lady’s boudoir, not for someone Gil’s size. She longed to find the humor in that, but couldn’t. He looked exactly right and probably hadn’t worked at it either, while she suffered.
Brandy lifted her hands.
“Do you think, if I act real nice, Luv, that maybe that nice Mrs. Wright would let me out of these bonds?” she asked. “I might like to take a spot of tea like a lady, I might.”
Gil glanced at her mittens and then at her. He had a strange look on his face. Her belly sent a warning. She ignored it.
“I’m certain Mrs. Wright has a reason for her tortures, my dear. But I have prior experience. She’s a devious sort, isn’t she?”
He winked and she instantly looked away.
“Cor,” she said to the wall, “the stupid wench thinks to improve the texture of my hands, she does. Can you believe it? Wastin’ such an effort on a common whore. You should look harder for your help.”
“Well, we happen to think you’re far from common, Brandy, so we’ll have to forgive her. Shall I do the honors, then, and pour for you? I’d hate to see Madame Violet expire of thirst while we talk.”
Brandy watched him pour liquid into the teacup set before the flower and forced down the flicker of something very odd through her stomach, as if an illness threatened. She couldn’t remember ever being ill and now wasn’t an officious time to start. Such a thing made one vulnerable. She swallowed and answered.
“Thank you much, kind sir.”
She caught her lower lip between her teeth at his expression, noticing then how much easier it was to move the left side of her face. Perhaps there was a God after all. And maybe he did really listen to her. She released her lip and smiled at the dream man looking just right sitting among her flowers, holding a tiny teacup.
He paled.
Damn. She’d forgotten her looks. Brandy turned her attention to something among the leaves the Duchess Rose was budding between.
“This tea could use a bit more warmth, Brandy- love.”
She watched him swallow and couldn’t resist.
“That’s probably true, My Lord, but the ladies don’t seem to mind. And we’ve all heard how restorative old bath water can be.”
“Bath water?” He sounded angry, but she couldn’t tell for sure, since he turned his gaze to something outside the window.
“It’s very clean bath water, Guv. I swear it. I’m certain sure Mrs. Wright would’ve caught any lice or vermin long a-fore it washed into that little ol’ glass. It’s just the thing for cleanin’ out the innards, too. Or, so I’ve heard. It was very brave of you to try it. Very.”
She was nodding while she said it, making her expression as vacant as possible. That actually made his reaction easier to withstand.
“What the hell are you trying to do, poison me?”
She froze as he turned back to her. She put both swathed hands in her lap to hide their trembling.
Trust a man to hide his true
emotions and then slam the nearest available indefensible thing in anger, she thought.
She watched him stroke the pansy’s petals to his right. For some reason, the thought of him wreaking vengeance on that helpless plant made her want to cry. And then he caught her expression with a look from under his eyebrows. She carefully blanked her eyes again and sniffed the emotion from existence.
“I suppose that was my fault, My Lady. Perhaps next time I join your tea party, I’ll bring my own refreshment. You won’t mind, will you?”
“Yer—yer not goin’ to hit Brandy? Why would ye let an opportunity slip by you like that?”
“I wish to hell it hadn’t happened, love, but hear me now. I’ll never hit you.”
“Sure. That’s what they all say.” She twisted her mouth and studied him. “Are ye certain sure that ye wouldn’t like to have just a wee swing? I wouldn’t stop ye, ye’re that handsome, Guv.”
He smiled. It was such a sad smile that Brandy’s heart tightened within her breast. Now why would that have such an effect when nothing has meant a thing since Sherry deserted me?
“I wouldn’t dream of punishing you for my own stupidity, Helene.”
She sighed dramatically.
“I keep tellin’ ye, Helene’s gone. I’m beginnin’ to think yer touched, my man. And there’s no fixing that.” She shook her head and spoke in Nurse Gunther’s voice.
“You know...I looked up your father, Brandy. It appears Lord Bingham really did have a younger brother.”
“The devil you say.”
She lifted her own cup in salute and tossed the bath water down her throat. It was to disguise the instant tremor. She hoped it worked.
“There’s no mention of what happened to him after he married a Valerie Montriart. That…would be your mother. Yes?”
Everything froze in her body. Ice filled her veins while her heart constricted. And then it decided it would continue beating.
“Brandy hasn’t got parents. Iffen she had a pair, do ye really think they’d have let her roam the streets of Paris? Pull your wits about you, Man.”
She spoke in Reginald’s voice and realized her mistake instantly. She snapped her mouth shut and sat as if chiseled from stone while he stared. Damn everything! He didn’t need to know that she listened at keyholes!
“That was very good, Brandy,” he said finally.
He sounded cold. Calculating. She wondered if she’d finally reached the part of him that demanded retribution. Every man had it, deep inside his soul. That’s what made it easy to hit defenseless things. Easier still to kill, rape, and maim. Easy to take the Montriart family out of their chateau one eve and call it a legal arrest. Easier still——
“As I said before, you should be on the stage,” he said, interrupting her thoughts.
“You aren’t…going to hit me?”
Her voice squeaked. That was distressful. That sort of thing showed she’d care. He heard it, too. She could tell by the way his eyes drilled into hers. Brandy forced her heart to calm down. If she breathed evenly and counted, it would go back to beating evenly and without emotion. It usually worked.
“You’re leaving me again, aren’t you?” he whispered.
She ignored him, barely seeing him as she concentrated on the pansy in his hands.
“Before you go, would you mind telling me what happened to those lovely folks? You know…Monsieur Bingham, and his lovely wife, Valerie?”
She forced the instant emotion down and brought the entire picture he made into focus. He really was handsome. And with the pansy in his hands, he looked darling and handsome.
“Cor, but ye are a sight fer sore eyes, Dream-man. Did ye know that?” Her voice cracked, but maybe he wouldn’t know why..
“I’m glad you approve. I’ll make certain my tailor hears.”
“And tall! Cor, but ye probably hit yer head on every tavern door, don’t ye?”
“Except for the Drake and Crown on Gloucester Street. They seem to appreciate a man of my size. Was Valerie responsible for the shade of your hair?”
“What shade? My hair’s a muddy brown, and it’s gray through and through. It’s got a nest or two in it, too. I should know. I’ve been cussing the stuff for years.”
Her count continued in her mind. 137. 138. 139....
“Mrs. Wright will be very unhappy when she hears your description of her handiwork, Brandy. I certainly like how your hair shines today. The sunlight brings out the purplish highlights. I only wish we hadn’t had to cut the very bottom off, but we had the devil’s own time getting a brush through what we left, as it was.”
“Fancy that,” she replied.
“Why, I’d be willing to bet Valerie Bingham’s hair was the softest, smoothest hair anyone ever touched, wasn’t it?”
Two hundred....
“Long, too. Yes? I’ll wager your papa loved it. Come, Helene, surely he spoke about it. Hair that color doesn’t come often. It doesn’t come—”
“Streaked with blood.”
Everything she’d veiled from herself slipped as the answer tore from her, coming in some new, unfamiliar voice.
***
Gil was so excited he didn’t dare move. He held his breath for countless seconds, fearing that if the boudoir chair squeaked, the moment would be lost. The mix of elation and horror made him light-headed.
Brandy was just sitting there, watching him with luminous brown eyes that were a definite brandy-colored shade.
“Blood?” he questioned finally, his voice low and soft. “Did someone hit her?”
He used a dull tone while Brandy’s brilliant eyes filled with tears. He watched as they slid down her cheeks. She didn’t appear to even feel them.
“No,” she whispered.
Gil longed to wipe his hands on the side of his riding pants as he studied her. He’d been certain the answer would be yes.
“Why was there blood, Helene?”
His riding accouterment had been made to take the pressures he would exert in any outdoor situation. It was even vented to allow sweat to evaporate from his back, but there wasn’t any place he could wipe his palms without attracting her attention. And that might break the spell. He’d be damned before he moved a muscle.
She shrugged finally and Gil nearly cursed aloud. And then she frowned and spoke in a strange, little-girl kind of voice, startling him.
“Why are all the people cheering, Sherry? My mama doesn’t cheer.”
“I tol’ ye not to look, Brandy! Damn, but you’ll get us kilt!”
The words were in a high-pitched, uneducated voice.
“Why are you talking to me like that?” That was the little girl again, sounding even more lost and forlorn than before.
“Like what? Cor! You’ll attract attention! Now, get yer hide back to my room a-fore I let one of me gents take ye there. Ye know wot will happen then, don’t you?”
“But my papa isn’t with Mama. Where is he?”
“Ye still here? Very well, watch to yer heart’s content, but don’t say I didn’t warn ye.”
“Papa!”
Gil wondered who the speaker using gutter French was. He guessed that the aristocratic, terror-filled girl voice was Helene…from perhaps eight years earlier. But that might put her at the Place de la Revolution in Paris, where they’d executed countless aristocrats. He’d heard about it from the fleeing nobility. It hadn’t seemed real, even then. But he hadn’t paid much attention. He’d been too young to join Wellington’s army at the time, and now he wasn’t allowed to.
He almost prayed he was wrong.
“What happened to your papa, Helene?” He whispered in the stillness.
She turned wide eyes on him, while her mouth went to a complete snarl.
“Goddamn ye, Brandy! I done tol’ ye to get back, but no. Ye had to watch, didn’t ye? I tol’ ye Madame la Guillotine wouldn’t be a sight for young eyes, and I sure as hell can’t carry ye. I can barely move my own hide.”
“But...my papa! They’ve gon
e and....”
Gil watched her wretch unconsciously, knowing it was no sham. She looked ready to fall from her chair. Then she wiped her hand across her mouth and glared across at him.
“Get up, Brandy! Get up! The whole city’s gone mad, and I can’t keep ye safe no more.”
“No, Sherry! No! I’ll do anything!”
“Ye’d best start, then! This guv looks meaner than all me other customers, and he’s comin’ this way!”
Gil wasn’t surprised to hear that yell of hers. He still jumped slightly. And the chair creaked. He suspected she must have invented that shriek of hers then, and it served her so well, that she’d spent the intervening years perfecting it. The sound finished echoing in the enclosure. Shockingly loud to have come from the lady sitting across from him, looking at him with glazed eyes again, while a slight smile hovered on her mouth.
“Helene?” He asked softly.
“Cor, but I took ye fer a brainy chap, and here ye are gettin’ all confused again. The ladies must ignore yer lack of brains in favor of yer looks, don’t they? Don’t sit there lookin’ at Brandy like that. Ye knows that Helene chit is dead and buried over in France, she is. I done tol’ ye so already.”
“I thought you were going to trust me for a moment there, My Lady. I honestly did.”
He shook his head, and the sorrow on his face made something twinge deep inside her, down where she’d buried Helene. Brandy wished she could make it better, see his blue eyes light up with interest instead of looking at her as if he was ready to throw up his hands - but hell would have to ice over first.
***
“That’s a luv. Pin it nice and tight so Brandy can be sure of yer intentions.”
She gasped exaggeratedly while the seamstress tried to measure her. The woman’s hands trembled so hard, it was impossible to tell how she managed to hold onto her pins. It was probably more due to how Gillian watched from over at the door. Arms crossed. Leaning against the jamb.
“You shouldn’t make the poor dear suffer your presence, My Lord. Can’t you see she’s at her wit’s end protecting my virtue?”
Brandy lifted her head and cackled, more to prevent a blush than anything else, but he wouldn’t know that. The sound jarred with the refined voice she just used. She watched Gil watch the seamstress’ eyes widen and knew she’d conquered another person with her act.
