How very strange. What would an American be doing in England so soon after the war? Could he have been a spy? Connected to Dolly?
That made no sense. Lord Kirkwood would never have aided a spy. Besides, back then Dolly hadn’t reached England yet, and Lucas clearly hadn’t even known which “Dorothy” she was until recently.
“Well, regardless of how he feels about other English ladies,” Mrs. Harris said, “he’s shown a clear partiality for my charge. I was hoping you might tell me something of his family and prospects.”
“What little I know.” Lady Kirkwood cast them a thin smile. “I can tell you this. Though his mother was from one of the finest families in Richmond, Virginia, his father was a common sailor. Apparently the father was personable enough to turn heads, which is how he enticed the mother into marrying him.”
“So how did the major gain a commission?” Amelia asked. “Through his mother’s family?”
“Not exactly. Though I believe Major Winter grew up poor—sailors in America aren’t paid any better than sailors here—the family later came into money. The father quit the navy when Major Winter was a boy to start a munitions company. He invented some special cannon for ships that made him rich. By the time Major Winter was sixteen, his father had the connections to gain his son a commission in the American Marine Guard.”
Mrs. Harris looked pleased. “Is he the only son, then? Or at least the eldest?”
“The only son, fortunately.” Lady Kirkwood’s voice turned contemptuous. “If he were the eldest, he’d have to share the estate with his siblings. Those mad Americans actually allow all the children to inherit. It’s unconscionable. How can families remain strong when they parcel out their assets?”
Amelia bit back a retort. Personally, she’d always found the English system rather unfair to daughters and younger sons.
“So he’ll inherit his father’s company,” Mrs. Harris said.
“He already has. His parents died three years ago, while he was abroad.”
The bald statement hit Amelia like a blow. Lucas’s parents had died in his absence? How awful!
“Poor man,” Mrs. Harris said with a tsk of sympathy. “I suppose he’s been forced to take over the running of his father’s business concern as well. Is that why he’s here? Something to do with the munitions company?”
“No, no…he’s here about some treaty. He’s still in the Marine Guard.” Lady Kirkwood seemed a little confused. “I suppose he has someone who manages Baltimore Maritime for him. Yes, I’m sure that’s right.”
Amelia was still fixed on the incredible sadness of Lucas’s losing his parents when he was only…what…twenty-seven? He couldn’t have been more than that if it had been only three years ago—
Three years ago. A chill shook Amelia. Wasn’t that when Dolly had left America for Canada? “Both of his parents died at the same time?” Amelia asked shakily, afraid to even consider the horrible possibility that rose in her mind.
“Yes.” A sudden shutter came down over Lady Kirkwood’s face. “I don’t know all the details, but it was very tragic.” And clearly her ladyship had just reached the limit of her willingness to reveal secrets.
Still, Amelia had to know one thing. “They weren’t murdered, were they?”
“Murdered!” Lady Kirkwood snorted. “Of course not. Those Americans are rough, but I’m sure they don’t go about murdering perfectly respectable people.”
“Forgive Lady Amelia,” Mrs. Harris put in hastily. “She has a wild imagination.”
“I should say so. Murdered, indeed.” Lady Kirkwood drew herself up. “If you’ll excuse me, I have other guests to attend to.”
As soon as the woman had stalked off, Mrs. Harris whirled on her. “What on earth was that all about? Murdered? Really, Amelia—”
“I’m sorry. You know me—always dramatic.”
Amelia could barely hide her relief. Thank goodness Lucas didn’t suspect Dolly of involvement with his parents’ deaths. That would be awful.
Mrs. Harris searched her face, but dropped the matter. “At least now you can be sure that Major Winter is not a fortune-hunter.”
“Yes.” But he’d said something on the gallery about losing all his money. Had that been a lie, or did Lady Kirkwood simply not know? And did it have anything to do with Dolly? Probably not, or surely he wouldn’t have mentioned it to Amelia in the first place.
Mrs. Harris eyed her consideringly. “You don’t look terribly reassured.”
“A woman should always be cautious. Before I become involved with Major Winter, I have to assess how serious his intentions might be. And behave accordingly.”
“A wise course of action, my dear.” Mrs. Harris smiled broadly.
What an understatement. Lucas Winter’s calculating kisses were clearly meant only to distract her from his secretive investigation.
And before this was all over, she meant to make him pay for that.
Chapter Five
Dear Cousin,
What shocking news about Mr. Chambers! I should never have guessed. He has such a sweet face. Wherever do you learn these things? And what do your sources say about Lord Kirkwood’s cousin, Major Lucas Winter? He has shown an interest in Lady Amelia, which concerns me. He doesnot have a sweet face.
Your always grateful friend,
Charlotte
The lamp in the tunnel went out. Footsteps stamped on the floors above, covering Lucas’s own shouts. He couldn’t be heard, couldn’t see…it was so dark in the tunnel, so damned dark and cold.
On hands and knees he scrabbled along the damp dirt to the shaft, only to look up and find the entrance blocked by its heavy stone. He climbed up to shove at it, but it didn’t budge. And he couldn’t make himself heard over the noise.
Then musket shots, half-muffled by the stone. The redcoats were firing, damn it!
Screams sounded above him, terrible cries of dying men, his men. This shouldn’t happen! The redcoats had no right to fire, none at all! He bloodied his hands pounding the stone, but it did him no good. His men were being murdered above him…
The cold seeped into his bones, making him shiver in his thin rags. The foul air clogged his throat, and he began breathing heavily. How much air did he have? How long could he last before it ran out?
He tried to think, but the screaming went on and on—
Lucas shot up in bed, drenched in a cold sweat, his heart clamoring so loud in his ears that it took a while to remember that he was safe now. He wasn’t huddled half-naked and starving in the lightless tunnel, waiting to die.
He’d just kicked off the covers with his thrashing, that’s all. And since he wore only his drawers to sleep in, he’d gotten cold. Everything was fine.
Fine. Right. Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he sat there gulping air, struggling to still his frantically beating heart.
As his pulse slowed, he dragged the coverlet around him, then rose to go to the window, where the faint wash of light on the horizon signaled approaching dawn. Greedily, he drank it in to banish his lingering ghosts.
Damned nightmares. He hadn’t had one in months, not since he’d been closeted belowdecks on his passage from Canada to France. That horrific voyage made him fear that he’d never again be able to spend weeks at sea. A marine who started gasping for breath the second he went below was useless to his ship.
But the dreams had ended in France, and he’d started to hope…
He pounded his fist on the sill. It only took seeing the redcoats at a ball to bring the nightmares back. Christ, he couldn’t wait to leave this damned country.
He took one last look at the brightening sky, then raked his fingers through his tangled hair. Turning to the washbasin, he poured icy water in it to splash on his face. Judging from the dead embers in the fireplace, the servants would be slipping in soon to light the fires.
No point in trying to return to sleep. He was too agitated, too on edge. What he needed was to work off his tension with a round of sword
play, or a hard ride or a frenzied bout of lovemaking…
Damnation, where had that come from?
But he knew: Amelia. Pretty, flirty, infuriating Amelia. Who wanted to ride a camel and had a luscious honey of a mouth that stirred needs he’d suppressed for month upon lonely month. Too bad she was English and the stepdaughter of a criminal’s wife, because just the thought of losing himself in that silky body—
He snorted. As if that frivolous female, who wouldn’t even let him court her without “society lessons,” would take him into her bed. She claimed to want “adventures,” but she’d probably faint if she ever got one.
He stared into the mirror at his face, shadowed by morning whiskers and drawn from lack of sleep. Hell, she’d probably faint if she got near him right now. And since he meant to call on her this morning…
He shaved and dressed with care. Never mind that the flirt only put up with his “courtship” because she was bored—he needed information. And if that meant he had to look halfway civilized and dance to her tune, then he’d do it, by God, even if he had to grit his teeth the whole time.
An hour later, he headed down to the dining room. He was surprised to find his cousin already there.
“Kind of early for you, isn’t it?” Lucas strode to the sideboard, where the servants had laid out cold bread, cheese, and fruit just for him. “I thought none of you ate breakfast until after ten.”
“I haven’t been to bed yet,” Kirkwood mumbled.
Lucas surveyed his cousin, who was hunched over a cup of hot tea. Sure enough, Kirkwood still wore his evening clothes. “Balls go late here, do they?” He finished piling food on his plate, then took a seat at the table opposite his cousin.
“It ended at three. But I went out to my club afterward. I just got home.”
“That explains it. I didn’t wait until the end. Went to bed as soon as Lady Amelia left at midnight.”
“I noticed.”
His cousin’s acid tone put Lucas on his guard.
“I also noticed Lady Amelia and her chaperone speaking to my mother.” Kirkwood settled his redrimmed gaze on Lucas. “They seem to think that you’re seeking a wife. And that you’ve fixed your hopes on Lady Amelia.”
Stifling his irritation, Lucas poured himself some tea from the pot in the center of the table. “You know women. They think what they want.”
“Not all women. Not Mrs. Harris, for example. And not without reason.” He glared at Lucas. “What did you do? I noticed that both you and Lady Amelia vanished from the ballroom for a while, and I have to wonder—”
“Go to bed,” Lucas growled. “Before you start fooling with things that don’t concern you.”
“Take care, Winter. You may be a guest in my home, but—”
“—you’re the only one allowed to court a woman for the wrong reasons, right?” When his cousin bristled, he added, “It’s a flirtation, nothing more. And don’t be thinking I started it, because I didn’t.She did. So if the flighty female has a hankering to flirt with an American savage, I’m sure not going to stop her.” He scowled at Kirkwood. “And neither are you.”
But his cousin’s expression had softened. “Flighty female? Lady Amelia?”
“Don’t worry about me taking advantage of that featherbrain.” He rolled a slice of bread around a hunk of cheese and took a bite. “I swear, every time Amelia calls me ‘a big, strapping soldier’ and bats her eyelashes, I want to throttle her.”
When his cousin made a choking sound, Lucas glanced up to see Kirkwood fighting a laugh, his eyes overly bright.
“What?” Lucas asked.
“You are speaking of Lady Amelia, right? The Earl of Tovey’s daughter?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“No reason.” Laughter sputtered out of Kirkwood. “I’m merely trying to envision the woman calling you a ‘strapping soldier’ and batting her eyelashes.”
Lucas scowled. “You think I’m lying?”
“No, of course not,” his cousin said, managing an even expression, which he then ruined by breaking into laughter.
“I’m not an ogre, you know.”
“Absolutely not,” Kirkwood responded in a suitably sober tone.
“Women do find me attractive,” Lucas grumbled. “They do flirt with me.”
“Even featherbrains like Lady Amelia.” Amusement danced in his cousin’s eyes.
“Sure. Why not?”
Kirkwood held his hands up in mock surrender. “Why not indeed?” He rose. “I think I’ll head off to bed and leave you to your plotting.”
“Wait.” Lucas picked up his tea. “I need directions to Lady Amelia’s.”
Kirkwood halted in the doorway. “So that’s why you’re looking so dapper. You plan to call on the ‘flighty female.’”
“In a few hours.” Lucas said. “I want to give her and Mrs. Harris a chance to have breakfast. Besides, I need to polish my sword before I leave.” He leaned back in his chair. “I promised to show Lady Amelia my mameluke sword.” He snorted. “Shethinks it’s made of marzipan.”
Kirkwood laughed heartily. “Does she indeed?”
“I tell you, I don’t know how you put up with these silly English heiresses.”
“It’s a trial.” His eyes gleamed with renewed humor. “Better not take too long with that sword. You don’t want to pay your call too late.”
“You’re right. I should catch them before they leave to go shopping, or whatever they do all day. I’ll just give the sword a quick wipe.”
“Or go on over and let the lady polish it herself,” Kirkwood joked. “That’ll teach her to think it’s made of marzipan.”
Lucas flashed on a vision of the flirt rubbing his sword, and a whole different image came to his mind. “Trust me, if I thought Lady Amelia would polish my ‘sword,’ I’d be over there right now.”
His cousin blinked, then scowled. “You know perfectly well I didn’t mean that how it sounded. A gentleman shouldn’t even think such things about a lady, much less say them.”
“Good thing I’m not a gentleman.” Lucas drained his cup. “Don’t worry. I’d never say it to her . Not that she’d understand it, anyway.”
“You might be surprised,” Kirkwood muttered, and left.
Lucas scowled after him. Nothing about Amelia would surprise him. The woman was as changeable as the wind.
But it didn’t matter. As long as he got what he needed from her, she could change fifty times an hour.This time, Theodore Frier wouldn’t escape him.
* * *
Despite not going to bed until one, Amelia rose early. She generally preferred to sleep late, but concern for Dolly had her entering the breakfast room of her father’s town house the next morning long before eight.
She’d tossed all night, examining her brief two years with her stepmother, searching for clues. And now she wondered if she might find them in her travel journals. She kept several, full of clippings and sketches and whatever tales she could coax from Dolly about the woman’s travels. Until Amelia could travel herself, her journals were all she had.
Hurrying to the writing table by the window where they were stacked up, she pulled out her latest and read through it. Nothing leaped out at her that told her why Lucas was interested in Dolly.
With a sigh, she inserted in her journal an article Venetia had given her last night about some Scottish Scourge fellow who robbed English nobility on the highways. Apparently he hated Venetia’s father, Lord Duncannon, for he always mentioned the man to his victims, although Venetia didn’t know why.
Then Amelia transcribed Lucas’s description of the march to Derna. He’d captured the essence of the experience so fully, she could practically taste the sand. And had he really eaten a camel?
She scanned a loose clipping. A camel had to be better than what this pasha in Algeria ate. One of the man’s wives had tried to poison him, but had merely given him a bad case of indigestion.
He’d probably driven her to it with his roving eye and insat
iable appetites. Perhaps she’d grown tired of watching concubines parade in and out of his chambers to do what the harem tales described:
We captives were taught how to worship the pasha’s body, how to excite him with kisses we spread over his massive chest and his taut belly. Next we were instructed to caress that “sword” men carry between their thighs, first with our hands and then with our mouths.
A blush crawled up Amelia’s cheeks. When she and Venetia had first read that, they’d laughed wildly. The very idea! How did women keep from giggling?
Now it didn’t seem quite so odd. If a man like…say, Lucas…were to lie naked before her and demand that she worship his body—
“You’re up early, my dear,” Mrs. Harris said from the doorway.
Amelia jumped. Lord, the woman was as bad as Lucas, creeping up on a person. Summoning a smile, she turned to greet her chaperone. “So are you.”
Mrs. Harris went to the sideboard. “I thought I had better write that letter to Cousin Michael about Major Winter as soon as possible.” She picked up a plate and filled it with stewed pears, cold tongue, and thickly sliced brown bread.
“If anyone can ferret out information, it’s your cousin.” Perhaps he could even shed light on what the major wanted from Dolly.
“I don’t know how I would manage without his support.”
The comment roused Amelia’s curiosity. “Is it true he gave you the money to start your school?”
“Yes.” Taking a seat at the breakfast table, Mrs. Harris buttered her bread lavishly. “I could never have afforded to launch it on my own.”
“Yet you’ve never met him. I don’t understand. If he’s your cousin, why—”
“My late husband’s cousin, my dear, not mine. And my husband was very evasive about his family.” She ate some bread, then wiped her lips with ladylike delicacy. “I confess I have not pursued the matter too hard. Cousin Michael only requested one favor in exchange for helping me—that I allow him anonymity. He said it would help shield me from gossip. He did not wish to ruin my reputation after my husband—his own relation—had ruined my life. Since that was an excellent point, I acquiesced to his condition.”
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