“By shooting at him? Provoking him? Fighting him?”
“Whatever it takes to make him leave you alone.”
She’d be flattered by his concern if she weren’t suspicious of what prompted it. He probably feared that Pomeroy would do something precipitous that would make it difficult for him to complete his own plans.
Tamping down her hurt at the thought, she tried for a light tone. “I promise that if I find myself in grave mortal danger, I’ll summon you to dispatch my enemies.”
“I’m serious, damn it.” His hand tightened on hers. “Promise me. For once, just indulge me.”
“It seems to me I spent most of the afternoon indulging you.”
He gave a harsh laugh. “If you’d indulged me, darlin’, you wouldn’t have left that ship a maiden.” With a brooding glance, he lifted her hand to plant a kiss in the center of her palm. “Next time I won’t show such gentlemanly restraint.” Drawing down the top of her short glove, he pressed another kiss to the pulse beating madly in her wrist. “Because when a man wants a woman, he doesn’t stop until he gets what he wants.”
She caught her breath. How she wished she could believe the fierce intent in his gaze, the yearning in his voice. How she wished this was a real courtship, that Lucas really would want to marry her.
But when he spoke of wanting, he meant only her body, nothing else. The courtship was simply a means to an end. He hoped to gain something from it as surely as Lord Pomeroy hoped to gain her fortune. Lucas was just better at hiding his true intentions.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. As soon as he’d finished his investigation, the “courtship” would end, so she mustn’t indulge any foolish fancies otherwise. Not if she wanted to protect her heart.
With a wan smile, she extricated her hand from his. “Mrs. Harris is signaling that I must go in,” she lied as she opened the gate. “Thank you for showing me the xebec.”
He dragged his gaze down her body in a look as intimate as any physical caress. “Thank you for showing me…everything.”
Her temper flared. “Be careful, Lucas, or you may be the one forced to sit outside my town house in a carriage.” She hurried up toward the house.
Lucas watched her go, his blood pounding in his ears. Hunker down in a carriage waiting for Lady Delilah to grace him with her favors? Not a chance. If she ever closed the door to him, he wouldn’t wait around for her to change her mind. No woman was worth that humiliation, not even Lady Delilah.
Except when she sashayed down the path with that walk that boiled a man’s blood. Or let a man kiss her damned fine mouth. Or fondle her downy-skinned breasts. Or tease the sweet little pearl between her legs until she sighed and turned a man’s cock so hard that even the strokes of her warm hand weren’t enough to—
He tore his gaze from her backside with a curse. She was a Delilah, all right. She could drain the strength out of a man just by sauntering away from him.
He reached into his pocket for his handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow, then remembered he’d left the soiled linen on the ship. He should have left his lustful thoughts there, too, because the more he indulged them, the more they distracted him. And that wasn’t good.
Not when he was finally getting somewhere. By purposely declaring his intentions in front of Mrs. Harris, he’d guaranteed one of two reactions. Either the widow would promote his suit and encourage Amelia to summon her parents to London for a meeting. Or, if she didn’t approve of the match, she’d write them herself with her concerns, and that would bring them running to London.
So if he played this right, he’d soon be meeting Lady Tovey. He couldn’t let his randy cock ruin that.
He started down the back way to Lord Kirkwood’s, then paused as he passed the alley beside the Tovey town house that led to the street. Hellfire and damnation, it didn’t sit well to leave that general situated out front.
You promised not to speak to him.
True, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do some reconnaissance. Striding up the alley to the street, he rounded the corner just in time to see Pomeroy stalk down the steps of the town house. The general had probably tried to pay his call again without any success.
As Pomeroy crossed to his carriage, Lucas looked over his rival from behind. For a man of fifty-odd years, he was pretty agile, with a brisk walk and the erect posture common to soldiers. As best Lucas could remember from the ball, the man was attractive enough to please a woman, despite his jowls and pug nose. His graying hair was still thick, and his status as a war hero would cover most ills. He could probably find a wife with ease, so why pursue Amelia so hotly? It had to be for more than her fortune.
He watched to see if the man drove away, to see if Amelia was right and Pomeroy had just been waiting for their return. But the marquess got into his carriage without a word to his dozing coachman. It took only a short wait to determine that he wasn’t going anywhere.
Lucas frowned. Damned idiot.
Pomeroy thought to intimidate other suitors? Fine. He wasn’t the only one who could use intimidation as a strategy. Lucas might have promised not to speak to Pomeroy, but he hadn’t promised not to be seen.
Strolling into the street, Lucas began to whistle. Sure enough, Pomeroy’s grizzled features appeared in the carriage window. Lucas walked right up to the town house. Pretending not to notice the general glaring at him, Lucas reached into his pocket for his whetstone, then took out his dagger.
He sat down on the steps and began to sharpen his knife with long, slow strokes, wiping the blade off on his boot leather periodically. And all the time, he whistled as if he had nothing better to do while late afternoon edged toward dusk.
After a few minutes, he glanced at the carriage. Lord Pomeroy was still watching him, but he looked uneasy. When their gazes met, Lucas deliberately tipped his hat to the general. Pomeroy frowned.
Come on, you old bastard,Lucas thought.I dare you. Get out of the damned carriage, and we can have this out right now. He couldn’t think of anything more satisfying than beating an English general to a bloody pulp.
But after glaring at Lucas, Pomeroy drew back from the window.
Gritting his teeth, Lucas returned to sharpening his knife.Snick, snick, snick, snick, wipe. The motion helped calm his temper, which was a good thing. Because he was fairly itching to bury the blade between Pomeroy’s ribs.
It wasn’t just because the man was English or even a general. He told himself it was because Pomeroy’s antics complicated his own plans, but deep down, he knew that was a lie. He just couldn’t stand the thought of any other man hanging after Amelia, even a puffed-up warhorse like Pomeroy.
He forced that unsettling thought from his mind, forced himself to concentrate on sharpening his blade.Snick, snick, snick, snick, wipe . Snick, snick, snick, snick,wipe.
The motion continued long after Lord Pomeroy’s carriage finally trundled off into the dusk.
Chapter Twelve
Dear Charlotte,
At last I have the information on Major Winter that you’ve been awaiting. I’m attaching a thorough report, courtesy of my friend at the Navy Board.
Your helpful cousin,
Michael
Perhaps we should move the sarcophagus into the hall, my lady.”
Amelia scarcely heard her footman. A week ago, she would have protested the very idea of removing her pride and joy from the drawing room that Papa and Dolly had allowed her to decorate herself. A week ago, she’d have delighted at the chance to show off to her schoolmates her new Egyptian-styled furnishings.
A week ago, she hadn’t met Lucas.
In the two days since the outing to the xebec, he and Dolly had absorbed her thoughts. She’d convinced Mrs. Harris not to write Papa about her “courtship” until matters progressed further, but how long could she put the woman off?
Now, as she and Mrs. Harris readied the drawing room for the tea, she examined everything Dolly had ever revealed: every scrap of information, every mention of h
er past, every reaction to every comment.
As the druggets were removed from the floors, she remembered Dolly’s shock the first time she’d seen Amelia cover up the expensive Axminster carpet with protective baize. As the butler brought out Amelia’s precious Wedgwood black basalt tea service to replace the everyday one, she remembered Dolly’s surprise at the idea of owning more than one tea service.
Either Americans were much less extravagant with their money than the English…or Dolly had never had quite the life Amelia had assumed, given her marriage to a wealthy merchant.
So with an hour left before the girls arrived for their monthly “lessons for heiresses,” only one thought consumed her. What if Lucas was right? What if Dorothy Smith wasn’t who Amelia had thought her to be?
“Has the mail come?” she asked the footman.
“No, my lady,” he answered. “Not yet.”
“Didn’t you already send your acceptance to the Kirkwoods?” Mrs. Harris asked. Yesterday, Amelia and Mrs. Harris had received an invitation to dine with Major Winter and the Kirkwoods tonight. “And explain why I cannot attend?”
“Yes, I gave it to Hopkins early this morning to send over.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind that I am not accompanying you?” Mrs. Harris persisted. “I had already promised my friend—”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll be perfectly safe with a footman for the short carriage ride over. It’s only a family dinner, nothing formal. With Lady Kirkwood there, no one should find it improper.”
“Then why are you so anxious about the mail?”
“We still haven’t heard from Cousin Michael about Major Winter.”
“Ah.” An indulgent smile touched Mrs. Harris’s lips. “Do not fret yourself; my cousin will send us information soon. But he said it would take time.”
I don’t have time for caution, ma’am.
That’s what Lucas had told Mrs. Harris. And if he didn’t have time, neither did Amelia. Yet she was forced to go on with these meaningless social affairs until circumstances were right. It was enough to make a woman scream.
How did female spies bide their time asking questions while pretending not to know things? She was far too impatient for such slow maneuvers. Clearly, she would have made an awful spy.
“My lady?” the footman prodded her. “Shall we move the sarcophagus?”
“As much as I…er…admire your signature piece,” Mrs. Harris put in, “it does take up quite a bit of room. It would be just as striking in the hall, don’t you think? And the ladies would still see it as they enter.”
“That’s fine,” Amelia said dismissively.
She paid no attention as footmen moved the sarcophagus out and three chairs in. Until she could see Lucas again, she couldn’t rest easy. But she’d feel a little better if she heard from Cousin Michael.
Restlessly, she walked over to the bay window to watch for the postman. Instead, she saw another irritating sight. “Oh, Lord, he’s back,” she muttered, and left the window at once.
“Lord Pomeroy?” Mrs. Harris asked.
“Yes.” When Mrs. Harris headed over to look, Amelia said, “Don’t let him see you. It only encourages him to come in and seek an audience with me.”
Mrs. Harris peeked out. “Where is Major Winter when we need him?”
“Don’t say that; this is all his fault. His knife-sharpening display ran Lord Pompous off temporarily. But when the marquess returned yesterday, he came earlier and situated his carriage closer.”
“And Major Winter ran him off again then, too.”
They’d returned from Louisa’s meeting to find Lord Pomeroy’s carriage parked on one side of the street and Lucas sitting on their steps on the other.
This time the major had brought a pistol to clean.
“Now he’s back, curse him,” Amelia pointed out, “with his carriage practically on our front step. Lord only knows what the major will do this time to try running the man off.”
“Polish a cannon perhaps?” Mrs. Harris quipped.
Amelia shot her a pained glance. “You laugh, but I wouldn’t be surprised. They’re mad, both of them.”
But Mrs. Harris’s attention had strayed. “There’s the postman, dear.”
Moments later, a footman entered with their letters. Mrs. Harris thumbed through them, then held up one with a triumphant smile. “It’s thick, and that’s a good sign.” She strode to the escritoire and broke the seal with a letter opener.
After skimming the letter, she offered Amelia the second sheet. “He sent along a report from his friend at the Navy Board.” Her eyes gleamed. “Suffice it to say, our major is not all that he seems.”
Amelia took the report in shaky hands, then read it with her stomach roiling:
According to my superiors, Major Lucas Winter is on special assignment with the Marine Guard to capture a criminal and return him to the United States to stand trial. At the end of our late war with America, a British citizen named Theodore Frier embezzled $150,000 from Jones Shipping Company, a contractor to the American navy. The man apparently fled to Canada with the money. Since then, Major Winter has been tracking Frier. Although Frier was last seen in France, Major Winter has good cause to believe he is now hiding in England. That is what Major Winter is investigating.
Mrs. Harris smiled. “You should be flattered the major is taking time from his important duties to court and defend you.”
“Yes,” Amelia choked out. She could hardly reveal that courting and defending her were part of his “important duties.”
Because Theodore Frier was probably related to Dorothy Frier, alias Dorothy Smith. Her stepmother.
She clutched the report to her chest in a vain attempt to still the wild beating of her heart. Dolly knew an embezzler. No, Lucas must suspect her of something more damning, or he would have already traveled to Torquay to question Dolly. And he wouldn’t have kept his real purpose secret. Clearly he didn’t want to alarm Dolly, so he probably believed that she’d helped Theodore Frier, either in his escape from America or in the embezzlement itself.
A chill iced her veins. Did Lucas actually consider Dolly an accomplice? Dolly had come to England with a fortune. Was that just coincidence?
It had to be. It must.
And if it wasn’t?
The ramifications knocked the breath from her throat. Amelia’s dowry might really belong to this Jones Shipping, and possibly even the American navy itself. Why else was Lucas the one investigating? Besides being a decorated officer of their Marine Guard—a branch of their navy—he had a knowledge of shipping companies from his father’s work with ship cannon.
So they’d sent him to retrieve Theodore Frier. And the money, too.
It explained so many things Lucas had said. The interest in Canada, the questions about when Dorothy had arrived here and where she’d come from, the comments about Amelia’s inheritance.
Nice house. Expensive-looking…. Have you lived here long?
Some men will do anything to get money.
Lord help her. What if Dolly had been part of this embezzlement?
No, timid, soft-spoken Dolly a criminal? Never! Amelia read the report again more carefully, but Dolly wasn’t even mentioned. Yet the major’s notes had focused only on her.
Amelia set her shoulders. That could easily be explained. Pigheaded, arrogant Lucas couldn’t bear not to catch his man, so he’d fixed on Dorothy Frier as a last resort. If he’d been searching ever since the war’s end, he was bound to be frustrated. So he’d seen a few similarities between Dorothy Frier and Dorothy Smith and had assumed Dolly was Theodore Frier’s accomplice.
Well, he was wrong. And she’d tell him so the minute she was alone with him again.
You don’t know everything he knows. What if he has irrefutable proof?
Very well, she would make him show it to her. She was tired of dancing around the issue. When she saw him at dinner, she would demand that he lay out every bit of evidence leading to Dolly, so she could re
fute each one. Then she could thrust the tempting scoundrel from her life once and for all.
“Are you all right, dear?” Mrs. Harris asked. “You seem upset by this news.”
She was sorely tempted to tell Mrs. Harris everything. Surely she could depend upon the widow’s discretion.
But what if the whole thing turned out to be nothing more than Lucas’s overzealousness? Mrs. Harris would forever look at Dolly—indeed, at the whole family—differently. Besides, alarmed by Lucas’s intentions, Mrs. Harris might insist upon writing to Papa and Dolly, no matter how much Amelia protested. And Amelia would feel awful if Dolly lost the baby over what proved to be nothing.
No, best to keep quiet until she spoke to Lucas. Then she could determine an appropriate course of action. If the major’s evidence did seem significant, she might need to hurry to Torquay to speak to Papa about the situation.
“I’m fine,” she told Mrs. Harris. “I’m just disappointed that Lucas has been so secretive.”
Mrs. Harris put her arm around her shoulders. “He only met you a few days ago. You can’t expect him to trust you overnight. These things take time.”
“I know.” The motherly gesture brought a lump to Amelia’s throat. She laid her head briefly on the widow’s breast, then moved out of her kind embrace.
She’d just run out of time. Clearly, Lucas had mentioned a lack of it for a reason. Was there pressure from his government to accost Theodore Frier soon? Or was he merely trying to force the courtship along so he could get to Dolly?
Probably the latter, knowing Lucas and his impatience. Witness how he’d behaved on the xebec.
She winced. And how she’d behaved, too. It shamed her to think of it now. She’d been as reckless as he, throwing herself headlong into his arms even knowing that his interest in her was pretend.
Yet it certainly hadn’t felt pretend. When he’d whispered, “please, darlin’” or “I beg you, my sweet Delilah,” it had felt very, very real.
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