Indiscretions

by Gail Ranstrom

  “Er, yes,” he replied. “Hmm. I suppose there would be no harm in it.”

  She gave him an admiring smile. “The only one who could say nay is the king, and I do not think he would have much interest in such a matter.”

  The governor rubbed his chin. “I will take the matter under advisement, Mrs. Hobbs.”

  “That is all I ask, sir. I trust your judgment and know you will make the right decision.”

  Governor Bascombe preened as she led him back into the glittering ballroom. The interview had gone marginally better than she had anticipated. She’d summon her gig and be home within an hour.

  Scarcely attending the conversation, Hunt watched the doors to the balcony until he saw the governor and Mrs. Hobbs reappear. He had a sudden twinge of jealousy that Mrs. Hobbs and the governor might be…no, impossible! The man was nearly twice her age, and his manner, when he introduced them, had been quite formal.

  “I say, Lockwood, I cannot blame you! Mrs. Hobbs is rather tempting, is she not?” his companion asked.

  Unaccountably annoyed by Doyle’s comment, he shrugged. “I’ve scarcely seen lovelier. Does she have…is she involved with anyone?”

  Doyle chuckled. “Not that anyone knows. She’s quite reclusive. Believe me, if I’d found an opening, I’d have tried. She has a Spanish housekeeper, and the rumor is that they are—” He paused and gave an eloquent shrug.

  “Impossible,” Hunt said.

  Doyle laughed again. “Ah, you’ve been struck by the thunderbolt. As delectable as she is, she really is not suitable, Lockwood. Well, for a discreet affair, perhaps, or to be your mistress. But how would you ever explain that Lady Lockwood had been a tradeswoman? She’d never fit in, you know.”

  Lockwood was well past worrying what was suitable and what was not. There was a world of difference between taking a mistress and getting married. He watched as she curtsied nicely to the governor and headed for the foyer. Ah, the innocent dove! Did she really think she’d escape unnoticed?

  Chapter Four

  Daphne stood on the bottom step as she waited for her gig to be brought around from the stables. She could still hear the strains of a waltz, and sighed. She’d enjoyed her dance with Lord Lockwood. Perhaps too much.

  Back in London, the year she had been presented to society, she had loved to dance and had often waltzed until dawn. Barrett had dogged her every footstep and courted her relentlessly. At first she’d been flattered, but when he’d somehow bribed her brother, she ceased to be amused. In the days and years that followed, Lord Douglas Barrett proved to be as bullish and relentless a husband as he had been a suitor.

  She shuddered at the memory and closed her eyes against the visions. She had lived the horror too often and dared not give it a foothold now. Her peace had been too hard-won.

  A breeze tugged a few long strands of hair loose from their pins and caressed her cheeks. She brushed them back impatiently, thinking that she was coming undone in more ways than one.

  “Do you have a chill, Mrs. Hobbs?”

  Oh, that deep baritone! She did not need to open her eyes to know who had joined her. A frisson of warning raced up her spine. She placed a smile on her face before she turned. “Lord Lockwood. Shouldn’t you be at your party?”

  He grinned and shook his head. “I’ve met everyone, Mrs. Hobbs, and as far as I’m concerned, the best part of the party is right here.”

  A scorching heat infused her cheeks. How could he unnerve her so? Could anyone so glib be trustworthy? “Then it is a pity that I am going home.”

  “Can I persuade you to honor me with one more dance?”

  In the moment of her hesitation, a stable boy brought her gig around from the stables. She shrugged. “Sorry, Lord Lockwood, but here’s my gig. Nellie doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “And who can blame her?” He went forward and stroked Nellie’s forehead. The mare blew out softly and pushed her nose against Lockwood’s shoulder. “A beautiful girl should never have to wait. Where’s your driver?” he asked.

  “Here,” she admitted, tapping a finger against her chest.

  He seemed at a loss for words for a moment, then regained his composure. He took the ribbons and flipped the boy a coin. “Bring my horse around, will you, lad?”

  The boy was off at a run and Daphne realized what Lockwood intended. “Please do not inconvenience yourself, Lord Lockwood.”

  “You cannot expect me to stand by and allow you to hazard weather, brigands and a broken axle alone?”

  “I am not your responsibility, sir. And I drive the road alone every day.”

  “In the daylight,” he amended. “There are hidden dangers in the dark.”

  Not the least of which was him. “Really, my lord, there is no need—”

  “I won’t hear of it. If you will not permit it for your sake, permit it for mine. How would you expect me to live with myself if anything should happen to you on your way home tonight? What if you were attacked by brigands? How could I ever call myself a gentleman again?”

  She paused. This was not like Barrett’s heavy-handed manipulation. Lockwood was half cajoling and half serious. She almost believed he really was anxious for her safety. “There are no brigands on St. Claire,” she said, only half convincing herself.

  His forehead creased and doubt narrowed his eyes. “Are you certain?”

  Was she? Crime was more prevalent on St. Claire than in London. The waterfront brought all types here, most of them trying to hide aboard a ship or lose themselves in a new land.

  Her indecision made up his mind. The stable boy arrived and Lockwood looped the reins of his horse to the box behind the passenger compartment of the gig. He handed her up and waited for her to settle herself before climbing in and taking the ribbons. At the end of the drive, he asked, “East or west, Mrs. Hobbs?”

  “West. Are you certain I am not taking you out of your way?”

  “I am now.” He turned west at the end of the drive onto the coastal road.

  She looked sideways at him and realized that this was what she’d wanted. Despite her protests, she’d been secretly hopeful that he’d find a way to persuade her. Oh, but what was she thinking? She should be avoiding him, praying he wouldn’t remember her face five minutes after he embarked for London!

  Tomorrow. She’d avoid him tomorrow. And every day after that until he was gone.

  “How long will you be on St. Claire, Lord Lockwood?”

  “Longer than I’d originally planned.” He gave her a crooked smile and her heart lurched. “And we need to come to an agreement about the way you address me. Reginald, Hunt or Lockwood would be my choices. I’d rather leave my title behind, if it’s all the same to you.”

  “But why? A title is a great advantage in society.”

  “Not when it puts distance between me and what I want.”

  “What do you—” She cleared her throat and turned back to the road. “A fortnight, then? Or longer?”

  He laughed and she knew he was amused by her embarrassment. “A fortnight at the least,” he said. “A month at the most.”

  She gazed out at the passing landscape, eerie in the night shadows, and clasped her hands in her lap, wondering what she should do. Lord Lockwood was an outrageous flirt, yet she was captivated by his easy charm and intrigued by the hint of danger beneath it. And tempted—for the first time since…

  “What brought you to St. Claire, Mrs. Hobbs?”

  “A frigate, Lord Lockwood.”

  He grinned but did not press. Instead he reminded her of his wishes. “Lockwood. Reggie. Hunter. Hunt. Surely you can find one you like?”

  She breathed deeply and exhaled her tension. It was only a ride home. He did not seem like a Reginald and Hunt seemed somehow too…intimate. “And what brought you here, Lockwood?”

  His pause was fractionally longer than natural and she realized he was hiding secrets of his own. “I’ve been debating whether to sell my interests here or to keep them.”

 
“Are they profitable?”

  “Moderately so. Since I am a planter, my profits are tied to seasonal vagaries.”

  She nodded. “As are those of most islanders who are not engaged in shipping and trade. But since St. Claire is small, I doubt it will ever compete with other islands in goods or shipping.”

  “Is that your conclusion, or that of most islanders?”

  “Mine, I suppose. When the St. Claire Planters’ Society decided not to cultivate sugarcane, it limited growth. Most of our exports, with the exception of mahogany, are delicate or perishable, which makes transport difficult.”

  “Do you disapprove of that decision, Mrs. Hobbs?”

  “I do not necessarily see growth as a desirable thing.” More settlers from England would mean more likelihood of recognition.

  He nodded and looped the ribbons through his left hand with the casual grace of one accustomed to taking the reins. With his right hand, he swept the moonlit vista ahead of them. “It would be a shame to lose all this. But I find myself wondering what the attraction might be for a woman like you. In London, you’d easily make a good marriage and have a life of ease. Instead, you’ve chosen to labor on a distant island with an uncertain future.”

  “Some things are preferable to marriage, Lockwood.” As soon as the words were out, she realized what she’d given away. She cleared her throat and hastened to add, “And the…memories were too painful to remain in London.”

  “You could have removed to the country.”

  “I did not want my husband’s family managing my life.” She frowned at him, hoping that would be enough to discourage further questions.

  Undaunted, Lord Lockwood seemed to consider her statement. “Hobbs. Hmm. I wonder if I knew him. I believe there are Hobbses in Devon, are there not? What was his given name?”

  “I would not imagine you ever met him. We did not travel in such lofty circles as yours.”

  He glanced at her in surprise and she wondered if he had detected the lie in her voice. “I did not mean to offend you, Mrs. Hobbs. You think I’m prying, do you not?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  He looked apologetic. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose I am. I tend to see the world as a Chinese puzzle. I want to know how all the pieces fit. The curse of an orderly mind, I fear.”

  Some of her tension eased and the edge of panic receded. “I dislike speaking about the past. The memories are painful.”

  “Then we shan’t,” he said. “What shall we discuss instead?”

  “You, Lord Lockwood. Why is it that every time I ask you a question, you give me a short answer and turn the conversation around to me again?”

  “I swear I’m not as meddling as you think. I’m new to St. Claire and want to know everything about it. But I promise to leave you alone. Shall we discuss the island?”

  That should be safe enough. “Of course. Our main exports are—”

  He guffawed. “I do not want the tour lecture, Mrs. Hobbs. Tell me what sights are worth seeing before I’m off again.”

  “The waterfall on Mount Colombo. That is my favorite, if your time is limited. Take a picnic lunch, since there are no stops between.”

  “Is there a walking path?”

  “An easy one. I’ve walked it with my son.”

  There was silence for a moment, and then Lockwood turned to her with a puzzled expression. “Oddly enough, I hadn’t suspected you had children. Perhaps because you look so young. How old is your son, or is that prying?”

  She’d have to be more careful about volunteering information. She couldn’t blame him for his curiosity. “He is eight years old, and away at school.”

  “Ah. And are there more?”

  “No. Only William.”

  Another long pause, and then he said, “That must be very lonely for you, Mrs. Hobbs.”

  She blinked and cleared her throat. She was not going to cry in front of Lord Lockwood. She drew herself back to the subject at hand. “There is a coral reef beyond the settlements where the mountains begin on the northwest side of the island. They are beautiful, and the water is so clear that you can see the most amazing fish. Do you swim, sir?”

  He nodded.

  “Then I would definitely recommend the trip, although it is not a simple one. There are no boats for hire there, and no towns. The reefs are too treacherous for ships to anchor or even send a tender ashore.”

  He stared at her again before he spoke. “I shall put that on my list. Anything else?”

  “Not that I can think of at the moment. If something should occur to me, I shall send you a note.”

  “No need. I’ll be stopping by your shop. You can just tell me.”

  How could she be both anxious to see him and dismayed at the prospect? It wasn’t logical in the least, and yet he seemed to create these paradoxes in her.

  “What can you tell me about Blackpool, Mrs. Hobbs?”

  “Not much, I’m afraid. We keep to our side of the island and they keep to theirs.”

  “I’ve been thinking that I’d like to see a town built on cliffs. If I can find a spare day or two, I believe I’ll go.”

  “I hear large ships occasionally moor offshore, but the rip currents are treacherous for small boats and skiffs. I wouldn’t recommend it, Lockwood.”

  “Thought I might walk overland. Have a peek at the waterfall and volcano on my way. I’m the consummate British traveler, you know.”

  She laughed. “Even overland, I wouldn’t recommend it.” The inhabitants of Blackpool were determinedly unfriendly. And there were darker, unsubstantiated rumors that some visitors never returned at all. She would hate to have Lockwood suffer a similar fate.

  He was silent for a time, as if he were digesting the information. When he finally spoke, it was not what she expected. “I confess that I suspect a conspiracy here. Every time I mention Blackpool, I’m met with silence or abrupt warnings to stay away. What is over there? Cannibals?”

  Heavens! She wished she could laugh at that, but no one really seemed to know what went on over there. “I assure you, I have no idea. The mystery existed before I arrived in San Marco and I’ve never gone there. I have known people who have been there, but they do not speak of it.”

  “By the saints! With a temptation like that, I’m amazed that half of San Marco has not gone to see for themselves.”

  The comment made her smile. She’d thought the same thing. “I do not know what to tell you, Lockwood. You now have the sum total of my knowledge of Blackpool. But it is your turn. Tell me what has passed in London the last five years.”

  “I fear only more of the same. Prinny overdrawing the royal coffers, riots over the price of corn, the Spa Field riots, general social unrest—but you do not want to hear this.”

  “Oh, but I do!”

  She was so eager that he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  “Well, at least tell me the on dit. Men are no good at gossip, but I shall take what I can get.”

  What a clever little jibe to loosen his tongue. “Ah, the on dit. Well then, you knew, of course, that the Burlington Arcade opened in Piccadilly? Two floors of excellent shopping, or so I’ve been told by my sister. I have been shopping there, myself.”

  “No!” She feigned a delightful disbelief. “What did you purchase?”

  “Wedding gifts.”

  “For whom?”

  “Ah, a sad story, that. You knew that Princess Charlotte died after giving birth to a stillborn son?” He waited for her nod. “Yes? Well, it was truly scandalous what happened next.”

  “What?”

  “Since Prinny has no other heirs, the royal dukes raced to the altar with suitable women in tow. Clarence wed Princess Adelaide, Kent wed Mary Victoria, Cambridge wed Princess Augusta. I vow, ’twas impoverishing me to buy wedding gifts that year. Kent has won the race for England’s future by producing a daughter, Princess Victoria. The entire country is praying for her health. And for a son.”

  He had hoped to amuse her, but s
he turned thoughtful at this news. “Heirs,” she said with a wistful sigh. “They are important, are they not? Do you have an heir, Lockwood?”

  “Aye. Three of them. My brothers, Andrew, Charles and James.”

  The road veered into the deep canopy of overhanging trees and the night became somehow more intimate without the light of the moon.

  “No heirs of your own?” she asked.

  “Not yet, Mrs. Hobbs.”

  “Do you not want to marry?”

  He winced at the surprise in her voice and fought the impulse to tell her the truth—that he couldn’t live a lie. More to the point, that he couldn’t subject an innocent woman to the life he’d led and was still living. That he’d never marry, never risk the revulsion of his wife when she found out who he really was. If he dared to share the truth, she would flee, appalled by his past and the things he’d done. No, he’d have to give her the expected response of half-truths, omissions and lighthearted lies.

  “I haven’t reached my ripe old age unattached by avoiding women, Mrs. Hobbs. On the contrary, I’ve been searching high and low for the right one. Ah, the rigors I’ve endured! The disappointments.”

  “The rejections?”

  “Dozens.”

  Now she laughed outright. “I am loath to call you a liar, Lockwood, but that just does not seem possible.”

  He shrugged. “I suppose you’d be right. I’ve never actually had the opportunity to propose. I seem to always come up late. My friends snatch up the good ones.”

  “Have you ever thought of fighting for the one you love?”

  “An interesting concept, that,” he admitted. “Perhaps I have not loved deeply enough to do so. But my sister swears she will choose me a wife if I do not come up with one soon.”

  “I shall hope, for your sake, that she has excellent judgment.”

  “She does. She is the only one of us married and is the youngest of us all.”

  “That must aggravate the matchmaking mamas at Almack’s. Four eligible men, none of them married? You must be the talk of the town.”