Paying the Virgin's Price

by Christine Merrill

  'Not old certainly, but--'

  And now, Verity was shaking her head. 'If that is the sort of man you wish for, then you had best find him for yourself. But as for me, I will choose in my own good time. Even if he is rash or foolish, if he loves me, I will accept him. We will learn moderation together.'

  Diana sighed. The conversation was ending as it had several times before, with Verity stubbornly convinced that when it came for her, love would conquer all. In Diana's experience, love was rarely a successful combatant against an uneven temper or an irregular income. 'In any case, it is not something we need worry about today. If you find someone this Season who interests you--'

  'Which I shall not.'

  '--we will discuss his qualities before you make a decision. For now, it will please your father to hear that you are dancing and laughing, even if he is too ill to watch you.'

  Verity sighed. 'And there you have me, Diana. You know I will not refuse, if it is so important to the family. As long as I do not have to tie myself to that odious Alexander Veryan, just to make you all content. I swear, he is the biggest bore alive. The last time we danced, he trod on my toes half the night, while making sheep's eyes.'

  Diana smiled in sympathy, thinking of the rather awkward young man and his pitiful attempts to capture Verity's affection. 'Your father would welcome a connection to the Veryan family, but respectability is not the only quality to seek in a husband. I am sure, if we put our heads together, we will find you a more suitable beau than young Alex.'

  There was a quiet knock upon the door of the dressing room, and a maid entered. 'Miss Verity, there is a gentleman here. He wishes to speak with your brothers. But neither is home, nor expected. And Miss Honoria is...' The servant paused respectfully.

  'Indisposed.' Verity looked helplessly in Diana's direction. They both knew that Honoria, who had none of Verity's reticence on the subject of marriage, had been up most of the night at a rout, dancing until nearly dawn. It would be quite beyond her to greet a visitor until noon, if then. 'I am hardly dressed to entertain. But I will come as soon as I am able. In the meantime, Diana, could you?'

  Stall, while the girl finished her morning chocolate? It was full on ten o'clock, and Diana Price had been up for hours. She could hardly blame the Carlow girls for sleeping late. But she still found it vaguely annoying when the girls' suitors chose to arrive before lunch. With the men from the house, it left Diana in the awkward position of disappointing them. Until the girls had shown an attachment to any of the young men they had met, it would do the gentlemen little good to appeal to their older brothers on the subject.

  She straightened her rather severe dress and put on her best chaperone's frown. 'I will see what it is about, Verity. If it is urgent, I will call for you. But if I do not, you may come down in your own good time. It serves the man right for arriving at this hour.'

  Her friend gave her a relieved smile. 'Thank you, Diana. I don't know what I would do without you.'

  She turned and walked out of the room and down the stairs to the salon. But the man waiting there came as a surprise to her, for he was a stranger. Her first impression was that he was far too old to be the usual post-ball suitor. His hair had not a touch of youthful colour left; It was a striking silver-grey. But on closer inspection, she could see that his back was straight, his skin tanned but smooth, and his green eyes had the clarity, if not of youth, then of a reasonable adulthood.

  Physically, he was not much beyond her own twenty-seven years. But there was a quality in those eyes that spoke to her. They had seen much, and not all of it had been pleasant. But whatever hardship he had seen did not seem to have broken him. There was a solidness about him, as though he were made of stronger stuff than most men. With his striking appearance, it seemed to her as though an ordinarily handsome man had been cast as a statue, with burnished metal for hair and skin, and glittering gems for eyes.

  Here was the sort of man she had wished for Verity: someone who could inspire confidence and trust as well as make the heart flutter. And apparently, even she was not immune from him, for she could not help smiling a trifle too warmly in greeting. 'I am sorry to disappoint you. Lord Stanegate is from home. As is his brother. May I enquire as to the reason for your visit, Mister...?' She left the sentence open, to remind him that he had not bothered to introduce himself.

  He tilted his head and stared closely into her face, as though searching his memory, 'Verity? Or is it Honoria? I cannot tell. It has been so long...' He used the same puzzled tone that she had used, and there was a pause as he looked at her, a faint smile forming at his mouth. It was as though he had not expected her, any more than she had expected him. But the surprise had been a pleasant one. He was taking her in, just as she had him, forming opinions, searching for her past in her eyes.

  Without thinking, she reached up to touch her hair, ready to push a loose curl out of the way, even though there was none. And then stilled her hands, and kept them demurely at her sides. 'No, sir. I am companion and chaperone to the Carlow daughters. My name is Diana Price.'

  She must have misjudged his stability after all. Her introduction seemed to stagger him, and for a moment, he tottered as though he were a feeble old man. He reached for the arm of the nearest chair, and unable to control the rudeness of his behaviour, dropped unsteadily into it, taking a deep gasp of air.

  'Sir?' She stepped closer, ready to offer assistance. 'Are you ill?'

  'No. Really. It is nothing.'

  'A glass of wine perhaps? Or a brandy?' It was far too early. But the man needed a restorative.

  He gave her the strangest smile she had ever seen. 'Water, only. Please. The heat...'

  'Water, then. I will fetch it,' she said, pretending to ignore his condition. It was barely past winter. There was no heat to speak of, nor was it particularly cold. But if the man wished to make excuses for an odd spell, it would do no harm to allow it.

  She went to the carafe on a nearby table, poured out a tumbler, and brought it to him. As he took the glass from her hand, she felt the faintest tremble in his, as though the touch of her fingers had shocked him. He drank eagerly. When he set the glass down on the table beside him, a little of the colour had returned to his tanned face.

  She sat in a chair opposite him so as not to call attention to his breach of etiquette.

  He looked over and gave a weak smile of gratitude. 'Thank you for your kindness. Forgive me...Miss Price.' He took a breath. 'My name is...Dale.' His voice steadied again. 'I am an old friend of the family, but it has been a long while since I have had reason to visit this house. When I was last here, Miss Verity was but an infant and Honoria not much older. And seeing you, knowing that they are out...I was overcome with how long it had been. Are the girls well?'

  'Yes, sir. Both are well-mannered and accomplished young ladies.'

  'And lovely, I am sure. Just as I am sure that their good behaviour is a testament to your steady influence.' He fidgeted in his seat as though the burden of polite conversation was one that he was unaccustomed to. Then he stilled, as though gathering himself to the task at hand. 'But my business today is with their brothers. You say they are from home. Will they be returning soon?'

  'Lord Stanegate is travelling with his new bride in Northumberland.'

  'Marc married, eh?' Mr Dale got a distant look and he muttered, 'Felicitations. And Hal?'

  'Somewhere on the Peninsula, I believe. He is a lieutenant in the Dragoons.'

  The man nodded. 'It would suit him, I am sure, the life and the uniform.' And then he muttered, more to himself than to her, 'Very well, then. They are both safely out of the way, and I will not worry about them.'

  It was good to hear that he seemed concerned, although why he should feel the need to worry over Marc or Hal, or think that it was safer to face Napoleon than be in London, she was not sure.

  And now, he was looking at her again, as though he had forgotten that she was in the room with him and could not think what to do next. Then he said, 'I
f you could provide me with paper and pen, I would write a message to Marcus.'

  'If the matter is important, I can give you the address at which he can be reached,' she offered.

  Mr Dale waved a dismissive hand. 'If he is happy and away from town, I would not dream of bothering him.'

  'Perhaps Honoria...'

  'No,' he said a little too quickly. 'Do not trouble the girls with this. I doubt it will involve them. This is a matter to be settled amongst gentlemen. And I would hate to think I'd been a source of worry to them. A brief note to Marcus will suffice. If you could relay it when he returns, I would be most grateful.' He favoured her with another bright smile. And this time, she was sure that he was deliberately attempting to charm her. Most likely, he wished to make her forget his strange behaviour.

  And it annoyed her that he had succeeded. He had a nice smile, friendly and unthreatening, yet a little knowing. There was something about the way that he sat in the chair, now he had recovered himself, that made her think he was usually an adventurous man. Wherever he belonged, it was somewhere much more exciting than a drawing room. As she got up and went to prepare the desk in the corner for writing, she could feel herself colouring at the thought that he was behind her and might be watching her move.

  Had it been necessary of him to give flattering attention to a paid companion, just to get writing materials? She would have given him what he asked, even if he'd frowned at her, Diana thought. But his charming behaviour only stood to remind her how hopeless her fantasies might be. In a short time, he would be gone and she would be here, delivering the note like the servant she was. He would have forgotten all about her.

  And she would be left with the memory of that smile.

  Mr Dale came and sat at the place she prepared for him, at the tiny desk by the window. He thought for a moment, then scrawled a few words on the paper, blotted it, and stared at the sealing wax for a moment. Here he would show how little he trusted her with the contents.

  Then he put the wax away, and looked directly into her eyes--the green light in his sparkled like emeralds--and his smile changed to a thoughtful frown. 'Miss Price. I do not wish to trouble the girls with the reason for my visit. My fears for the Carlow family might be for naught. But you are their companion, are you not? A watchdog for their honour and reputation?'

  Diana nodded.

  'Then should they receive the attention of a dark gentleman who calls himself Stephano Beshaley, know that he is a danger to them. Watch him carefully. And watch the girls as well, for he is just the sort to try and turn their heads. Should he appear, you must find Marc or Hal immediately and tell them. Can you do that for me?'

  She nodded again, more puzzled than she had been before.

  'Very good.' He handed her the folded sheet of paper. 'You can give this note to either Stanegate or Lieutenant Carlow, when next they are home. Marcus preferably, since he is eldest and most responsible. But either will understand its meaning. Thank you for your time, Miss Price.' He gave a short bow, and turned to leave.

  'Wait.' She held up a hand to stop him before realizing that she had no reason to call him back to her, other than an irrational desire not to let him go.

  He turned back, an expectant look on his face.

  'If they wish to reply, where shall I direct the message? Or will you be returning?'

  He gave the barest shake of his head. 'Do not concern yourself. They will not wish to reply to me, any more than they wish a visit from Beshaley. But now, my conscience is as clear as I can make it. On this subject, at least.' He gave her another strange look, as though he were apologizing for something, even though he had done her no wrong. 'Good day, Miss Price.' And he was gone.

  She walked slowly back up the stairs to Verity, with the note in her hand, wondering what she was supposed to do with the thing. She could forward it on to Marc on his honeymoon, she supposed. But he and Nell were not due back from Northumberland for weeks, and she hated to bother them. The time before their marriage had been stressful enough. Surely they deserved a few weeks of peace.

  The paper before her was not sealed. Mr Dale had left it to her discretion. And although she would never peruse Marc's mail under normal circumstances, perhaps this one time it would be better to read the message to see if the matter was urgent.

  There was only one line, scrawled hurriedly in the centre of the paper.

  Marc,

  The Gypsy has returned.

  Nathan.

  Her breath caught a little in her throat. The words were ominous: black and spidery against the white of the paper. But it was nothing that she did not already know. Nor would Marc be surprised. He had explained to her what happened, before he left, the harrowing fight, the single shot, and the evil Gypsy who had been calling himself Salterton falling to his death in the icy water. Marc had cautioned her to be on her guard and watch the girls closely, in case he had been wrong. If the man lived, he might return to bother them.

  She bit her lip. If only there were some way to draw Mr Dale back and ask him if this information was recent or some time in coming. It was possible that he'd met the Gypsy before his demise on the ice some weeks ago. Marc had warned her before he'd left to be on guard against all strangers, particularly one with dark hair and skin. She was to summon him immediately if anything or anyone unusual appeared.

  This morning's visit had certainly been unusual. But Nathan Dale was not dark, nor was he threatening. He had been trying to help, and had brought a scrap of information that was already known to the family. If a specific threat had been imminent, surely he would have said more, or seemed more worried. And he had been smiling just now. How serious could the situation be?

  She would adopt a wait-and-see attitude, doing just as Marc had asked. She would watch the girls more closely than usual. And if Mr Dale returned, she would try to find a way to draw him out and gain more information--without revealing that she had opened his note.

  On thinking of it, she very much hoped Mr Dale would return. She suspected he was a most interesting gentleman and it intrigued her to know more about him. It was as though hard weather had rubbed away at a softer, less substantial person, until the core of vitality could shine through to the surface. There was an air of confidence about him, as though he had already seen and survived hardship and knew better than to be rattled by anything less than the gravest circumstances.

  Perhaps he had already dealt with the Gypsy's threat and was only tying up the loose ends of the contact, making sure that the man could do no damage elsewhere. If she needed his help during Marc's absence, there might be some way...

  Of course not. She reminded herself firmly of her first suspicions regarding the man: that he might be a suitor of Honoria or Verity. If he was a friend of Marc's and sought the company of any of the women in the house, there was no reason to think that he would seek the friendship of their companion nor that he wished to be bothered with her concerns over the girls.

  It was just that she had found the sight of him to be rather dashing, and now she was spinning fancies that they would have more time to talk.

  She glanced down at the note, and Nathan written at the bottom. And she shivered. It was good that she had conversed with the man before seeing it, for past experience had taught her to dread that name, and all who carried it. If she had known he was a Nathan, she might have let an unreasonable prejudice colour her opinions of him. And then she would have been deprived of that marvellous smile. She smiled back, even though he was not there to see it.

  Verity looked up as she entered the dressing room. 'Who was it?'

  Diana tucked the note into the pocket of her dress. 'It was the most extraordinary man.' Without meaning to, she gave a little sigh of pleasure. She had nothing to fear from this Nathan. He looked nothing like the man her father had warned her of, ten years ago. Mr Dale was not cold, or emotionless or the least bit cruel. Her spontaneous attraction to him came from the openness of his countenance, his easy nature and his selfless concern
for others. He had a robust physique and the healthy colouring of a man who enjoyed nature, not the stooped frame, pinched face and anaemic pallor of a habitual gambler.

  In short, he was the diametric opposite of Nathan Wardale.

  Chapter Three

  Nate hurried out of the Carlow town house and down the street, feeling the cold sweat beading on his brow. Of all the people, in all the places, why had he been greeted by Diana Price? He had been nervous enough, going to the house at all. But once he had arrived on Albemarle Street, the feelings of his youth returned. As a boy, he had run across the chequered floor of the front hall, chasing and being chased, laughing and playing. It had been as a second home to him. And to feel that moment of pleasure, as the young woman had entered the room. The Carlow daughters grown to beauty? But no. A stranger. A very attractive stranger. Delight, curiosity, an awakening of old feelings in him, long suppressed.

  She was a lovely thing, with shining dark hair, and a small pursed mouth, ready to be kissed. Her large brown eyes were intelligent, but full of an innocence he never saw in the female denizens of the Fourth Circle.

  She had looked at him without judgment or expectation, and a hint of responding interest that proved she was not wife to Marcus or Hal. Nate had felt quite like the man he once hoped to be. For a few moments, he was an ordinary gentleman meeting a pretty girl in a nice parlour, with none of the stink of the gaming hell on his clothes or in his mind.

  And then he had discovered her identity, and it had all come crashing down. Thank God he had not decided to use his true name, for if she'd realized...

  He hailed a cab in Piccadilly to Covent Garden and Suffolk Street, to the low haunts inhabited by Nate Dale the gambler. If the man he sought was anywhere, he would be here, waiting in the spot that he'd last been seen.

  Nate went from the dim street, into the dim tavern connected by a tunnel to the Fourth Circle. 'Mr Dale, returning so soon? And in daylight.' Dante Jones saw him less as a friend than as a way to bring more people to the tables. 'To what do we owe this honour?'