by Violet
Her flush deepened and her eyes flared. “You would renege, sir?”
He shook his head, still maintaining his hold, still regarding her calmly. “I warned you that we’re going to play this by my rules. If you don’t like those rules, you can back out anytime you wish.”
Tamsyn bit her lip in chagrin, wrestling with herself. She knew he was just waiting for her to give him an excuse to end their agreement. She’d told him she could take anything he threw at her. Was she going to crumple at the first hurdle? And it was a hurdle that would have to be taken at some point, sooner rather than later. She just wasn’t ready to cease to be Violette in these circumstances. Plenty of time for that transformation when they reached the peaceful, verdant English countryside that Cecile had so often described.
“Well?” Julian said, aware that the senhora was staring in unabashed curiosity, unable to understand what was clearly an acerbic exchange.
Tamsyn made up her mind. She shook her arm free of his hold, saying with icy indifference, “I see no difficulty.” She began to unbutton her shirt.
“Ay … ay!” The senhora gave a squeak of dismay and hustled her unusual customer behind a worked screen.
Tamsyn stripped, tossing her garments over the top of the screen as she removed them. Shoes, stockings, drawers, shirt, and britches fell in a heap on the floor, while the senhora hastily produced a selection of undergarments, offering them with some reluctance for the colonel’s inspection.
“Do you prefer silk or lawn?” Julian asked in the direction of the screen, riffling through a heap of lace-trimmed smocks.
“Silk.” Tamsyn stuck her head around the corner. “But I don’t want any frills or ribbons. They catch on things.”
“Try this.” He tossed her a cream silk chemise and turned his attention to the drawers. “Silk drawers, too, I imagine.”
“No, lawn,” Tamsyn said perversely. “And no frills.”
“That might be difficult,” he mused, shaking out delicate garments under the aghast eyes of the proprietress. “These are about as simple as I can find. They have pink ribbons.”
“Ugh!” Tamsyn appeared from behind the screen, clad in the chemise that reached the tops of her thighs. “Let me look.”
“Ay de mí,” the senhora moaned as the colonel stood aside to let the scantily clad girl examine the offered selection.
A saint couldn’t have resisted. She was leaning over the counter, her body brushing against his. Julian’s hand slipped to her thigh. He felt her stiffen, but she affected to be unaware, studiously searching through the filmy pile of silk and lawn. His hand moved upward beneath the chemise, over the bare damask curve of her bottom. Tamsyn cut him a quick sideways up-from-under look and grinned wickedly.
He was aware that his breathing was somewhat ragged. What had happened to his resolution to resist the brigand’s enchantment? He pinched the firm flesh of her backside with a degree of vigor and heard her quick indrawn breath. Then he turned with a businesslike expression to the senhora.
“Show me some gowns, senhora. I doubt you have anything small enough. I should think something to fit a child would be suitable.”
Tamsyn lost all interest in seductive play at this patent insult. She turned to protest but saw that they’d moved into the rear of the shop and were deep in discussion. She seized a pair of relatively unadorned drawers, a lawn petticoat, silk stockings, and garters and returned behind the screen.
“This, I think.” Julian held up a gown of cream muslin with puffed sleeves, belted below the bosom with a violet sash. Violet embroidery edged the hem and the curving neckline.
Tamsyn emerged from the screen, her expression one of resigned distaste. She examined the gown with wrinkled nose. “It’s so flimsy. It’ll tear at the first catch.”
“Hopefully, you won’t go around catching it on things,” he declared, dropping the gown over her head, standing aside as the senhora hastened to attend to the hooks and buttons and the sash.
“It needs to be shortened about two inches,” the senhora said, restored to equanimity now that her customer was decently clothed. “I can have that done in half an hour.”
Tamsyn took a couple of steps, kicking the folds out in front of her as she did so. “This is ridiculous. How can one move around with all this stuff twisting around one’s legs?”
“Most women seem to manage without the least difficulty,” Julian said. “And it’ll be better when it’s shorter.” He examined her with an involuntary smile. Despite the fact that Tamsyn looked thoroughly uncomfortable, the gown created the most amazing transformation. Her slight figure appeared fragile rather than wiry, accentuating the curve of her bosom and the gentle flare of her hips. The small head with its bright cap of pale silky hair sat atop a long, slender neck rising gracefully from the low, curving neckline.
“Buttercup,” he said with a chuckle. “That’s what you look like. No longer Violette, but a buttercup in the sun.”
Tamsyn’s expression showed him exactly what she thought of this revolting description. She took another turn around the room and came to a halt in front of the long cheval glass. “Santa Maria,” she muttered. “I look ridiculous. I’ll be the laughingstock of the town.” She glared at Julian in the mirror. “I suppose that’s what you want … revenge.”
He shook his head. “Not so. Anyway, why should you imagine people will laugh at you just because you look like a woman instead of a some androgynous creature from the mountains?”
“Well, I’ll laugh at me,” she declared.
“Get used to it,” he advised. “Because this is the way it’s going to be for as long as you and I are involved in this contract.”
“And you’re not going to lose an opportunity to get even, are you?” She turned to face him.
“No,” he agreed. “Not a single one.”
Chapter Ten
TAMSYN SAT IN THE BACK ROOM OF THE MILLINER’S SHOP while a young seamstress took up the hem of the muslin gown, and Julian, armed with one of her boots for size, went off in search of shoes that would match her new image.
She’d been neatly outmaneuvered, Tamsyn reflected morosely, watching the girl’s nimble fingers darting through the material. And it rather looked as if the colonel had the perfect weapon to ensure his victory in all such contentious issues. She was more interested in the arrangement’s continuing than he was; therefore, she must keep him happy.
There were areas in which she wouldn’t at all mind keeping him happy, and she’d rather assumed that he’d consider love play adequate compensation for inconvenience. Unfortunately, Lord St. Simon seemed determined to resist seduction. Although he hadn’t been doing too well at resistance up to now.
The thought lightened her mood somewhat, and she stood up to allow the seamstress to try the dress on her. The length was pronounced satisfactory, and Tamsyn went to examine herself again in the mirror.
She didn’t look in the least like herself; it was most unsettling, rather as if her head were sitting atop some other body. But she wasn’t going to give the colonel any further satisfaction. He would find her cheerfully accepting of this new costume, and if people laughed at her, then she’d laugh with them.
When Julian returned with a pair of bronze kid slippers, Tamsyn greeted him with a sunny smile and amiably extended her foot to try the shoe, commenting how pretty they were.
Julian looked at her suspiciously, meeting only that airy smile. She walked around the shop, pronounced them a perfectly comfortable fit, and asked the senhora to pack up her discarded clothes and boots.
“Keep the boots,” the colonel said. “But you won’t need the other things.”
“Not in your company, perhaps, milord colonel,” she said sweetly. “Nevertheless, I prefer to keep them.”
He shrugged and pulled out a billfold from his britches pocket.
“Do keep a careful accounting, milord colonel,” Tamsyn said as sweetly as before. “I should hate to be beholden to you.”
“Oh, do
n’t worry, buttercup, I’ll make sure you aren’t.”
“Don’t call me that,” Tamsyn said, her amiable facade cracking.
“Then don’t call me ‘milord colonel,’ ” he returned smartly, counting out bills into the senhora’s eager palm.
She seemed to have drawn a worthy opponent, Tamsyn reflected, going to the door. The evening sun cast long shadows down the narrow street, and there was a slight coolness in the air, brushing her bare arms. The thin gown fluttered against her skin, and she felt almost naked. It was most disconcerting.
“Here, you’ll need this.” Julian draped a silk mantilla over her shoulders. “The senhora was anxious you shouldn’t catch cold.”
“I’ve never caught cold in my life.”
“No, but then you’ve never been so impractically clothed before.”
“Oh, so you agree,” she cried indignantly. “It’s the most impractical, ludicrous, skimpy costume imaginable.”
He chuckled, and she realized that he’d tricked her into expressing her true feelings. Crossly, she kicked the flounce of the skirt ahead of her as she strode down the street, moving with as much vigor as if she were still clad in her britches.
Julian, following a little behind, winced as the hem of the skirt caught on a loose stone and she jerked it free roughly, kicking at the stone with the dainty kid slipper.
“Tamsyn!” He caught her arm, slowing her progress. “That is not the way to walk. You must hold up the skirts of your dress and petticoat in one hand, drawing them aside … look, like this.” He demonstrated, pinching the material of his britches at the knee between finger and thumb, taking a step. “Do you see?”
“I don’t think I’ve quite grasped it,” Tamsyn said solemnly. “Perhaps you could show me again.”
“It’s perfectly simple,” he said impatiently. “You just draw the material aside … Diablillo!” he exploded as Tamsyn went into a peal of laughter, doubled over, convulsed with merriment. He gave her an ungentlemanly swat, annoyance warring with reluctant amusement at the absurd image he’d presented.
She straightened hastily, turning her laughing countenance toward him. Picking up her skirt in exaggerated imitation, she took a mincing step, her nose loftily tilted, eyes on the sky. “Like this, milord colonel?”
“If you don’t look where you’re going, buttercup, you’re going to end up on your backside in the gutter,” he declared.
Tamsyn grimaced and dropped the pose. She must remember not to call him that.
“Now, take my arm,” he instructed, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. “And with your other hand, take up your skirts so they don’t trail in the dirt. And watch where you put your feet.”
They progressed in this fashion into the broader main street, and Tamsyn glanced around, hoping she wouldn’t see any familiar faces. Since she looked ridiculous in her own eyes, she couldn’t imagine anyone seeing a different picture.
“God’s grace, isn’t that Gabriel?” Julian said suddenly. The unmistakable giant figure astride his massive charger rounded the corner at the end of the street. He was leading two laden pack mules, and bringing up the rear of the procession was another mule with a female rider swathed in shawls and mantillas.
With a cry of joy Tamsyn dropped the colonel’s arm and, forgetting her embarrassment, ran down the street, holding up her skirts with both hands so she didn’t trip. “Gabriel, how quickly you got here!”
“What did you expect, little girl?” Gabriel said comfortably, dismounting. “Och, bairn, what are you wearing?”
“Oh, it’s all part of my plan,” she said, finally emerging from his embrace. “It makes me look silly, I know, but the colonel’s insisting on it; but I’ll explain later.”
“Well, well,” Julian drawled. “So Gabriel’s not a party to this pretty little scheme of yours. I’m astonished.”
Gabriel regarded the colonel steadily. “I see you’ve looked after the bairn.”
“Of course. Not that she’s made it easy for me,” he added caustically.
Gabriel nodded. “Didn’t expect she would, not her way.” He turned back to his pack mules, where Tamsyn was talking animatedly in Spanish to the woman still sitting on the mule. Gabriel lifted the woman down, holding her easily in his arms, although from what Julian could see beneath the mountain of shawls, the woman was no light burden.
Set on her feet on the cobbles, she shook down her shawls, revealing herself to be a short lady of substantial girth. Throwing off her mantilla, she exhibited a round face with benign features and little dark eyes like currants. She promptly flung her arms around Tamsyn, launching into a voluble cascade of loving greeting. Gabriel watched the proceedings with another satisfied nod.
“Och, woman, cease your wittering and let the little girl be,” he said when he judged the greeting had gone on long enough. “I want to see these things stowed … don’t like them out here on the open street, it’s not safe.”
“Oh, it’s safe enough,” Tamsyn said, finally turning back to him. “We are, after all, in the headquarters of Wellington’s army of the Peninsular. Protected by the word of an English gentleman. Isn’t that so, Lord St. Simon?”
“Most certainly,” he said smoothly, refusing to rise to the bait. “I suggest you stable the animals with Cesar and see if Senhora Braganza will accommodate additional lodgers.”
“That do, little girl?” Gabriel asked, not prepared to accept the word of the colonel without corroboration.
“Yes,” Tamsyn said. “We can unload the pack mules and store the stuff in my room at the senhora’s. It’ll be quite safe there.”
“Then lead on.” Gabriel gathered up the reins with a careless nod. “Lead your mule, woman.”
Tamsyn skipped ahead, Julian moving quickly beside her. “Who’s the lady?”
“Josefa … Gabriel’s woman,” Tamsyn informed him.
“His wife?”
Tamsyn pursed her lips, considering. “Depends how you define the position, I suppose. She’s been his bedmate ever since I can remember. She was my nurse. She’s going to come with us to England as my attendant or duenna … whatever you want to call it. A hidalgo maiden would certainly have one. I thought it all out.”
“I commend your foresight,” Julian murmured. “So Gabriel accompanies us too?”
“Of course. He wouldn’t let me go without him,” she said as if it were self-evident.
“He doesn’t yet know this, I gather.”
“Not yet,” Tamsyn said cheerfully. “I’ll explain it to them tonight. At the moment he’s too worried about the treasure to listen to anything else. He won’t relax until he’s seen it safely stowed.”
“Treasure?”
“Yes, my inheritance. It’ll fund this scheme of mine, Colonel. I told you I wouldn’t be a charge upon you.”
Julian stared. “What does it consist of … this treasure?”
“The fruits of a lifetime’s brigandage, sir,” she said dryly. “What else? Gold, silver, jewels. Doubloons, ducats, francs. Quite a fortune.”
“Good God!” he muttered faintly. “Didn’t that band of deserters …”
Her face tightened. “They were after it, of course. They’d heard of El Baron’s fabulous wealth. But they didn’t find it. The baron was no fool. Only he and Gabriel knew where it was. He knew, you see, that he could be sure only of himself and Gabriel if it came to torture.”
“I see.” There seemed no other response.
“Are you intending we should travel in an army convoy through Portugal?”
“I hadn’t thought about it as yet. But with that little lot, I think the more protection we have the better.” He grimaced, thinking of the responsibility of shepherding such a charge through the mountains to Lisbon. Portugal was a friendly nation, grateful to the English army for its liberation from Napoleon, but there were still brigands in the passes.
“Oh, Gabriel will pick his own men,” Tamsyn said. “And they won’t be soldiers. I asked about the convoy becaus
e I don’t think it would be a good idea. Gabriel doesn’t like soldiers … any more than I do … and he can sometimes be …” She paused. “Well, he can sometimes be a little unpredictable, particularly if he’s been drinking.”
“What do you mean, unpredictable?” Julian abruptly remembered the feel of the giant’s sword on his naked back, the urgent look in Tamsyn’s eyes as she’d spoken to Gabriel, desperate to convince him that she’d been a willing partner in that lusty tangle by the river.
“Hot-tempered,” Tamsyn said, privately reflecting that that was a considerable understatement, but the unvarnished truth might alarm the colonel.
“Dear God,” Julian muttered. A journey escorting a baggage train of untold wealth in the infuriating and tantalizing company of La Violette was to be exacerbated by a man given to violent drinking bouts.
“It doesn’t happen very often,” Tamsyn reassured. “And Josefa’s quite good at calming him … if she can catch him in time,” she added as they reached Senhora Braganza’s cottage.
Julian refrained from comment. “I’ll leave you here. When I’ve made the necessary arrangements, you’ll be informed.”
“Oh?” Tamsyn frowned. “And when will that be?”
“You’ll be informed. I suggest you occupy yourself with your wardrobe. You’ll need a riding habit and a sidesaddle. I assume you’ll be able to control Cesar riding sidesaddle? If not, you must procure another riding horse.”
He turned aside abruptly. “Gabriel, a word with you … are you intending to hire a guard for that?” He gestured toward the pack mules. “On the journey to Lisbon.”
“Lisbon? That where we’re headed?” Gabriel shrugged phlegmatically. “Then I reckon we’ll need a couple of useful men. I’ll find ’em hereabouts.”
“We could travel in an army convoy. They’re leaving all the time, conveying the wounded to Lisbon.”
Gabriel shook his head and spat in the dust. “Don’t hold with soldiers, Colonel. Present company excepted, of course.”
“Oh, of course,” Julian concurred aridly. “Well, I’ll leave it to you. You have a couple of days, maybe less.”
