by Jo Beverley
“Oh, Chastity…”
“Father knew you loved Nathaniel, and yet he forced you to marry Sir William—a fat old squire with more money than taste.” She put the baby up to her shoulder and patted his back.
Verity bit her lip. “It is a daughter’s duty to marry where her father wills.”
“So ‘tis said, but it would be pleasant to at least see the purpose in the sacrifice. Father not only married you to Sir William but also tried to make me marry his brother. What could he gain from such an alliance?”
Verity put soiled cloths in a bucket. “I don’t know,” she confessed.
“One thing is clear,” said Chastity. “You have done your duty. You are not even to consider obliging Father again. You are to marry Nathaniel.”
Verity nodded. “I am determined on it, though my conscience plagues me. I wish I had your resolution.”
“Faith,” said Chastity with a shudder, “it was seeing your marriage that gave me the strength to resist Father over mine. Sir William was a vile man and his brother, though smoother on the outside, is cut from the same cloth. I can certainly believe he would plot to murder an infant.”
“But I don’t know how you found the courage to stand up to Father. Look at me now. The only way I can try to thwart him is by running away.”
Chastity stood and placed the sleepy baby gently in his bed and covered him with a blanket. Then she wandered over to the tiny gable window to look blindly out at the garden, illuminated only by the square of light from the kitchen window. “I honestly don’t know if I would have been brave enough, Verity, if I’d known… I never imagined he would go so far. But once I’d started to resist I somehow could not stop…”
Verity gathered her sister into her arms and the two young women clung to one another. “Only two years ago,” said Verity, “we were happy and full of hope. What happened?” But then she pulled herself together. “We must go down to supper.” She picked up the bucket and glanced at her sister. “Don’t you think you should change into a gown, dearest, with a man here?”
Chastity wiped away her tears and stiffened her spine. “Assuredly not. It wouldn’t be wise to let him know he’s dealing with three females.”
“Oh, Chastity,” Verity protested. “He’s a gentleman.”
“How the devil can you think that a recommendation? Sir William was a gentleman. Henry Vernham and Father are supposedly gentlemen. And besides being a gentleman, our prisoner is a Malloren. They’re handsome men, and have a fascinating air, but they’d all cut your throat before they’d step aside on the road. Don’t be taken in by Cyn Malloren’s lovely lashes.”
Verity chuckled. “Amazing, aren’t they? I really can’t fear a man who looks like that.”
Chastity’s tone was curt. “I’m sure a lot of people have made the same mistake. A fatal one.”
“Really, Chastity. You can’t think him deadly. Shooting pheasant is probably the closest he’s come to bloodshed in his life.”
Chastity shook her head. “He’s dangerous, Verity. I can sense it. Please try to call me Charles at all times, or at least Chas. And don’t reveal our full names. Rothgar and Father have been at daggers drawn for years. Let Cyn Malloren know we are Wares and all hell will break loose.”
Verity shook her head at this but made no objection. She checked William, then blew out the candle and led the way toward the stairs. She hesitated at the top of the steep flight. “Chas, what if he tries to marry you off again?”
“Father?” Chastity laughed harshly. “That’s the only blessing. My defiance pushed him into ruining me with absolute thoroughness. No man is ever going to want to marry the Notorious Chastity Ware.”
Cyn watched her stride through the room and go upstairs. She had found the pistol, and so he assumed she was convinced of his good intentions. She didn’t appear particularly mellowed.
He wanted to see her smile. He wanted her to talk to him, to tell him her problems so he could shoulder her burdens. He was surprised to find that on very brief acquaintance he had developed a warm appreciation for his captor’s spirit, and for her unconventional appearance.
That sleek, otter-fur hairstyle was extremely strange, but it showed off a beautifully shaped skull. Why had he never realized the potential beauty in a skull? He relished the notion of stroking that sleek head as much as he would anticipate running his hands through a mass of silken curls.
That hair also pulled into focus the clear strong lines of her face—the smooth, high forehead, the straight chiseled nose, the firm jaw. Even those ordinary blue-gray eyes, when properly framed, were unforgettable. She was decidedly not in the common style of women, but then, he had never favored the common.
She carried herself with the fluent pride of a male—shoulders straight, stride purposeful. He found it surprisingly erotic, and regretted that the male attire had presumably only been put on for the robbery. He wondered how she would appear in a gown.
He wasn’t to find out. She still wore breeches when she came down the stairs.
As the two sisters passed through the room to go to the kitchen, he said, “Are you convinced I will do you no harm, Charles?”
She turned and looked at him. “As long as you’re tied to the bed, my lord, I’m entirely convinced.”
“Afraid to deal with me at liberty, are you?”
She set her hands on her hips. “Not at all. But why should I bother to try?”
She was wonderful. “Fair play,” he said amiably. “I have done nothing dishonorable.”
She smiled. “Helping highwaymen is not precisely honorable, my lord.”
He smiled with equal insincerity. “My apologies. I didn’t realize you wanted your neck stretched. I’ll see to it at the first opportunity.”
“I know. That’s why you’re spread-eagled.”
He bit back a laugh. Fencing with her was the best fun he’d had in months. What a woman. Which gave him a new weapon. “Strange way to tie a man, this,” he said. “You the sort who likes to ogle other men’s bodies, young Charles?”
Prodded by his words, she looked him over and her color flared, ripping through her disguise. She looked totally female, and an innocent, flustered female at that. The situation was giving him an erection.
“Stop it, both of you,” said Verity, coming at him with a carving knife. She took in the bulge in his breeches with a mere quirk of her eyebrows. “I think the man’s quite right,” she said to her sister. “He’s done nothing to warrant such treatment. He can come and eat with us.”
“Verity, stop that!” snapped Charles. But Verity had already cut the strips of cloth tying Cyn to the bed, and he gratefully swung up into the vertical, working the numbness out of his wrists.
“My dear sir,” he said, delighted to be able to fence from a position of equality, “I appreciate your sister’s kindness, but if you are the master of this house, shouldn’t you be able to control your womenfolk a little better?”
Her eyes flashed. “With a whip, perhaps?”
Cyn winked at Verity. “Is your sister so unruly?”
“Oh, do stop it, my lord,” said Verity, though she was struggling not to laugh. “You’re taunting just to strike sparks. If you carry on this way, I’ll tie you up again.”
He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, and followed the sisters into the aromatic kitchen. He wondered how long it would be before someone made an irremediable mistake and revealed Charles to be… what? Charlotte? He eyed the frosty-faced girl. ‘Charles’ suited her much better than ’Charlotte.‘
Nana beamed to see him free, and tried to settle him at the head of the table. “No, no,” said Cyn, gesturing toward Charles. “This must surely be your seat, sir, as head of the family.” He smiled at them all, blatantly using his considerable charm. “Am I to be favored by the family name?”
“No,” said Charles bluntly, taking the place. “Be grateful you’re getting your food.”
Nana placed a large pan of rabbit stew on the table.
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br /> “Wonderful food too,” Cyn said with a blissful smile.
Nana beamed. “It’s so satisfying to feed a man.”
Cyn turned a quizzical look at Charles. “But you stripling lads in the peak of your growth are usually voracious eaters.”
Charles turned red. “I am not a stripling lad.”
“My dear sir, my apologies. I know some men are slow to grow a beard…”
“Let me serve you, my lord,” said Verity hastily, and heaped a large portion of stew on his plate. “Potatoes?”
Cyn nobly forbore to tease for the rest of the meal.
“Now,” he said as they sat with cups of tea, “why don’t you tell me what you’re up to so I can help?”
“Why should you want to?” asked Charles stonily.
“I told you, I crave adventure. I cannot exist without it. I’ve always wanted to be a knight-errant.”
It was Verity who responded. “But why do you think I am a damsel in distress, my lord?”
He looked at her. “Are you not?”
She smiled sadly. “Damsels are usually maidens, and I am certainly not that, but I am in a certain amount of distress…”
“Don’t, Verity!” said Charles sharply. “Don’t trust him. Why must you always be so trusting? If you tell him, he’ll side with the rest of them.”
“What else are we to do?” Verity asked. “We need someone to help with the coach, and I’d feel better with…”
Cyn could hear the words with a man to help us hover in the room, and saw the glare in Charles’ eyes. Was it simply a case of one of those tedious hoydens who wanted to be a man? He hoped not.
“You’d feel better with someone older,” he supplied smoothly. “My dear Charles, don’t poker up. It’s clear you are doing your best to support your sister in whatever trouble has befallen her, but it is never wise to refuse a genuine offer of help. I must be close to ten years your senior, and have experience you lack. If you tell me where you wish to go, I will do my best to get you there safely.”
“Maidenhead,” said Verity firmly. “My promised husband, Major Nathaniel Frazer, is stationed there.”
Was he the father of her child? Cyn wondered. She wore a wedding band, but that could be false. “That should present no problem. I must admit,” he hazarded, “it doesn’t appear to present any problem at all.”
“Except money,” drawled Charles.
“Ah. Hence the highway robbery.”
“Quite.”
No one seemed ready to offer him more information, so Cyn probed again. “I understand the appeal of traveling in my very comfortable coach, but acquiring it presented certain risks. Wouldn’t it have been wiser to settle for the stage, or even those two thoroughbreds you were riding?”
“The horses weren’t ours,” explained Verity, “and if we kept them the fat would be in the fire. I do agree, however, that the stage would have been more prudent.”
“Yes,” said Charles abruptly. “You’re right. Tomorrow we’ll use his lordship’s coach to take us into Shaftesbury, and we’ll purchase seats on the stage.” She turned cold eyes on Cyn. “If, that is, we can trust you thus far, my lord.”
“You can trust me to hell and beyond,” he said simply, “but only if you allow me a place in your adventures. I will not be denied.”
“This isn’t a damned game!”
“Is there real danger then?”
“Yes.”
“From where?”
But she shut her firm lips on that information.
“I do think we should tell him, dearest,” said Verity.
“We’ll talk about it later.” Charles put an end to the discussion by rising to her feet. “For the moment the question is, where does he sleep?”
Cyn couldn’t resist. “Why not with you, sir?”
Charles froze, and Verity choked on her tea.
“It presents a problem?” Cyn asked Charles. “I assure you I don’t snore.”
“But I do,” she said hastily.
“Ah. Tell me, sir, where do you sleep?”
“Upstairs,” she said unwarily. Her color betrayed her agitation, and she added, “We have divided the space with a curtain.”
“Your sister and the baby being fortunately very sound sleepers.” At her blank look, he added, “The snoring.” Cyn held back a grin with considerable difficulty. Heavens above, if eyes really could spit fire he’d be a cinder. Those flaming eyes, those pure, firm lips, and the flush of anger in her cheeks all conspired to create astounding beauty.
A wave of pure lust surprised him, a desire to strip her here and now, and find the feminine secrets beneath her masculine appearance; to see those eyes flame with passion instead of rage, those cheeks heat with desire. It was a good thing he was not still spread-eagled or his body would give her fits. He hastily shielded his eyes with his lashes but determined again to see this adventure through.
It was quickly decided that he would sleep in the kitchen, but only one spare blanket was available to cushion the stone floor. Since it was clear they had to trust him, they allowed him to go to the coach to collect his trunk. With some of his clothes and his greatcoat he made a tolerable bed, far better than he’d had many a time with his regiment. The kitchen was, after all, warm and dry.
Nana and Verity were clearing away the supper dishes. Charles went out and brought water from a well, then sat to read a book. Cyn made himself comfortable too.
He pulled off his boots and cleaned them with a rag. Who knew how long they’d have to go without Jerome’s loving attention? He hung his jacket and waistcoat on the back of a chair. He untied the ribbons in his hair and combed it. After a slight hesitation—being in the presence of ladies—he removed his cravat and unfastened the buttons of his shirt.
Nana and Verity paid him no attention, but it was Charles he watched. He saw one flickering glance up from her book, but no particular reaction. He’d have to try harder.
Nana retired. Verity fussed over Cyn for a minute or two, then went upstairs. Cyn yawned and slipped into his makeshift bed. He waited to see what the wench would do.
She closed her book and came to stand over him. Being unbound, Cyn had no problem with her looming over him if it made her comfortable. He put his hands behind his head and smiled up at her with all the seductive power he possessed. “Do you want to share my sleeping quarters after all?”
She caught her breath and stepped back, but collected herself immediately. “I just want to make it clear, my lord, that I’ll kill you if you play us false. The other two are softhearted, but I’m not.”
Not a wanton then, alas, alas. “Have you ever killed anyone, Charles?”
Her lips trembled with betraying weakness. “No.”
“I have.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Do you? I’m a captain with the 48th.”
She gaped slightly.
“I’m invalided out at the moment, but I’ve seen my share of death. It’s not as easy to kill as you think unless you have overwhelming cause.”
Any trace of weakness disappeared. “Then I should have no trouble at all.” She blew out the candles and left him with only the banked glow of the fire for light.
Cyn was sobered. He stared up at the shadowed beams of the dark ceiling. Who, he wondered, had hurt the girl so deeply that she wanted to kill? Who was responsible for her being here penniless, dressed as a man, and afraid? Without knowing the answers, he embraced her cause.
He had found his damsel in distress, but it wasn’t sweet Verity. It was the difficult, angry, beautiful Charles.
Chapter 3
Nana woke him the next morning as she tiptoed about the kitchen, putting water on to boil and bringing in eggs from the henhouse. “Don’t feel you have to rise yet, my lord,” she said quickly, but he was already up from his makeshift bed and bundling it out of the way.
He discovered he’d grown soft in his months away from the army. Once he’d thought nothing of sleeping on the floo
r wrapped in his cloak, then rising to do battle. Now he was stiff and poorly rested, and he longed for a warm bath and clothes he hadn’t slept in. The sooner he returned to his profession the better.
“Can I beg a little hot water so I can shave?” he asked, and the old lady happily provided it.
He worked before a small, cracked mirror on the kitchen wall, giving thanks that his beard was not particularly heavy or coarse, for he was unused to this task. Jerome always did it, even when Cyn was with the army.
Jerome was the only indulgence Cyn had allowed Rothgar to provide when he joined his regiment. In six years of soldiering Cyn had made his own way. He’d won his promotions rather than buying them. Rothgar had seriously proposed buying him a regiment, but Cyn had refused, and proved to himself and his brother that he could stand alone.
Until now.
He grimaced at himself in the mirror, still disgusted that the lung-fever had won.
He remembered the struggle to keep going, feeling sicker and sicker by the day, but denying it. After that, the memories grew hazy: the rough care of his men; the rough-and-ready military hospital in Halifax; a hellhole on the ship where he’d decided he’d rather be dead…
And then suddenly, dream-like, he’d been at Rothgar Abbey in the care of his family—Rothgar, Brand, Bryght, and, most concerned of all, his twin sister, Elfled. Weak, and wondering if he were going to die, he’d taken comfort in his home and family, in tastes, sounds, and faces from his childhood.
As he’d recovered, however, he’d chafed at his siblings’ cossetting. Lord, he didn’t know what they considered good health, but it seemed to be a state too perfect for a mere mortal to achieve. There’d been talk of him selling out and taking up another profession.
Not bloody likely.
His hand tightened and he nicked his chin. He bit back a curse and grabbed a handkerchief to dab at the blood. He finished the job without further mishap, however, and hoped that augured well for the whole adventure. When he turned, pressing the cloth to the bloody spot, he found Charles had come into the kitchen. He caught her looking at him. She colored, looked down, then boldly looked up again.
