by Cheryl Holt
“What is wrong with Miriam?” he asked.
“Nothing. Why?”
“She looks like a damned specter.”
“She’s fine.” Maud forced a smile. “So I was thinking—”
“About what?”
“About Miss Hamilton! Captain, it’s so disconcerting when you’re distracted. This is important to me. I wish you’d pay attention.”
Maud snuggled herself closer, but Helen and her swain had parted company. Tristan watched as the dubious gentleman snuck off behind the blacksmith’s barn where the male partygoers were enjoying a whiskey away from the ladies.
“Would you excuse me?”
“What?”
He slipped away and was instantly swallowed up by the crowd.
Maud called, “Captain! Honestly!”
She hurled a few pleading invectives, but he didn’t heed them. He was too focused on his goal—that being Helen’s beau.
He headed directly to the whiskey keg and filled a glass, needing the liquor to soothe his temper. He sipped it, feigning calm as he scanned the group, locating Dubois off by himself, leaning against a tree and drinking.
Tristan marched over.
“Who the hell are you,” he demanded without preamble, “and how do you know Helen Hamilton?”
“Well, well, if it isn’t the infamous Captain Odell.”
“Answer my question: How are you acquainted with my governess?”
“Helen and I go way back.”
“How far would that be, precisely?”
“Farther than you’d probably like to imagine,” the cheeky fellow retorted in perfectly enunciated English. “Phillip Dudley, at your service.”
“What happened to your accent?”
“I’m not French,” Dudley boldly admitted. “Helen assumes I am, though. The ladies always find it enchanting, so I like to pretend.”
He winked as if they were conspirators in his duplicity toward Helen.
“You’re flirting with her because... ?”
“Recently she’s had some financial trouble, and she’s been disowned by her family—because of her dear old da, Harry—but they’ll come around eventually. When they do, she’ll receive a pot of money. I’ll be there to help her spend it.”
Tristan was aghast. “You’re hoping to marry her in case she inherits some money in the future?”
Dudley chuckled. “Nobody mentioned marriage. I simply intend to be her very special friend.”
“She’s not stupid enough to trust you.”
“Isn’t she? She’s gullible, and she’s lonely, and I know just how to play her. In the end, she’ll do anything I say.” He paused and grinned. “Absolutely anything.”
Before Tristan realized what he planned, he punched Dudley as hard as he could, his fist connecting with the man’s cheek. Dudley stumbled, but didn’t fall to the ground.
“Arrogant bugger,” Dudley grumbled, rubbing his jaw.
“Leave her be.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I’m ordering you to.”
“She’s a bloody servant. Why would you care what I do with her? Fire her if you don’t want her consorting with me. If she doesn’t have a job, she’ll be easier to seduce.”
Tristan lunged, but Dudley grabbed his wrist, stopping a second blow.
“If you hit me again,” Dudley warned, “I’ll hit you back. And believe me: With the mood I’m in, I doubt you’ll best me.”
He was about Tristan’s height, with the same muscular physique. Would they brawl? Tristan would relish a scuffle, and he supposed it would be an even match, with Dudley fighting dirty at every turn. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the chance to learn who would be the victor.
“Hey, you two!” a man hollered from over by the keg. “There’s no quarreling allowed here.”
“Save it for another day,” someone else counseled. “Don’t spoil the fun for the ladies.”
Dudley shoved Tristan’s fist away, and Tristan stepped back, not inclined to continue with so many glaring at them.
“I’ll never fire her,” Tristan tersely seethed, “so stay the hell away from her.”
“Damned if I will,” Dudley bragged, and he stomped away before Tristan could reply or react.
“HAVE you seen her?”
“Yes!”
Clarinda and Jane peered over to where Miriam Seymour was hiding behind her mother.
The white cosmetic was appalling. It made her very pale, but to counter the wan coloring, she’d added bright red rouge to her mouth and cheeks. In the dim surroundings, she appeared more ghoulish than ghostly.
“I expected your potion to work,” Jane whispered, “but I had no idea!”
“Neither did I,” Clarinda mumbled under her breath.
“Were you present for the opening festivities?”
“We arrived too late. The party had already started.”
“At the manor, Miriam missed the carriage—intentionally, I’m sure—so we left without her.”
“Which meant Lord Hastings was without a partner for the first dance.”
“Yes, and he asked me to fill in for her! The whole village saw us. Everyone is gossiping about it. They’re all curious as to why the earl is so fond of me.”
“I’m so glad for you.”
“When Miriam finally showed up, Lord Hastings took one look at her and nearly fainted—just as you told me he would.”
“Did he say anything?”
“No. He’s too polite.”
“So it all resolved to your benefit.”
“Yes. He’s danced with me three times. Three!” Jane seized Clarinda’s hands and twirled her in a joyous circle. “Can you believe it?”
“Of course I can,” Clarinda loyally said. “You’re the most beautiful girl here. How could he not want to be with you?”
“He must be falling in love, Clarinda. Don’t you imagine he is?”
She seemed so eager that Clarinda could only agree.
“I’m certain of it.”
“It’s all your doing. How can I ever thank you?”
Be my friend, Clarinda mused. Let me be part of your world.
The musicians were striking up the next tune, and a young dandy rushed up to Jane. “Miss Hamilton! Will you do me the honor?”
Jane smiled at Clarinda as she explained, “Since Lord Hastings favored me with his attention, every other boy wants a turn. It’s the greatest night of my life!”
Without a good-bye, she pranced off, and Clarinda watched her go, wondering if she’d ever been that young, that imprudently enamored; the answer was a definite no. She would never permit a man to have so much power over her.
From the sidelines, she observed the merriment, deciding she might dance again, too, when she saw her brother limping out from behind the barn.
He scanned the crowd, obviously searching for her, and he hobbled over. As he approached, she noted that someone had hit him. His cheek was swelling, and in the morning, he’d likely have a black eye.
“You were fighting?” she scolded.
“I wouldn’t call it a fight, precisely. It was a single punch, thrown before I realized it was coming.”
“Honestly,” she complained, “I can’t take you anywhere.”
“I know, I know, I act as if I was raised in a cave.”
It was one of Clarinda’s constant criticisms. “Might I ask the identity of the fellow who caught you unawares? Or were you boxing with strangers?”
“I was giving Captain Odell a piece of my mind, but he replied with his fist”
“Captain Odell? Are you insane? You’re lucky he didn’t murder you.”
“He certainly wanted to.”
Phillip grinned in a smug way that indicated he had a scheme fomenting and that it was progressing nicely.
“What are you up to now?”
“I’m just ensuring that the Spinster’s Cure has every chance to cast its magic on Helen Hamilton.”
“What are you talki
ng about?”
“Odell is convinced I’m an unscrupulous rake and that poor, gullible Miss Hamilton is about to run off with me—to her eternal detriment.”
“Why tell him that?”
“The wretched bloke is hopelessly in love with her.”
“How do you know?”
“Oh, please,” Phillip scoffed. “I am Philippe Dubois, remember? Amour is my stock and trade. Odell was so jealous that I thought the top of his head was going to blow off.”
As they spoke, Odell strutted out from the shadow of the barn. He stopped near the dais where the musicians were located, and he had a clear view of the festivities. His feet were braced, his hands clasped behind his back as if he was on the deck of his ship and guiding it through rough weather.
He searched the gathering till he found Helen Hamilton. She was dancing with the vicar, looking pretty and happy and completely oblivious to Odell, whose fierce focus could have set her on fire.
Clarinda had to admit that Phillip was probably correct: Odell appeared to be wildly jealous.
Phillip studied Helen, then Odell, then Helen again.
“First, it was Lady Redvers,” he said, “drinking the Spinster’s Cure and ending up married to the viscount. Now it’s Helen Hamilton who’ll end up with Odell. Didn’t you give her sister something, as well?”
“A love potion and a curse.”
“I know she felt the potion was effective. How about the curse?”
“Worked like a charm.”
Gleefully, he rubbed his palms together as if they were about to be filled with gold coins.
“When word of this gets out, we will make a bloody fortune.”
Chapter 14
HELEN knelt in the window seat in her bedchamber, staring out at the starry sky. It was late and quiet, and she felt very lonely, as if she was the last person on earth.
The village dance had been splendid, the music lively and gay, the villagers cordial and boisterous, so why was she moping?
Yes, Captain Odell had forsaken her, but what had she expected?
He was a proud man, and she’d spurned him. Did she suppose he’d sit about, pining over her and trying to win her back?
Sighing with dismay she pulled the cork from the bottle of Woman’s Daily Remedy that Mr. Dubois had given her. Though she wasn’t much of a drinker, she sensed alcohol in the concoction, the liquor masked by a strong cherry flavoring. She downed a swig, then another, and another, liking how it warmed and relaxed her.
She’d told Mr. Dubois that she wasn’t heartbroken, but she’d been lying. She was bereft, exhausted from pretending that all was well, and miserable from acting as if Odell didn’t matter.
She slipped from her perch by the window, but she was very dizzy, and she had to grab the dresser to keep her balance.
“Oh my,” she breathed.
The remedy was more potent than she’d imagined, and she decided she should ingest some milk to counter its effects, which meant a trip to the kitchen in her nightgown and robe, but what harm could there be? Everyone was asleep, so no one would see her.
Carefully, she started out, finding it easier to walk if her focus was glued to the floor. She stumbled toward the stairs, but with it being so dark, she took a wrong turn, and gradually, she seemed to be winding down a maze of hallways that led nowhere.
At the end of a grand corridor, she halted and frowned, realizing she was lost.
She stood, wondering what to do, when suddenly, the door behind her opened.
“Get your ass in here,” a very angry, very stern male said, and she was yanked into the room.
She yelped with surprise, but before she could figure out what had happened, the door slammed shut and was locked.
She whipped around, coming face-to-face with Tristan Odell. He was attired only in his trousers, the top buttons undone, the flap loose, providing tantalizing glimpses of his flat belly and private regions down below.
His black hair was hanging to his shoulders. The gold pirate’s earring gleamed in his ear.
His bare shoulders were very wide, his chest very broad, and she gulped with dismay—but with excitement, too.
They were alone! Together! Was she dreaming?
The suite was masculine in its decor, with heavy mahogany furnishings, maroon drapes, and plush carpets. A cozy fire burned in the grate, and he’d been over by it, lounging in a comfortable chair. On a table next to it, there was a glass and decanter of liquor. The decanter was nearly empty.
In the room beyond, she could see his bed. It was massive, as if built for a king.
“Is this your bedchamber?” she stupidly asked.
“As if you didn’t know, you little hussy.”
“I think I’d best be going.”
She spun as if to hurry out but he pointed to a chair and growled, “Sit your ass down.”
“I don’t believe I ought. I really, really should—”
“Sit down!” he bellowed, and she scurried over and plopped onto the hard seat.
He glared at her, his torrid gaze meandering down her torso, taking in the fact that she wasn’t dressed, that her long hair was curling down her back.
His examination was very thorough, as if he was stripping her with his eyes, as if she was naked. Her body rippled with anticipation, her nipples tightening into painful buds that pushed against the fabric of her nightgown.
He didn’t speak, but kept looking and looking, and finally she said, “Was there something you wanted?”
“Bloody right there was something I wanted!”
He approached until he was directly in front of her, and he trapped her by slapping his palms down on the arms of the chair.
“You tell that cheeky sister of yours to stay away from my ward.”
“What?”
“I see the game she’s playing, and it won’t work.”
“What game is that?” She bristled.
“She can flirt and tempt and tease to infinity, but Michael Seymour will never marry her.”
“Why, you arrogant wretch! How dare you make insinuations about my sister!”
“When they are fully deserved, I’ll say whatever I like.”
“When you insult her, you insult me—and my dear, deceased father. I won’t stand for it.”
“Your dear father? Now there was a scoundrel.” He flashed a feral grin. “You certainly inherited his tendencies toward duplicity and deceit, didn’t you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” He pulled away and stood. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it, Miss Hamilton? Are you a Miss, by the way? Or have you lain with every Tom, Dick, and Philippe in the county?”
She was so furious, she couldn’t decide where to begin chastising him.
He hadn’t deigned to notice her in weeks, and this was how he chose to act?
She leapt to her feet, ready to slap him silly then storm out, but he shouted again, using his most authoritative ship-captain’s roar.
“I told you to sit down, Miss Hamilton! What part of that command do you fail to comprehend?”
To her great mortification, she obeyed, her bottom slamming onto the cushion so fast that gravity had to have tugged at an especially quick rate.
She watched, mildly horrified and incredibly intrigued, as he started to pace. She felt as if she was one of his sailors, listening to a list of transgressions that detailed why she was about to be flogged.
“You are not to ever be alone with Mr. Dubois.”
“What?”
“You are not to be alone with him. Do you hear me?”
It was the strangest edict ever.
“Yes, I hear you, and I think you’re out of your mind.”
“YOU ARE NOT TO BE ALONE WITH HIM!” he yelled.
He was on the verge of hysterics, and she couldn’t fathom why, but she remembered Dubois’s assertion that the captain was wild for her.
Could Dubois be correct? Was Odell jealou
s?
A vain thrill coursed through her. What if he was? What did it mean? Where would it take them?
“I can’t see,” she blithely said, “how my relationship with Philippe is any of your business.”
“Philippe?” he gasped, his voice shrill. “You call that blackguard Philippe?”
“Why wouldn’t I? He’s asked me to marry him three times. We’re very close, so there’s no reason to—”
Before she could finish the sentence, he swooped in and lifted her into his arms, and he turned and marched to the bedroom.
She squealed and fussed and kicked, but it was no use. He was bent on his destination, and he wasn’t about to let her escape. Not that she wanted to; it just seemed that a lady should protest.
He dropped her onto the mattress, and though she tried to squirm away, he was on her in an instant, his lean, hard body stretched out the length of hers, pinning her down.
“He is not a gentleman,” he fumed.
“Maybe I like that about him.”
“He’s not even French, you little fool. He’s a damned Englishman, with a fake accent, who’s playing on your gullible nature.”
“That can’t be. I trust him with my life. He has so many plans for us.”
“Oh, he has plans, all right. Plans such as planting a babe in your belly, then running off with all your money.”
“All my ... my ... money?”
She laughed and laughed. She couldn’t help it.
Obviously, Mr. Dubois and the captain had conversed. What had Dubois said?
When next they crossed paths, she’d have to profusely thank him.
“What is so funny?” he snapped.
“You. You’re absolutely hilarious.”
“I’m protecting your virtue and reputation.”
“Ha! I may work for you, but you don’t own me. I’m an adult woman, and I can consort with whomever I please. It’s not your place to order me about.”
“Is that really what you suppose?”
“Yes.”
“Hear me and hear me well, Miss Hamilton: Dubois’s name isn’t even Dubois. It’s Dudley. He is a fraud and a villain, and you are never to speak with him again.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I have to—”
“Aren’t you listening? Never again!”
