Little White Lies

by Sara Ackerman

  “If I agree to meet your daughter”—Tavis paused and Westby perked up, heartened by Tavis’s statement—“you would have to guarantee me that upon our marriage you would hand over any and all paperwork concerning my father, the third Earl of Stanton.”

  “Yes, yes,” Westby hurried to assure Tavis. “Of course.”

  “Also, if we were to marry, I would like to discuss including in your daughter’s settlement the horses you took from my stables.”

  Westby’s genial smile disappeared, replaced by a stern line of displeasure. “Absolutely not. Those are my horses, paid for with your father’s note.”

  Tavis’s eyes darkened in anger. “You and I both know the horseflesh you stole from my stables that day more than repaid the five thousand pounds my father owed you.”

  Westby leaned in, his eyes narrowed to obsidian slits. “Listen, Stanton. Those horses were exchanged for the note and for the promise I would not reveal any information about your father until such time as you have married my daughter.”

  Tavis leaned in too, baring his teeth as he snarled, “It seems, then, we are at an impasse, Lord Westby, because I shall refuse to meet your daughter unless you agree to my terms.”

  “Are you forgetting the little matter of your father’s unfortunate wartime activities?” Tavis felt spittle hit his cheek from Lord Westby’s hissed question. With a calm he didn’t feel, Tavis removed his handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the offending moisture from his cheek.

  “Go ahead. Tell everyone.” Tavis leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, meeting the angry glare of Lord Westby. “But when you are brought in and questioned for withholding traitorous materials from the Crown, you very well may be implicated, too.”

  “Fine. We will discuss the matter of the horses in my daughter’s settlement if you agree to marry her.”

  The two men shook on it, and Westby, with aristocratic grace, staggered out of White’s. Tavis remained nursing his glass of whisky.

  “McGuire!” A familiar voice hailed him from across the room. Tavis looked up and spied the jovial countenance of his supervising officer, Major-General Wickes, who slid into the chair across from Tavis and signaled the waiter to bring him a drink.

  “It’s been awhile, Wickes.” Tavis greeted his comrade and friend with a smile and a firm handshake. “At least a year.”

  “I think you’re right, McGuire.” Wickes thanked the waiter and took a sip. “Ah,” he sighed, “I haven’t had a good glass of whisky since coming back from the Continent.”

  Tavis grimaced into his glass. “This isn’t even particularly good.” He downed his drink and signaled for another. “You should taste Scotch whisky. Now, that’s a smooth drink.”

  “I had heard rumors you returned to Scotland when your brother died.”

  “Yes.” Tavis brooded into his newly filled glass. “Congratulate me, Wickes. I’m the new Earl of Stanton.” He laughed, a sad, bitter sound. “All it took was for my brother to die.”

  Raising his glass in mock salute, Wickes said, “To you, my friend.” Tactfully changing the subject, Wickes asked over his glass, “Was that Lord Westby I saw you talking to?”

  “Hmm? Yes.” Tavis hesitated for a moment. “He had some information about my father he wanted to give me.”

  Wickes’s eyes took on a hard glint. “Westby is a pig,” he spat. “Do you mind me asking what information he had about your father?”

  Tavis hedged. “I’d really rather not talk about it.”

  Grabbing his coat, Wickes suggested, “Let’s take a walk, my friend, where there is less noise.” He looked around the room at the rapidly filling establishment.

  The two men exited and walked toward Hyde Park. Once they had walked a fair distance into the park, Wickes said, “Let me see if I can guess what you two talked about. Westby approached your brother, or maybe you when you returned home, with an offer of some delicate information in return for your cooperation on a matter of import to him. How am I doing so far?”

  Tavis jerked back in sudden surprise, wondering how much his old friend actually knew. Deciding it wasn’t worth prevaricating to someone who could sniff out a lie like a hound dog could sniff out a fox, Tavis said, “It’s true. He approached me with incriminating information about my father, specifically information that detailed illegal wartime activities.”

  Wickes and Tavis walked in silence while Tavis wondered at the lack of surprise Wickes had shown at the information he had just shared. Most officers of Her Majesty’s Royal Army strongly objected to anything smelling of treason, yet Wickes had shown no surprise, which made Tavis wonder what Wickes knew.

  “We have suspected Westby of collusion with the enemy for some time.”

  Tavis started in surprise. “We?” he queried. “Who is we?”

  “You’re not the only one with a new title, Lord Stanton.” Wickes said, emphasizing the new name. “After returning from the Continent, I was named to the War Office, in charge of wartime security.”

  “What have you suspected Westby of doing?”

  “We have long suspected Westby of passing sensitive documents about troop numbers and supplies to English citizens in France. These documents were then passed to French sympathizers, jeopardizing the safety of thousands of English troops.”

  “But what does my father have to do with any of this?” Tavis asked in frustration. “If Westby is a suspect, then why is he blackmailing me?”

  “We have determined Westby has a network of civilians he uses to conduct his business.” Wickes blew out a frustrated breath. “This has made it very difficult to pin anything on him. Most of them are peers of the realm, like your father, who owed him a debt. Once the deed is done, usually delivering papers at a designated rendezvous, the debt is considered paid.”

  “But my father must have died before Westby could collect,” Tavis finished, understanding dawning.

  Wickes nodded. “That’s exactly what we think happened, as well. When he approached your brother about the matter of your father’s outstanding debt, Westby must have realized he would not be able to extort your dying brother.” Wickes shrugged. “So he waited for you.”

  Tavis moved off the path they had been walking on to stand with arms crossed before a small pond. “It doesn’t make any sense, though, Wickes. He didn’t blackmail me into delivering any papers for him.” Tavis snorted and turned his head to look at Wickes standing behind him. “Westby wants me to marry his chit of a daughter in return for the information about my father.” Tavis stooped down and picked up a smooth rock. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the rock skipping across the pond.

  Wickes joined Tavis by the pond. “Tell me what he said.” Tavis blinked at Wickes’s sudden arrival and at the hard glint Tavis saw in his eyes.

  “It’s just as I said. Westby sent me a letter requesting that we meet to discuss my father’s debt. When we actually sat down to discuss it, he said he would forgive the debt if I married his daughter.”

  “He said nothing else?”

  “I did ask him what was wrong with his daughter that he needed to blackmail a peer to marry her,” Tavis mused.

  “Did he say why?”

  “If you are one to believe the semi-drunken ramblings of a suspected traitor, he said she was ‘off-putting and direct.’ ”

  “Think, Tavis,” Wickes interjected, oddly agitated. “Did he say anything else about his daughter, anything you found odd?”

  He stared unseeing into the pond. “He said I could help her break her curse,” he murmured. “Silly, isn’t it?” Tavis asked but found Wickes rubbing his hands together in excited anticipation.

  “What? What is it?” Tavis demanded. “Was he right?” He looked at his eager friend with astonishment.

  Instead of answering him directly, Wickes patted him on the shoulder. “We need you back, McGuire, for one more mission.” The light of battle had entered his old friend’s eyes, and Tavis could tell he was planning away behind those steely, blue-gr
ay eyes.

  Tavis shook off Wickes’s hand and rubbed his hands through his hair in disbelief. First he was called home to a crumbling estate on the verge of financial ruin. Then he found out his old man was not just a colossal bastard but a traitor to boot. With Westby’s thinly veiled proposition and now Wickes’s plea for him to run one more mission, Tavis had had enough.

  He took several deep breaths and reminded himself of how much he owed his friend and former supervising officer, one Major-General Thomas Q. Wickes. On more than one occasion Wickes’s intervention had prevented him from doing something rash and dangerous.

  Hell, without his calm, rational guidance, I would still be digging latrines instead of having become a decorated war hero. Tavis paced as he argued with himself on the potential merits versus dangers of a proposed mission from the War Office. What stopped him was a realization. You trust him with your life, no?

  “What would you have me do, man?”

  A strange light entered Wickes’s eyes as he said in all seriousness, “We want you to do as Westby said. Marry the chit.”

  Chapter 5

  The sound of approaching footsteps shook Tavis out of his musings. Not wanting to be found yet, he extinguished his cigar and retreated farther into the shadows on the far side of the barn.

  “Oof!” a loud female voice screeched into his ear. As Tavis braced his arms against his unknown visitor to steady himself, he felt a small foot come close to emasculating him. He doubled over and gritted out, “You little minx!”

  Tavis’s hold on the spitting female weakened due to the pain he was now feeling below the belt. Not wanting to become a eunuch, a distinct possibility the way this hellcat was twisting about, Tavis lurched forward, pushing the woman to the ground. Using the strength and width of his body, he braced her fall before rolling her over and pinning her under his impressive height and weight.

  “Get off me!” she screeched again. One of her waving arms managed to clip him under the chin, knocking his teeth together. Tavis swore he saw stars.

  “Damn it, woman! Keep still!”

  But the woman under him was incensed, flailing her arms and legs in a desperate attempt to escape, making his task that much more difficult. Spitting out several choice words, Tavis grabbed the swinging limbs of the enraged hellcat beneath him and pinned her arms above her head. Her legs were trapped under his weight, and now her arms were, too. She stilled.

  “Wh-what are you going to do to me?” she whispered. He heard the nervous tremor in her voice and cursed himself for being so rough.

  “Nothing, lass.” He sighed. “Hold still until the stars stop spinning around my head.”

  She remained motionless under him as Tavis pushed back the pounding ache in his head.

  At least she could listen.

  Once she stilled, he got a good look at her. Frightened green eyes framed by the longest, blackest lashes he had ever seen stared back at him. He took a moment to admire her smooth, creamy skin glowing in the soft moonlight. Ropes of red-blonde curls spilled in a glorious tangle around her head. At last Tavis looked down at her lips. Full, red, and slightly parted, he groaned when he saw her small, red tongue dart out and wet her lower lip.

  “Who-who are you?” she whispered.

  “Ah, forgive my rudeness, my lady,” Tavis grinned. He took one of the woman’s imprisoned hands and brought it up to his lips for a gentle kiss.

  The lady shivered, and he heard her suck in a breath. “Tavis McGuire, my lady, at your most devoted service.” Since she wasn’t protesting his liberties, he maintained possession of her hand, keeping it close to his chest while he began to rub the back of it with his thumb. “And you are…?”

  Green eyes flashed at him in anger. “Lady Amelia. My family is nearby and shall notice if I have gone missing.” She started to squirm again in an attempt to escape. “You will release me at once, or I shall…I shall scream!”

  Tavis was reeling from the effects of all of her squirming. In an effort to maintain control, he re-imprisoned both of her hands under his broad chest. Lowering one of his massive hands over her mouth, he glared at her. “You will be quiet, woman, or you will not be released.” Her eyes grew wide in fright. “Do you understand me?”

  She nodded her head.

  Tavis removed his hand from her mouth and saw she kept it closed, though her lips trembled as if she were about to cry.

  “Good girl.” He patted her head, a move sure to rile her anger, because he hated seeing that spark of fear in her eyes, especially knowing he had put it there. In truth, he’d rather she be a spitting, angry whirlwind, like she had been when they wrestled a few minutes earlier, than this fearful, obedient woman he now held under him.

  “There’s a good lassie,” he crooned for good measure. Her eyes narrowed until they were tiny slits. Oh, he had riled her up all right.

  “I’m not a dog, Mr. McGuire,” Lady Amelia hissed in a whisper, “so kindly do not speak to me like one.”

  He chuckled. “I never said you were, my lady, and I apologize if I gave that impression.” Aside from her hissed reprimand, Lady Amelia remained silent.

  Tavis stared into her eyes. “I am going to remove my weight from your body, and I want your word that once your arms and legs are free you won’t start swinging them at me again. You damn near emasculated me with that first kick, lass.”

  Tavis braced his arms on either side of Lady Amelia and raised himself onto his knees. When he was sure she had no intention of finishing the job she had started earlier, he rocked back onto his heels and sprang up.

  His head still reeled from where she had swiped it, and by the time he had regained his bearings, Lady Amelia was up and had rounded the corner into the stable. When he entered through the stable doors, she had a pitchfork in hand and was pointing it at his chest.

  Tavis sucked in a breath. Lady Amelia was stunning. He had already guessed she was a beauty, given the brief glimpses he’d had of her moonlit face, and he had a pretty good idea of what the rest of her looked like, too, based on what he’d felt while lying atop her. Only a dead man could have ignored those lush, warm curves.

  She was taller than most women, but not tall enough to reach Tavis’s shoulders. The ample curves guessed at were now displayed for his hungry eyes, each curve lovingly hugged by the form-fitting blue silk ball gown she wore.

  And her breasts. God must have given the most perfect breasts to this woman. They were full and creamy, spilling over her bodice… Tavis’s mind blanked for a moment while he marveled at humankind’s most perfect breasts. He loved how they moved while her chest heaved…heaved? Tavis tore his eyes away to look up into the spitting eyes of an irritated woman who had just caught him ogling her breasts.

  Oh, that’s right. The pitchfork.

  He backed up, his hands extended in front of him. “Lass. Lady Amelia. I am sorry for scaring you. We had a little misunderstanding out there. I never meant to hurt you.” Tears glistened in her mossy green eyes and threatened to spill over onto her rosy cheeks. Tavis groaned.

  Sweet Mary! Did I just think that? One look at her comely face and I am turning into a damn poet!

  She jabbed the pitchfork in his direction again. “What are you doing here? I don’t recognize you.” Her voice wobbled, and he knew she was fighting for control of her rioting emotions. “If you were a guest, you would have no need to stable your own horses; you would have a groom do it for you.” She circled him until he was pressed flat against the stable wall between a stall and a pile of hay. “And if you were an employee of the stables you would know the most important rule when working with the horses.”

  He was impressed. When confronted with an unknown person, she fought instead of fleeing. She had also deduced he was an outsider, even if she hadn’t quite figured out who he was. And while he was busy ogling her—and attempting to calm her down—she’d managed to maneuver him into a corner.

  Pretending a casualness he didn’t feel with a pitchfork aimed at his chest, he aske
d, “And what rule is that?”

  Her eyes lit with triumph. “The first rule taught to all new groomsmen and stable hands is that no one smokes around the horses.” Amelia jabbed again, but this time Tavis was prepared. When she thrust, he reached out and grabbed her by the upper arm and used his other hand to pull the pitchfork out of her hands and toss it far from them. Wrapping his arms about her shoulders, he pulled Lady Amelia into his embrace.

  ****

  Amelia immediately began to struggle in Tavis’s grasp. He had not released her after disarming her; instead, he had wrapped his beefy arms around her and pulled her close to his body.

  Oh, Lord! If I am caught in this man’s arms, my family will be embroiled in a huge scandal.

  Her reputation would be destroyed, and she would be a spinster for the rest of her life. Looking into his eyes with wide-eyed fright, she tried to convey this to him, but the words did not form.

  “No one is here but the two of us,” he reassured her, “and if I hear someone coming, I’ll make sure to disappear.” He smiled encouragingly, his eyes kind, yet firm. Amelia soon realized she would not escape his embrace. She ceased struggling but remained wary, eyeing him to judge his intentions. It wasn’t until he tucked her head under his chin and smoothed his hand along her hair, saying, “Shh, lass, I’ve got you,” that Amelia’s thinly held control of her emotions broke.

  Amelia’s shoulders shook, and the tears she had held in came pouring out while she stayed anchored in the comforting embrace of Tavis McGuire. What a night! It was bad enough to have her plans ruined by Clarisse and Bea, but to be attacked, manhandled, and ogled by Tavis McGuire was too much. Any remaining dignity she possessed came pouring out of her eyes and onto his shirt.

  And in the stables, no less.