The Wicked Waif

by Lancaster, Mary

  Alban nodded. “Via Ireland. What do you want me to do?”

  Dove considered. “Keep him here a few days if you can. Have you any idea what he’s up to?”

  “Only that I offered to take the cargo without him and was refused. He needs to be there in person to fulfill his obligations, he tells me.”

  “Interesting,” Dove observed.

  “I thought so.” Alban lifted his glass. “I hear many things on my travels. Recently, I learned of a rumor that despite joining the allies, Bernadotte is, at the least, turning a blind eye to conspiracies to free Bonaparte from Elba.”

  “What can they do from Sweden?”

  Alban’s lips twitched. “Sail. It is far enough away to make plans with impunity. No doubt the Swedes are fed up with having no real say at the Congress of Vienna. Perhaps a forgiving Bonaparte is seen as another chance for them. Or perhaps the Swedish government is not involved at all. It’s an innocent-seeming place for anyone to meet and conspire if they wished.”

  “And Smith…merely a courier, raising money to retire in peace?” Dove suggested. He certainly gave no impression of being a rabid Bonapartist.

  “It is possible.”

  Dove stood up. “Thank you. You’ll let me know if you learn anything else?”

  “Of course.”

  Dove went on his way, content with the knowledge that he and Alban understood each other well enough. Returning to his brother, he asked Ellen for the following dance.

  “Oh, get along with you, Dominic, I’m far too old to dance!”

  “Of course you’re not,” Dove insisted.

  As he sat down. Mrs. Winslow passed, flanked by two of her daughters. “Major!” she exclaimed. “The hero of the storm! I have not seen you since to thank you for the lives you saved.”

  Mrs. Winslow occasionally seemed to forget that she was not responsible for every soul in the vicinity. It could be an annoying trait, but in truth, she was a kind woman.

  “I just did my duty, ma’am,” he said deprecatingly. “As did everyone else. Allow me to introduce my brother and sister-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. Doverton, who are visiting Blackhaven for a week or two. Ellen, Mrs. Winslow, the squire’s lady.”

  Everyone bowed and murmured greetings, and then Mrs. Winslow presented her daughters. “My eldest, Lady Sylvester Gaunt,” she said proudly, “and my second daughter, Genevra.”

  Dove knew and rather liked the quiet Catherine, now Lady Sylvester, but the younger daughter, her pretty face brimming with fun, looked as if she’d be rather more of a handful.

  “In fact, next we are holding an impromptu party for Genevra’s seventeenth birthday,” Mrs. Winslow said. “I shall send you a card, Major, to include Mr. and Mrs. Doverton, of course.”

  Dove said all that was proper and was soon glad to see Ellen and Mrs. Winslow conversing like old friends.

  “How is Trotmere?” he asked Catherine.

  “Water-tight, fortunately! We have cleared lots of land, ready for spring. Sylvester is thoroughly enjoying himself.”

  “Who would have thought it?” Dove said in exaggerated wonder.

  Catherine laughed. “Not I. He is trying his luck at cards now, which is much more natural behavior.”

  “Would you do me a favor if you have a moment?”

  “Of course.”

  “Make friends with Kate Grant’s new protegee.”

  “Oh, the girl you found in the sea?”

  “Indeed. She knows virtually no one in Blackhaven and she can’t remember her own people.”

  “I’ll definitely speak to her,” Catherine promised.

  Shortly afterward, he danced with Ellen, and couldn’t help noticing that Tillie was now dancing with Blackshaw in the same set. When it was her turn to dance down the line and she came to Dove, she gave him a conspiratorial smile that melted his heart—until Blackshaw gave him one of pure triumph.

  “What is that girl to you?” Ellen asked as they came together. “Duty or pleasure?”

  “Both,” Dove said promptly.

  “But Dominic, you’ve no idea who she is!”

  They separated again, saving him the trouble of answering, although when they next met, she continued, “She could be pretending you know. She could know full well who she is.”

  “I see no point in that.”

  “Because if you knew what she was, you would not make a pet of her as you do.”

  Dove scowled, turning away from her once more. And the next time they met, it was he who spoke first, “I still don’t see the point.”

  “You have considerable prize money from the war, don’t you? An honorable name. Dominic, she wants to marry you.”

  It was so ridiculous, he laughed aloud. Ellen clearly didn’t know whether to be relieved by his reaction or affronted. Fortunately, the dance ended shortly afterward, and he was able to return her to his brother without strangling her.

  Glancing around the room, he found Tillie on the arm of Captain Blackshaw, walking in the opposite direction to the Grants. Even from behind them, Dove was sure he recognized a hint of tension in her, and an instinctive tug to free her hand. Blackshaw held on to it.

  “Excuse me,” Dove murmured and walked swiftly round other returning couples to come at Tillie and Blackshaw head-on. He saw at once his anxiety was not mistaken, for as soon as she saw him, relief lit her face. “Ah, there you are,” he said amiably. “I am sent to bring you back to Mrs. Grant.”

  “I would like to sit down,” Tillie said gratefully.

  As Dove offered his arm, she again tried to free her hand, and Blackshaw clamped it against his arm.

  “Blackshaw!” Dove snapped, boring his eyes into the younger man’s.

  Blackshaw actually jumped, his grip loosening enough for Tillie to snatch her hand free and lay it on Dove’s arm instead. He brushed past the captain, moving directly toward Kate Grant and the vicar, who had now been joined by Lord and Lady Sylvester.

  “What was that all about?” Dove murmured.

  “I have no idea,” Tillie said. “He talked about you a lot. I think he may have had a little too much wine, but he was perfectly pleasant up until the end of the dance. I have no idea whether he wishes to please you or upset you.”

  “Well, he’s certainly failed in the former. More to the point, has he upset you?”

  “Oh, no. He did not hurt me. Though I admit, I am very glad to see you!”

  As they passed Grantham and Green, Dove caught Green’s arm. “Keep your eye on Blackshaw, would you?”

  They nodded and sauntered on. Dove formally restored Tillie to Kate Grant, who introduced her to Lord and Lady Sylvester. After sitting down with them all for a little, assuring himself that the young women were getting along and amusing each other, he jumped up again with a murmured excuse and strode away.

  Restlessness drove him. He couldn’t be still, because his head was full of Tillie and a pointless anger he needed to walk off. But John and Ellen and Ash were here because he had invited them, and if he went back to barracks, he might take Blackshaw apart limb from limb. Which would hardly be fair when it wasn’t really Blackshaw he was angry with. It was himself. Fate. Life.

  He strode around the dance floor, keeping his face carefully amiable, until he couldn’t bear it anymore and stepped into one of the alcoves, letting the curtain fall back behind with relief. At least now, he could relax his facial muscles.

  Throwing himself into the armchair, he dropped his elbows to his knees and his face into his hands. His fingers curled into his short hair and tugged.

  You’re over this, Dominic Doverton. You came to terms with it two years ago. You’ve already had a year longer than anyone expected. Be grateful for your life.

  But God help him, he didn’t want this to be the end.

  The music and laughing voices from the ballroom faded. All he could hear was his own panting breath as he wrestled with his fate again.

  The curtain swished. Dropping his hands, he glowered up in annoyance.


  “Dove,” Tillie whispered, dropping the curtain behind her once more and throwing herself on her knees at his feet. “Oh, Dove, what is it?”

  “Nothing,” he said shakily. She’d taken both his hands, and he twisted them to hold her fingers. “Nothing at all. I merely wished for your presence, and here you are.”

  “Did you?” she said wistfully.

  His heart thudded. “You wish me to pine for you?” he asked lightly.

  Her lips quirked. “I think I want you to miss me when I’m not there,” she said frankly. “Even if only half as much as I miss you.”

  He released one of her hands, but only to cup her cheek. “Don’t say such things to me.”

  “Why not, if they’re truth?” she whispered.

  He caressed her cheek. “Oh, my waif, you are too vulnerable, too lost to make such—”

  “Don’t,” she interrupted fiercely. “Don’t dare try to make this less than it is! Do you think my lack of memory makes me invent things? On the contrary, it leaves me clear to know my own heart. I have no idea if I’m worthy of you or your family, but that doesn’t change the fact that I love you.”

  Sweet, intense pain flooded him, and with it came a surge of desire that went far beyond mere lust.

  His slid his hand around to her nape, drawing her nearer as he bent his head. Her breath came in shallow pants, but she made no effort to avoid him. Instead, she clung to his wrist and touched his cheek, her lips parting for his kiss.

  He longed to taste her. It had been on his mind almost since he’d pulled her from that damned box, most certainly since he’d encountered her on the beach last night. And she loved him. She’d said she loved him, and on no account could he throw away that miracle. Her breath was warm and sweet on his lips. Her eyelids fluttered shut.

  She loved him.

  “Dear God, I can’t let you do this,” he whispered.

  Her lips trembled. Her eyes flew open. But he couldn’t bear her clear, loving gaze.

  “Tillie,” he said hoarsely. “Run from me. If you love me, I’ll only bring you pain.”

  “It already feels like a pain,” she whispered. “In my heart.”

  “It’s all there will be, Tillie. I’m dying.”

  Chapter Nine

  Her whole being seemed to freeze. She didn’t even seem to breathe. Then a frown twitched her brow, and she tried to smile. “Dying? I’ve never met anyone so alive.”

  “Carpe diem. Live for the day. I do.”

  “Because each could be your last?” she whispered. “Oh, Dove, no… How? Why, what is wrong?”

  “My wound at Salamanca. It was always terminal.”

  “But it was two and a half years ago!”

  “I know. I am already a walking miracle. I should have died on the battlefield, or at the very latest, in the field hospital. Somehow, I didn’t, so they sent me home in the hope I could die with my family, though they imagined the journey would kill me first. But I made it home and somehow, I began to get better. The surface wound healed, but beneath it is such a mess that the doctors all agreed I could not recover. It was only a matter of time. The most optimistic estimate was a few months.”

  “And yet, here you are,” she said urgently. “After more than two years. Has no one else—”

  “Tillie.” He took her hands and kissed them one after the other. “Tillie, they were right. I always knew that. I won’t be prodded and opened up any more. I will die. I cannot let you suffer that.”

  “You cannot stop my suffering,” she said simply. “It is too late. I loved you from the moment I opened my eyes in that box and you lifted me out. No, don’t tell me it was mere gratitude, though yes, that is in among it. And don’t send me away. I would ease your suffering if I can, Dove.” She touched his cheek, his lips. “Dove, give me this gift.”

  He stared at her. “You are amazing,” he whispered. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what you’re offering.”

  “Everything.” Tears ran heedlessly down her cheeks. “For as long as you need me.”

  He was only human. He meant only to kiss her tears, but her gasping mouth was too close, and he took it in a long, fiery kiss of need and gratitude and sheer, raging desire.

  Since his recovery, he had held himself aloof from women. Mostly. And his lust was intense. It wouldn’t have taken much more to tip him over the edge of madness and take her here and now. But he was a gentleman, and she was precious.

  Somehow, he tore his mouth free and dragged them both to their feet. One more kiss, because her lips were so red and luscious from the last, and he put her from him, dragging out his handkerchief to dry her teary face. Carefully, he replaced a fallen pin in her hair and smoothed out her gown.

  “It’s the second waltz,” he said huskily. “I suggest you dance it with me out there to prevent me from ravishing you in here.”

  She gave a trembling little laugh.

  “I love you,” he whispered in her ear, and she looked as though she would weep again even as a smile of joy trembled on her lips. It stunned him that he could have inspired such emotion in this beautiful, brave young woman, the only woman who had touched his heart since his foolish, callow youth.

  And God knew the joy was not all hers. This unlooked for, unwanted gift…

  He swallowed. “Discretion, my sweet. Hold on.”

  He took her hand, twirling her out of the alcove and along the wall to the dance floor, where he danced the most exhilarating waltz of his life. With the woman he loved. And who, for some reason, loved him.

  *

  Tillie had never imagined that such overwhelming joy could exist along with the devastating pain of knowing she would lose him. Yet somewhere, she could not quite believe that this strong, vital man was truly dying. His arms were too solid as they held her, his every movement as they danced too full of exuberance and sensuality.

  And yet, it explained many things—his courteous aloofness from the townspeople, none of whom seemed to know him well, and the secrets she had always sensed he was keeping. Even last night when he had run the length of the beach, “because I can.” For him, this was a miracle in itself. And it might be the last time he did so.

  Involuntarily, her fingers tightened on his. Carpe diem, he had said, and she would live in this moment, bask in his love, in the kisses that had turned her to jelly. Until that first kiss, she hadn’t realized that this was what she had always wanted from him. The fierce, physical delight of his mouth on hers had taken her by surprise—sweet, arousing, overwhelming. Her lips still tingled as they danced. She felt breathless, awed, madly in love.

  “I have known you barely a week,” she said. “How can I fall in love so fast?”

  “Because you have no one to compare me with, having no memory of life before me.”

  “Then what is your excuse?”

  “You are.”

  She laughed. “Then you are mine. I’m not grasping at straws, Dove,” she added as her smile faded into seriousness. “I do not wish to be in love until I know who I am. This just happened.”

  His thumb stroked the side of her hand. “I know.” His dark, steady eyes, warm and glittering in the bright candlelight, held hers. “And I think we have to be a little discreet. Until we know who you are, I doubt we can be together.”

  “Maybe we should run away quickly before we know. I really might be that courtesan, or someone equally un-respectable, and then you won’t want me.”

  “I don’t care about your birth, nor about anyone else who might.”

  She couldn’t deny it delighted her, although honesty compelled her to point out, “Your family will care.”

  “They’ll come about. I would give you my protection if you need it. And if you don’t, well, you are a wonderful addition to any family. I just hate to think of you in widow’s weeds.”

  “Then I shan’t wear them.”

  The sudden smile died on his lips. “It isn’t much of a gift.”

  “It is,” she whispered. “For however l
ong we have together. And then I will always have that.” She wanted to throw her arms around him, hug him close, but all she could manage in the middle of the ballroom was to squeeze his fingers.

  As the music came to a close, she curtseyed and took his arm to be conducted back to the Grants. She still felt as though she were floating on air and was sure everyone who glanced their way must know Dove had kissed her, that she was in love. That he was hers. Elating thought…

  A low voice penetrated her thoughts, one officer speaking confidentially as he apparently imagined, to his fellows. “Looks like Dove’s finally been caught.”

  “Nonsense, old boy. He’s just remembered he’s a lady’s man.”

  “Are you?” Tillie asked him, realizing she really knew very little of his life.

  “No! Well, not really. I suppose I’ve liked a lot of women. When I was young and foolish.”

  “But never loved them?”

  “Not truly. Apart from Felicity, I suppose.”

  “Felicity?”

  “We were engaged in our youth, but she had the good sense to end it and marry another, more stable man.”

  “Were you hurt?”

  “I suppose I was.” He spoke lightly, but Tillie saw deeper. He had been devastated. He was a man of deep feelings and loyalty.

  But there was no time for more private conversation, for Mrs. Grant was patting the seat beside her. “Let me introduce you to Mrs. Benedict who lives up at Haven Hall.”

  As Tillie said what was proper, she was aware of one of the waiters speaking to Dove. Dove’s eyebrows flew up, and then he nodded before bowing to the ladies and striding off across the ballroom toward the exit.

  *

  Dove was a practical man. The sudden joy in his heart served to clarify rather than blur the other things on his mind. He needed to attend to Blackshaw. Something was wrong there, something more than a man grown too fond of the bottle as he dealt with the horror of war. Also, Dove and Alban needed to form a plan to discover how far this possible conspiracy of Captain Smith’s went. And if he got no word back from Liverpool concerning Tillie, then he would have to go himself, leaving John and Ellen here without him. But they could not legally marry, surely, without her true name.