Blackhaven Brides (Books 5–8)

by Lancaster, Mary

  “Damn.”

  “You saw the hotel book,” Anna reminded him. “Was there no name for the rooms they’re keeping?”

  Louis grimaced. “Mr. Smith.”

  “How unimaginative.” She glanced at him. “Could it be a real name?”

  “Of course. But there are too many other coincidences. Every instinct tells me this is no mere Mr. Smith.”

  “We have to be discreet,” Anna said. “If we draw attention to this, we risk ruining something…for Britain or for France. And yet we cannot do nothing if your evil Gosselin is involved.” She regarded him thoughtfully. “Why do you hate Gosselin?”

  “Like yours, that story must wait for another day. Someone is coming too close. I must flee before your brother calls me out.”

  “He is not so straight-laced. It’s my belief he and Serena used to have assignations here, too.”

  “Perhaps. But he would not permit anyone to hurt you.”

  It was true, though she wasn’t sure how Louis knew it.

  “Au revoir,” he said, tilting up her chin. He swooped and kissed her mouth. Desire unfurled deep inside her, novel and yet increasingly recognizable. Oh, yes, she was curious.

  “But this is insane,” she whispered against his mouth. “We are still enemies.”

  “No. Our countries might be. Not you and I.”

  And then he was gone, striding off through the snow, and she realized she was cold. And yet happier than she could ever remember. Because she cared. Because her enemy did.

  *

  Later, of course, without the thrill of his oddly spellbinding presence, she castigated herself for a gullible fool. There had been no reason to tell him what she did for Henry, just because he had kissed her and she had found she was not so cold as she’d always thought…. Very well, that she cared. That his kiss shattered her. How could she have built a simple kiss into an event that meant she won or lost?

  Her pride writhed inside her, while her brain tried to make sense of the information they had exchanged. And in truth, as she had admitted, she had very little information to give. Henry Harcourt was a small if clever fish in a pond of large, important ones. And that is what saved her pride in the end. If he still sought her out, knowing all that, then she was right to believe he cared for her. Was she not?

  With her head spinning and her mood fluctuating between despair and wild elation, she almost didn’t catch Tamar’s words to her in the library that afternoon.

  Eventually, she glanced around from the window to find him gazing at her with a tolerant kind of frustration.

  “I beg your pardon,” she said mechanically. “Did you speak to me?”

  “I asked if you were not primping for tonight’s ball.”

  She frowned. “But the assembly ball is on…oh. Tonight.”

  This was the regular assembly room subscription ball for the quality of Blackhaven and its environs, as distinct from the invitation-only masquerade which had been sponsored by Mrs. Winslow and Mrs. Grant.

  “You don’t sound happy about it,” her brother observed. “You haven’t quarreled with Lewis, have you?”

  “Not exactly… I mean no, of course I have not.”

  “You do seem very preoccupied.” Tamar threw himself into the chair beside her and sprawled, hooking one leg over the chair arm.

  She said, “I do not like…not being in control.”

  “I know.”

  She swallowed. “I want him gone from my life.”

  “And if he goes?” Tamar asked.

  “I will die.” A laugh that was almost a sob forced its way out. “Does that make me insane, finally?”

  Tamar gave a twisted smile. “No. It makes you normal. Or as normal as a person can be in love.”

  “Love?” she repeated with revulsion.

  Tamar laughed, and unwound himself from the chair. “Exactly.” And sauntered out looking far more amused then concerned.

  *

  Gosselin had not left Blackhaven. Instead, he had taken a small and insalubrious room at the local tavern. Such accommodation suited neither his dignity nor his personal tastes, but he could no longer stay in the pleasant house on Cliff View. Louis Delon would find it too easily. At the tavern, at least, he could blend with the scum who frequented it, and who turned out to be beneficial since he was able to hire a slippery villain to find out who the devil Delon was pretending to be.

  Gosselin had to admire Delon’s gall. To have escaped his prison and not only survived his injury but placed himself in the Blackhaven Hotel, right in the heart of the town’s society, was impressive. Not only that, but he’d clearly made friends with the most important family in the neighborhood, for he had been standing on the hotel step, waving off Lord and Lady Tamar. And the beautiful Lady Anna, who stirred Gosselin’s blood.

  Not that Gosselin would do anything about the latter, of course. His pursuit of Lady Anna was largely to provide himself with an innocuous reason to stay so long in Blackhaven, but her beauty, nevertheless, disturbed his sleep. Whenever they were in the same room, she drew him like a magnet. And if he was truthful, part of his irritation at discovering Colonel Delon was that he had clearly been in her company, a more favored suitor than he.

  But, of course, the more important question was, what the devil was Delon doing here? Was he just hiding where no one would expect him to be, until he could slip away? He could not return to France without being arrested. Gosselin and Fouché had seen to that…

  Or did he guess why Gosselin was in Blackhaven? That possibility troubled Gosselin most, although he could not see how Delon could have learned anything like this from prison.

  The other possibility was that Delon had recognized him earlier and stayed to kill him when opportunity rose. Gosselin had no intention of giving him that chance but all the same, his flesh crawled at the idea of Delon of all people observing and following him for days.

  He would have to kill Delon first. Unfortunately, he could not just walk up and shoot the cur, or he would be locked up and unable to carry out his important task. Even provoking a duel would land him in trouble he could not afford. Nor did he rate highly his chances of breaking in to Delon’s hotel rooms and strangling him in his sleep. The rumor may have been that the escaping prisoner had been shot, but he didn’t look seriously weakened to Gosselin.

  No, the best solution to the problem would be if Delon were simply put back in prison.

  Gosselin, washed and shaved, pulled his trunk from under the rickety tavern bed, and drew out his black satin knee breaches and black evening coat. Once dressed with his usual care, he donned the disreputable hat and muffler and the dirty old greatcoat before leaving the tavern. In his tatty satchel, he carried a better overcoat. He had learned a lot from Delon over the years.

  The night was bitter, freezing a harder crust over the snow that lay on the ground. Having slouched around the harbor for a little, looking for any ships anchored close by, Gosselin ambled down to the beach, and walked along to Blackhaven Cove, where, with relief, he tore off the smelly coat and hat, swapping them for the coat in his bag, where he stuffed his disreputable clothes instead, and hid them in the mouth of a cave. The soldiers were still watching further up the coast, so as far as Gosselin could tell, he was unobserved.

  He walked quickly up the path, past his old house in Cliff View and on to High Street and the assembly rooms, where he would plead for a dance with the fascinating Lady Anna. At the masquerade ball, she had strung her admirers along by refusing to dance with any of them—including himself—but he had later seen her waltzing in the arms of a man in black. Gosselin hoped to be the favored partner this evening.

  He also hoped to find Colonel Delon in attendance.

  Almost as soon as he walked into the ballroom, he saw Anna holding court, drawing more attention than the dancers.

  Not for the first time, he wondered what it was that drew men to her. It was certainly not her fortune, because apparently, she had none. Which probably explained why she wa
s still unmarried in her twenties. And why she appeared to be wearing the same silver-grey gown she’d worn at the masquerade. She did not make play with her fan, or flirt in other ways. And yet she talked and laughed with utter confidence…and supreme indifference. It was as if she tolerated her admirers only for amusing conversation, while retaining her own air of mystery. Even being laughed at or ignored only seemed to inspire her admirers to try harder.

  Well, he would not join the throng and become one of the many. The apparently favored “Sir Lytton” was not in attendance either, so perhaps he was employing the same strategy. Gosselin would be happy to steal a woman from under his enemy’s nose if opportunity arose. Not that the cold-hearted cur would care.

  There was no sign of the cur in the ballroom or the card room. Gosselin was disappointed, for Winslow the magistrate was present, as were several army officers. It would have been a good time to have him arrested, while Gosselin himself could play the hero. He would have every opportunity to monopolize Lady Anna then.

  While he waited for Anna to grow bored with her current crop of admirers, Gosselin made himself agreeable to other pretty women instead. It was no hardship. For a small town on the edge of England, in the middle of nowhere, Blackhaven seemed to boast a high number of beautiful and charming females, married and otherwise. When he had first come here, he had expected most of the women to be ageing and sickly, visiting Blackhaven only for their health. That this was not so, had been a pleasant surprise.

  When Anna finally stood and walked away, shedding her admirers like a puppy casting its coat, Gosselin was ready for her. Snatching up two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, he tracked her across the room, halting when she paused to speak a few words to people on her way. Her eyes strayed to the entrance more than once. So did Gosselin’s. He wondered if they were looking for the same man.

  When she moved on again, Gosselin stepped out from behind his pillar and presented her with one of his glasses. She halted, her eyes widening with just a hint of startlement.

  “Lady Anna,” he greeted her with a slight bow. “I took the liberty of bringing you this—before you sent me away to fetch it.”

  “Mr. Banion.”

  He couldn’t help being gratified that she remembered his name. Or at least his alias.

  After an instant’s hesitation, she accepted the glass. “How very observant of you.”

  “It is something I cannot help, when in the same room as you.”

  She regarded him without either gratification or timidity and took a sip of her champagne. “Then you will know how much flattery bores me.”

  “Not flattery,” he insisted. “Simple honesty. And the desire to secure the waltz with you.”

  “Thank you, sir, but I do not dance.”

  “Yes, you do. I saw you at the masquerade.”

  She waved that aside with one elegantly gloved hand. “A single occasion—with an impudent fellow. Tonight, I do not dance.”

  “Not even with another impudent fellow?”

  “Especially not.”

  He hid his disappointment, though he did not give up. “Then you will take a turn about the ballroom with me?”

  She met his gaze, speculation in her own, “Very well,” she agreed, beginning to walk. “Are you a native of Blackhaven, Mr. Banion?”

  Piqued that she had not even troubled to discover that much about him, he replied, “No, alas. I arrived only a few weeks ago, hoping to benefit from the waters.”

  “Then you have not been well?”

  He wrinkled his nose with what he hoped was charming self-deprecation. “A nasty bout of the measles, my lady. Which I know full well is neither manly nor romantic.”

  She laughed. “I don’t believe any illness is! And have you not found the waters beneficial?”

  “I believe I have. But there is more than water to keep me.”

  She changed the subject, as most modestly brought up young women would have, but she did not abandon him. On the contrary, he found himself telling her about his life in Blackhaven and interspersing that with anecdotes from his real life. To all of this, she listened with flattering attention, laughing where appropriate and asking questions to encourage him.

  Once she stopped to speak to a gratified young couple who were just returning from the dance floor and introduced them to him as Mr. and Mrs. Bradley. “Although you may know each other already,” she added, “since you must both stay at the hotel.”

  “No, we have never met,” Mr. Bradley assured her. “Which room do you have, sir?”

  “Oh, I don’t put up at the hotel,” Gosselin said easily. “I took a house on Cliff View.”

  “Quite right,” Anna said. “I believe the hotel is horrendously expensive for a long stay. I suppose the tavern is cheaper.”

  So much so that it almost reconciles one to the odor of stale beer and fishy humanity. Even to the prospect of having one’s pocket picked on the way out the door. Lulled by Anna’s interest, and eager to impress her with his wit and knowledge, he almost blurted the words aloud, all in the hope of winning a smile from her.

  “But hardly recommended,” he managed, before he saw that Anna was no longer listening. Following her gaze to the entrance, he saw Colonel Delon.

  “Sir Lytton Lewis,” the major domo announced.

  Gosselin’s chest tightened. He excelled in intrigue not in physical danger, and despite his intention of confronting his enemy in public, his courage almost failed at the sight of him. After all, Delon had every reason to want Gosselin dead, too, and had considerably more personal skill and experience in such matters.

  Gosselin tried to prepare himself for the imminent meeting, but to his surprise, Anna turned and walked the other way with a mere, “Excuse me,” to the Bradleys. Since she didn’t forbid his presence, he hastily caught up with her.

  “And you, my lady,” he said pleasantly. “How long do you stay in Blackhaven?”

  “I cannot tell. Serena has invited me to stay for Christmas, and I probably shall, now that the weather has turned. I should not care to travel post haste into a snow drift!”

  “Indeed not.” Just ahead, Mr. and Mrs. Winslow were delivering up their daughter to a young man for the next dance.

  It did not take much to steer Anna in their direction. In fact, he did not even need to draw attention to them by greeting them, for Anna was already saying. “Good evening, Mrs. Winslow. Mr. Winslow.”

  Now, he had the perfect witness for his accusation. There was even an army officer in a smart red uniform close-by. Annoyingly, however, Delon seemed in no hurry to pursue Anna. Nor did she summon him with so much as a look. It began to dawn on Gosselin that Delon was no longer the favored suitor, and in spite of the difficulties it created now for his own plan, he couldn’t help being maliciously glad. Perhaps he could even seduce Anna and make sure Delon knew before he died in that English prison…

  However, this pleasant daydream was interrupted by the reforming of Anna’s court around her now that she stood still once more. Gosselin had to use his elbows to avoid losing his place at her side.

  Then, to his annoyance, Delon finally approached, and the young men around Anna seemed to part for him, allowing him immediate access. It was little consolation that Anna clearly saw and ignored the movement. She certainly did not greet the newcomer.

  Emboldened, Gosselin raised his voice and addressed the army officer who, with his friends, appeared to have joined the outer fringes of Anna’s court.

  “Sir, does not this fellow look familiar to you?”

  The officer, nudged into awareness, glanced at Gosselin in surprise. “What fellow?”

  Gosselin pointed dramatically at Delon. “That fellow!”

  “Well, yes, he’s Sir Lytton Lewis,” the officer said easily.

  “He’s not Sir Anything,” Gosselin said scornfully. “Look beneath the speech and the smart clothes! Is he not your escaped prisoner?”

  The group around them quieted at last with a hint of un
ease. Until Delon laughed. “Banion,” he said affectionately. “You will have me hanged one of these days.”

  “Oh, I hope so! Well sir?” Gosselin snapped at the officer, who looked at him as though he were mad. “Is he not the Frenchman?”

  “How would I know?” the officer demanded, uncertain whether or not to be amused. “I was never in the fort.”

  It was a blow. Gosselin had assumed all the soldiers around Blackhaven were part of the same regiment and shared the same duties.

  “Neither was I,” Delon lied easily. “Let us go together Banion and be done.”

  But if he thought to threaten Gosselin, he landed wide off the mark.

  Gosselin did not smile. He looked from the officer to the bewildered Mr. Winslow and back. “Believe me, if you do not arrest this man now, and return him to the fort, you are going to look very foolish indeed.”

  Chapter Twelve

  In that instant, Louis saw that Gosselin had his listeners. He doubted anyone would arrest him on the spot, but awkward questions would now, surely, be asked.

  Under the suddenly tense observation of the Winslows and Anna’s sea of admirers, Louis met his enemy’s gaze with a tolerant amusement he did not feel, while he tried to decide on the best way to deal with the situation.

  And then Anna’s laughter broke across them. “Mr. Banion,” she scolded. “What a tease, you are! You almost had me believing you. Had not the Braithwaites’ governess—who you must know has been more than once in Sir Lytton’s company!—already identified a quite different man!”

  In the general, somewhat bewildered laughter, she actually took Gosselin’s arm and began to walk with him. “I suppose you must be very old friends with Sir Lytton,” she confided, “to play such a joke on him.”

  “Very, very old,” Louis murmured as his enemy all but brushed against him. Gosselin seemed as bewildered by his companion as by the sudden vanishing of his dangerous accusation. But Gosselin and his little trick no longer concerned Louis. What worried him was that Anna had not so much as glanced at him since he had entered the ballroom.