A Fine Caprice - A Regency Romance (29 page)

The thought made him hesitate. What sort of female indeed… She was educated, that had been clear from the start. The story about an indulgent father had been good but in the light of her sex it was more than unlikely
for female children were rare
ly
given the kind of consideration
that
a male born on the other side of the blanket was
. Who was this girl who had been traveling the roads at night? Who had become lost heading on her way to Steadman Hall? He had every right to demand answers of her. He should, by rights, go and demand them now. But the girl was practically naked before him even if she was half submerged and clad in a shirt. And his body was quick to respond to the sight, unnervingly quick, tightening with a sudden, shocking surge of desire.

‘Damn it Merridew!
What the devil are you about?
’

A very good question.
It made him wonder if his body had known all along what his he
ad had not been able to divine.
One did not feel that sudden, disconcerting rush of desire for somebody they had thought a stableboy five minutes before. He had thought Jem Morris a very sensitive young man, with the emphasis on young. No wonder no hint of boyish fuzz had
darkened those softly curving cheeks…

Turning abruptly, he began to stride back towards the house
, eyes forward, refusing to take one last look back
despite the devil whisper that suggested he might do so
.
With the convoluted situation that was currently rife at Abbey Cross he did not need the added complication of a young, mysterious female making things even more difficult. In fact, as she seemed so reluctant to tell him her true situation he had no intention of letting on that he knew her wretchedly inconvenient secret. Because if there was one thing Cass
did
know, it was that within the space of a heartbeat his feelings towards the creature formerly known as Jem Morris had changed. Suddenly he knew what lay beneath the clever veneer she had hidden behind and his interest in her had shifted from that of amiable friendship to
something far more disturbing and that would never do. In another place, at a different time, the presence of a mysterious young woman might be intriguing, even welcome. But he could not escape the feeling that he had been taken advantage of. Nor could he stop the resentment that came with the knowledge.

While Cass knew he might be overreacting, he was determined that Jem Morris – or whatever her true name was – would no longer be taken into his confidence. Indeed, the sooner she was sent on her way, the better it would be for she was clearly
not
a stableboy. A sliver of curiosity about who or what she really was tugged at him but he ignored it resolutely.
He would not allow himself to care what she was. He would not allow him to be intrigued by the girl and he certainly wouldn’t allow himself to be distracted by the memory of her in that damned lake! Whatever the creature who c
alled herself Jem Morris was, whatever lay behind it all
had to be scandalous for there was no excuse for such behaviour
in Polite Society.

Determined to ignore his curiosity about the girl, he returned to the house and his breakfast, his mood a great deal darker than it had been when he’d emerged.

Water, Caprice decided, having rubbed herself dry as vigorously as she could, was a marvellous thing. She might be
forced back into clothing that was somewhat rank but at least she
felt
clean and that was delightful. Realizing that she might have lingered longer than she should have, she hid behind a bush so she could shuck off her shirt and rang out whatever excess water she could. Then she tried to soak out any further excess with the bath sheet she had bought before putting it back on. It was still damp, of course and she was a little co
ncerned she would take a cold. She remembered t
here was another shirt in th
e small bandbox she had left – and consequently forgotten about -
in the stable
s
on the night of her arrival. Not an authentic stableboy’s shirt but one belonging to the housekeeper’s nephew that she had snatched off the drying line before she had left, simply because it was small enough to fit her and was masculine in origin. She should have thought to bring it before she’d headed for the
lake but at least it was in the stables
. Ulysses greeted her with a reproachful snicker when she hurr
ied into his stall
.

‘I know! I will feed you in a minute, I promise.’ Hurrying now, she changed into the plain, undyed linen
shirt before
hastily
feeding all four horses, lingering for a moment to stroke her big mount’s long nose. ‘You’re feeling neglected, aren’t you? Never mind. We’ll go for a ride soon enough.’

Possibly as soon as tomorrow,
when her time at Abbey Cross was over and she must make her way to Steadman Hall. She wondered when it had become so unappealing but knew the answer perfectly well. It was at around the time when her attraction to Lord Cassius Merridew became impossible to ignore. Horses seen to, she fixed her heavy damp hair as best she could, twisting it up into the queue that had served her so well. To her dismay she found his lordship just finishing his breakfast in the dining room. She hadn’t thought that he would be up yet,
having had such a late night.

‘Oh. Hullo!’

He glanced at her with a small frown. ‘Where have you been?’

The tone in his voice took her aback. She was used to him looking at her with smiling good humor but there was none of that in those grey eyes now. They were slightly narrowed, the expression in them… unfriendly?

She stood hesitating a moment. ‘I took your advice and went for a dunk in the lake.’

‘I see,’ throwing his napkin onto his plate, he rose to his feet.

Caprice came forward a little uncertainly. This was not the man she had become familiar with over the past few days and she didn’t much care for the look on his face. ‘What are we doing today, then?’

‘I am going to go and see Sir Darryl,’ he glanced at her. ‘I suggest you get yourself some breakfast.’

‘But… can’t I come with you?’

‘No,’ he said consideringly, after a moment, ‘I don’t believe you can.’

Taken aback, she stared at him. While it was entirely possible he wanted to talk to Darryl Hughenden in private, the manner in which he spoke sent a shiver through her. There was no mistaking it; he was cold. Remote. Desperately, she wracked her brain, trying to work out why. What had she done? She th
ought of her swim. Was he
cross
because he couldn’t find her? Did he think she’d gone? But that didn’t make any sense for surely he would know that she wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. She searched his face, formerly a place that was entirely without guile but now she could not read anything at al
l in his distant
expression.
He strode past her into the hall and she listened to the sound of the front door closing, completely disconsolate.

What had happened? He had gone from being the good humored, amiable man she had enjoyed spending time with to being… a stranger. Although, considering the length of their acquaintance, how well could she really know him?
Well
enough
, a small voice inside her insisted.
I know the measure of the man well enough
…

Except she didn’t
know him at all
if that last little ex
change was any indication. She
would never have put him down as a man who suffered from mercurial moods but she certainly would not have expected him to ever behave in such a way. Wandering
over
to the sideboard, whic
h was laden with food, a circumstance
she was prepared to wager hadn’t happened for years
, she surveyed the warming pan
s unenthusiastically
. Picking up a plate, she selected a few things but her appetite, formerly ravenous, seemed to have taken a sabbatical and she settled on toast, some eggs whipped into delightful fluffiness and some tea.
While she nibbled at it, she continued to try and work out why Lord Merridew had suddenly experienced a change of attitude. And what she was supposed to do until he returned.
Try and discover the whereabouts of the French spy, if indeed one had ever arrived? Look for the murderer of the valet Priss? No, she decided with a small shudder. She had no desire to discover the identity of a murderer. That kind of information might end up getting her murdered too and, eager as she was to render assistance to his lordship, she had no real desire to play the heroine which, truth be told, sounded far more appealing in the novels she had so enjoyed.

She sighed
, pushing her plate aside. It was ridiculous to feel so bereft at having been left out of his lordship’s plans. She had been so looking forward to seeing him this morning but it seemed that he had experienced a change of heart, although she could not imagine why.
What had she done? Clearly, it was something quite dreadful for he had undoubtedly cut her in a manner she would not have thought him capable of.

With a grimace, she rose to her feet. She would take Ulysses for a ride. That should make the horse happy, if nothing else. Usually it brightened her own spirits but she suspected that it would take more than a good gallop to lighten her heart at the mom
ent. It would take a
smile from a particular gentleman.

With a muttered imprecation at her own stupidity, Caprice stomped from the room, heading for the stables.

Chapter Twelve

Curse the girl
.

Riding into town, Cass felt an unaccustomed ill-humor that was oddly disconcerting. He had decided, on his trip back to the house and
while pondering
over break
fast, that he would send the imposter
on her way that very morning. The moment she set foot in the door he would tell her that her services were no longer required
and that sh
e could gather her things and leave
. And that would be the end of his ill-advised venture into hiring waifs in the middle of the night.

So wha
t had gone wrong with this plan?

The fact was, the sight of her
in that lake
had winded him badly.

She had walked into the dining room and he had been taken aback by the rush of some emotion, a warm flood that seemed to infuse his body completely. He hadn’t been expecting it. In
fact, he had been so affected
by the sight of her, dewy fresh despite the malodorous clothing that she wore (she had changed her shirt – where the devil did she get another shirt?) that he had suddenly needed to get out, to think. Away from her because, frankly, looking at that lovely face – now entirely free of grime, which made the loveliness that much more noticeable – he could not
believe
he had ever considered her a boy. Clearly she was a girl. A girl with large green eyes fringed with thick dark lashes. Dark curls that she dealt with by bunching it up into a facsimile of a boy’s st
yle. Good God she was an artful creature
, full of confidence that had completely taken him in. But now that he knew the truth of it he could not look at her without remembering the delicate curve of her breasts and hips. Slender as she was, there was no way that she had possessed the body of a young lad.

The knowledge that his new servant was not what she appeared brought a rush of questions that he was hard pressed to ignore, although he was determined not to discover anything more about her. Instinctively he knew that the more he knew about her, the harder it would be to forget. He did not want to remember the creature with
whom
he had felt an instinctive understanding not half an hour after meeting. He had thought himself lucky to have found such a useful ally in a household where he needed
some help
and while theoretically, nothing had changed (for she was obviously happy to maintain the pretence) he knew that everything had changed.

He
could
honestly say
that he had not been attracted to Jem Morris
when he thought him a young man
. Unlike h
is cousin, his tastes did not run
that way. But from the moment that h
e had discovered that the boy
did not exist, his feelings for his erstwhile servant had taken a turn for the carnal and now he could not think of her without remembering how she had looked with a saturated shirt plastered to her lithesome body. Or how much he might like
to peel that shirt off
to discover what delights her creamy flesh could reveal.

Damn the girl indeed!

The morning was turning on the sunshine and the
first truly pleasant
day since he had arrived at Abbey Cross. It would have been good to have Jem (for he had to call her something) beside him, engaging in the easy banter that had settled between them since her arriva
l. He scowled at the fresh morning
, wishing he had
remained in ignorance, wishing he had
answers that
he knew he shouldn’t give a damn about.

Who was she really?
Some man’s by-blow?
But that would not explain the cultured accents or the ability to speak Italian, the familiarity with literature or the dainty way of eating that he had considered amusing just yesterday. She was clearly educated.
A young, educated female.
He would put her age at around seventeen or eighteen, the time when most young ladies were heading to London to enjoy the Season. So why wasn’t she? Why would an educated young miss be on the road at midnight in an area she clearly did not know at all? She had been heading to Steadman Hall… Cass frowned when he realized that there lay the answer. She had been heading to Steadman Hall, probably to stay with the family that lived there (for it was clearly a nonsense that she was taking up a position of stableboy). If he wanted further information about her, that was where he must apply.

The thought brought him up short.
If he wanted further information about her?
But he did not. He had already told himself that the best possible course was to eject her from his household and forget she ever existed. So why the devil should be considering traveling to Steadman Hall in search of answers?

The sound of a horse approaching shook him out of his highly unsatisfactory reverie. He looked up and found a familiar figure riding towards him and his eyebrows shot up. Well now… just as he was riding out to see Hughenden it seemed that the man was doing much the same thing.
If he were heading for Abbey Cross.
As there wasn’t much else in this direction it seemed likely.

They came abreast of each other and each man gave a brief bow.

‘I was just heading over to see you,’ Cass observed.

‘And I you.
I think it time
we had a much needed talk, don’t you?
’

Did he now? Considering Fenshaw’
s suspicions about his old
friend,
this might prove to be interesting. Resolutely putting aside all thought of the distracting issue of Jem Morris, Cass focussed on
the matter
at hand. Did Hughenden
know anything that might explain the curi
ous goings on in his household?

‘I would be delighted.’

‘Excellent.’ Hughenden glanced around him. ‘Let’s tether the horses and take a walk.’

‘Very well.
Although we can always go into the village if you haven’t had breakfast.’

‘I’d prefer to talk away from any listening ears,’ the man responded. ‘
Who knows who might be about?
And I have something
of interest
to show you.’

Mindful of the fact that this man was probably a traitor, Cass wondered what he might what to show him.
The end of a pistol, perhaps?
As melodramatic as it sounded, perhaps Hughenden had decided to eliminate the inconvenient resident of Abbey Cross as expediently as possible.

He gave an agreeable nod, slipping off his horse’s back. Sir Darryl did the same and together they led their mounts off the road, step
ping onto a narrow path that le
d towards the not too distant sound of the sea.

Cass reflected that this might not be the wisest choice he had ever made. Walking unarmed with a suspe
cted traitor along a deserted pat
ch of land. It might not be wise
but if Hughenden tried anything untoward he was quietly confident he cou
ld deal with the matter. The man
had taken out a blue for boxing when they were at Oxford together but Cass had bested him not a week later when they’d had a drunken disagreement over some female or another. And forewarned was forearmed; wasn’t it?

Besides, in his present mood it might be pleasant to indulge himself in some rough and tumble. At least it would prevent him from thinking about a subject that had suddenly become a great deal more complex than it should be. It would stop him from thinking about a certain young woman; where she came from, who she really was and why the devil she should be running around the countryside unaccompanied.

Frankly, in the face of such questions, a set to with
a dubious nobleman seemed preferable, even welcome. Cass tied his horse’s lead to a bush and turned to face Hughenden with equanimity.

‘Well, then. Shall we?’

Caprice had almost decided that she would saddle up Ulysses and ride over to
see
Angelique. She might as well. Heaven only knew when his lordship would be back and when he did who knew what kind of mood he might be in?
But after heading for the stables, all she had done was groom her horse and talk to him for a time before returning to the house where she had proceeded to
moon about the place
,
going back over that all too brief conversation she had shared with Lord Merridew
earlier
,
driving herself mad
with useless speculation. Sh
e was quite ridiculously cast down by his terse behaviour and
found she
couldn’t settle to anything. She was so aimless in her meanderings that she received
a dressing down
from Mrs. Flannel who suggested that if Master Morris couldn’t find something useful to do perhaps
she
could find
a job
for him
. This had caused Caprice to stir herself and she had taken herself out of harm’s way smartly, unwilling to fetch and carry for the housekeeper.

She was heading up the stairs to take temporary refuge in her little attic room to ruminate in private, mounting the narrow stairs slowly when a dull thud penetrated her preoccupation. Caprice h
alted, looking upwards. There were a few small rooms up in the roof space but much of the attic was given over to storage. The dull thud could very well be Hannaford or one of the new gardeners who had started that morning. Poor Hannaford was still lugging all manner of clutter out of the main reception rooms, taking them into the outer sheds or, if they were decent bits of furniture and worthy of Mrs. Flannel’s approval, up into the attics. Admittedly Caprice hadn’t seen anybody in this part of the house but she thought it quite likely they were using any space they could get by now. There were an awful lot of things to be moved and Lord Merridew had told the woman to get rid of it any way she saw fit. She con
tinued on, hurrying a little
for she thought it quite likely that Hannaford would ask her to help if he caught sight of her
. She was just opening the door to her little bedchamber
when a faint groan came to her ears
from further along the short corridor
.

Caprice stopped dead, head co
ming up, listening intently
. Had she really heard a groan? And if she had…
Perhaps Hannaford or the new man has fallen and hurt
himself
.
Dropped a table on themselves or some such thing.
I’d better go and take a look…
Although if that had been the case, wouldn’t he be calling out?

She stood still, uncertain as to the right course of action
. There was no doubt strange things were happening at Abbey Cross. A man had been murdered, for heaven’s sake. It was hardly sensible to go wandering around by
herself
. The gro
an came again, from
the unpartitioned
section
of the attic
. She had peeked into it after moving rooms yesterday and had found it contained nothing more than dust and shrouded, mysterious objects that she had no real desire to investigate.

Now, however, it seemed to contain somebody who was in pain, for that groan was redolent with misery. It was because it was so pathetic that Caprice found the c
ourage to hurry along
and open the door.
She stuck her head in
cautiously and peered around.

As the windows were so filthy, they allowed very little light into the long space but here and there stray, narrow beams of light penetrated the room, either from missing pieces of glass pane or actual chinks in the walls where plaster and wood had fallen away due to years of neglect.
There was nobody immediately visible.

‘Hello?’ she said, a little tentatively.

There came a pause that felt
quite different from actua
l silence. There was a listening
quality to it
, as if somebody was suddenly holding their breath
. Caprice wasn’t quite sure why but she knew
that she wasn’t alone in the attic; there was
somebody
else there, somebody
who did not want to be found. Perversely, it gave her courage and she marched in with a certain amount of determi
nation. ‘I know that you’re in
here,’ she said firmly, ‘for I heard you. Are you hurt?’

From somewhere to her left, came a stealthy movement, the sound of somebody trying to move
without making a noise
but the stifled gasp rather gave the game away. Caprice hurried towards an ancient, enormous wooden set of drawers and looked behind it. She wasn’t in the least surprised to see a figure propp
ed up against the wall
, holding his leg below the knee. He turned a white face towards her and winced.

‘Oh!
I…’

Caprice stiffened a little. Two words uttered in an accent that was unmistakably French. She considered the man – tall, ridiculously good
-looking in a dark, intensely
foreign way – with
a pair of
wary
brown eyes. He was definitely not on
e of the
staff.
One glance told her that those white hands had probably never lifted anything heavier than a wine glass in his life. ‘Who are you?’

‘Forgive me, young master,’ the creature stuttered, ‘I am… that is to say…’

Apparently he was having trouble saying anything at all. His accent was very heavy, so it was possible that words eluded him but there was no doubt that he was
an aristocrat. His clothing was
that
of a gentleman – admittedly one who might have been heading for an evening at the theatre - for all that they were
dusty from the floor of the attic. His heavy lidded dark eyes held a glaze of mingled pain and terror
and there was a pinched look about his mouth.

Was this the spy that had arrived last night? The wicked spy who was being smuggled into the country?
This
man? Caprice looked him over doubtfully and found
herself
far from impressed. ‘What have you done to yourself?’

‘My onkle… it is… I think it broke.’

‘How did you do that?’ she demanded, glancing at the offending limb. He’d moved his hands and she could see that it was indeed badly swollen. Incongruously, he wore cream satin knee breeches with silk stockings, both of which might never
regain their
former elegance as he had been rolling around on the dirty floor.
His
knee breeches had probably
looked very well with the peach colored satin jacket and waistcoat in a delicate shade of lilac.
What all the fashionable spies are wearing in France this year
, she thought, surprised to discover that she wasn’t
in the least bit
frightened. The e
xtremely pretty man
looked far more frightened than she. She raised an eyebrow. ‘Well?’

‘I tripped
and a thing, it fell on me, on my onkle
,’ he gestured towards a heavy brass bust that lay a little way away.
‘
C’est l’agonie
!’

‘I daresay. It doesn’t look very good. It will have to be bound and a physician called.’

The man shook his head vehemently. ‘
Non
! I… it shall be well.
If I could just have some wine
?’

Caprice tilted her head on one s
ide and regarded the man. ‘Water would be better for you but neither water nor wine
will not fix your problem. Best you tell me what is going on.’ She hesitated. ‘Perhaps I can help you.’

‘You…
non
.
You cannot.’

‘Well how about you tell me how you came to be here and we can work it out from
there?’ she suggested
in French
as he was clearly struggling with English
. She wasn’t as fluent in French as she was Italian but she had been learning it since she was ten. The man looked at her, surprise and relief in his eyes.