Barely a Lady (18 page)

“Because of recent events.” Drawing a steadying breath, she did her best to maintain eye contact. “And because I heard that you knew of the rumors about Jack.”

“Being on the battlefield, you mean? I’m not sure I’m the man to verify them. I, for one, did not see him.”

Olivia held his gaze. “I did.”

Diccan’s smile was a bit stiff. “Egad. You didn’t leave him out there, did you? Understand the urge, of course. But not done.”

“No, Mr. Hilliard, I didn’t.”

“She brought him here,” Lady Kate said.

That stopped him again. He stared at Lady Kate as if he didn’t know her. “Why not tell someone? His commander, for one.”

“Even if his commander was French?”

Olivia wasn’t sure how she’d expected him to react. Surely either outrage or disbelief. Instead, he again went very still. “Well,” he finally mused, leaning back and crossing his legs. “It sounds as if this is going to be a very good story indeed.”

“Worthy of Sophocles himself,” Lady Kate assured him. “Before we begin, you, of course, understand that we must demand your silence.”

“That bad, is it?”

“That’s the problem. We don’t know.”

He spent a moment swirling the brandy in his snifter. “Well, it is well known that I’ll do almost anything for a good afternoon’s entertainment. You have my word.”

Olivia wasn’t sure if that was enough. But Lady Kate nodded, as if relieved, and she felt reassured. “Accept my story or not as you will. But please reserve judgment until you’ve heard me out.”

“Oh, I never judge,” he assured her. “It would severely limit the gossip I’m privy to.”

For the first time, she smiled with him. “Thank you.”

She had to look away, since so much of her story was painful. So she focused on the once-lovely handkerchief she had shredded in her hands. And as sparely as she could, she told her story all the way back to the moment she’d met Jack.

Mr. Hilliard interrupted her only once, when she told him about the dispatch Jack had been carrying.

“General Grouchy, you say?” he asked, distractedly swinging his quizzing glass. “Intriguing. From the reports we’ve received, Grouchy never did advance. It might have made the difference in the outcome of the battle. And I believe his position was clear across the battlefield from Hougoumont.”

For the first time since she’d discovered Jack, Olivia felt a small spark of hope. “Then he might have simply intercepted the message so it couldn’t be delivered,” she said. “Isn’t it possible Jack was working for the British government? Oh, I don’t know, as a traveling officer or something?”

He shook his head. “Beyond the fact that traveling officers are fairly well known, they make it a point to do their behind-the-lines reconnaissance in full British uniform.”

Another half-formed hope dashed. “I see.”

“But surely he’s told you himself.”

Which was when Olivia told him about Jack’s amnesia. She was reminded that Mr. Hilliard was a diplomat when he received the news with no more reaction than a raised eyebrow. “And my place in this fascinating tale?”

Olivia looked up. “Is there any way you can help us find out the truth? We don’t know who else to turn to.”

Cradling the brandy snifter in his palm, he lazily rose to his feet and walked to the windows. “Hmm,” he murmured. “A challenge. How intriguing.”

“We don’t have much time, Diccan,” Lady Kate informed him. “You’ve heard the rumors. I think we’ve overstayed our welcome.”

“Home is where the heart is,” Bea said.

He nodded absently. “Certainly no good can come from remaining in a thinning society. You begin to stand out, and there are too many sharp eyes who remain.”

Lady Kate nodded. “Our thoughts exactly.”

“Do you think the gentleman you pointed out today could be part of this group looking for Gracechurch?” he asked Lady Kate.

“Gentleman?” Livvie asked. “What gentleman?”

“Possibly just a shy admirer,” Mr. Hilliard demurred.

Lady Kate shrugged. “Or a spy sent from one of the dukes to see if I’m behaving. You remember I told you how they love to keep current on my bad behavior.”

“But you don’t think so.”

Lady Kate smiled. “No. Their tactics are usually much more confrontational.”

Diccan nodded absently, still swinging his quizzing glass and sipping his brandy. “Mrs. Grace, do you think Jack innocent?”

“Don’t you?” Olivia asked, aware how terse her voice sounded.

He turned fully to consider her. “His mother
was
French….”

She came to her feet. “You know perfectly well she had no influence on him. Please, Mr. Hilliard. He needs to know the truth. And he needs to be protected. At least until his memory returns.”

At that, Diccan turned and lifted his glass to give her a good look.

It made her bristle. “What are you doing, sir?”

“Looking my fill at the last honorable woman in Europe,” he said with an impish grin. “Strike me if you ain’t incomprehensible, ma’am. You sure you don’t want to serve him up just a tiny bit of revenge?”

Olivia couldn’t help but chuckle. “Oh, probably. But I imagine it won’t be truly satisfying until Jack knows exactly why I’m doing it.”

That got a laugh from him. “Excellent. In that case, I believe I will help.” Striding over, he reclaimed his seat, and Olivia followed suit. “Can’t see why I can’t call in a few markers. Sadly, I wouldn’t know if Gracechurch turned coat if I saw his seams, but I might know someone who dabbles in all that cloak-and-dagger business. And, if I say so myself, I’m a dab hand at sneaking people away from tense situations. Quite a talent of mine in the trade.”

“How?”

“Sleight of hand, my girl. Is there another person you can trust? Preferably male. Even more preferably military.”

“Why?” Lady Kate asked.

“Patience, infant. Anyone? I thought I saw Major Braxton here yesterday. He’s done some messenger work for us recently.”

“Braxton,” Lady Bea agreed. “Good boy.”

Grace was already smiling. “I agree. Kit is a good friend, and completely trustworthy. Or we could ask Harry Lidge. I just saw him, and he’s heading home.”

“Lidge?” Olivia asked. “I think he’s a friend of Jack’s.”

“Not,” Lady Kate suddenly said, “Lidge.” Before Diccan could raise his quizzing glass, she pointed a finger at him. “And if you lift that odious thing at me, you coxcomb, I swear I’ll feed it to you.”

Olivia found herself staring at the duchess. She saw Grace open her mouth, but another glare from Lady Kate silenced them both. Who was Lidge, Olivia wondered? And what had he done to earn Kate’s disapprobation? It was obvious, however, that Lady Kate had said all she would on the subject.

Diccan turned back to Grace. “Braxton it is, then. Can you contact him?”

Grace nodded. “Easily.”

“Good. Bring him by tomorrow and we can set our plans in motion.”

“At what?” Olivia demanded.

Diccan’s smile was quite smug. “Why, smuggling your husband—well, Gracechurch—home, of course. Just in case someone really is looking for him, we’ll give them Kate and her entourage to look at instead. You go one way, and Gracechurch will go the other. That’s if Braxton agrees, of course.”

Lady Kate nodded. Grace nodded. Olivia felt as if she were swimming through murky water. “Do you want to speak with Jack, Mr. Hilliard?”

“Please, Mrs. Grace. Co-conspirators deserve first names. But not just yet. The last time Jack saw me was as he was raising a gun on your cousin on Finchley Commons at dawn. I’m not sure that’s the first memory you want him to recover.”

Olivia all but shuddered. “Yes. I thank you, Mr. Hilliard. You don’t know what it means that you’re willing to help us.”

His sudden grin was blinding. “My dear lady, do you know what you called me away from? Listening to Slender Billy alternately gloat about his heroic injury and whine about his lost command. The Prince of Orange wears thin.”

“He
will
be the next king of the Netherlands,” Grace reminded him.

“Even if he is a twelve-year-old in a man’s body.” Diccan leaned close to Grace, as if imparting a secret. “I know it’s not my lot to question, my Boadicea, but it’s almost worth more than my career to simply stuff a gag in his mouth.”

Grace maintained an admirable calm. “It could be worse. You could be negotiating with a victorious Napoleon.”

He laughed. “Just what I needed. A dash of perspective.” Downing the rest of his brandy, he gained his feet. “Now, then, ladies, I must be off to assure Belgium’s goodwill. When Braxton arrives, alert me. ’Til then, keep good heart. I’ll whisper a suggestion in an ear or two that they might keep an eye out for suspicious lurkers in the area. Inform your house staff as well. And for heaven’s sake, keep Gracechurch locked up tighter than a lunatic.”

They followed him out into the foyer, where Finney waited with Diccan’s high-top beaver. Retrieving it, Diccan set it on his head at a definite slant. “No more worries, Bea,” he said, giving her a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Hilliard is in charge.”

She huffed in indignation. “Heaven help us.”

Chapter 14

T
hrasher was back. Jack looked up from another circuit of the room to see the imp sneak through the door as if being chased by runners, his spotless uniform traded in for stained and torn rags and a disreputable-looking cap.

“Don’t tell me,” Jack said from where he stopped by the window to look out at the darkening sky. “You couldn’t help it if those snuffboxes fell into your pocket.”

Thrasher drew himself up as if Jack had accused him of treason. “I’ll ’ave you know, y’r worshipness, that I stays on the windy side of the law these days. ’Er Grace wouldn’t like it above ’alf ifn I didn’t.”

Jack gave a formal bow. “My apologies, lad. How was your afternoon?” Not waiting for the answer, he took off again, forcing his still-wobbly legs to keep moving him forward. He had to get back on his feet as soon as he could. Something tucked away in his memory felt dangerous, and he had the feeling he was going to need to be solidly on his feet to face it.

Stepping up next to him as if accompanying him on the stroll, Thrasher scratched at his chest. “Amazin’ what coves’ll say round a street sweep. You know some cully named Surgeon?”

Jack shuddered to a halt. Surgeon. It sounded familiar, and not as in ‘do you know a doctor?’ He frowned, searching his memory like a cloudy crystal ball.

He could hear himself yelling. But he wasn’t yelling
Surgeon!
He was yelling
Chirurgien!

French.

He must have spoken out loud, because Thrasher frowned. “What?”

Jack snapped back to attention. “Sorry. Must have been woolgathering.”

The boy huffed impatiently. “Sounded like you was talkin’ to a Frenchie.”

For a moment, Jack could only stare at him. He was right. But did he want to know why?

“Weren’t no Frenchie,” the boy was saying, bending over to peek at Jack’s bed. “Was a English toff, sure as shift.”

“Is he someone I would wish to know?”

Thrasher’s laugh was far too old. “Cor, luv ya, guv. With a name like the Surgeon? Nah. Skinny toff what ’as a phiz like a lizard and a nasty habit o’ playin’ with his pocketknife. Seems ta think you might be somewhere near somebody ’e called the ‘cyprian countess.’ Know the mort?”

Jack shook his head. “Doesn’t sound familiar at all.”

Could that have been Mimi? He didn’t think so. It didn’t sound right.

“The Surgeon also said as ’ow you was in trouble with the lions.” The boy shot Jack a cheeky grin. “You sure you wasn’t lost in a zoo?”

Jack came to a halt by his bed. “Lions. I do know lions.” Grabbing hold of a bedpost, he shook his head. “I know something about them.
British
lions.” Again he struggled for clarity. All that came to him was that odd thought that they were looking the wrong way. Who? The lions? The British?

Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed a fist to his temple. God, if only he could remember!

“I don’t suppose he was thoughtful enough to explain himself?” he asked.

“Nup. Not to Axman Billy, leastwise.”

Jack gaped at him. “Axman Billy?”

Thrasher nodded, for once not looking very cheeky. “Nasty bit o’ business from the Dials. Don’t know ’ow he got over ’ere, but I’d sure run shy of ’im, I was you.”

“Axman Billy and the Surgeon are looking for me?” Jack demanded. “I am the popular fellow. Did they mention anyone named… Mimi?”

Thrasher tilted his head to the side. “There
was
someflash mort they was talkin’ about, but I thought it was that cyprian thing. Said she’d been invitin’ the wrong folk over.” Losing interest, the boy shrugged. “That’s it.”

Jack nodded, still distracted. “And you still won’t tell me what year it is.”

“Not on y’r life. Why don’t you ask the ladies? Tell ’em ’bout this Surgeon cove.”

Jack rubbed again at the reawakened headache. “No. It would just worry them needlessly.”

“You think anyfing’s more worrisome than some cove named Axman?”

He managed a small smile. “All right. Tell them you heard there’s someone looking for me. But I wouldn’t mention names if I were you.”

The boy shrugged. “Suit y’rself.”

“I’d appreciate it if you could see if any of my friends are in town, though. They might help. Lord Drake, Sir Harry Lidge, Mr. Gervaise Armiston.”

“Cor, lumme. You know that nib cove?”

Jack was just about to ask what Thrasher meant when the door opened behind them.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Olivia demanded.

Looking up, Jack saw her standing in the doorway, arms akimbo, eyes flashing. She was in another high-necked dress, and it suddenly made him angry.

“Isn’t she something?” he asked Thrasher.

Thrasher nodded. “As flash a mort as ever I seed.”

“I won’t be distracted by blatant Spanish coin,” she snapped, arms crossed. “Jack, you have no business being up.”

“I am tired of that bed,” he said, and straightened his protesting body. “I needed to move around a bit.”

He needed to get outside, but she didn’t need to hear that right now. Then she settled her soft brown gaze on him, and he lost all other thought.

He’d spent the entire afternoon telling himself that he had no business wanting her. One look at her, one faint whiff of apple, and he was lost. He had no right, but God, he ached to hold her. To bury himself so deep in her he could forget how afraid he was. He needed to strip off that offensive dress and fill his hands with her unforgettable body. He needed to unpin her hair and see it curl like a living thing over her bare breasts.

He should get the hell away before he destroyed her, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to.

Oblivious to his distress, she stalked into the room like an avenging angel. “You need to lie down before you fall.”

He gave her a self-conscious grin. “I need a bath, and I don’t think I can wait any longer. I stink, Liv. I’m sure you noticed.”

“
I
noticed,” Thrasher assured them in an aggrieved voice.

Jack cuffed him. “That’s enough out of you.”

Olivia reached out, only to suddenly stop. Instead, she clasped her hands at her waist, a nun with no habit. Jack felt that withdrawal all the way to his gut.

“The staff might have time now,” she said stiffly. “The other ladies have just left for the opera. I’ll get you some water and a cloth.”

He was sure she didn’t realize the reaction that suggestion incited. His cock sought her like true north. He shook his head. “A hip bath or nothing. I’ll walk to the river if I need to. I can’t stand myself any longer. Thrasher, go on down and tell someone.”

Livvie didn’t see the sly grin Thrasher flashed Jack on his way out the door.

“Yes, yes,” she snapped. “Fine. A hip bath. Anything to get you horizontal.”

Also the wrong thing to say. Jack shuddered with memory, real memory. A memory that should have had Livvie blushing. “Ah, Liv,” he rasped. “You’re not thinking of the easiest way in the world to get me horizontal.”

She froze, her eyes widening just a bit. Jack knew a direct hit when he saw one. He wished he could enjoy it more.

“Not ’til you get that bath,” she snapped, and finally took hold of his arm.

“Sure you want to wait?” he asked, leaning close. “We didn’t used to.”

Again, he felt his words impact her. He knew he shouldn’t do it, but he couldn’t seem to help it. He suddenly couldn’t tolerate her distance. He needed her to remember. To share at least something with him, when he felt as if he’d lost everything else.

And she did remember. He could feel it in the stiffness of her body. He could see it in the ready flush of her skin.

Her distress made him feel like a heel. What was he thinking?

He was thinking that he was afraid. He was imprisoned, even if the prison had clean sheets and a window. He was kept in the dark like an irresponsible child, and he couldn’t allow it to continue.

He let her guide him to the chair, all the while praying for a new flash of memory that would be good. That wouldn’t walk dark streets and taste like despair.

“You actually caught me on my way back to bed,” he boasted like a five-year-old caught sliding down the banister. “I’ve quite mastered the room. The view out the window is fine. By the way, who were the soldiers decamping just now?”

“The rest of our injured. You’re the last.”

He frowned down at her. “You had other soldiers here? Why didn’t I know?”

“Because you were the most severely wounded. You didn’t need the annoyance.”

“What I need is—”

“A bath. Yes, I know. As soon as I can get some help.” Not even looking at him, she fled.

Jack didn’t blame her. If she was beset by the same memories he was, she should have been weak at the knees.

It had once been such a game between them, the wonders of the bath. The first time, of course, she had blushed like a young girl. She’d opened the wrong door to find him wet and smiling, his knees tucked up and his hair curling in the steam.

“Oh, good.” He’d grinned. “I hate to scrub my back.”

She’d gulped like a fish. They had been engaged only a week, and she’d obviously never seen a gentleman missing so much as a neck cloth. She was seeing one then. He knew he didn’t look like an ordinary gentleman. He spent far too much time outside working with his tenants. He had muscles no gentleman should exhibit and a tan across his chest. Jack saw her take it all in. He watched as her embarrassment turned to curiosity, and then slowly to fascination.

Laying his washcloth right over his aching groin, he gave her a full view and the most carnal smile he knew.

“Come along, Livvie,” he said, spreading his arms, “you can’t be afraid of this. After all, in another two weeks, you’ll have rights to every square inch of it.”

She hadn’t moved, but Jack had seen the possibilities overtaking her. Right there in her expressive eyes, in the way her hands opened and closed at her sides, as if instinctively grabbing for him. He saw the flush of arousal climb her chest and sweep up her long, elegant throat to wash over ivory cheeks. He heard the quickening of her breath. And then he saw her eyes drop from his chest to the washcloth, which was predictably changing form before her eyes.

Hers. Hers to do with as she pleased. To explore, to claim, to tease and torment until both of them gasped with exhaustion.

Hers.

It had been the most erotic thought he’d ever had.

He was so caught up in his memories that he didn’t even realize that he’d once again gotten to his feet. A chilly breeze reminded him the window was open, and he wandered over to it.

Immediately his attention was caught. Was that somebody watching the house? Without thinking about it, he stepped to the side so he could look without being seen. A thin man in decent attire was standing at the Parc gate, lighting a cigarillo, the spark flaring yellow in the graying light. Jack couldn’t see his face. For some reason, though, the man’s casual position alerted him in a way that seemed familiar.

“I thought I told you to sit,” Livvie said, walking back into the room.

Jack pointed out the window. “Is there any reason someone would be watching this house?” he asked.

She strode over to check for herself. By the time she got there, though, the man was gone.

“I don’t know,” she said, frowning as she looked outside. “Let me tell Sergeant Harper when he brings up the water.”

They stood there for a bit, side by side, thinking separate thoughts. “Thrasher told you?” Jack asked.

She startled. “That you’ve attracted questionable attention? Yes. Do you have any idea why?”

Now. Tell her now.
“No. You?”

She didn’t look at him. “No.”

He absently nodded and returned to his chair.

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” she asked.

His body seemed to not care that the household might be in danger. One unintentionally suggestive word from Livvie and it reacted with amazing predictability.

“Oh, I’m up for something,” he assured her, casting a quick glance down to where his cock was stirring. “At least I know
that
wasn’t injured. I’ve been tenting the sheets like a fifteen-year-old with his first housemaid.”

He peeked up to see her casting a frantic glance at his lap. He saw it again on her face, that beautiful flush of arousal. The pinched frown of distress. He’d be a cad to urge her on, especially now. But when she turned away, he could see the sweet slope of her behind as her dress swirled around her, and his body refused to behave. Heat speared his gut, settling with unerring accuracy in his groin. His fingers tingled. His chest tightened. The once-loose pantaloons Sergeant Harper had lent him again grew tight. He suspected he was going to spend this night with balls that ached like fury.

He didn’t care. He had the most unsettling feeling he hadn’t had the chance to enjoy this view much recently, and he couldn’t bear to miss it.

“We found another set of clothing for you,” she was saying, looking out the door for the sergeant. “One that might fit better.”