Chivalrous Captain, Rebel Mistress (15 page)

Marian looked impatient. ‘I could walk home faster than this.’

Allan was the only one close enough to hear her. ‘I will escort you, if you wish.’

She glanced around. ‘Will anyone remark upon it, I wonder?’

‘We have darkness on our side. I will inform my uncle. If he has no objection, we can slip away.’

A minute later, they were crossing Oxford Street.

‘Thank you for taking me home, Captain.’

He smiled. It felt good to hear her call him ‘Captain’ again. ‘I enjoy the walk.’

‘I did learn one thing this evening,’ she said.

‘What was that?’ He liked this sudden camaraderie with her. It reminded him of better times.

‘I have little need to mix in society.’

They walked side by side again, but he wished he could thread her arm through his. ‘Are you certain? You cannot isolate yourself.’

She looked pensive. ‘I no longer belong in such company.’

He could not believe it. ‘You look as if you have always graced the fashionable world.’

It was her turn to look surprised. ‘Why, thank you, Captain.’ She shook her head. ‘No matter. It holds little interest to me.’

He frowned. ‘Because of Belgium?’

She slanted a glance. ‘Yes. It changed me.’

He looked into her face. ‘It changed me, too.’

Her lips trembled and he was lost again in a haze of wanting her, needing her, unable to conceive of being apart from her.

They stood on the Mayfair street, gazing upon each other. For Allan the moment stretched until he lost how long they remained there. Slowly he bent down, bringing his lips closer to hers.

She turned away and started walking again. The moment passed and they began to talk of the musicale and the people there, about Domina’s total self-absorption.

They reached her street and walked up to her door.

‘Thank you again, Captain.’ She extended her hand.

He took it and, wanting so much more, pulled her close enough to place a kiss upon her forehead. ‘I enjoyed your company.’

She looked up at him, her eyes large.

Before he lost the thin tether on his restraint, he sounded her knocker. Reilly almost instantly opened the door and Marian rushed inside.

Allan nodded to Reilly and stepped away. ‘Goodnight, Miss Pallant.’

From just within the threshold, she turned back to him. ‘Godspeed, Captain.’

Allan had hoped to see her at other entertainments over the next few days but, even though his uncle and Domina were present, Marian was not a member of their party. He began to worry about her. Was she ill? Was some man not of his uncle’s set entertaining her? Or was she merely turning her back on a society in which she felt she no longer belonged?

He told himself not to think of her, to concentrate on work instead. He filled his time checking in with Sidmouth’s sources, reading newspapers, visiting taverns and coffee houses.

This day he was in the office, seated at his desk, perusing a Nottingham newspaper. Some familiar names dotted the pages, making him wonder how they went on. Between the lines he read of much distress from lost jobs and high prices. It was like that throughout Great Britain.

Lord Sidmouth rapped on his door.

Allan lowered the newspaper and stood. ‘Come in, sir.’

‘Well? What have you found?’ Sidmouth sat in a nearby chair.

‘Nothing specific.’ Allan folded the paper. ‘Something has changed in the last week. I can sense it, although I’ve heard nothing and read nothing specific.’

‘Have the same feeling,’ Sidmouth said. ‘What of Mr Yost?’

Allan shrugged. ‘His name recurs, but in the context of people wondering if he will dare write another essay.’

Sidmouth pounded his knee. ‘He’s our key. Bet a pony on it.’ He leaned towards Allan. ‘I have an idea.’

‘What is it?’

He leaned back again, lounging in the chair. ‘You are acquainted with his neighbour. Pretty girl. Met her with you at Lady Doncaster’s.’

Allan held his gaze steady.

‘Miss Pallant,’ Sidmouth went on. ‘That’s the name. Sizeable fortune. Father was with the East India Company. Lord Tranville’s niece by marriage. Had some sort of falling out with him. Been living on her own since inheriting.’

Allan was appalled. ‘You investigated her?’

A corner of the lord’s mouth turned up. ‘Asked a few questions here and there.’

Allan’s fingers curled into a fist.

‘Unconventional sort. Lives with a companion. Controls her own funds. Went to Brussels with Sir Roger and his wife. Something happened there. Don’t know what it is yet.’ Good God.

Allan’s eyes narrowed. ‘What has this to do with Yost?’ Why was Sidmouth digging into Marian’s past? Did he know that Allan had been with her?

‘Had this idea.’ Sidmouth grinned in delight. ‘Call upon her. Court her, even. Makes sense for you to court an heiress.’

Now he was sounding like Tranville.

‘Court Miss Pallant?’

Sidmouth cocked his head. ‘Only for show, if you like. Too uncommon for an MP’s wife, I’d say. Look for a peer’s daughter for that. Real reason is to get information about Yost. Watch his house. See what she knows, what her servants know. Servants talk, see everything.’

By God, this was callous.

Allan gripped the arm of his chair. ‘You want me to use Miss Pallant in order to spy on John Yost.’

‘That’s the right of it.’ Sidmouth grinned. ‘Inspired idea, is it not?’

Allan stood. ‘It is a detestable idea! Toying with a young lady’s affections merely for information. It is dishonourable.’

Sidmouth’s expression darkened. ‘Then do not court her. Just call upon her. You are a friend of hers, are you not?’

Sidmouth had a way of manipulating people for his own
ends. He apparently had no qualms about manipulating Marian.

Allan gave Sidmouth a direct stare. ‘I want no part of this.’

Sidmouth rose and sauntered to the door, but he turned back. ‘This is not a request, Landon. This is the job you agreed to perform when I employed you. If you care about your future and the future of your country, you’ll befriend your Miss Pallant, court her, sleep with her, anything necessary to get information that prevents sedition. Do as I say and persist until you have something on Yost to bring to me.’ He strolled out of the room.

Allan sank in the chair and ran his hand through his hair.

To do his job, to serve his country, to avenge his father, he had to take advantage of Marian.

M
arian sat at her desk and riffled through the latest set of invitations. Domina had been true to her word. Invitations arrived every day to various events and Domina often penned notes offering to include her in their party. Marian found excuses to refuse, although each time she wondered if
he
would be attending.

He consumed her thoughts much too often, her
Captain
, but it was essential she stay away from him. He worked for the Home Secretary. His job was to thwart everything she was working hard to bring about.

She dropped the invitations on the desk and pulled out a sheet of paper to pen a conciliatory note to Domina, refusing yet another offer to accompany her to a breakfast, but promising to call upon her soon.

Blanche walked in. ‘Do you need to speak with Mr Yost today?’

Marian put down her pen. ‘I do not think so. Why?’

She blushed. ‘I just met him outside when I was coming from the shops. He invited me to walk with him in the park.’

Marian hid her amusement, wondering how long Mr Yost stood at his window watching for Blanche to return. ‘If he needs to speak with me, he certainly may, but otherwise, enjoy the day.’

‘You do not mind?’ Blanche took her duties as companion so seriously she felt guilty ever leaving Marian alone.

‘I do not mind,’ Marian assured her. ‘I have letters to write and much to keep me occupied.’

Blanche grinned at her. ‘Thank you, Marian.’ She started for the door.

Marian called after her. ‘Invite Mr Yost to dinner, if you like.’

Blanche stopped. ‘Indeed?’

‘Of course. It will be pleasant.’

Blanche returned a grateful look. ‘I will, then.’

‘Tell Cook,’ Marian added.

Blanche nodded and swept out of the room looking blissfully happy, the way a woman in love ought to look.

Marian rested her chin on her hand. Blanche renewed Marian’s faith in romance. Mr Yost was a good man with a solid independent income. Both he and Blanche deserved happiness.

Something that eluded Marian.

Her own fault. What might have happened if she’d even considered that Edwin had lied to her? What if she had opened one of the captain’s letters instead of returning them?

Perhaps she would be wed to him and sharing his bed at night. She couldn’t deny the fact that her body still yearned for him.

As did her soul.

She forced herself to pick up her pen, dip it in the inkpot and resume writing her letter.

One thing was certain, she would not be planning a soldiers’ march if her husband worked for the Home Secretary. How then would the soldiers’ voices be heard? She was determined
to give them that voice. There was nothing more important to her.

She easily finished her correspondence and stood, stretching the stiffness from her muscles. She walked out to the hall just as someone sounded the knocker.

‘I’ll get it, Reilly,’ she called out. ‘I’m right here.’ She opened the door.

The captain stood at the threshold.

‘Captain!’ She felt herself flush.

He removed his hat. ‘I did not expect you to answer the door. Domina said you have refused several invitations—’

Now she understood. ‘Domina sent you? I am sorry you have been put to so much inconvenience.’

He shook his head. ‘She did not send me.’

He had come of his own volition? She flushed again, too instantly aware of him.

She stepped aside. ‘Do come in.’

Reilly appeared, all smiles when he saw who it was. ‘Captain! May I take your things?’

He handed Reilly his hat and gloves. ‘How do you fare today?’ he asked the butler.

A pleased expression lit Reilly’s face. ‘In good health, sir.’

‘Well—’ Marian clasped her hands together ‘—come to the drawing room, will you? Reilly, bring us tea.’

‘Yes, miss,’ he said.

She led the captain to the small drawing room on the first floor, the one that faced the front of the house. ‘Do sit, Captain, and tell me why you have come.’

He stood until she lowered herself in a chair. ‘I merely was in the neighbourhood and thought to see how you went on.’

‘Why?’ There must be more to it than that.

‘Do I need more reason than the concern of a friend?’

They could never be friends, not even if they were not political enemies.

‘Everything is splendid here.’ She did not wish to be the topic of conversation. ‘How is the Home Office?’

His eyes flickered. ‘No Blanketeers at the city gates as yet.’

Had he been a part of thwarting the Blanketeers’ march?

Marian tried to keep her voice even. ‘Ah, but did not one of the Blanketeers make it through? The newspapers said he delivered his petition.’

‘One man is not a riot,’ he countered.

This irritated her. ‘Not every protest is a riot. The papers said the men marched peacefully in small groups.’

The captain countered, ‘Ah, but the intent was for them all to meet in a large gathering. When numbers are large, there is always the danger of riot.’

Her brows rose. ‘Cannot large numbers of men gather and behave in organised, disciplined ways?’

‘It only takes one spark to set a fire. One man, one mistake, and a riot might result.’ His fingers tapped the arm of the chair.

She smiled stiffly. ‘I was not thinking of marches upon Parliament. I was thinking of soldiers. Are soldiers not disciplined, even though their numbers are large?’

‘Even soldiers can run amok.’ His tone turned bleak and pain filled his eyes.

He witnessed such a thing
, she realised.
In the war.

She wanted to comfort him, to soothe away the pain of whatever it was he’d endured.

Would he want her comfort if he knew she was planning a soldiers’ march? Her march would be different, however.
Her
soldiers would maintain discipline. There would be no arrests, no injuries. They would make the government pay attention, to recognise that if their needs were neglected they could indeed be a force to be reckoned with.

Reilly entered with the tea tray. After he left Marian was silent as she fixed the captain’s tea, remembering from Brussels exactly how he liked it.

He took a sip and closed his eyes, as if savouring the taste. ‘I have learned how to appreciate this luxury.’

Marian knew instantly what he meant. ‘Yes. There is so much I no longer take for granted.’ She handed him the plate of biscuits.

‘Good food,’ he said, taking a bite of a biscuit.

She touched her gown. ‘Clean clothing.’

He seemed to be thinking for a minute. ‘Absence of pain.’

That pierced her heart. ‘No one brandishing axes.’

‘Or shooting at us.’

‘Dry shoes and stockings,’ she added.

He lifted a finger. ‘Speaking English.’

She smiled and patted her chair. ‘Furniture.’

He smiled in return. ‘A bed.’

Their gazes caught and held and he was slow to glance away. She remembered the night she had shared his bed, remembered the lovemaking they shared, remembered how she urged him to do more.

She stared into her teacup.

He spoke quietly. ‘I only regret the suffering you endured.’

She glanced up at him. ‘I do not regret even that.’

Marian regretted nothing between them, except the interference of her uncle and cousin. That she greatly regretted.

‘It made me realise what is important,’ she told him. ‘It made me realise I can be strong.’

He looked at her. ‘You were remarkably strong, Marian. To that I owe my life.’

She felt her cheeks burn. ‘Say no more. You deserve equal credit.’ She brushed a lock of hair off her forehead and latched on to a safer subject. ‘We should give equal credit to Valour, you know. She saved us a time or two.’

He smiled. ‘Indeed.’

‘Where is Valour?’ She would like to see the horse again,
stroke her muzzle and whisper her thanks. ‘Do you have her in London?’

‘I do.’ He took another sip of tea. ‘I may have to send her to my uncle’s country house, though. It is expensive to keep her here and I have little time to ride her.’

Marian lowered her gaze, reminded of his limited finances. ‘She will not like being parted from you.’

‘But she will enjoy galloping through the fields and breathing the fresh country air.’

The door opened and Blanche walked in, followed by Mr Yost. ‘We are back.’ Blanche saw the Captain. ‘Oh—forgive me. I did not know you had a caller.’

Allan stood. ‘It is good to see you again, Mrs Nunn. I trust you are well.’

She curtsied. ‘Very well, Mr Landon.’ She turned to Mr Yost. ‘Allow me to present our neighbour, Mr Yost. Mr Yost, this is Mr Landon, who was acquainted with Miss Pallant in Brussels.’

Marian’s heart raced. She had not felt this level of anxiety since Waterloo. The captain was already suspicious of Mr Yost; he had said so that first day. He could make this meeting a very difficult one.

Instead he surprised her.

He strode forwards and extended his hand in a most gentlemanly manner.

Mr Yost shook it. ‘You were in Brussels for the battle, then?’

‘With the Royal Scots,’ he explained.

‘A momentous day in history,’ responded Mr Yost.

Marian was still filled with anxiety. She needed to warn Yost. ‘Captain Landon is now working for Lord Sidmouth at the Home Office.’

Mr Yost did not miss a beat. ‘Are you, sir?’

‘I am.’ The captain smiled genially. ‘I am no longer a captain, however, although Miss Pallant persists in calling me one.’

Marian doubted she could ever call him anything else.

She rose and walked towards the door. ‘Do sit. I will ask Reilly for more tea.’

Once in the hallway, she leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to sort her disordered emotions.

She found Reilly nearby. ‘You ought to have warned me Mr Yost was here, Reilly.’

He appeared chagrined. ‘I could not, miss. Mrs Nunn asked where you were and I said the drawing room and she was already at the door with Mr Yost behind her.’

She pressed her fingers to her temple. ‘Never mind. I suppose we need more tea. Can you bring some?’

When she walked back into the drawing room, the gentlemen started to rise, but she signalled them to remain seated.

As she returned to her chair, Mr Yost addressed the captain. ‘Work for the Home Office, you say? I suspect you have heard my name spoken there.’

What was he doing?

‘It has been mentioned,’ the captain replied. ‘I am afraid you have a reputation as a radical essayist.’

Yost was unapologetic. ‘I dare say I have written what might be termed radical criticism of the government in my time. My views remain liberal, but the climate is too dangerous to publish them at the moment.’ He leaned towards the captain. ‘I am curious, sir, why you choose to work for the Home Office.’

The captain’s eyes turned piercing. ‘I know the carnage protesting mobs can do. I seek to stop it.’

Marian remembered. ‘Your father,’ she whispered, too low for anyone to hear. She was surprised she had not thought of it before. She raised her voice. ‘The captain’s father was killed by rioters.’

Yost lowered his head. ‘My sympathies, Mr Landon. That is a great sadness to bear.’ He raised his head again. ‘Perhaps we can agree that violence helps no one’s cause.’

The captain lifted his tea cup to his lips. ‘On that we can agree.’

The tense moment passed and the two men continued discussing their differences, but in a quite civil manner.

Reilly, looking abashed, entered with the tea tray. ‘Cook says dinner will be ready in an hour.’ He hurried out.

Marian bit her lip, wishing she had not snapped at him.

The captain rose. ‘I have overstayed my welcome, I fear.’

‘Oh!’ Blanche exclaimed. ‘Right in the middle of your debate.’

He smiled at her. ‘We are not likely to resolve anything no matter how long I stay.’

‘But it is interesting,’ Blanche went on. ‘I should think you could talk even through dinner.’ Her eyes brightened. ‘Marian, might we ask Mr Landon to join us for dinner?’

Marian could not compose an answer. Had Blanche’s wits gone begging?

Captain Landon glanced at her. ‘I am not dressed for dinner.’

‘Well, neither am I,’ said Yost.

The captain’s voice changed in tone. ‘You are staying, sir?’

‘Yes,’ Blanche answered. ‘You would make our numbers even and it would be like a party. Can we not include him, Marian?’

She was trapped. She turned to the captain. ‘You are very welcome to stay to dinner, if you do not have another engagement.’ Perhaps he would take the hint that she expected him to say no.

Instead he gazed into her eyes. ‘I would be honoured to dine with you.’ He smiled. ‘I never take a good meal for granted.’

Marian felt herself flush. He was reminding her of their past hardships, hardships of which they’d so light-heartedly jested earlier.

‘That is splendid, Mr Landon,’ Blanche said.

Marian had never confided in Blanche about the exact nature of her acquaintance with the captain in Belgium, but surely Blanche knew not to keep the fox in with the chickens for longer than necessary.

More tea was poured and the conversation resumed, but about foods and favourite dinners, not politics.

Dinner was a lively affair and one Marian enjoyed more than she could have anticipated. Mr Yost and the captain listened attentively to each other and disagreed respectfully, much to Marian’s relief and admiration. Both she and Blanche entered in the conversation, but Marian was careful to follow Yost’s lead so she would not rouse Landon’s suspicions. In many ways the captain’s views were sympathetic to the people’s suffering; he merely advocated different means to alleviate it.

‘Change best happens within the boundaries of the law,’ he said. ‘If left to a mob, we risk the anarchy of the French Revolution.’

‘But our government has been part of the problem,’ Mr Yost countered. ‘The Corn Laws, for example.’

The Corn Laws set high prices for grain and restricted its import. The laws protected the profits of large landowners, but also made bread, the staple food of the lower classes, very costly.