Elizabeth Powell (15 page)

The clock with the cracked face registered half-past ten when Amanda gathered her gloves and fan. She donned her blue velvet cloak, a Christmas gift from her parents and the last piece of finery she owned, and settled the hood over her head. She hoped Captain Everly was punctual, otherwise she might lose her nerve.

At the doorway to the bedroom she paused, candle in hand. The dim light revealed her grandmother’s sleeping form. Amanda crept to her grandmother’s bedside and placed a gentle kiss on the wrinkled cheek visible above the covers.

“I love you, Grandmama,” she whispered. The older woman did not stir.

Amanda rose and departed without another word.

Punctuality was a hallmark of naval service, she mused as she emerged from the lodging house. Captain Everly had just exited his coach and was approaching the building with a slight smile on his face.

“I’m here, Captain,” she called.

He spotted her then, and his smile faded. Amanda kept her cloak folded around her body partially to keep herself warm, partially to keep her gown from Captain Everly’s sight. Let him wonder if she’d worn the dress. She would wait until they arrived at Locke’s home to reveal her attire, lest the good captain declare her too unclothed and refuse to take her in the first place.

“Miss Tremayne,” he greeted her. He swept his bicorne from his head and bowed. His eyes scanned her up and down, and a slight frown creased his brow.

“Good evening, Captain,” Amanda replied with breezy self-assurance. She climbed into the coach without his assistance, her smile hidden behind her gloved hand. Oh, she couldn’t wait to see the expression on his face when he realized she’d called his bluff. That should take some of the wind out of his sails.

Captain Everly settled himself across from her, his brilliant
blue eyes clouded with wariness. “Are you prepared, Miss Tremayne?” he asked. “You know you don’t have to go through with this.”

First subterfuge, now the direct approach. From what she knew of Captain Everly, he was stiff-rumped enough not to admit that he needed her help. Her shoulders stiffened. “I am quite prepared,” she answered.

Captain Everly stared long and hard at her for a moment, then rapped his walking stick on the roof of the carriage. The coach started forward with a lurch.

“When we get to Locke’s,” he said through his teeth, “I will introduce you as my mistress, Lucy Campion. You are a former opera dancer.”

“I can only imagine that being someone’s mistress is far more lucrative than dancing,” quipped Amanda with a little laugh. Honestly, what made her say that? She must be more nervous than she thought.

Everly was not amused; he scowled. “Pay attention, Miss Tremayne. After we arrive, we must allow some time to pass before you go in search of the secret compartment.”

“Why?”

“The longer we wait, the more distracted the other guests will become. They will either be drunk, engaged at cards, or occupied with the ladies.”

Occupied? Amanda blinked. Then comprehension set in, and a hot flush exploded in her cheeks. Oh.
Occupied.
She retreated into her cloak.

“I will keep Locke distracted,” Everly continued. “Once you return, we can make our excuses and depart. Then I will take you home, and we shall be done with this.” His gloves strained over his knuckles as he gripped the head of his cane.

“I assure you that I have no wish to remain in that house one moment longer than is necessary.”

“Remember this, Miss Tremayne—you are likely to see things tonight that are contrary to every polite sensibility. Whatever happens, you must not let your emotions get the better of you. This is war; by coming with me you have made yourself a soldier. And as a soldier, you
must achieve your objective at all costs. Do I make myself clear?”

Amanda flushed. She would hate to be a midshipman under Captain Everly’s command; he was starting to sound like a martinet. “Perfectly clear, Captain.”

“You must play your role, no matter what depredations you see, no matter how shocked or appalled you become.”

Amanda scanned his taut, tense features. The man gave every impression of a captain about to sail into battle. His body thrummed with tension.

“I understand what is expected of me, Captain,” she said. “I suggest that we both try to relax. If we walk into the admiral’s house looking as though we expect an attack at any moment, he will be suspicious.”

“I am not a spy, Miss Tremayne,” he snapped, irritated. “I am not used to such underhanded machinations.”

Machinations? He did not give himself enough credit for the dress, but Amanda decided not to point this out. “Neither am I, Captain, but we will do what we must. To paraphrase Nelson, England expects us to do out duty.”

His face relaxed for a moment, and he almost smiled. “Quite right, Miss Tremayne,” he replied. “Quite right.”

When they arrived at Admiral Locke’s town house, Amanda’s heart increased its cadence as she stared up at the huge, elegant Georgian residence. She was about to brave the monster’s den a second time. Fear flashed through her, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. Locke was unlikely to recognize her from the ball. She had been one person in a sea of hundreds, and tonight she was dressed in quite a different manner.

“Courage, Lucy dear,” murmured Captain Everly as he offered her a hand down from the carriage.

It would not do for a mistress to disdain her protector’s help. Amanda placed her gloved hand in his and descended with slow, deliberate steps. It would be just her luck to turn an ankle now.

In the cloakroom, Amanda removed her velvet cape and handed it to a footman. Cool air caressed her bare
neck and shoulders, raising goose bumps on her flesh. A defiant smile on her lips, she turned to gauge Captain Everly’s reaction, to see if she could pique his temper. The result was not what she expected.

The captain stared at her, his eyes narrowed. She could almost feel his gaze as a tangible force as it roamed over her body. She gasped. Everly was looking at her the way Lord Bainbridge had at the ball. No … not quite like Lord Bainbridge. Everly stared at her with the hollow-eyed fascination of a starving man who hadn’t eaten in days.

“Captain?” she breathed. Her knees started to tremble.

“Jack. You should call me Jack,” he said hoarsely. He approached her in two long strides and seized her bare shoulders. “I was a fool to get you involved in this. I was an even greater fool to send you that dress.”

His eyes were so blue that they seemed to glow. Amanda stared up at him, mesmerized. “Does my appearance meet with your approval?” she whispered.

“Dammit, this is not a game!” he snapped.

She could see the rapid pulse throbbing at his temple. “Yes, it is. A very dangerous game. One we must play through to the end.”

Everly’s hot stare traveled down her neck, over her shoulders, and lingered on the white curve of her bosom. He leaned down, his face very near hers, his breath warm against her ear. “I am going to have to protect you from every man here. Including myself.”

His touch did the strangest things to her senses. Amanda’s flustered mind could not form a reply. She looked away. “Should we not go and greet our host … Jack?”

Everly’s head snapped up. He shook himself like a man emerging from a dream, then retreated a step. After a long moment, he offered her his arm. “Indeed. Just be careful.”

Amanda hesitated, then placed her hand on his arm. Even through layers of fabric and kidskin, the contact was electric. She ran her tongue over her parched lips.

Raucous laughter accosted Everly and Amanda as they reached the top of the stairs. Several men clustered in
the hallway, framed by a haze of tobacco smoke. A few wore uniforms, a few wore evening dress, but they all turned as Amanda and Everly approached; their eyes flicked over the captain, then focused on Amanda. Like a pack of hungry wolves, she thought, alarmed. Everly nodded curtly to them before he steered Amanda into the ballroom.

The series of rooms looked nothing like it had two weeks ago. Several large tables, each covered with green baize, inhabited what had been the dance floor. The immense crystal chandelier was dark; pools of light from a few tall candelabras provided a close, intimate atmosphere. The low hum of conversation, punctuated by an occasional laugh or oath, pervaded the air, as did a profusion of scents: cheroot smoke, heavy musk, attar of roses, hair pomade, and unwashed linen—Amanda wrinkled her nose.

A number of officers sat at each table, engaged with either cards or dice. Ladies—if one could call them that—lounged against the men’s shoulders. A few even snuggled on officers’ laps. And the way some of them were dressed! Compared with the genuine article, Amanda thought her muslin gown too modest. Could she indeed masquerade as one of these creatures? They seemed to accept the boldest caresses, even in front of other people. Amanda’s hand tightened on Everly’s sleeve.

“Don’t worry. You’re safe with me,” he murmured.

Yes, thought Amanda with a twinge, but was he safe from the sharks? Several women had already looked in Everly’s direction and afforded him seductively inviting smiles. Everly smiled back.

“Ah, Captain Everly. Good of you to join us.” Admiral Locke approached them, a tall, red-haired woman on his arm. Taller than Amanda, though similarly shaped, the lady carried herself with the haughty grace of a queen. A queen in an amber silk gown that left nothing to the imagination, and jewels that would make true royalty green with envy.

“Hello, Admiral. Good of you to invite me,” Everly replied with ease.

“And who is this you’ve brought with you, Captain?” inquired the redhead.

“I didn’t think you’d mind if I brought my mistress—she’s a jealous sort.” Everly grinned down at Amanda and tweaked her under the chin. “If I came to this party without her, I’d never hear the end of it. Admiral, may I present Miss Lucy Campion. Lucy dear, the esteemed Admiral Locke, the Lion of the Mediterranean.”

He really was doing it a bit too brown. Amanda forced a smile to her lips and dipped a saucy curtsy. Locke’s gaze slithered over her, a blatant evaluation of her charms. Amanda repressed a shudder.

“Well, Captain, I must say that I am very disappointed,” the red-haired woman said, her lips pursed in a pout. “The admiral has told me all about you, and I do so adore enigmatic, fascinating men. I wanted us to become better acquainted.”

Locke chuckled. “You’d best be careful around Maria. She always gets what she wants.”

“Always,” the woman echoed. She stroked the tip of her fan down Everly’s jaw, a brazen gesture that set Amanda’s teeth on edge. She must have made a little noise of protest, for Maria Danvers shot her a hostile, challenging glance.

“Then I shall consider myself warned.” Everly inclined his head and smiled.

Locke turned to Amanda. “Have we met, my dear?” he asked, speculation in his icy eyes. “You seem familiar.”

Amanda’s jangled nerves shirked. Oh, heavens! She needed to think of something clever, something to put him off the scent. “I—I do not believe so,” she stammered. She bit her tongue. So much for cleverness.

“She used to be the darling of Covent Garden,” Everly added smoothly. He snugged a possessive arm around her waist. “Although you can hardly fault me for keeping her to myself. I don’t need any competition for her favors.”

Locke’s good-natured laugh turned a few nearby heads. “She is a fetching creature. Perhaps when you tire of her, we might come to an arrangement.”

“Perhaps.” Everly’s hand tensed on Amanda’s waist.

The admiral gestured to the rest of the room. “For tonight though, enjoy yourself. I hear the vingt-et-un table is particularly lucky.”

“Will you not join us, Admiral?” Everly asked.

Locke gazed speculatively at Amanda. “In a few moment, perhaps,” the admiral answered. With a nod and another genial smile, Locke started back across the ballroom, his hostess affixed to his side. Mrs. Danvers spared them both a watchful glance over one bare shoulder.

Amanda exhaled in a long, slow sigh. Her limbs quivered, but there was little she could do to stop them. “What do we do now?”

“We take the admiral up on his suggestion. This way.”

His hand still at her waist, Everly steered Amanda through the crowd to a table occupied by four other officers. “May I join you, gentlemen?” he asked.

The men looked up. The dealer, a young man in a lieutenant’s uniform, smiled a humorless smile. “I’m not sure if we can afford you, Everly,” he drawled.

Amanda felt the captain stiffen, though his pleasant expression never wavered. “That’s Captain Everly to you, Mr. Hale,” he replied. “You might do well to remember the formalities of rank, even in your patron’s home. And you can always go somewhere else if you’re afraid to wager against me.”

The young man’s face darkened. “Sit down, then,
Captain
. Your luck has to change sometime.”

Everly seated himself at the table and shrugged. “But perhaps not tonight.”

As he shuffled the cards, the lieutenant’s eyes slid to Amanda, who stood close by Everly’s right shoulder. His smile turned venomous. “Who’s your ladybird, Captain? Sillsby was right about one thing—you must pay her well indeed to endure your deformity. Perhaps she fancies someone younger … and unblemished. Shall we make her favors the stakes for this game?”

Terror strangled the breath from Amanda’s lungs. Everly would never consider—

“I think not,” she heard Everly growl. “She’s with me.”

Just as Amanda’s heart began to resume a normal pace, Everly snaked out an arm and swept her onto his lap.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, shocked.

“You called this a game, didn’t you?” His expression was pleasant, but his eyes blazed with a dangerous, angry light. “Play along.”

“But this is—”

“Is your ladybird having second thoughts, Captain?” taunted Hale as he dealt the cards.

“Not at all,” Everly retorted. He drew a finger over her lips. “Are you, Lucy?”

“Of course not … Jack.” His touch, though featherlight, thrilled her down to her toes. Awareness of his body flooded through her—his muscular thighs, his broad chest, the clean scent of his skin. A warm ache pooled low and deep within her. Such strange sensations—what was happening to her?