Enchanted Rendezvous: A Tangled Hearts Romance (22 page)

“I suspect that he thought you were a smuggler,” Cecily explained.

“I still do not understand.” Sadly Delinda looked
at James, who was engaged in wiping mud off his coat. “I did not find any verbena, Cecily. Perhaps it was not to be.”

Captain Jermayne cleared his throat. “I think you were splendid, Miss Howard.”

“You do?”

The captain started to speak, blushed, and glanced at Cecily for support. “Absolutely right,” he resumed. “When you came into the glade pretending to be the ghost, I nearly applauded. You did it so well.”

Delinda blinked and looked at Captain Jermayne as though she were waking from a deep sleep.

“You came at just the right time. You averted a confrontation. And looked so beautiful. Your hair was like—like a cloud of gold.”

Delinda’s blush was visible even by lamplight, but her eyes were bright. “It was you who was brave,” she breathed. “Oh, Captain Jermayne, you could have been
killed.”

“For you I would gladly lay down my life. Anytime.” The captain would have said more, but his shyness caught up with him. He attempted to continue, stammered, and got hopelessly tongue-tied.

Cecily came to the rescue. “It has become very cool,” she said. “Do you not think so, Captain Jermayne? I collect that it will be warmer at Marcham Place.”

She looked significantly at the captain, who exclaimed, “Eh? By Jove, yes, you’re right. Permit me, Miss Howard, to escort you back to the house.”

Delinda’s lips curved into a tremulous smile. As she took the captain’s proffered arm and walked away with him, Brandon remarked to Cecily, “Exeunt newfound sweethearts.”

“I think they will suit famously. Delinda is a dear, and Captain Jermayne is a kind person. And
a good friend, too—only think of his pretending to be carried away by his horse so that you would have time to escape the colonel.”

She broke off as the duke came striding back through the alders. The colonel followed, and Cecily was startled at the change in him. His bombast was gone, he looked ten years older, and he walked as though he were in a dream.

“Obviously you told him,” Brandon said, and the duke nodded.

Turning to the colonel he then ordered, “Howard, do your duty!”

The colonel wiped his damp forehead, then spoke in a voice hoarse with emotion. “I swear,” he said, “that I will never reveal what I have learned this night. Torture will not pry a single word from my lips. As a loyal Englishman and a gentleman, I have sworn it.”

He turned to his staring followers. “Gentlemen, I require the same oath from you. Whatever you have seen tonight, you will forget. You will never utter a word about this matter again, even among yourselves.”

Astounded but impressed, all the Riders swore silence. The colonel now saluted the duke. “We are at your disposal, your grace,” he said.

“Are you so?” The duke’s thin lips twitched into an ironic smile. “In that case—Brandon, what orders do you have for the colonel?”

“Hoy, see here—” bleated Montworthy, but no one paid attention to him.

The colonel seemed to be struggling with himself. Then, with the air of one who intends to face a firing squad with dignity, he wheeled about on his boot heels and glared at Lord Brandon. “Sir, your orders?” he barked.

“Guard the sea road together with my men. Di
vert my travelers until the American ships are safe at sea,” Brandon said. Then he added quietly, “We haven’t seen eye to eye in the past, Howard, but in this matter we both serve England.”

Wordlessly the colonel saluted the man he had threatened to jail for smuggling. Then, gesturing to his Riders, he strode out of the glade. “Exeunt the reformed Captain Hackum,” Brandon murmured.

“Well, Lady Marcham, it seems as if we have carried it off.”

The duke had strolled over to Lady Marcham, who said heartily, “We have indeed. La, your grace, I vow that it is kind of you to think that I have not changed through the years, but the world has turned several times since we were young. And you are looking tired. Come back to Marcham Place, and I will give you some elderberry wine.”

The duke looked surprised. “I forget that you are an enchantress, Emerald. Unfortunately I must travel with
him
and make sure that he returns to London safely.”

The duke inclined his stately head to kiss Lady Marcham’s hand, then exclaimed, “The devil! What’s this?”

Something rough and hairy was rubbing against his boot, and a rumbling growl permeated the air. “Miss Vervain’s cat is purring,” Brandon explained. “He’s taken a liking to you.”

Having apparently reassured himself that the duke was harmless, the cat padded over to Cecily. She bent down to pick him up, but Lady Marcham said, “Leave him, my dear. He has done famously tonight and very probably kept James from shooting Delinda or her nice captain. Archimedes shall follow us back to the house and have a large bowl of milk.”

Sir Carolus, who had been standing bemused during the past ten minutes, came to life with a jerk. “Milk,” he murmured, “with a little rum, a sprinkle of nutmeg. In short, milk punch. Mrs. Horris can no doubt make a milk punch that will rival the nectar of the gods.”

He began to trundle away toward Marcham Place, and Lady Marcham followed. Archimedes ran ahead, his tail waving like a victorious banner.

The Ice Duke watched them go. He then drew a deep breath that might have been a sigh and said, “I must return to the meeting. Miss Vervain, I look forward to our next encounter. Trevor, I leave the rest in your hands.”

Lord Brandon gave an order. As his men silently melted into the trees, he said to Cecily, “It is near the end of the play. Come with me and see the curtain fall.”

He offered her his arm, and feeling as though she were not quite awake, she took it. They stepped through the false hedge and followed the path until it broadened into the fork in the road. One side of the fork ran toward the woods. Following the other, they arrived at a clearing. In the center of this clearing stood a cottage.

A nasal voice demanded, “Who goes thar?” Brandon gave the proper password and was allowed to approach the cottage. Cecily noted that though smoke poured from the chimney and lamps burned at the windows, the well-guarded doors of the cottage were closed. Obviously, the meeting was still in progress.

One of the men guarding the door now stepped forward and saluted. “Lord Brandon,” he said, “may I inquire who this lady is?”

By his voice Cecily recognized the American with whom she had heard Brandon conspire. She looked
questioningly at Trevor, who said, “Miss Vervain, I beg to present Major Barnaby Simpson from Boston.”

Cecily found herself looking into bright blue eyes that held both admiration and curiosity. “Honored, ma’am,” he said. “Permit me to say that you are the fairest thing I’ve seen for months.”

He bowed and went back to his post. “Since he’s been at sea for months, that is hardly a compliment,” Cecily said, laughing.

“Americans have no sense of style.” Brandon guided Cecily into the shadows of the trees that surrounded the cottage, then stopped to say, “Now, Celia, tell me. Do you see why I had to keep my silence?”

He was standings so close to her that she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. Cecily stepped back a few paces before replying, “It would have been so much easier if I had known what you were about.”

“But if you had, we would not have grown to know each other so well.”

His tone was tender but assured, too, and some note in it seemed to blow the cobwebs and mist away from Cecily’s brain. Gravely she looked up at him and said, “I do not know if I really know you.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean that you have been playing a part, Trevor. In real life you are a duke’s son. You are respected, and perhaps wealthy, too—”

“Very wealthy,” he agreed. “Brandon’s a rich estate—what of it?”

“In real life,” Cecily repeated, “we are very different in rank and wealth. Ordinarily we would not have become allies.” No matter how she attempted to keep her voice steady and serious, she could not
help a small quiver from entering it. “You see, I have been playing a part, too.”

Lord Brandon said nothing, and the night seemed very still except for the mutter and pound of the sea. “You have said many times that the world is a stage,” Cecily continued. “Now the drama is over, and we must go our separate ways.”

She started to turn away from him, but he put his hands on her shoulders and held her back. “Celia, what maggot have you taken into your head? You heard me tell my father that I hoped to marry you, didn’t you?”

“The duke,” she pointed out, “suggested that you had gone mad. I am persuaded that you spoke without thinking, that on reflection you cannot have meant what you said.”

“Why? How?” The hands on Cecily’s shoulders tightened. “And don’t quote what the duke said—speak for yourself. Why do you think I do not really want to marry you?”

She drew a deep breath and prepared to point out, reasonably and logically, that a duke’s son and a penniless young woman of no rank could hardly suit. Instead, she heard herself whisper, “Because you have not once told me that you love me.”

Brandon heard the catch in her voice, and his own voice was husky as he replied, “No, I haven’t. Why need I tell you that I love you when I can’t think of life without you? You are my heart of hearts, my sun, my morning light.”

The little glade was silent, and in that silence Cecily could hear his breathing and the beat of her own heart. Looking up into his eyes, she said simply, “I love you, Trevor.”

“And I love you with all my heart,” he replied, “and I most humbly ask for your hand in marriage.” His voice held tender humor as he added,
“Your father isn’t alive, so I can’t ask
him,
and in any case, he would tell you to make up your own mind.”

Cecily drew a long, shaky, happy breath. She was so full of joy that she could hardly bear to stand still. Her body as well as her spirit wanted to dance. As seriously as she could, she said, “I shall marry you as soon as I am certain that the duke was wrong and that you are in your right mind.”

“In my right—what the devil do you mean?”

“Well, we are standing in a patch of verbena, which Delinda says is used in a love potion—”

“We don’t need any damned love potion,” Brandon interrupted. “Come here.”

Their lips met again, and again there was silence, and in that silence Cecily knew that she had come home at last.

The sound of voices within the cottage interrupted them, and the lovers drew apart reluctantly. Brandon said, “The meeting seems to be over.”

The door of the cottage opened, and the sentries saluted smartly as a dozen armed men emerged. They formed a bodyguard for two gentlemen, both of whom were cloaked and muffled to the eyes.

These gentlemen shook hands. Then one of them, together with his entourage, began to walk down the path that led to the Widow’s Rock. The other man and his escort—among whom Cecily recognized the commanding figure of the Duke of Pershing—remained where they were.

“What are they all waiting for?” Cecily whispered to Brandon.

There was a rattle of wheels, and a carriage came up the sea road. It stopped beside the cottage, and once again the sentries saluted as the second gentleman began to walk to the carriage.

Stepping forward, Brandon bowed deeply. Cecily
curtsied. The unknown gentleman nodded to them and moved on. As he did so, Cecily heard Pershing say something in a respectful tone.

Wide-eyed, she rounded on Brandon. “Trevor, can it be true? Could that gentleman possibly be—”

His fingers on her lips stopped her words. “No, love,” he warned.

“But I distinctly heard the duke call him by his name,” Cecily insisted. “Tell me this—am I wrong?”

His face was grave. “No, you are not wrong.”

Tightening his arm about her waist, he drew her back into the shadows. From there they watched Pershing escort his companion to the waiting carriage. The carriage, Cecily noted, was a plain one without ornament or crest. The coachman wore black, and the horses, too, were black. If anyone from the village should chance to see this carriage passing through the woods, they would doubtless hide in fear.

“Now I understand how high the stakes were,” she murmured. “Oh, Trevor, Trevor, what a weight you have had on your shoulders! If anything had happened to—to
him,
it would have been a disaster for England.”

“No one must know he was here.” Brandon kissed Cecily again before adding with a flash of his old, foppish drawl, “But heart up, Miss Verving, all is not lost. No doubt he’ll come to dance at our wedding.”