For Your Arms Only (4 page)

C
ressida’s plans had progressed no further than that when they were abruptly ruined the next morning. In the middle of her morning chores a knock sounded at the front door. Pausing only to pull off her apron—Granny would ring a peal over her head for opening the door in her apron, even if everyone knew the Turners had no more servants and must do the cleaning themselves—she opened the door and inhaled sharply. Standing on the front step was the man who had been in the stable the previous day, the dead man who was not dead.

“Good morning,” he said, doffing his hat with a courteous bow to reveal close-cropped dark hair. Cressida could only stare at him in mute horror.

“Is there someone—? Oh!” Callie had come up behind her. Cressida couldn’t seem to look away from the visitor, even when she felt her sister’s gaze on her. He looked different in the sunlight: taller, cleaner, more commanding. Richer, too; unbidden, the fear that he had come for money owed him clutched at her. They had no money to pay anyone. And he was still looking directly at her with searing blue eyes that seemed to have frozen her mind and tongue.

“Good day, sir,” Callie said after an awkward pause. She poked Cressida in the back as she bobbed a brief curtsey. “May we help you?”

He finally turned that gaze on Callie. “Forgive me for calling unannounced. Alexander Hayes, at your service. I have come on a somewhat delicate matter, involving Sergeant George Turner. This is his home, is it not?”

Cressida’s knees locked. Oh dear God. A delicate matter. He had come about money. She gripped the dust cloth in her hand until her fingers shook.

“Of course,” Callie said hesitantly. “Please come in. I am Mrs. Phillips, and this is my sister, Miss Cressida Turner. Sergeant Turner is our father.”

Major Hayes bowed again, without looking in Cressida’s direction. Her face feeling like wood, she followed Callie’s example and bobbed a curtsey. A fine sort of gentleman he turned out to be. Vulture, she thought wildly, even though she knew it was unjust. If the Hayes family had lent Papa money, they deserved to be repaid. She just didn’t know how she would do it.

She followed Callie and Major Hayes into the parlor, which thankfully she had already dusted. In fact, the dust cloth was still in her hand, and she hastily dropped it on her chair and sat on it, trying to calm her thundering pulse. Perhaps she should have told him to just take the horses the other day…

“I have come at the request of Colonel Lord Augustus Hastings,” said the major when he had taken a seat. “I believe you wrote to him inquiring after your father.” Callie shot a worried look at Cressida, but slowly nodded. Major Hayes smiled a little, a kind, reassuring smile. Not at all like a vulture. “He has asked me to look into your father’s disappearance, and to see if I might be of assistance to your family.”

“Why didn’t you say this earlier?” Cressida said before she could stop herself. He had come to help them, not to beggar them—oh, if only she had known that yesterday! She had pointed the pistol at him before he could explain anything, it was true, but if he had mentioned his connection to Hastings or his intentions, she certainly wouldn’t have kept pointing it at him.

He turned those deep blue eyes on her, and she wished she hadn’t spoken. “I was somewhat discomposed when we met previously, Miss Turner. Forgive me.”

“Of course,” she muttered. If he had been discomposed, what would describe her feeling now? Regret, that she had almost shot a man who came in response to her letter? She could hardly apologize for that now, with Callie glancing curiously between the two of them. Cressida dug her fingernails into her palms. No, it wasn’t regret; more like red-faced embarrassment. Had she really called him a vulture, even if only in her mind? She resolved to let Callie, the more temperate sister, speak from now on.

“That is very good of you, sir,” her sister said when Cressida sat in resolute silence. “Lord Hastings sent us only a brief note that he knew nothing of what my father might have done after their meeting, and that he would make inquiries.”

Major Hayes nodded. “I was informed of your situation and asked to make those inquiries. I know only the bare facts, though, and anything you can tell me would be a great help.”

Callie cleared her throat and looked down. “Yes. Thank you. I—We—That is, my father left four months ago. He had gone to meet Lord Hastings in London, and we expected him to return within a fortnight.”

“Did he send any word after his meeting with Lord Hastings that he would be delayed or planned to stay longer?”

“No.”

The major’s piercing eyes flashed toward Cressida for just a second. “And you did not write to Lord Hastings until a fortnight ago.”

This time Callie turned toward Cressida, silently appealing for help. She wet her lips and reminded herself to be calm and polite. “Our father is not in the habit of telling us his every plan. We did expect him home sooner, but it would not be unusual for him to do…other things.”

“Might those other things delay him three months?”

“Yes,” she said. It didn’t reflect very well on Papa, and she hated telling this stranger that he regularly took off on unexplained larks, but there was no point in hiding it, and she was beginning to run out of patience with her father anyway. “Sometimes.”

“Ah.” He was still looking at her. “And do you usually worry?”

Cressida felt the blood rush to her cheeks. Did they often write to senior military officers and ask for helping finding him, was what the major meant. “Not normally, no.”

“If I may be so bold, what has alarmed you this time?”

He knew, she thought; he knew it was because they were running out of money. “He has never been gone this long,” said Callie, diplomatically stepping into the breach. “We’ve had no word from him, and he did say he would return soon. We wrote to Lord Hastings in the hope Papa might have mentioned something to indicate where he had gone.”

“Of course. I hope I may be of assistance in locating him soon. As I’ve no acquaintance with your father, it would be most helpful if you could describe him, sketch his character for me, to give me an idea where to begin.”

Cressida bristled, although she tried to hide it. How was this man going to find Papa when he didn’t know the first thing about him? “He’s my height,” she began in a flat voice. “Dark, like my sister, and very fit. If there is a gathering in the pub sharing ale, my father will be in the center of it, laughing and talking with everyone. He’s clever and very amiable, the sort of fellow everyone likes.”

Alec listened closely as she spoke, absorbing every detail available. The two sisters were nervous, although the taller one, whom he had met the other day across her pistol, was also angry—at whom, he wasn’t certain, although from the way her eyes flashed when she looked his way, he was sure her opinion of
him
had not improved overnight. The other lady, Mrs. Phillips, was the prettier sister, with wide dark eyes and a delicate face. Her hands were slender and graceful, and the pile of curls atop her head gave her the appearance of a willowy flower.

Miss Turner, though, was more interesting. From her clenched hands to her rigid posture, he saw more of interest in her than in anything about her sister. Aside from the fact that she was not pleased to see him—perhaps out of instinctive dislike, perhaps out of embarrassment for her behavior the previous day—he could tell she was holding herself tightly in check. That alone made her intriguing, but Alec knew it was more than that.

He had to work at keeping his eyes away from her, in fact. She wasn’t beautiful, but rather striking—not just for her height, which was quite tall for a woman, but for the fire in those extraordinary eyes. There was no name for that color, he thought, because it wasn’t just one color but a changeable swirl of gold and brown, like a kaleidoscope. He had a feeling her eyes mirrored her thoughts, maybe more than she knew. She and her sister were both hiding something, of course. It could have been as mundane as a lack of money, but for all the fire in Miss Turner’s gaze, Alec didn’t think she was rash or foolish. Something had made her take a pistol into the stable and point it at him without even asking what he was about. He wondered what they weren’t telling him about their father, or themselves, or their situation.

“Is there anyone else who might know Sergeant Turner and his habits?” he asked. So far neither woman had said anything he hadn’t already known or guessed. Turner was a bit of a scoundrel, but a lovable one.

They shared a glance. “Our mother died many years ago,” said Mrs. Phillips. “Our grandmother lives with us, but she is not well.”

“I am sorry to hear it. Perhaps when she is recovered—”

“She is not physically ill,” said Miss Turner. “She is just…not herself. I don’t think she’ll be able to tell you anything useful about Papa.”

“Ah.” Perhaps the old lady’s mind was not strong. Perhaps something had occurred to unhinge her. Alec tucked the thought away for future investigation. “Then I shan’t disturb you any longer.”

“What do you plan to do?”

He smiled briefly at Miss Turner’s terse question. “Ask about. It’s been a while since Sergeant Turner was in Marston, so it may take some time.”

Mrs. Phillips shot to her feet. “Thank you, sir,” she said in a rush. “It was very kind of Lord Hastings to send you.”

“It is my pleasure,” he replied, still looking at Miss Turner even as he rose. She had pursed her lips in unveiled skepticism. “Good day, Mrs. Phillips. Miss Turner.” He bowed and left, trying to shake the image of those golden brown eyes.

“So.” Callie folded her arms and gave Cressida a stern look when he was gone. “You threatened to shoot him.”

She ignored that look and occupied herself with running the dust cloth along the already-clean table. “Obviously I was wrong. But what else was I to do? He certainly didn’t tell me all…” She waved one hand. “All that!”

There was a long pause. “You also did not mention he was so handsome.”

Cressida shrugged. “Do you really think so? He’s awfully…tall.”

“I have never seen eyes so blue. And yes, he looks very well indeed for a man who was, as you said, dead and buried five years ago.”

“I thought he had come to take our horses.” Guilt pinched her again; had she really threatened a man on such a quick assumption?
That
man?

“If he did take a horse, at least it would save us the expense of keeping it. And now someone will be out looking for Papa. Perhaps we shall pull through after all.”

Cressida heard the fearful hope in her sister’s voice and closed her eyes. “It seems very odd for Lord Hastings to send
him
.”

“Well, perhaps,” Callie slowly agreed. “But surely Lord Hastings wouldn’t send someone unsuitable…”

Cressida snorted. “No, he sent a man thought dead these last few years—dead, and a traitor as well. What would be odd about that?”

“Do you not want his help?” Her sister sounded frightened. “What choice do we have?”

She didn’t answer, just shrugged again. Perhaps there was no choice, but something about the major set her on edge. Cressida didn’t like feeling flustered or slow-witted, and he made her feel both.

After a moment, Callie tilted her head and looked thoughtfully into space. “Too tall? I should think you liked being able to look a man in the eye for once.”

“If you fancy him so much,” she retorted, “by all means, try to attach his interest.”

“I am done with men,” Callie said with quiet dignity. “But you—”

“Oh, stop! I would rather have Tom any day!”

The humor, and the light, vanished from her sister’s face. “I’m sorry, Cressida. I should not have teased you so. Forgive me.”

Cressida felt utterly wretched as Callie walked from the room, as composed as ever but avoiding her pleading gaze.
Stop
, she wanted to cry to her sister,
I didn’t mean it!
But Callie was gone, and Cressida listened as her footsteps crossed the hall, echoing now that the rugs were gone, then climbed the stairs before fading away altogether. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, praying for patience and more moderation in her speech. How hard would it have been to go along with Callie’s mild teasing, to admit that Major Hayes was almost sinfully handsome in addition to being the possible answer to their prayers? And even worse, to taunt her sister about her interest in him after Callie had already been married to a son of Lucifer and barely survived it?

With a curse that belied the earnestness of her prayer, Cressida flung the dust cloth across the room. She strode into the hall and seized the broom, sweeping vigorously for several minutes in an attempt to work off her frustration with physical activity. When she threw open the front door to sweep out the dirt, though, an unpleasant sight met her eyes.

The visitor, Major Hayes, was talking to Tom down the lane by the end of the fence, where the sheep had gotten through the broken gate. Tom leaned against the gate, nodding now and then but saying little. His posture was stiff and uncomfortable. Cressida put down the broom and started forward, worry and outrage quickening her step until she was almost running down the lane.

He saw her when she had covered half the distance. She was too far away to see his expression—or those damnably blue eyes—under the brim of his hat, but he bowed his head and raised one hand before swinging onto his horse’s back. He said something else to Tom, who nodded, then Major Hayes rode off, cantering around the bend in the road without a glance back.

Cressida slowed to a walk, holding one hand against the stitch in her side. She was still staring after him when she reached Tom. “What did he want, Tom?”

Tom looked troubled. “He said he’s come to look for the sergeant. Asked if I had anything to offer, any suggestion to make.”

“Yes, that’s about what he told us.”

“Hmmph,” was Tom’s only reply.

Uncertain, Cressida looked down the road where Major Hayes had disappeared. “Callie thinks it is the answer to our prayers. Lord Hastings sent him, it seems.” She turned back to Tom. “I wonder why he was sent to us. One might think coming back from the dead would require all a man’s attention, even if he weren’t a suspected traitor.”