It Takes a Hero (24 page)

No, he had to find a way to make her decision to quit writing seem like her own idea. Make it enticing enough that she would snap it up without a moment's hesitation.

Then he remembered something else he'd learned about her last night. What was it the colonel had declared before everyone?

I know she's always wanted a Season.

That was it! The solution to all his problems.

"This doesn't have to be the end of your ability to care for your uncle," Rafe told her. "You could make a deal with Lady Tottley. You could have a Season in London. Have her sponsor you in exchange for quitting writing. Maybe you could even find your vicar and get married."

And even as he said those words, he knew he'd just made the biggest mistake of his life.

Get married?
Rebecca didn't know what to say. He thought the solution to all her problems was just to prance off to London for the Season and find some unwitting fool to marry her?

Rafe Danvers was lucky the fire iron was safely across the room and not within arm's reach, for he'd have found it imbedded in his thick skull.

"Just go to London?" she repeated. "For the Season?"

He nodded slowly. "Uh, yes. Your uncle said last night that you'd always wanted to have one."

Her uncle had also accused Lady Kirkwood of being a French spy, but she didn't feel the need to point that out to him, for as her indignation started to wear off, she realized the full implication of what he was saying.

Go to London?
Why that was perfect!

"And this is what Lady Tottley is offering?" she asked cautiously, trying to hide the hope in her voice, the only bit she'd felt since she'd found the note left on the hallway table this morning.

He hemmed and hawed a bit. "Well, she hasn't said as much—"

"So she didn't actually offer a Season in town?" Rebecca prodded.

"No," Rafe conceded. "But she would."

"Harrumph," Rebecca snorted knowing she sounded just like Mrs. Wortling when she couldn't find the brandy.

"I could write her and tell her of your demands. Say that you would be willing to quit writing if she were to bring you to London and—"

"I'll go," she declared, stopping him cold. "I'll do it."

Rafe stepped back from her and stared. "Just like that? You'll give up writing and go to town?"

She nodded. "But I have a few demands."

"Of course," he said. "I wouldn't expect otherwise."

She got up and cleared a spot on the map table, setting aside a pile of correspondence and two large volumes. Opening up her desk, she retrieved a quill, the small bottle of ink and several pieces of paper.

He eyed the stack of parchment. "You think we'll need that many pages?"

"I've never had a Season in London," Rebecca told him. "And if I am to give up my livelihood, then I intend to have the best one possible."

He sighed and sat down at the table, picking up the pen and scratching out the first part of the letter, outlining the offer. When he got done with the basic premise, he said, "And your demands, Miss Tate?"

"I'll need a wardrobe. Gowns, gloves, hats, shoes, and… and…"

"Other unseen items?" he suggested, a wicked smile pulling at his lips.

"Yes, whatever it takes to make a lady decent. But I suspect you know more about what goes beneath a proper lady's gown than I do."

"I am far too much of a gentleman to admit to such knowledge."

Rebecca snorted, borrowing once again from Mrs. Wortling's limited vocabulary.

"Yes, well, let me list those as 'unmentionable necessities.' "

Incorrigible fellow! Let him smirk all he wanted, but what he didn't realize is that a new wardrobe would require numerous trips around town giving her ample excuses to be away from Lady Tottley's and out searching for Lt. Purcell.

And Codlin's killer.

"I'll need dancing lessons," she said over his shoulder.

"One dancing master," he wrote. "French and
very
patient."

She ignored him. "I also want to see the Elgin Marbles."

"Modest young ladies do not view the Elgin Marbles."

"Bah!" Rebecca said. "Have you seen them?"

"Yes."

"Did they corrupt your morals?"

"Hardly." Rafe dipped the quill in the inkwell. "Though in truth, my morals were already far from perfect before I ventured to the museum."

Rebecca saw no reason to argue with that. "I suspect my character will survive the experience, sir, so if you would be so kind." She tapped the page where he'd left off.

Adding the request, he glanced back at her, expectantly.

She didn't keep him waiting long. "A membership at a local lending library and an account at Hatchards."

"This list has all the earmarks of designating you as an incurable bluestocking."

She tipped her nose in the air. "Just write down my requirements, if you please, and keep your comments to yourself. This is
my
Season."

"Indeed it is," he muttered.

"Please add that I want to attend the opera, the ballet and the theater."

"Those should all be easily secured," he said, "since they are proper entertainments for a young lady."

She ignored the barb. "I also want the colonel to come with me. I will not leave him here in Bramley Hollow with only Mrs. Wortling to see to his care."

Rafe glanced up at her. "Are you sure that is wise? I doubt Lady Tottley is going to want her house turned into an Indian garrison."

"The colonel comes with me."

He mumbled something about endangering the citizenry of London, but he wrote it down. "Anything else?"

"Yes," she said. "Vouchers to Almack's."

"Almack's?" He groaned. "Why would you want to go there?"

" 'Tis every girl's dream." And she'd recently read that Mr. Purcell had been part of a party of young gentlemen there.

"You aren't every girl," he told her. This should have pleased her, until he muttered under his breath, "Thought you had more sense than that."

"Almack's, sir, or I finish
Miss Darby's Terrible Temptation
this very week."

Rafe wrote it down. "That everything?" he asked wearily.

She glanced over the letter and nodded. "How long do you think it will take to hear back?"

"I'll send Cochrane along with Lady Finch's courier when he leaves with this afternoon's packet of her correspondence. They'll return tomorrow night."

She nodded. "Very well."

"No more writing?" he asked.

She nodded in agreement. "Why don't you see it off yourself?"

"Ready for me to be gone so soon?"

It was on the tip of her tongue to say "yes," but her manners won out. "Not at all."

"You are a poor liar, Miss Tate."

"And you are a troublesome man."

He looked up at her, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. "Then we are well matched."

His words took her aback, unused as she was to men flirting with her. It was flirting, she assumed, for he'd had the same devilish look about him before he'd kissed her yesterday.

Both times.

And for one impetuous moment, she wished she'd demanded that he escort her around town. Dance with her at Almack's. Tease her with his smiles, and when no one was looking, steal a kiss from her only-too-willing lips.

Hardly proper or practical considering what she needed to get done in London had nothing to do with balls or routs or musicales, but when Rafe Danvers was in the room, Rebecca felt so dangerously alive. And when he looked at her with those penetrating dark eyes of his, she felt herself drowning in his passionate nature.

But the moment was broken by a screech in the kitchen and a loud yowl.

Ajax!
she cursed silently.

There was a clatter of a heavy pan and another screech, then a streak of yellow fur into the library. The wretched tom dove under the map table, taking advantage of the long cloth that covered it.

"This time I'm going to stew that beast," Mrs. Wortling said as she came barreling into the room, cleaver in hand.

"Is there a problem, Mrs. Wortling?" Rebecca asked in an innocent voice.

"That beast has dumped the cream and gotten into the mutton."

Rafe glanced away, and she would bet it was to hide a smile.

"I don't know where he's gone. You've most likely frightened him away for good," she told the housekeeper.

"Doubt that," Mrs. Wortling said. "Cats and men have a way of staying put when they know there's a free meal to be had." She glanced over at Rafe. "Is he staying for tea? Because I have too much to do to make another plate."

"No, ma'am," Rafe offered. "I was just taking my leave of Miss Tate."

The housekeeper's relieved look said "good riddance."

"I will see to our agreement, Miss Tate, with all alacrity."

"Thank you, Mr. Danvers," Rebecca said, wishing Mrs. Wortling would leave, but she was too busy hunting around the room for sign of Ajax.

"Would you mind seeing me to the door?" he asked her.

"Not at all."

Away from Mrs. Wortling and her cleaver, Rafe looked down at her. "Are you sure there isn't anything else I can do for you? Help you with?"

She knew what he was asking, and as much as she wanted to unburden her heart on someone, she couldn't risk it with him—a man she barely knew and found so desirable. He muddled her senses and practical nature to the point where she wondered if she could trust her own judgment.

"No," she told him. "You've done more than enough, I assure you."

"If you are—"

"No, I'm not," she told him hastily before she lost her resolve.

"Then until tomorrow," he said and, to her chagrin, went out the door and down the cottage path with nary an attempt at anything resembling the previous night's impetuous kiss.

She ignored the gnawing disappointment that crept down her spine. For once she wished he'd been her overbearing knight—or at the very least a charming rogue out to steal a kiss.

Kisses, indeed!
she admonished herself. They only led to trouble and if there was anyone who didn't need help causing a lady havoc, it was Rafe Danvers.

Rebecca turned from the door and found the colonel standing on the stairs. His left eye was swollen shut and ringed by a growing bruise, foul evidence of his confrontation with Harrington.

"You should have told him the truth, Bex. He could have helped us."

"No, I think not. Besides, we can't afford his fees."

"I don't think the fees would be an issue." The colonel took a step down. "He cares for you, and he'll be hell and fire when he discovers that you and I are right in the middle of this Codlin muddle."

"He's only interested in the two thousand pounds that the Company is offering for finding Codlin's murderer."

"Then why did he bring you a handful of flowers if he didn't care."

She glanced at the hastily plucked roses atop the table and wondered how many thorns he'd endured to gather them. But that was beside the point. "I've received flowers from a man before and it turned out to be nothing more than my own imagination."

"Habersham? Are you comparing this Danvers fellow to him?"

Rebecca didn't want to tell her uncle there was no comparison. Oh, she'd once thought Lt. Habersham's gentle kiss was the end of the world and beyond. But one moment in Rafe's arms had ruined her for any other man.

Compare the two? Ridiculous.

"Tell him the truth, Bex. He'll help us find what we need. Moreover, he'll keep you safe. Do a fine better job than I can."

"What? And let him walk away with the Company's reward?" It was bad enough she'd just handed him Bettlesfield Park. "Actually Mr. Danvers is going to help us without his even realizing it or it costing us a farthing," she told her uncle. "He is leaving to arrange a trip to London for us with lodgings in the heart of Mayfair."

Instead of being delighted at this turn of luck, the colonel's face darkened. "I won't have you… I won't allow you to…" He coughed and sputtered. "Now, Bex, protecting you is one thing, but offering his
carte blanche
—"

Rebecca realized what her uncle was saying.

"No! No! It isn't that way," she told him, rushing to the foot of the stairs. "It's Lady Tottley. She's going to pay for all of this. We'll be staying with her."

"What?!" he sputtered. "This Lady Tottley wants to give you her
carte blanche?
"

Rebecca laughed. "No. Rafe was hired by Lady Tottley to find me. Now that he has, he has written her to say that I will agree to give up writing my
Miss Darby
books on the condition that she sponsors me for the Season."

The colonel's brow furrowed as he considered this. "Well, that's a fine sight more respectable than the other notion."

"Yes, quite," Rebecca said. "And it also means we can go to London as we've hoped, so you'd best begin packing."

"We?" the colonel shook his head. "I'm not going there."

Rebecca's hands balled up and sat in jaunty angles on her hips. "You most certainly are going. I'm not leaving you here with only Mrs. Wortling to keep an eye on you." Rebecca lowered her voice. "And don't forget, the Harringtons are now suddenly off to town. The major must either know something about Lieutenant Purcell or he's discovered—"

She stopped short of revealing what Rafe had uncovered at Bettlesfield Park—that someone had been living there recently. She didn't want to frighten the colonel further, let alone admit she'd been there with Rafe. Alone.

Instead she continued by saying, "It isn't safe, and you know it. That note this morning said quite clearly you're next, and I won't stand for it. We have to leave. Now start packing or I'll have Mrs. Wortling do it for you."

"Bossy bit of baggage," the colonel muttered. "Don't remember putting you in charge."

I wouldn't be,
she thought,
if you and Richard hadn't got involved in all this bad business years ago
.

She looked out at the empty road and thought of Rafe again.

The colonel was right. She probably should tell him the truth. But unlike the colonel she wasn't as convinced of the sincerity of Rafe's heart. She'd known Lt. Habersham for years and thought him sincere, but he'd fled her side the moment any hint of scandal had tainted her.