Margo Maguire (5 page)

“We will have a guest for dinner.”

“You dare invite a guest to my house?”

Gavin’s vague annoyance turned into something darker and a bit more dangerous.

There was a long, charged silence before Christina spoke, and Gavin felt the same as he had before a kill, tense and focused.

The old lady spoke again. “You might consider tempering your—”

Gavin strode into the room. “Good evening, ladies.”

Christina’s mother-in-law looked up at him in surprise, with more than a little disdain. Gavin spared barely a glance to Christina, but could not help but note that she had changed out of her riding clothes and into a charcoal-gray gown with black trim. Its scooped neck gave only a hint of the swells of her breasts and showed her delicate collarbones to perfection.

“Mother, here is the guest to whom I—”

“Yes, yes, I can see that.” Lady Fairhaven held up a quizzing glass, studying him in as imperious a manner as Gavin’s pompous father would have done. His already formidable dislike of her grew. “Who is he?”

Gavin gave a bow and smiled, though he did not feel the least bit friendly toward the old harpy. “Captain Gavin Briggs, at your service, my lady.”

“Briggs.” Frowning, she glanced over his form, from the top of his head to the floor.

Gavin had learned long ago never to allow himself to feel intimidated by those who believed themselves superior. He had lived for many years with his father and brother at Seaholm Hall, therefore, he knew better.

“You were a friend of my son’s?” she asked.

“No, my lady, much to my regret, I’m sure. I’ve come to—”

“I know of a family called Briggs, from Durham.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “You have the look of them. Tall and dark.”

“My father is Oscar Briggs, Viscount Hargrove.”

“Hmm,” was all she said. She did not smile or give any other indication of recognition. “Be seated, Briggs. You are giving me a cramp from looking up at you.”

The old lady was nothing to him. Less than nothing, but her attitude—so much like his father’s—rankled. Lady Fairhaven was a woman who’d known wealth and privilege all her life, who felt justified in casting judgment upon others. From his introduction, she had gleaned correctly that he was a younger son, hardly worthy of her notice. No doubt she also would have tossed Eleanor out to fend for herself, even if she did carry her grandchild.

And he found he did not care for her treatment of Christina.

“If you were not one of Edward’s friends, what are you doing here?” She cast a suspicious eye toward her daughter-in-law as servants entered the dining chamber and began serving the meal.

“My mission involves Lady Christina Fairhaven.” He stated it as though it were an official military assignment, just to put the old woman off her high horse.

He knew he’d succeeded when her hand fluttered to her chest. “What mission?”

“Your daughter-in-law is the long-lost granddaughter of the Duke of Windermere. The duke wishes to see her.”

The old woman frowned fiercely. “Nonsense.”

“On the contrary, I assure you it is quite true.”

The woman turned to Christina. “What say you, young lady?”

“I’m afraid I hardly know what to say. My parents, the Earl and Countess of Sunderland, took me in as a young child . . .”

“Then they are not your parents, are they?” Lady Fairhaven said acerbically.

Christina’s head tipped slightly to one side, but her gaze fell unwaveringly upon her mother-in-law. “For all intents and purposes, they are.”

Gavin somehow managed to speak civilly to the old lady. “Christina’s parents were estranged from the duke at the time of their deaths. And when Windermere learned of the accident, he had his granddaughters given away to families who would care for them.”

Lady Fairhaven pursed her lips. “Windermere’s son and heir died not long before I lost my Edward.”

Gavin gave a slight nod. “That is correct. And that loss, in addition to the duke’s poor health, has prompted him to seek out his granddaughters.”

“A bit tardy, I would say.”

“Be that as it may, I’ve come to take your daughter-in-law to Windermere.”

“When?”

He caught Christina’s eye. “As soon as possible. Tomorrow, I hope.”

Christina returned her gaze to her plate, but Gavin detected the sudden flush of color on her cheeks.

He had intentionally kept her secret from the old lady and given a legitimate reason for her to leave Holywell House right away. Unfortunately, he did not believe he’d changed her mind about making a detour to Windermere first.

A
s soon as Christina learned that her mother-in-law had come to Holywell, she’d instructed her maid, Jenny, to pack her things. Whether or not Captain Briggs truly intended to leave on the morrow, she had no intention of staying under the same roof with Lady Fairhaven any longer than absolutely necessary.

How dare Leticia act as though Holywell House had been hers all along? She had not even acknowledged Christina’s generosity in transferring the property.

Edward’s mother had never cared for her. She’d made it clear she favored a cousin—her brother’s daughter—for her son’s wife, though Edward would not hear of it. He’d called Viola a horse-faced birdwit.

Christina had been appalled at the insult of his own cousin, but she’d been secretly pleased that he’d chosen her. He’d been handsome and erudite, and the fact that he’d preferred her when he could have had any other young lady had been heady, indeed.

But the weeks after their union had shown her the error of her maidenly expectations. Edward had not given their marriage a chance to thrive, not even visiting her bed frequently enough to give her a child. Little had she known he would not convey his entire allegiance to his wife, but exclude her from all but the most mundane aspects of wifehood.

What she shared with Edward had been so very different from her own parents’ marriage, she could not help but be disappointed. Her mother’s advice had been to give it time. Surely, the marriage would succeed if Christina could be patient. After all, Edward had been a bachelor for a very long time.

Jenny helped Christina to undress, and she donned the chemise she’d had made specifically for her marriage bed.

What a jest that had been. Edward had not noticed it, not even once, in spite of the fact that it was nearly transparent. Christina had not considered the possibility that he was not as anxious to share marital intimacies as she was. She’d worn the pretty chemise thinking to entice him, to seduce him.

Her wedding night had been very different from the impression Christina’s mother had given her during their private talk before the wedding. Clearly, her parents enjoyed something very special, else her mother would not have filled Christina’s head with tales of sweet seduction and gentle lovemaking. Christina had experienced neither during the six months she’d been married.

She sat down at her dressing table and picked up Captain Briggs’s torn shirt. “That will be all, Jenny.”

“You should let me do that, my lady,” Jenny said, reaching for it.

Christina shook her head. “You know you’re terrible with needle and thread.”

“Aye, I am,” Jenny replied. “Your mother should have sacked me when she found out.”

“You make up for it in other ways,” Christina said, for it was true. Jenny was a few years younger than Christina, and a far better companion than most of the young ladies Christina had met during her seasons in London. The young maid was always cheerful, and she had excellent taste in colors and styles. Christina was certain she was the only person on earth who had the ability to put Christina’s shorn locks into an arrangement that did not look too ridiculous.

“Go on to bed, Jenny. Sleep well, for tomorrow will be a long day.”

Jenny left the room and Christina began to sew by the light of the two sconces in the room. After being scandalized by Christina’s recounting of how she’d injured Captain Briggs, the maid had laundered the shirt and placed it by the fire to dry, but it was still slightly damp. At least the gash in the sleeve was clean.

Sewing soothed Christina. Rhythmically slipping the needle and thread through the fabric of the shirt quieted her nerves after the taxing interlude with Leticia. She had not seen the old woman in months, during which she’d been free of her barbed remarks and blatant insults.

She was surprised the woman had not asked about Sweethope Cottage or the jewelry that now lay carefully spread out on Christina’s bed. Some of it looked new, and Christina guessed Edward had purchased it in recent years—whether for her or his mistress, she did not know. But she assumed there must be heirlooms among the older pieces.

She guessed Edward’s mother had not known of the safe hidden in the master’s bedchamber at Sweethope Cottage, or she’d have demanded its contents along with Holywell House. Christina was not supposed to have known about it, either. But shortly after they’d wed, she’d happened upon Edward taking the key from the top of the armoire and opening it.

She’d felt embarrassed coming upon him in a private moment, and had withdrawn before he noticed her. Now she knew better. It was Edward who had been wrong in keeping secrets from her.

But Christina did not want to dwell on past events. The only point in thinking about them was to avoid making the same mistakes. When she married again, she would know her husband far better than she’d known Edward. She would settle for nothing less than a man who cared for her and wanted her to share his life. Perhaps that was love . . . She did not know.

What she
did
know was that she would not abide another husband who thought more often of his horses and his London diversions than he did of his wife. Next time, her marriage would be a love match. Perhaps one of her former suitors would still want her. Lords Marsham and Everhart had courted her avidly, though both had been rejected for various reasons by her father. And there had been others, such as Marquess Gerville and Viscount Brundle—not as pleasing to her, but perhaps she had changed. Or
they
had.

She caught sight of her reflection in the glass and managed to refrain from touching her hair.

Her shorn tresses were more than a slight embarrassment. Christina had cut her hair in a burst of pique after her sister-in-law had remarked on how much Edward had loved it.

Christina had known that was patently untrue. Edward had not loved her in the least, but had married her for her dowry and her connection to the Earl of Sunderland. To Christina’s knowledge, Edward had not loved anything about her, besides her status.

How he would have enjoyed learning she was the granddaughter of a duke, she thought bitterly.

She finished mending the shirt and set it aside, then rose from the cushioned bench, only to stifle a startled squeal. Captain Briggs stood just inside her room with the door closed behind him.

Chapter 5

“W
hat are you doing here!” she hissed. She could not fathom how he’d gotten inside without making any sound.

“Lower your voice, my lady, unless you want everyone to know your secrets.”

“My secr—”

“If we leave here at first light, we can make it to Windermere by dusk.”

How was she supposed to think when his large, imposing presence dominated everything about the room? When she stood quite exposed before him in her flimsy chemise?

She stood hesitating for a moment, then took the few steps to the bed where her banyan lay on the coverlet beside her cache of jewels. Her revealing chemise had been meant for a husband’s eyes, and not those of Gavin Briggs, although Christina found herself surprisingly aware of the masculine appreciation in his eyes. She felt thoroughly brazen as she stood there pulling on her banyan, unable to bring herself to toss him out.

“I must give you credit for your persistence, but as I already said, I have very little interest in meeting the duke.”

He stepped closer and Christina felt the shiver of gooseflesh rising on her skin. “Windermere is only a day’s ride. We can go to London from there.”

From somewhere deep inside, she found the will to give a slow shake of her head. “You know there could be delays under the best of circumstances. And I have little enough time as it is to get to London on the appointed date.”

Besides, when Christina met her sister, she would not be hurried. She wanted to have adequate time to spend with her, to get to know her.

A muscle in Captain Briggs’s jaw tightened, then relaxed. She hoped it was a sign he was resigned to her decision.

“Then I must know more about your brother.”

She took a deep breath. “You should have asked me about him on our ride to Holywell.” It was a verbal gibe, for she was quite aware he had been in no mood to talk during their ride from Sweethope Cottage.

His expression darkened, but he made no retort. Nor did his eyes dip below her neck this time. Most improperly, she found herself wishing he would take notice of her again.

But he was a perfect gentleman. Well, she amended, as perfect as a gentleman could be who’d broached a lady’s bedchamber when the house was all abed. And perhaps he was not as affected by her appearance as she’d been by his.

He wore the same clean clothes he’d had on at supper, a white shirt, dark green waistcoat, and black jacket. He looked altogether too dashing—and too dangerous—for her peace of mind.

Christina noticed his hands, sun-darkened and large, relaxed at his sides, and could not help but wonder about their touch. Would he be a skilled lover—unlike Edward, who’d never taken any care with her, leaving her feeling frustrated and wishing for something more?

“You realize you should not be here.”

“You do not seem overly troubled by my presence.” He took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them. He didn’t even take notice of the glittering jewels lying on the bed.

Christina forced herself to stay perfectly still, but she had to tip her head back to meet his eyes. “What do you want to know about my brother?”

“Where was he last seen?”

“In a public house with his friend, Lieutenant James Norris.”

“Someone questioned Norris?”

Briggs smelled of shaving soap—crisp and clean. And there was the hint of a cleft in his angular chin. “Lieutenant Norris and Lang were good friends. He was given leave to come and see my father when Lang . . . after the explosion.”

“It was Norris who identified Lang’s body?”

She nodded and noticed his gaze flash to her hair. How she wished she’d kept her long, wavy locks. Perhaps then it would have been a more admiring glance.

But he lifted one hand and touched a wayward curl at the side of her face, and she lost track of his question.

Apparently, so did he. “Whatever possessed you to do this?”

She felt a wave of defeat, aware that she looked absurd. “I know I shouldn’t have—”

“On the contrary, Lady Fairhaven. It’s outstanding.”

C
hristina’s hair was far more than outstanding. Gavin’s fingers itched to do more than just touch one of those audacious curls, and her nearness trumped his frustration at not being able to take her to Windermere right away.

He knew it had been a mistake to come into her bedchamber, especially after he saw her wearing the thin, gossamer gown. It was like a second skin, baring just enough feminine flesh to whet his appetite, its shadows hinting at the lush curves beneath.

He should have turned right around and left her bedroom, except that he could not help but touch one of the shining black locks that curled at her temple. It was incredibly soft, its scent teasing him to bury his face in it.

And more.

God, he was a fool.

“Was Norris caught in the explosion, too?” He lowered his hand and turned his attention from the sweet line of her jaw in order to focus on his questions.

She took a breath that sounded shaky to his ears. He had to give her credit for not screeching and summoning a footman to toss him out.

“No. The lieutenant said he and Lang went together to pick up their mail,” she said as she returned to her dressing table and sat down. The pale green banyan did not afford him the same alluring view as before, but he appreciated the elegant line of her back and the sweet spot just below her short curls. He thought it would taste just as—

“Then they stopped in a dockside tavern to celebrate passing their lieutenant’s examinations. Lang seemed disturbed by a letter he received but would say nothing about it. He left soon afterward to . . . to answer the call of nature, Lieutenant Norris thought. He never saw Lang again.”

Gavin took a seat on the boudoir chair next to the incredible glittering treasure laid out on the bed, resulting in a surprised flaring of Christina’s expressive green eyes. He’d shocked her again, and still she did not protest his presence. She was not quite the stiff and reserved viscountess his mother had been. And she was nothing at all like her mother-in-law.

He was not sure exactly what to make of her. She had more audacity than any society wench he’d ever known—taking her husband’s pistol with the intention of dealing with her blackmailer alone . . . And yet she’d allowed old Lady Fairhaven to belittle her mercilessly before Gavin’s arrival in the dining room.

He’d have told the old battle-ax to go hang.

“Sailors don’t generally stop for one drink,” he said, ridding himself of the unexpected wave of empathy for the woman who was impeding his plans. “How long were they together in the tavern?”

“I don’t know,” she replied with a small frown. Her voice was rich and smooth, like his father’s best brandy, which was a timely reminder that she belonged to his father’s class—she was the widow of a viscount.

“They were joined at the tavern by another man . . . an acquaintance of mine . . . a former suitor, actually.”

It probably meant nothing. “Who was this suitor? Your father questioned him, of course?”

“It was Viscount Brundle,” she said, and Gavin noticed a little shudder of distaste at the mention of his name. “His estate is near Plymouth. And yes, my father questioned him, but Brundle left before Lang, so learned nothing new.”

Of course not. They’d probably gotten soused, and when Lang Jameson left the tavern, he’d obviously gotten caught up in the mishap at the warehouse. And paid for it with his life. “How long after your brother left the tavern did the explosion occur?”

“Lieutenant Norris was not sure . . .” Her eyes shimmered slightly, and Gavin realized she was holding back tears of distress. “They . . . I believe they’d been drinking quite a bit.”

“As sailors are wont to do,” Gavin said to himself.

There wasn’t any point in prolonging her anguish, because it was hardly likely that Lang had survived and gone on to commit some kind of offense for which his family could be blackmailed.

But he’d promised to escort her to London and see what they could learn. Unfortunately, he knew the news was not going to be good.

“
The Defender
is at sea once again.” Her voice quivered. “Would it help if you spoke to Lieutenant Norris yourself? Or perhaps Lord Brundle?”

Gavin hardened his heart against any feelings of sympathy. The woman had shot him! And now she wanted him to travel with a treasure that most men would kill for. His task for Windermere had become absurd.

“We could detour to Plymouth first. Before London,” Christina suggested.

That was all he needed. One more bloody destination, carrying a cache of valuable jewelry with them.

“But no, there won’t be time to do both,” she said, frowning in thought, answering her own question.

“No. One destination or the other, but not both.” Gavin stood. It was time to get out of there, before his urge to touch more than her springy curls overcame his better judgment. “We’ll go to All Hallows by the Tower on the appointed day and see if we can find your extortionist.”

“And if we don’t see him?”

“I agreed to go to the church with you, Lady Fairhaven. Not solve your problems for you.”

C
aptain Briggs barely greeted Christina the following morning, but she approached him before he mounted his horse. “Captain Briggs.”

He removed his hat and tipped his head slightly.

“Your shirt.” She handed him the shirt she had mended and Jenny had folded neatly, hoping he had not noticed it on her dressing table the night before. She did not care to make it known—especially to Leticia—that she had completed the task herself. What would her mother-in-law say to that?

Captain Briggs took the garment from her, not once taking his eyes from hers. “My thanks, Lady Fairhaven. It would have been an inconvenience to do without it.”

He slipped his shirt into the satchel behind his saddle, then took the reins from a waiting groom. Christina stepped back, but found herself entirely too distracted by the sight of his powerful thighs flexing as he mounted his horse. She took in a deep breath as he rode up to speak quietly to Hancock, the driver of her carriage.

She wasn’t quite sure how to interpret his visit to her bedchamber the night before. At times, his glance had smoldered with sensual promise. But then his expression changed, and held such disdain, she had to wonder if she’d said or done something—besides shooting him, of course—to earn his scorn.

In the end, it was clear she was mistaken about the smolder. He had barely looked at her after taking a seat beside her bed, and she realized he had not found her particularly appealing.

She blushed at the thought of standing so brazenly before him in her bedroom, pulling on her banyan so very casually, as though fascinating gentlemen regularly visited her bedchamber.

What could she have been thinking? She should have turned him out of her room immediately.

He was far too rough and dangerous for her, and too gruff by half. But something about him touched a deep, completely inappropriate craving inside her.

Such foolishness. Christina intended to spend her remaining months of mourning in respectable widowhood, and then perhaps look for a suitable husband of her own choosing. He would be someone who would do more than provide her a home and security, as Edward had done. She wanted children, and most of all, she wanted a spouse who would share his affections with her.

With only her.

She left a note for Edward’s mother—being far more gracious and grateful than was really necessary. Or deserved.

In truth, Christina was even more grateful to be leaving, which, of course, she had not added. She had not forgotten how tiresome it was to live under Leticia’s disapproving eye, and would not have come to Holywell if she’d known her mother-in-law would be there.

That was another requirement of her next husband. In future, she would have no unpleasant mother-in-law to deal with.

Trevor, her footman, handed her into the carriage and she caught sight of Captain Briggs circling around to ride ahead. Her driver, Hancock, carried a rifle on the seat beside him, and Trevor was armed as well. “Trevor, didn’t Alfred return from Sweethope last night?”

“Aye, but Captain Briggs said he was not to come, my lady.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Just saying what the captain told—”

Christina stepped down from the carriage. “Captain Briggs—”

He turned and caught her gaze with his piercing blue eyes. “A problem already, my lady?” His manner was too condescending by half.

She could play at the same game. “Why did you dismiss my footman?”

“We need to be as inconspicuous as possible. An extra footman will only raise questions about your person. And the goods you carry.”

She did not like to admit that he was right. Even though the jewels were locked inside a strongbox and stored beneath the cushioned bench inside the carriage, it was best if they did not call attention to themselves in any way.

She gave him a slight nod and returned to the carriage, with Jenny right behind her.

Their destination was the small town of Middleton, where Captain Briggs would secure overnight lodgings for them. Christina spent the day’s ride deliberately thinking of everything but him.

She turned her thoughts to her sister—
Lily
. Christina had no real memories of anything before the birth of her brother, Felton. She knew he was not really her brother, but she had been welcomed into the Jameson family as though she truly belonged there.

Felton had been a joy, and Christina now knew it was because her parents had feared they would never have children of their own. They’d been married for several years before Felton’s birth, which was why they’d taken in Christina when she was a small child.

They were a close family, and neither she nor her brothers had ever felt any distinction between them. It was as though they were all the same in their parents’ eyes. She had never given it a second thought.

With Captain Briggs’s news about her true parents, Christina knew that she’d once been a child in dire need, a child whose cold, uncaring grandparent had wanted nothing to do with her or her sister. She had no use for such a man.