Miss Westlake's Windfall (7 page)

Seated at the pianoforte, Tess did not stop her playing. She’d hit one key, then write on the scored page in her lap. Plunk, pencil scratch. Plunk, pencil.

Leo swallowed, which left his mouth too dry for his tongue to move in it. Lud, there were three ladies. He stood in the doorway, silent as a statue.

“Invite him in quickly, Ada,” Jane whispered in an aside. “He has the look of a determined suitor about him.”

“He is no suitor,” Ada hissed back, as she moved past Jane’s chair. “He is a smuggler.” Still, she took Leo’s hat and gloves, which the butler had forgotten, and drew Tobin into the room, to make introductions.

“Why, Captain Tobin,” Jane burbled, after Leo had made a proper bow. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, having heard so much about you. And to think you have met dear Ada unbeknownst to me. Sly boots, our Ada.”

Jane didn’t care if the man were a Captain Sharp. He looked prosperous and he was calling on cabbage-headed Ada. That was enough for Jane. Of course, if he was a real gentleman, with a title instead of a trade, Jane would have made a push to fix his interest for herself, he was that attractive, in a darkly sensuous, silently brooding way. “You must stay for tea, Captain. I’ll just go tell Cook, shall I?” She waggled her finger in his face. “Nothing improper about leaving you two alone, of course, not with our Tess in the room. And you seem a fine, trustworthy gentleman, to be sure.”

Aghast at Jane’s blatant matchmaking, Ada followed her to the door. “He’s not trustworthy! The man is a smuggler, I told you!”

“A prosperous one, by all reports, and certainly handsome enough, and the first caller you’ve had since turning down Lord Ashmead. He’s the only one you’re likely to have, too, with a reputation for being so hard to please.” She gave Ada a shove. “Now get back in there and try to be pleasant to the man. Think of your poor family for a change.”

Ada returned to the drawing room to find that Captain Tobin had not moved. He was staring at Tess, who was entirely oblivious to his presence. Frowning, Ada said, “You’ll have to forgive my sister. Tess forgets her manners when in the throes of creativity.” When he still remained quiet, she raised her chin, as if in defense of his silent criticism of her beloved sister. “Tess is a creative genius. She, ah, has not quite decided upon which Muse to follow. Today she is composing.”

Plunk, pencil scratch. Plunk.

“Will you please take a seat?” Ada offered, trying to distract Tobin from her admittedly odd sister. The impossible man had still not offered a word, and what did he mean by calling on Ada in the first place? She’d made it as plain as the straight, slightly aquiline nose on the dastard’s handsome face that she had no wish to have anything to do with him or his ilk. Well, she could be as rude as he. “Cobble said you insisted on seeing me?”

Brought to his senses, and the realization that for the moment he only had to face one female, Charlie’s sweetheart and the least intimidating of the trio, Leo sat. He reached into his pocket for the money pouch. “Returning this, ma’am. Not mine, nor my men’s.”

An honest smuggler? She’d never be the wiser if he’d kept the coins. Ada was touched, almost glad now that Jane had thought to offer him tea. “Then whose could it be?” she wondered.

And wondered again at the blush that suffused the dark complexion.

“Yours now, finders keepers.”

“Oh, no, I could never keep such a sum. Someone must be missing it. I’ll have to ask around.”

“Ashmead.”

“Ashmead?”

“Said he was your friend. Ask him what to do.”

Ada’d used the viscount’s name to threaten a smuggler. She had no intention of asking Chas anything, not after the way they’d parted, but she was curious. “Do
you
know Lord Ashmead?”

Leo liked the way her eyes lit up when she said Charlie’s name, and how she was as full of principles as freckles. Miss Ada was a trim handful besides, he could see now that she wasn’t wearing that old shawl. Despite a faded dress that even Leo could tell was out of fashion, she had a shape just made for cuddling. The lady was too short for him, of course, but just right for Charlie. Leo nodded and relaxed a bit. “Like a brother. No finer man alive, I swear.”

She smiled at the idea of a recalcitrant ruffian recommending the viscount. “I think so too.”

“You do? Capital. That is, a’course you do. Everyone loves our Charlie, don’t they?” He leaned forward, eager for her answer, but Jane returned then, followed by Cobble with a tea tray.

“How lovely that you are becoming better acquainted. Here, Captain, you must try one of Cook’s apple tarts. Ada picked the apples herself, you know. Quite the industrious little bee, our Ada.”

She went on, pressing tea and tarts and Ada on the man. Luckily, Leo had only to answer “Please” and “Thank you,” then “Um,” while his mouth was full to keep her conversation flowing. Jane found him quite delightful, since any gentleman who let her speak without telling her to stubble it was quite a novelty. “How many ships did you say you owned?”

Having saved the purse from Jane’s clutches by stuffing it between two sofa cushions, Ada now tried to rescue Mr. Tobin. If he was a friend of Chas’s, he could not be all bad. “Is Mr. Johnstone not joining us for tea, Jane?”

“Unfortunately not, for I am certain Uncle Filbert would enjoy meeting our new acquaintance. We see so few new faces, don’t you know, Captain Tobin, compared to what we were used to in London. Alas, Uncle has gone out shooting. He fancied venison, I believe.”

Ada hoped Uncle Filbert was a better shot than Cousin Algernon. She fancied her flock of sheep. Then again, if Mr. Johnstone managed to put food on the table, it would be a welcome contribution to the household, his first contribution, in fact. “Do you hunt, Mr. Tobin?”

Leo had been known to hunt deserters, informers, and the occasional French spy. “Aye.”

So much for that topic of conversation. Ada was about to start discussing the weather—surely a seafarer would be knowledgeable about that—or horses, Chas’s favorite topic, about which Mr. Tobin was surely unknowledgeable, judging from the narrow-chested pair she could see through the window. She was spared the necessity by her sister
.

Drawn from her creative trance by the smells of tea and pastries, Tess drifted toward the tea cart, the thick sheaf of note-filled pages in her hand. Leo carefully set his cup and plate and napkin aside, to rise and bow. “Ch
—ch—Charmed,” was all he had to say at Ada’s introduction, but he really was, charmed, that is; charmed, ensorcelled, his mouth magicked
shut by a divine vision, or a witch, all in flowing, fluttering layers of multicolored fabric. With green eyes.

As for Tess, she took one look at the tall, dark, and wickedly handsome stranger, and tossed her papers aside. “Sebastian!” she exclaimed, rushing to throw her arms around him. “My pirate!”

“My gawd,” Leo managed to utter from a flurry of cloth and paper and soft, sweet-smelling woman.

“My salts,” Jane cried.

“He’s a smuggler, not a pirate,” Ada whispered as, mortified, she pried her sister away from the red-faced gentleman.

“Smuggler, pirate, pish-tush.” Tess had her hands pressed to her chest—her own chest, Ada was relieved to see—as she watched Mr. Tobin bend down to gather up the scattered pages. “You don’t understand. He is my hero, my Tristan, my Lancelot, my Lochinvar.”

“My stars,” Jane moaned.

“The hero of my opera, you ninny,” Tess said, grabbing up one of the papers and making rapid, undecipherable notes on the back.

“You must forgive my sister-in-law, Captain.” Jane tapped her forehead. “We humor her odd turns, don’t you know.”

“We admire her creative talents,” Ada corrected. “Don’t we, dearest?”

Tess shrugged, still making notes. “Genius is seldom recognized in the artist’s lifetime. But you wait, I’ll be the salvation of this family yet when I make a fortune for us with my masterpiece.”

Jane whimpered into her handkerchief.

“What do you think, Mr.... ah?”

“Mr. Tobin, Tess, Mr. Leo Tobin.”

Leo stood up, most of the pages firmly in hand, and bowed again.

Tess made a perfect curtsy. “Thank you. But did you think, Jane, that Mr. Tobin would not notice that the tea service is earthenware, not porcelain?” He hadn’t. “Or that you moved those cushions to cover the stain on the sofa or that the draperies are faded and threadbare?” He hadn’t, being too concerned with not spilling his lea. “Of course he noticed. Further, everyone knows your husband left us without a feather to fly with.” She aligned the pages in her hand. “But that will change. You see, Mr. Tobin, I first set out to write heroic poetry, like that Byron fellow, until I realized how little money versifiers earn from their works. So I am setting
Sebastian and the Sea Goddess
to music. Now I can design the handbill for my opera! What woman would not spend her last shilling to see a hero with those shoulders, those legs, that
—”

“Tess!”

“Do say you will pose for me, Mr. Tobin. You can keep your jacket on, for the preliminary sketches, anyway.”

“Tess!” Ada was wringing her hands by now. Jane had started mewling like a lost kitten, but Leo finally got “Charmed” out.

“Good.” Tess pulled a charcoal stick out of her pocket and turned over another page. “Stand there. No, there. Cross your arms and spread your legs as if you were on a sailing ship. La, I can see you are a natural at this. No, don’t keep looking at me.”

Ada poured herself a fresh cup of tea, and one for Jane, who had her hands over her eyes.

“You are still looking at me, Mr. Tobin. This is not working. I know, we must have you with the sea goddess in your arms, in the ravishment scene. That’s sure to sell more copies. Jane, would you—Of course not. Ada, be a dear and let Mr. Tobin embrace you.”

Jane’s cup hit the floor.

“I can always put in Jane’s face and figure on the final painting.”

Jane’s head hit the floor.

“She’ll be fine, Mr. Tobin. She does that all the time. Go on, Ada. Step closer so Sebastian can put his arms around you.”

“Please, Tess, I am sure this is not necessary. Surely an artist of your caliber can imagine
—
”

“Bosh. Do you want to be scrimping and saving the rest of your life, Ada? This will make our fortunes, I know. Now go on, I just need a rough sketch.”

Scarlet-faced, Ada took a step nearer to the smuggler. “Do you mind? Tess will be unconsolable if we don’t model for her. And she is a quick sketch-artist, I promise.”

Leo had wanted to take a hand in his friend’s love affair, not take his friend’s love interest in his own calloused hands. He could no more have refused Tess Westlake’s pleas, however, than he could have stopped breathing. Now that he thought of it, Leo wondered if he had taken a single breath since she’d dropped her papers and landed in his arms. For sure he was dizzy enough to have gone without air. He took a deep breath and nodded his acceptance of the inevitable.

“Excellent. Over there, please. That’s right, both arms. Now bend sideways, balancing her back over your right arm. Ada, you are a graceful sea goddess, not a Fireplace poker. No, Mr. Tobin, you are supposed to be looking at your lover, not at me. Ada, gaze up at Sebastian adoringly. No, do not giggle, worship. That’s it, perfect. Hold that pose.”

And that, of course, was when Viscount Ashmead entered the room.

Chapter Eight

“Bloody hell!”

Chas had spent all morning debating whether he should visit Westlake Hall, whether his face was healed enough, whether enough time had gone by that Ada would have forgiven his harsh words, whether Leo was correct and he was giving up too easily. Whether, he’d told himself, the orchard money had arrived safely or not.

It had arrived safely, all right, in the hands of a despicable, double-dealing dastard. This was betrayal of the worst sort. Chas felt as if his heart was being torn out of his chest, with his mother’s tiny embroidery scissors. Losing Ada was one thing, but losing her to Leo, who hadn’t wanted to return the money, who didn’t like talking to ladies, who claimed to be Chas’s friend, was outside of enough. That Leo was handling Ada as if she were one of his barmaids, after a visit to one of the upstairs rooms, was far beyond the powers of any mortal man’s restraint.

“Get your filthy hands off my woman, you bastard!” Chas shouted, his good hand clenched in a fist.

Ada shouted back, “I am not your woman.”

Tess shouted back, “He is not a bastard.”

Leo just grinned. Oh, he was enjoying himself now. He did set Miss Ada back on her feet, though, and took a step away from the little lady, tugging down his waistcoat and smoothing back the dark lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. Then, because he really was a smuggler and a bastard, by George—or by Geoffrey—he helped tuck a soft brown curl back into Miss Ada’s topknot.

The growl that came from Chas’s throat would have made a wolf take notice.

“Oh, Charlie, get off your high horse,” Tess chided him, patting his arm and leaving a streak of charcoal down his sleeve. “It’s not what it looks like. Mr. Tobin—or is it Captain?—has agreed to pose for the advertisement for my opera. You refused to portray Sebastian, if you’ll recall.”

“You wanted me to pose half naked, if you will recall.” He ignored Leo’s sudden cough. “And I should have known you would defend such havey-cavey goings on as poetic license or some such.”

Having put herself to rights, Ada beckoned him over to the sofa. “Give over, Chas. There was no impropriety intended, not with Jane in the room.”

Chas was already lifting that lady back onto the sofa. She opened her eyes, look one look at his scraped and scabbed face, and swooned again. This time she fell back onto the cushions.

“Yes, I can see what a proper chaperone Lady Westlake was,” Chas grumbled, going to pour Jane a glass of wine to restore her nerves, and one for his own, with the familiarity of an old family friend.

By now Ada had a chance to get a better look at the viscount’s appearance, and she winced. “Oh, dear.”