Shirley Kerr (20 page)

During the worst of the deprivations, she took heart in the knowledge that what they were doing made a difference. They enabled British soldiers to avoid traps set by the enemy. They intercepted French supply wagons, and fed and armed Wellington’s troops with the spoils.

Sometimes they waited and watched, sometimes they ran for their lives. But there was always something to learn, to do, somewhere to go. They’d never stayed in one place more than a few weeks.

Even now, when she planned to spend the entire Little Season in London, more of her belongings were still stowed in trunks than were put away in drawers and wardrobes. She could be completely packed and on her way with only a few moments’ notice, ready to go wherever her skills were needed. She’d had a great deal of practice—many times, they’d been forced to leave their lodgings in the middle of the night, and she was allowed to take only what she could pack and carry herself.

Once her plan succeeded, she was perfectly aware that Society would consider her an oddity—a single woman, without the protection of a father, husband, or brother. No matter. She planned to keep on moving, to never stay in one place too long. Her time on the Continent with Steven had taught her to never become a creature of habit, to never have a predictable schedule, never take the same route twice in a row.

Alistair liked order. Predictability. He approached life with the same methodical manner that he applied to his astronomical observations.

No, they would never suit. Soon, even he would come to realize that.

Charlotte buried her face in the soft cotton of her pillow. Odd that she hadn’t noticed before that the poultice stung so badly when first applied.

The next morning she was eager to hear Steven’s report on what he’d found at Lost Wages, but Ned, his valet, said Steven hadn’t come in until after dawn. Her half brother was still down for the count on his bed, snoring loud enough to rattle the windows.

Since Steven was even grumpier than Nick if awakened too early, she had a breakfast tray sent up to her room, and spent the morning enduring the application of more poultices. She still felt a twinge of pain when she sat down, but the improvement over yesterday’s soreness was remarkable. A few more applications, and she’d be ready to take an active part in the investigation again. Tonight.

At lunchtime she went downstairs, determined to throw a bucket of water on Steven if he wasn’t awake by the time she finished eating. The footman filled her plate, and she dug into the meal, alone.

A few moments later, heavy footsteps trod down the hall. Steven suddenly filled the doorway, smiling when he saw her, despite his still bloodshot eyes.

Her nose twitched as he entered the room, from the stench of gin and tobacco smoke that clung to his clothes
as he walked by to take his seat at the head of the table.

“Have a good night, poppet?”

“I am much recovered, thank you. Did you have any luck?”

He shook his head. “Lost every hand I played. At least Gauthier didn’t win, either.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “And your search?”

He thanked the footman who had just filled his plate and cup, and waved his dismissal. “I even chatted up the serving wenches, to no avail.” He dug into his meal as though he’d had nothing more substantial than cheap gin since dinner last night. “I did get several offers to accompany them upstairs, though.” He gave her a big closed-mouth grin, his cheeks puffed with a forkful of kidney pie.

She drank the last of her tea, refusing to think about what her brother did, or did not do, in the course of his work. “I tried to tell you it wouldn’t be at Lost Wages. I think it’s still at Toussaint’s town house.”

“Then we are in accord. Tonight, after Toussaint heads down to the gaming hell, Gauthier and I are going to search his study.” He poured more tea for himself and refilled her cup. “What are your plans?”

Aunt Hermione bustled into the dining room in time to hear the question. “She’s going shopping with me, in preparation for us attending the Grishams’ ball tonight.”

Charlotte cast a worried look at Steven. She was
not
going to miss out on another night of trying to get back the box. He shrugged his shoulders in a stunning display of no help whatsoever. She scowled at him.

Seeing that there were no footmen available, Her
mione filled her own plate and sat down. “Good afternoon, Charlotte. Good heavens, Steven, those are the same clothes you were wearing when you left last evening. Where did you pass the night, in the arms of a doxy?” Her nose twitched. “What kind of example are you setting for your sister? I do hope a bath and shave is the first thing on your agenda for the day.”

Steven lowered his head, looking suitably abashed. “Yes, Aunt.” He winked at Charlotte, who snorted into her teacup. Served him right.

Hermione had barely tucked into her meal when a footman scurried in, asking her to attend a small matter in the kitchen. The distant clatter of pots and pans being thrown, and muffled French curses, punctuated his request.

“I may have another headache this evening,” Charlotte said as soon as Hermione was out of earshot.

“Why is that?”

“How else am I to avoid attending the Grishams’ ball?”

Steven shook his head. “We need you to go with Hermione, to act as a distraction. You know how she feels about me playing man about town two nights in a row. If she doesn’t have you there to fuss over, she’ll wonder too much about what I’m doing. We can’t have her poking her nose in and possibly getting hurt.”

Charlotte drew breath to argue, then realized the futility of it. Steven could be even more stubborn than she was. She narrowed her eyes. “There was a time when you recognized I was invaluable as a distraction
on
the mission, not just to cover up the mission.”

“But this is London, poppet. Things have changed. You’re an engaged woman now.” He grinned widely, as though taking sole credit for her changed status. “Go to the ball tonight. Dance. Flirt. Be a typical London miss, as you promised.”

“Typical London miss, my arse,” she muttered, but subsided as Aunt Hermione returned just then.

“There is a reason for the truism that French chefs are bad tempered.” Hermione sat down and ate a forkful of kidney pie, her eyes closed in blissful appreciation. “But you must admit, the results are worth humoring him.”

They ate the rest of the meal with companionable chitchat.

Charlotte didn’t mind shopping—she looked upon it as selecting elements for her costumes, rather than buying needless fripperies—but she was concerned about having to plead a headache again so soon, to explain her absence from the ball. Alternating alibis was much more effective, and less likely to arouse suspicion.

Hermione hustled her out to the hall in preparation for their shopping trip, while Steven stayed at the table for a second helping of everything.

“You’ll never guess who I ran into at Hookham’s when I was out this morning.” Aunt Hermione accepted her gloves and bonnet from Farnham.

The door knocker sounded. Hermione kept her hands on her bonnet ribbons so that she could say she had just come in or was just going out, depending on her desire to receive the visitor.

Charlotte hid a grin. She and Steven weren’t the only people in the house who practiced deception.

The butler opened the door, stepping aside to admit Alistair into the foyer.

Her heart gave a lurch and then started beating much faster than usual. She chided herself for this completely uncalled-for excited reaction. It had barely been one full day since she had last seen him, not weeks or months. Must have something to do with the way the sunlight streaming through the door lit his golden brown hair like a halo.

“No need to announce him, Farnham.” She held her bonnet and gloves out in the general vicinity of the butler, since she couldn’t take her eyes off Alistair.

“Very good, miss.” The butler gave a regal sniff.

Alistair stepped forward, his hat in one hand at his side. “Have I come at a bad time?” The question was meant for either of them, though his gaze was locked on Charlotte’s face. Or her lips, to be precise. Was he thinking of their kiss beneath the oak tree, too?

“Not at all, dear boy, not at all.” Aunt Hermione thrust her bonnet and gloves toward Farnham and hurried over to Alistair. “That’s what I started to say earlier, Charlotte,” she said over her shoulder. “This is who I bumped into at Hookham’s.” She tucked her arm through Alistair’s and led him toward the drawing room. “And I do mean that literally. Wasn’t watching where I was going. Nearly knocked the dear man to the ground.”

“You exaggerate, my lady. And it was entirely my fault. I was absorbed in my research, and oblivious to my surroundings, however beautiful.”

“Oh, pish.” Aunt Hermione gave him a playful tap on the arm.

Charlotte swore she saw a blush steal across the old gel’s cheeks.

“As luck would have it, Moncreiffe is planning to attend the Grishams’ ball this evening, just as we are,” Hermione said, “and has agreed to take us up in his carriage. Isn’t that marvelous?”

Charlotte met Alistair’s amused gaze. “Yes, quite lucky.” She could just imagine how the arrangement had come about. She loved Aunt Hermione dearly, but the woman could be as subtle as a falling wall of bricks.

Hermione looked worried for a moment. “You don’t think you’ll have a repeat of the headache you had last evening, do you?”

“Seems unlikely,” Charlotte assured her.

The door knocker sounded again, heralding the arrival of Aunt Hermione’s bosom bow, Mrs. Higginbotham, and her two daughters. They too were headed for shopping, but alas had room for only one more in their carriage. The two Misses Higginbotham looked at Alistair as though they’d very much like him to be the only one they had room for.

“You go with them, Aunt,” Charlotte said, tucking her arm in Alistair’s. “Moncreiffe and I will take a turn about the garden, and discuss details about tonight’s excursion.”

Aunt Hermione looked torn.

Steven emerged from the dining room just then, saw the visitors, and made a polite bow. Before he could escape upstairs, Charlotte called him over.

“Steven can chaperone us,” she said brightly.

“I—What?”

“Oh, well, that’s all right, then.” Aunt Hermione
retrieved her bonnet and gloves from Farnham again. “Be good, children!” With a waggle of her fingers, she was out the door with her friends.

“You don’t need to actually chaperone us, Steven,” Charlotte said. “Go on and have your bath as you planned.”

He paused, one foot on the bottom step. “I can see the garden from my bedchamber, you know.”

Charlotte made shooing motions at her brother, and tugged Alistair down the hall, toward the garden.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have gone shopping with your aunt? I could come back later.”

She shook her head. “By the time Aunt Hermione and Mrs. Higginbotham finish buying out the shops, the girls will be lucky if they don’t have to ride up top with the driver. I would much rather tour the garden with you.”

The last bit made him smile, a dazzling display of straight teeth and crinkled eyes that warmed her from the inside. “You seem to be moving much more easily today. Is your…bruise…healing well?”

“Yes, thank you. My maid knows a poultice recipe which has remarkable recuperative effects. I still feel a reminder when I sit down, however.”

They were quiet again until they reached the terrace steps. “I wish to apologize, my lord,” she said as soon as they were outside.

“Whatever for? And I thought we had agreed formalities were silly at this point, Charlotte.”

Hearing his rich, mellow voice pronounce her name like a caress sent a delicious shiver running down to her toes. He’d left his hat with the butler, and the afternoon
sun highlighted his golden brown hair, made his eyes as blue as the late summer sky. His full lips were curved in an inviting smile. She’d wager he’d taste of licorice.

She remembered again their kiss beneath the oak tree, and felt the sudden yearning to repeat it. If she reached up on her toes, she was confident he would meet her halfway.

For the sake of her sanity, she tore her gaze away from his mouth. “Apologize for this awkward situation in which my aunt has placed you. I know how persuasive she can be, and you were too much the gentlemen to tell her no.”

“But I
was
going to attend the Grishams’ ball.”

“Truly?”

He nodded. “As soon as I learned that you were going to attend, yes.”

A warm glow spread through her, and she felt something melting. Her good sense, no doubt. “You’re willing to sacrifice another night of viewing, just to escort my aunt and me to a stuffy ball? Soon the moon will be rising too early, and you won’t get nights this dark for at least another three weeks.”

His look of pleased surprise was worth every hour she’d spent studying astronomy. The subject still didn’t fire her imagination the way it obviously did his, but she understood his attraction to it—all that order and predictability to the night sky.

“Escorting you is an entirely self-serving sacrifice, I assure you.”

“How is that?”

He tucked a curl behind her ear. “It affords me the opportunity to spend more time in your company, of course.”
He trailed his fingers down her cheek, but after a furtive glance at the upstairs windows, dropped his hand to his side.

They’d spent the night together on a narrow bunk, yet he was still worried about doing anything that might give her family the wrong idea? How did she manage to be so lucky as to pick this particular gentleman on the street last week?

“I have a treat planned for you tonight. It’s the main reason I finally accepted the Grishams’ invitation.”

“But you didn’t even know I would be going, until just a few hours ago.”

“All right, you caught me out. It wasn’t planned especially for you—Lord Grisham does this every year—but I still think you’ll enjoy it.”

“Sounds intriguing. What is it?”

“You’ll have to wait until tonight to find out.” He touched the tip of his finger to the tip of her nose. “When your aunt said that you would be attending, I wasn’t sure she was correct. I half expected that you’d still be intent on breaking into Toussaint’s town house.”