Someone to Watch Over Me (27 page)

“Then your critics can go hang themselves,” Grant commented.

“If only they would,” Cannon agreed ruefully.

Smiling, Grant reached out and shook the magistrate’s hand. “Congratulations,” he said cheerfully. “You’ve a hell of a job before you. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, but I’ve no doubt you’ll find some way to manage.”

“Thank you,” Cannon murmured, expressionless save for a sudden gleam of amusement in his wolfish eyes. “Actually, that leads to the question I have for you. I want to submit you as my choice for assistant police magistrate, to serve alongside me.”

Grant stared at him in open amazement. The idea instantly took root inside him. Serving as a police magistrate would allow him to stay close to the work that fascinated him, but at the same time it would remove him from the danger of the streets. He would have to learn a great deal about the law—a welcome challenge—and he would still be required to investigate difficult cases. However, he couldn’t help reflecting on what he knew of the magistrate’s celibate, orderly, industrious life, and comparing it with his own. A doubtful, self-mocking smile touched his lips.

“The position automatically confers honorary knighthood,” Cannon remarked, “if that appeals to you.”

“Sir Grant,” he said with a short laugh, and shook his head at the odd sound of it. “Hell. I should jump at the chance, but…I don’t think I’m suitable.”

Cannon regarded him intently. “Why not?”

Grant hesitated and glanced down at his hands. The skin of his knuckles and palms was scraped and battered after his experiences of the previous day. “You saw what I did to Keyes,” he muttered.

“Yes,” Cannon said after a moment. “You did him considerable violence. However, you had provocation.”

“I almost killed him. I had my knife out, and…I would have killed him, except that Victoria was watching.”

“In the heat of battle—”

“No, there was no heat,” Grant interrupted swiftly, laying his soul bare. “For a moment my thoughts were cold and damned clear. I became judge, jury, and executioner. I gave myself the power to end his life, and I would have done it happily. Except that I didn’t want
her
to see me do it, and always carry that memory in the back of her mind.” He threw a grim smile in Cannon’s direction. “Now do you still want me to serve as a magistrate, knowing that I’m capable of such a lapse?”

The magistrate regarded him thoughtfully, considering his reply. “See here, Morgan…I’m not dispassionate by nature, no matter what appearances may lead you to believe. Had I seen the woman I loved being attacked in such a manner, I may have done the same thing, or worse. We all have regrettable lapses. As I told you, I’m not a perfect man. And I would hardly expect more of you than I would of myself.”

Grant grinned suddenly, relieved that the magistrate did not consider his actions to be unforgivable.
“All right, then. I accept the position. I could use a bit of respectability. I’m getting damned tired of spending my days pursuing thieves and cutthroats on foot. Besides, with any luck, I’ll soon have a wife and family to think about.”

“Ah. You wish to marry Miss Devane, then.”

Picturing Victoria waiting at home for him, Grant felt a smile…a warm, uncynical smile…tugging at the corner of his mouth. “All these years I thought of marriage as a noose around my neck,” he said. “I swore it would never happen to me. And now it doesn’t sound half bad.” The flippant words concealed a sudden ache of longing inside. He needed Victoria…His life would not be complete without her. He experienced a sudden urgency to return to her and set about persuading her to accept his proposal.

He could have sworn that Cannon almost smiled at the comment. “It’s not half bad,” the magistrate assured him. “And with the right woman, it can be…” Cannon paused in search of a word, and then appeared to drift into a sweet, long-forgotten memory. He collected himself after a few seconds of silence. The gray eyes were warmer than Grant had ever seen them. “Good luck, Morgan,” he said.

Victoria spent most of the morning in the town house’s private garden. It was a cool, humid day, the sky liberally laced with clouds, the air stirring with mild breezes. She sat at the stone table and read for a while, then wandered along graveled paths bordered with boxes of lilac, jessamine, and Russian honeysuckle. The carefully tended garden
was bordered by poplar hedges and ivy-covered walls. Well-stocked beds of flowering and fruitbearing plants lined the walking paths and filled the air with perfume.

In this small, secluded world, it seemed as if the city were a hundred miles away. It was difficult not to be contented in such beautiful surroundings.

But she was aware of a growing need to return to White Rose Cottage. She needed to see her sister and be assured of Vivien’s well-being. Moreover, Victoria felt a strong urge to return to familiar surroundings and rediscover herself in the comfort of her own home. Although her memory had returned, she knew that she wouldn’t feel settled in her mind and heart until she had spent a few days at White Rose Cottage. Sitting at the stone garden table, she rested her head on her folded arms.

“What are you doing out here?”

A masculine voice penetrated the swirl of her thoughts. Lifting her head, Victoria smiled as she saw Grant standing there. He sat in a nearby chair, facing her, and took her hand in his. With the other hand he caressed the cool skin of her cheek, his thumb lightly brushing one of the shadows beneath her eyes. “You should take a nap,” he murmured. “I’m going to take you back to Bow Street for a deposition this afternoon—I want you to be well rested.”

Victoria leaned the side of her face into his hand. “I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking.”

“About what, my love?”

“I want to see my sister. I want to go to Forest Crest and sleep in my own bed.”

Grant removed his coat and placed it over her
shoulders, enfolding her in the thick silk-lined broadcloth. The garment held the warmth and scent of his body, and she held it closely around herself. His voice was like a stroke of velvet as he spoke above her head. “I’ll take you there after the deposition. We’ll stay for as long as you like.”

“Thank you, but…it’s best that I go alone. I want to think clearly, and I can’t do it with you there.”

Grant was silent, and she knew he was struggling with a burst of impatience. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and cool. “What exactly do you plan to think about?”

Victoria shrugged. “Who I am…my past…my future…”

His long fingers slid beneath her chin, and he tilted it upward until she was forced to stare into his expressionless face. “You mean your future with me,” he said.

“I just want to go home and reflect on everything that’s happened to me. My life has changed so quickly, don’t you see?”

His short sigh conveyed a wealth of frustration. Reaching out for her, he lifted her into his lap and slid his hand beneath his coat. The warmth of his palm sank through her gown to the side of her breast. “I understand,” he said reluctantly. “But I don’t like the idea of you traveling alone and staying in Forest Crest without my protection.”

The possessiveness in his voice made her smile. “Grant…before I met you, I lived for quite a long time without anyone’s protection.”

“That’s about to change,” he grumbled.

“Let me go to Forest Crest alone,” she coaxed,
though they both knew she wasn’t really asking.

Somehow Grant could not return her smile. All he could focus on was his own fear that if he let her out of his sight, she might decide never to marry him. After all, it was a fact that he could never give her the peaceful country life she had always been accustomed to He was not a gentleman—she had seen evidence of the roughness and violence in him, she had seen his many flaws. He was the kind of man she must have disdained and feared in her former sheltered existence.

“All right,” he said with difficulty. “I’ll send you to Forest Crest after the deposition. You’ll go in my carriage, with my driver and a footman to protect you. And I’m going to come for you in a week.”

“A week? But that’s hardly sufficient—” Victoria stopped in midsentence as she realized that her protest was falling on deaf ears. Her lips curved with a wry smile. “Very well.”

A new thought occurred to Grant, and he scowled. “You’re not going to see any former suitors in Forest Crest, are you?”

An impish twinkle appeared in her eyes. “No, Mr. Morgan, I was never courted by any of the village lads.”

“Why not? What in God’s name is the matter with all of them?”

“I was never receptive to their advances,” Victoria said, settling herself more comfortably on his lap. “I was always absorbed in taking care of Father, and reading books, and…” Tenderly she laid her head on his shoulder. “I suppose I was waiting for you,” she said, and felt his arms tighten until he nearly crushed her.

H
aving bid the coachman to let her off at the end of the unpaved drive, Victoria walked to White Rose Cottage. The familiar sight of the thatched cottage soothed her, and her gaze hungrily absorbed the peaceful scene. Her small, private world was not as well tended as when she had left it. The ivory and cream rosebushes needed pruning, and the beds of thrift, marigold, and sweet pea were choked with weeds. But it was home. Her step quickened as she approached the small arched doorway, feeling as if she had been gone for a year instead of a month.

There was only one thing to mar her happiness, the image of Grant as she had left him in London. He had refused to kiss her good-bye, and had stood watching with a sullen expression as she waved at him through the carriage window. Amused and
touched and yearning, Victoria had almost signaled the driver to stop and turn back. That she had still refused to accept Grant’s marriage proposal had clearly caused him no end of frustration.

She desperately wanted to marry Grant Morgan, but was a union between them advisable…or might it eventually end in ruins? She feared he might tire of her someday and come to regret marrying her…and that was something she would not be able to bear.

She badly wanted to talk to her sister, the only family she had left in the world. Despite Vivien’s occasional vagaries, she was a worldly, ruthlessly pragmatic woman who knew a great deal about men. And Victoria knew that in her own way her sister loved her enough to listen to her problems and give her the best advice she could offer.

As Victoria’s heart pounded eagerly with a sense of homecoming, she knocked and entered without waiting for a response.

“Jane?” came a voice from inside. “I hadn’t thought you would be back from the village so…” The voice trailed away as Vivien appeared in the main room and stared at the newcomer.

Victoria stared at her sister with a beaming smile. She was struck as always by the sense that Vivien was at once familiar and exotic. How was it possible to love someone and yet never understand her? Vivien belonged to a world so far removed from her own that it seemed impossible they had come from the same family, much less that they were twins.

Vivien was the first to break the silence. “It turns
out you were right to refuse all my invitations to come to town. London is definitely not the place for you, country mouse.”

Victoria laughed and approached her with extended arms. “Vivien…I can’t believe my eyes!” Her twin was very obviously pregnant, her stomach rounded, her fair skin glowing from beneath. Vivien’s condition had given her an unexpected touch of vulnerability that made her appear lovelier than ever.

“I’m fat,” Vivien said.

“No, you’re beautiful. Really.” Victoria hugged her sister with great care, and felt Vivien relax and sigh with relief.

“Dear Victoria,” she murmured, hugging her back. “I thought you might despise me for the trouble I’ve cause you. I’ve been so afraid to face you.”

“I could never despise my own sister. You’re all I have left.” Loosening her arms, Victoria drew back and smiled. “But oh, Vivien…how I hated being you!”

Vivien looked defensive and amused by turns, then laughed. “I don’t doubt you were ill at ease, posing as a demimondaine. But I promise you, it was far better than being buried alive here in Forest Crest.”

“I very nearly
was
buried,” Victoria said dryly.

Vivien nodded contritely. “Forgive me, dear. You know I would never have intentionally caused any harm to come to you. If only you had stayed here instead of coming to London—”

“I was worried for you.”

“In the future, keep in mind that I’m far better
at taking care of myself than you apparently are.” Vivien put a hand at the small of her own back and made her way to the worn velvet settee. “I must sit down—my feet ache.”

“What can I do?” Victoria asked with instant concern.

Vivien patted the space beside her. “Sit here and talk. I gather your presence here means that everything is over?”

“Yes. The man who tried to kill me is being held at the Bow Street jail. It turns out that Lord Lane hired one of the Bow Street Runners to kill me…or you, so he thought.”

“Good God. Which Runner was it?”

The story came tumbling out, causing a few quiet exclamations from Vivien at infrequent intervals. To Victoria’s relief, her sister had the grace not to appear pleased by the news of Lord Lane’s death.

“I suppose he’s with his son, Harry, now,” Vivien commented, smoothing the skirts of her gown with undue care. “May they rest in peace.” She looked up with a troubled expression. “They were both remarkably unhappy men, Harry being the worst. That’s why I had the affair with him…I thought a few days of pleasure were just what he needed. But he refused to accept that I could not stay with him forever. Perhaps Lord Lane was right…If I hadn’t slept with Harry, he might still be alive.”

“But then again, he might not,” Victoria replied, surprised and even a little glad that Vivien was having an attack of conscience. It was a welcome discovery that her sister was still capable of remorse.
“Don’t fret over ‘might have beens,’ Vivien. Just promise me that you won’t ever pursue Harry’s son again—the poor boy has suffered a great deal.”

“I won’t,” Vivien said automatically. “If I did, I suspect that Lord Lane would haunt me from the grave. However, I do care for the boy, Victoria. He is so sweet and earnest and endearing. I doubt any man that honorable has ever loved me before. I know now that it was foolish and wrong of me to even consider his proposal. But I couldn’t help being swept away by him for a little while.”

Victoria reached out and squeezed her sister’s hand. “What will you do now? I hope you will stay with me and let me care for you until the baby is born.”

Vivien responded with a decisive shake of her head. “I’ll go to Italy, I think. I have many friends there, and I have need of some amusement after the past month. Besides, there is a particular gentleman…a count, actually…who has pursued me for years. And he’s rich as Croesus.” She smiled with pleasurable anticipation, all trace of wistfulness vanishing. “I think it may be time to let him catch me.”

“But you can’t continue to live that way,” Victoria murmured, stricken. “Not after the baby comes.”

“Of course I can. Don’t worry, I shan’t allow the baby to suffer in any way. He or she will have the best of everything; you can rest assured of that. As soon as it’s born and I regain my figure, I’ll find a new protector and figure out some arrangement for
the child. Lord knows I’ll have servants aplenty to help me care for it.”

Victoria was aware of a sensation of heavy disappointment at her sister’s words. “But aren’t you tired of living as some man’s mistress? I’ll do whatever I can, and so will Mr. Morgan, to help you find a new situation.”

“I don’t want a new situation,” Vivien said matter-of-factly. “I like being a courtesan. It’s pleasant, easy, and profitable. Why shouldn’t I continue in a profession at which I happen to excel? And please spare me the remarks about decency and honor…I think there’s a certain kind of honor in doing something to the best of one’s ability.”

Victoria shook her head sorrowfully. “Oh, Vivien…”

“Enough,” her sister said in a brisk voice. “I don’t care to discuss it further. I’m going to Italy, and that’s that.”

“You must promise me something,” Victoria persisted. “If you eventually decide you don’t want the child, don’t give it to servants or strangers to raise. Please. I can’t stand the thought that a member of our family might…well, just send it to me.”

Vivien stared at her with a skeptical frown. “How odd. Why would you want anything to do with Lord Gerard’s bastard?”

“Because it’s your child too…and my niece. Or nephew. Give me your promise, Vivien.” As her sister continued to hesitate, Victoria added, “You owe it to me.”

“Oh, all right…I promise.” Stretching out her slippered feet, Vivien motioned for her to bring a
cushioned stool covered in petit point flowers. As Victoria removed her sister’s shoes and arranged her feet on the stool, she was aware of Vivien’s speculative stare. “You haven’t mentioned a word about your relationship with Mr. Morgan,” Vivien remarked with deceptive idleness.

Victoria glanced up at her twin’s keen blue eyes. “What did he tell you when he came here?”

Vivien laughed and coiled a stray lock of glinting cinnamon hair around her finger. “What little he didn’t tell me, I was able to guess. Now, fess up, Victoria…Has he come up to scratch yet?”

Blushing, Victoria gave a slight nod. “He has proposed to me, yes.”

“And have you accepted?”

Victoria shook her head reluctantly. “I have a few doubts about the suitability of the match.”

“Oh, good God,” Vivien murmured, looking at her with a touch of loving exasperation. “You’ve been thinking too much again. Well, let me hear your worries.”

It was a pleasure for Victoria to unburden herself to the only person in the world who truly understood the way her life had been until now. “I don’t know if this is what Father would have wanted for me,” she said. “I don’t know if a woman like me is meant for such a life. Oh, Vivien, Mr. Morgan is such a remarkable man—I can’t help fearing that he’ll need more than I can provide. We’re not similar in character, background, or temperament…I don’t think anyone would consider us a suitable match—”

“Then why didn’t you refuse him?”

“Because I love him. It’s just that I’m afraid we’re not truly right for one another.”

Vivien made a scoffing sound. “Let’s dispense with the nonsense, Victoria. This isn’t a question of suitability, yours or his. You’re perfectly capable of accustoming yourself to new circumstances…and marrying a man of good fortune, though untitled, is not exactly a hardship.” Vivien rolled her eyes and sighed. “It is so like you to analyze a situation until you’ve made it ten times more complicated that it really is! Just as Father used to do.”

“Father was a wonderful man,” Victoria said, stiffening.

“Yes…a wonderful, virtuous, lonely martyr. After Mama left him, Father retreated into his shell and hid from the world. And you stayed with him and tried to atone for everything that had happened by becoming exactly like him. You’ve been living in this same damned cottage, poring over the same bloody books. It’s morbid, I tell you.”

“You don’t understand—” Victoria began hotly. “Don’t I?” Vivien interrupted. “I understand your fears better than you do. It’s always been safer for you to hide here alone than take the chance of loving someone and have him leave you.
That’s
what your real worry is. Mama abandoned you, and now you expect the same of anyone else you might love.”

The ring of truth in the words stunned Victoria. She stared at her sister while her eyes prickled with tears. “I suppose…” she began, the sudden tightness of her throat making it difficult to speak. Vivien was right—she had never been the same after
her mother had left her. The ability to be comfortable with love, to trust someone with her heart, had been stripped away from her, forcing her to build layers of self-protection that no one could reach through. Until Grant.

But he deserved her trust. He deserved to be loved without reservation or fear, without anything being held back. All she had to do was find the strength within herself.

“It was so much easier when Father was still alive,” Victoria said. “I convinced myself that he was all I needed. We kept each other from feeling lonely. But now that he’s gone…” She stopped, biting her lip as the tears overflowed.

Vivien sighed and stood with difficulty, reaching into the tiny drawer of a side table to procure a handkerchief. She dropped the linen square into Victoria’s lap. “That was two years ago,” she commented. “It’s about time to carry on with the rest of your life.”

Mopping her face with the soft linen, Victoria nodded vigorously. “Yes; I know,” she said in a muffled voice. “I’m tired of mourning. I’m tired of being alone. And I love Grant Morgan so much that I can’t bear the thought of losing him.”

“Thank God,” her twin said in a heartfelt tone. “I daresay even Father would say you’ve done penance for long enough. And while we’re on the subject, I’m going to tell you something I’ve always wanted to say…Loving a man doesn’t make you a ‘bad woman,’ as you always believed Mama and I were.”

“No, I never thought—”

“Yes, you did. I have a fairly good idea of the things Father said about me and Mama behind our backs. And some of them were probably well deserved.” Her voice turned self-mocking. “I admit, I may be rather too free with my favors. But I know one thing for certain—giving yourself to a man when you love him, as you have with Morgan, is not wrong. Moldering here in Forest Crest, on the other hand, is a crime. Therefore, I’m leaving this godforsaken village as soon as I can arrange it, and I’d advise you to do the same. By all means, marry Grant Morgan—I daresay you could do much worse.”

“Somehow,” Victoria said wryly, “I had the impression you and he did not like each other. What has happened to change that?”

“Oh, I still don’t like him,” Vivien assured her with a quick laugh. “Not really. Except…well, it’s obvious that he loves you, otherwise he wouldn’t have made that ridiculous apology you had required of him.”

“He did?” Victoria asked in wondering delight. “He truly brought himself to tell you he was sorry?”

“Yes, he confessed everything and asked for my forgiveness.” A catlike smile appeared on Vivien’s face. “I’ll admit, there was something rather sweet about watching him gag on that apology, simply because you asked it of him. So if I were you, I would marry the man, if you desire to keep from breaking his heart. Or…” She paused as another idea seemed to inspire her. “Or you could come with me! We could go to Venice or Paris…Do you
realize the kind of attention that two sisters with our looks would attract? I’ll teach you everything I know about men, and…Good Lord, we would make a king’s ransom!”

Victoria looked up at her sister’s animated face and shook her head decisively. “Ick.”

“It’s a good idea,” Vivien said defensively. “Pity you haven’t got just a bit more imagination and fewer scruples.”