Three Heroes (26 page)

“Jealous?” murmured Lady Vandeimen, breaking a laugh from her husband, who captured Miss Hurstman’s hand and kissed it.

“The redoubtable Miss Hurstman. Honored, ma’am.”

Astonishingly, Miss Hurstman might be blushing. “Scamp,” she repeated. “But twenty years ago you might have deprived me of my wits, too. At least you’re safely chained and one less rascal I have to guard these flighty creatures from.”

She seemed to emphasize that with a sharp glance at Major Hawkinville. After a little more chat, Miss Hurstman turned to Clarissa. “We’d best be off. We have things to do.”

We do? wondered Clarissa, but Miss Hurstman was in command of this expedition, so she said farewells attended by promises of meeting at the assembly. It was frustratingly unclear whether they included the major or not.

As she, Althea, and Miss Hurstman headed out of the Steyne, the younger officers trailed along. “Not good enough,” complained Lord Trevor to Clarissa. “Letting yourself get stolen by a staff officer, Miss Greystone. What are we poor fellows to do about that?”

“Fight?” Clarissa teased.

“Hawk Hawkinville? I think not.”

Hawk Hawkinville. Yes, it suits him.

“He has a formidable reputation?” She knew she was showing her interest, but was unable to resist. Folly blowing on the wind in Brighton, Miss Hurstman had said. It was more as if it shone down with the emerging sun, melting will and wits to a soggy mess.

“Right-hand man to Colonel De Lancey, Wellington’s quartermaster general. Crucial work. But he enjoyed some action too. Saved one battalion at St. Pierre single-handed, they say, when all the officers were killed.”

“Really?” prompted Clarissa. Of course, a military hero could still be a scoundrel in other areas. A fortune hunter. Insidiously, it was ceasing to be so appalling a notion.

“I heard his main work was in investigations, Miss Greystone.”

“Of crimes?”

“Yes, but also problems. When we were sent cartloads of shoes when we needed meat, or meat when the horses needed hay. When boots turned out to have paper soles, and rifles were off. No shifty supplier wanted to come under the Hawk’s scrutiny, I assure you. It’s said that he rarely misses or forgets a detail.”

So finding out about her engagement to Lord Deveril and her guardian would have been child’s play.

With sudden unease, Clarissa wondered what Hawk Hawkinville might find out if he began to look more closely. He had no reason to look into the details of Lord Deveril’s death, but it seemed as if danger brushed against her.

“He did immediately know all Miss Hurstman’s connections,” she said.

“Did he?” Miss Hurstman’s question was rather sharp. “Was he right, though?”

“I confess, I’ve forgotten exactly what he said, ma’am. I think that Lord Trevor is the son of your cousin rather than being a nephew, and that you are the granddaughter of a duke.”

Was she silly to think that Miss Hurstman also looked worried? Did she have something to hide, too?

Why was she employed as a chaperone?

But Miss Hurstman only said, “Ha! Not infallible, then. I’m the great-granddaughter of a duke. Trevor, take yourself and your friends off. You’ll have another chance tomorrow.”

Miss Hurstman swept Althea and Clarissa away with suspicious urgency. “You want to watch a man with a name like Hawk Hawkinville.”

“Why?” Dirty laundry in Miss Hurstman’s cupboard? Out of sheer, mischievous curiosity, Clarissa wanted to know what it was.

“A hawk’s eye for detail and a close-to-infallible memory? A woman would never be able to wear the same gown twice.”

“As if I cared. And you certainly don’t.”

Miss Hurstman didn’t respond directly. “You’d be wiser to avoid him. Come along.”

They were already out of the Steyne and heading back to Broad Street. Miss Hurstman was upset, and Clarissa found herself feeling more protective than curious. She understood what it was not to want a hawkish eye on one’s past.

But Miss Hurstman? Her overactive imagination began to play. A scandalous affair when young?

Cheating at whist? Time in the Fleet for debt? All seemed highly unlikely.

But then her own involvement in violence probably seemed that way too—a thought that wiped all whimsy and humor from her mind. Major Hawkinville was, in effect, a professional hunter of criminals.

He was the last person she should encourage to take an interest in her affairs.

The immediate resistance she felt to the idea of giving him up was warning that her feelings were stronger than she thought. For the first time she let herself seriously contemplate being caught by her fortune hunter. Merely needing to marry money did not make a person a villain. Althea needed to marry a man with at least a comfortable income.

But Clarissa knew she shouldn’t indulge in this particular predator.

She arrived home queasy with worry. Mr. Delaney, leader of the Company of Rogues, had stressed that she mustn’t let out a hint about Deveril’s death, or those who had helped her could hang. She might hang for her involvement.

Beth Arden, who had been so kind, would be involved too, just when she was expecting her child. And Blanche Hardcastle.

She needed a quiet place to think, but Miss Hurstman ordered her and Althea into the parlor. Once there, she fixed Clarissa with her gimlet gaze. “How do you know Hawkinville?”

Clarissa had not expected this attack. She knew her color was flaring, though she had nothing really to be ashamed of.

“We met in Cheltenham. He rescued me and some of the schoolgirls from a riot.”

“Cheltenham?” The woman’s eyes narrowed. “What was he doing in Cheltenham?”

“Why shouldn’t he be in Cheltenham?”

“His home lies near here, unless I’m mistaken. So why Cheltenham?”

“He was en route to some property his father had recently acquired.”

“Ah.” Miss Hurstman suddenly seemed thoughtful.

“Ah?” Clarissa echoed. “What does that mean? Miss Hurstman, if you know something to the major’s detriment, I wish to know it too.”

Of course Miss Hurstman knew he was a fortune hunter. Clarissa wanted that minor problem out in the open and dealt with.

But Miss Hurstman said, “To his detriment? No. According to Trevor, a fine officer. One of the oldest families, too. They go back to the Conquest.” She waved a bony hand. “Off you go and do something.”

Clarissa stayed put. “Why were you sounding so suspicious?”

“Why? I was told that you’d lived in almost nunlike seclusion, and then a buck of the first stare with no connection to Cheltenham claims acquaintance. Of course I wonder. And from the way the two of you were looking into one another’s eyes, you were up to more than you’re telling me!”

Clarissa knew she’d turned red, but she said, “It was exactly as I have told you.” She couldn’t help but add, “So you don’t know anything shameful about him?”

“No.”

But Clarissa heard a frustrating shadow of doubt. She changed tack. “Do you know anything about Lord and Lady Vandeimen?”

“Another gallant rescue in Cheltenham?” Miss Hurstman asked caustically. “If so, he’s escaped your net.

Married a few weeks back. She was Mrs. Celestin, wealthy widow of a foreigner. She’s older than he, of course, but there’s nothing wrong with that, and she’s of the best blood. A Dunpott-Ffyfe. We’re cousins of the more distant sort. His family’s quite new here. Dutch originally, but his mother was a Grenville. Why are you so curious?”

Clarissa felt as if she’d turned on a tap and been drenched in information, all of it irrelevant. “Major Hawkinville gave me their direction as a place to contact him.”

“And why, pray, would you be contacting him?”

An excellent question. Clarissa had felt that she’d dealt with the major’s risque behavior well, but he had still pushed her into impropriety. “I don’t know why. I did say he would be welcome to call here.”

“Nothing wrong with that. But neither of you will receive a gentleman here alone, do you understand?”

“Of course,” said Clarissa for both of them. Althea looked as if another headache was coming on.

“No clandestine meetings, and no clandestine marriages. And if either of you ends up expecting a bastard child, I’ll be disgusted at your folly.”

Althea squeaked and stuttered something about never and shock.

Clarissa, however, dropped a meek, schoolgirl curtsy. “Yes, Miss Hurstman.”

The woman’s snort of amusement said she’d deflected suspicion, but inside she was a churning mass of confusion and anxiety. Hawk Hawkinville was a danger to both her virtue and her secrets, but the only safety lay in cutting herself off from him entirely.

She wasn’t sure she was strong enough to do that.

When the young women had left, Arabella Hurstman stood frowning in thought. Then she walked to the small desk, sat, and pulled out a sheet of writing paper. In dark, neat script, she told the man who’d sent her here what was happening.

You warned of possible danger from the new Lord Deveril, and here is John Gaspard’s son, as wickedly handsome as his father, dancing attendance and clearly having already made inroads.

What’s more, Major Hawkinville is not a man to be taken lightly. I sense a great deal more going on than I was led to expect. I require full and complete details immediately. Preferably in person.

And bring my goddaughter with you. It’s too long since I saw her.

She folded it, sealed it, and addressed it to The Honorable Nicholas Delaney, Red Oaks, Near Yeovil, Somerset.

In the sanctuary of their room, Althea pressed her hands to her cheeks. “That woman says the most outrageous things!”

“She does, doesn’t she? I rather like it.”

“You would.” Althea blew out a breath and began to remove her elaborate bonnet. “So, are you still pleased with the major?”

Clarissa suppressed a sigh. Still no peace. She was going to have to discuss beaux.

“He will serve to pass the time,” she said lightly, dropping her hat on a chair.

“Is that fair?”

“I doubt that his heart is engaged, Thea. So, are you smitten by Lord Trevor?”

Althea gave her a look. “He’s far too young. Stop trying to change the subject.” She put her bonnet carefully into its box. “You must not become a flirt, Clarissa.”

“But I want to flirt! And as I don’t intend to marry, that is all it can be. I have warned the major of that.”

Althea’s eyes widened. “What did he say?”

Clarissa grinned. “I think he took it as a challenge.” Her humor faded. It would be perfectly delightful if he hadn’t turned out to be a Hawk.

“What is it, Clarissa?”

She couldn’t explain, because that would involve explaining about Deveril’s death. “This is all very new to me. I want to enjoy it, but without creating a scandal.”

“Simply behave properly.”

“But that would be so boring!” Irresistibly, Clarissa thought of slipping out at night to explore Brighton.

Impossible, of course, but oh, so tempting.

At school she had often slipped out into the garden at night. A minor wickedness, but she’d loved it. If she had not discovered that Major Hawkinville was so dangerous, she might perhaps have been tempted eventually into that adventure.

Althea was shaking her head. “I heard that you were not the best-behaved girl at Miss Mallory’s, and now I’m coming to believe it.”

Clarissa had to chuckle. “Guilty, I’m afraid. But I never created a scandal, and I won’t now, Thea. So don’t worry.”

Then, to Clarissa’s relief, Althea sat down to write her daily letter to her family. She pretended to read a book so as to have time to think.

The only sensible course was to rebuff Major Hawkinville and get him out of her life. But would it do any good? If he wanted her fortune, he would pursue, and besides that, his interest in Lord Deveril’s death might already have been stirred.

Perhaps it would be better to continue the acquaintance and watch what he was doing. That was pure sophistry, of course, for if he was investigating her past, what could she do about it?

Kill him?

She’d intended the thought to be humorous, but it sparked a new fear.

The Rogues had been kind to her, but she didn’t underestimate their ruthlessness. What might they do when it came to defending those they loved?

She suddenly felt as if she were a Jonah, bringing ruin to whoever she touched—Beth, the Rogues, even Lord Deveril. And now innocent Major Hawkinville. Perhaps she should lock herself away in a convent to keep the world safe!

Hawk returned with the Vandeimens to their house, though he’d decided not to stay the night. His encounter with Clarissa Greystone had left him damnably unbalanced. Was she innocent or wicked, honest or false? He needed time and distance to regroup.

Every instinct reported that she was the same gallant, unsophisticated young woman he had met in Cheltenham. Every fact pointed to the opposite.

What was she? He had no idea except that she was surprisingly dangerous to him on a personal level. He enjoyed bandying words with her. He was feeling peculiarly protective. He was even beginning to find her pretty in the way the French referred to as une jolie laide, a woman who is not beautiful but almost becomes so through vitality.

“Do you like this design of porte cochere, Hawk?”

Maria’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he looked at the drawing spread on the parlor table.

Maria and Van—mostly Maria—were engaged in refurbishing Van’s neglected home. That was why they were in Brighton for the summer. To be away from dust and noise but close enough to supervise.

“It would serve the purpose.” He glanced at Van. “You’re adding a porte cochere?”

Van shrugged. “Maria wants one.”

“Of course I do! What if we return home one night in the pouring rain?”

“Umbrellas?” Van suggested.

Maria simply gave him a look, but it sizzled.

Hawk sighed. Newlyweds. Another reason not to stay. He felt intrusive, and also a touch envious. And where had that come from? He stood, putting down his half-drunk cup of tea. “I should set off back to Hawkinville.”

Maria rose, too. “Wait just a moment, Hawk. I have something for you to take, if you would be so kind.