Between A Rake And A Hard Place [Pirates of London Book 2] (6 page)

Then he said, as if he could read her mind, “But it is sublime, I promise you.”

She had the strangest feeling they were no longer talking about the menu and the wicked twitch to the corner of his mouth increased that suspicion.

“How come I am not surprised to find
you
here, Marc?”

As her visitor blocked most of the doorway, Cassandra hadn’t seen Christopher Ives arrive but it was easy to recognize that sardonic drawl. She peered around Marcus’s rangy form—which hadn’t moved a muscle at the question—and saw indeed that Mr. Ives stood behind him, dressed in a similar fashion, his dark hair ruffled by the breeze.

“Gaston sent me,” Marc said smoothly, and then outrageously, he winked at her.

“Odd that, as he just asked me if I might inquire as to what the lady might want for luncheon.”

“As usual, I am one step ahead of everyone, and anticipated that he would be concerned his choices please her palate.”

“The day you are a step ahead of me has not yet dawned, Atherton.”

“What about Salamanca? It seems to me
I
did not need rescued from the French, the hangman’s noose almost around my neck for being a British spy.”

“Precisely my point. I was only captured because I was reconnoitering ahead of you.”

“I saved your life.”

“A gesture that I believe has been repaid many times over, has it not?”

“Which goes to prove I am one step ahead of you. By rescuing your worthless neck, I have preserved my own.”

“I have never heard such convoluted logic in my life.” Ives laughed though, shaking his dark head.

The banter was amusing she had to admit, and it didn’t surprise her that they were old friends, for the sense of camaraderie had come through even in the blur of her rescue. Once again she was assaulted by a sense of the surreal. Just yesterday she had been terrified and a prisoner, and now she was being catered to by two handsome men and a mysterious chef who apparently wanted nothing more than to please her.

“You may tell Gaston that after my delicious meal last night, I implicitly trust whatever he might choose,” she murmured with a small smile, the warm sea air brushing her face.

“If that is your wish.” Marcus bowed briefly. “It will make him happy to hear the praise, and in return, I suspect we will all reap the benefits of his good mood.”

She watched him saunter away, and then glanced up at Christopher Ives, who regarded her with his usual intense gaze. His expression was difficult to read. “Did you sleep well?” he asked, his tone neutral.

“Yes.” If she recalled their conversation, which she never would normally have instigated, she wanted to sink through the floor in embarrassment. Her hand crept upward to make sure the dressing gown—his dressing gown—was still demurely closed.

And maybe, just maybe, there was a hint of knowing male amusement in those silver eyes. “I just wanted to make sure there were no ill-effects from yesterday’s adventure.”

 Other than she would be mortified until her dying day over asking him if he was a competent lover, no, the drug seemed to have worn off. With as much composure as possible, clutching the robe as if maidenly modesty still applied, she responded, “I am still a bit bemused over what has happened, but I assure you I am quite well.”

“Good.”

But he was right, she realized with a small shock as he nodded, turned on his heel, and walked away, this
had
been the first adventure of her life.

England waited, safe and secure.

Lord Jameson was there, eager to marry her and give her the privileged life she’d always known, his wealth and position securing her a prominent place in society.

It was what every young woman wanted.

Wasn’t it?

Perhaps it should be, but instead she found herself wondering about the enigmatic Christopher Ives.

Chapter 5

His reputation was that of a dandified rake, but it was all a ruse.

And he found it intriguing she had come to that conclusion. For someone so young and pretty, Lady Hannah was astute. She said succinctly as they swept into a turn, “How is it you seem so sure that Mr. Ives will find her? The days do pass and the whispers increase. I am so very worried.”

Beau had to admit he was entranced by the color of her eyes. She resembled her sister in that she had golden hair and those beautiful eyes, but she was a much more buxom female, more than an armful, and he was a man who liked a woman with her…abundant charms.

“He and I are acquaintances. He’ll find her.”

“Acquaintances or friends?”

Admitting to a close association with Ives was probably not a good idea. Since Beau had so carefully cultivated his image as a superficial aristocrat, it would never do to have society realize he was so closely involved with the disreputable Ives. Christopher’s notoriety was well-earned—and intrigued the ladies—but it was Beau who masterminded their various business ventures, usually because he was privy to information obtained at the mindless, frivolous social events he attended. They complemented each other both as friends and as business partners.

But he’d grown rather fond of Hannah and she was in distress. Actually, fond was entirely the wrong word. Fascinated worked better and it made him wary.

So he said evasively, “Ives is a swashbuckling adventurer who made a name for himself through foolish heroics during the war. I merely suggested him because the situation is suited to his special skills. His abrupt departure the day after your sister’s disappearance no doubt means he used his considerable resources to gain information on where she might have gone.”

One of those resources being Beau’s contacts, of course. It was fortuitous that he’d called on Hannah just about the time the family realized Lady Cassandra was missing. He was able to send men to the docks and locate Christopher quickly. Luckily, he kept the
Sappho
at the ready and Captain Haldon never questioned orders, and shouldn’t, not on the generous salary Beau paid the man.

The orchestra wound the tune to a close at that moment, the waltz over. Hannah dipped low in a curtsey as the music ended, giving him a spectacular view of her décolletage, and allowed him to take her hand and theatrically bring it to his lips in front of most of the beau monde.

If he were in the market for a wife…

But he wasn’t. Their relationship was based on friendship he reminded himself firmly. A little lust might be part of it too, but that was understandable enough. She was a lovely woman. A little too lovely, perhaps. He’d better retire to one of the card rooms.

“Thank you for the dance, my lady.” He bowed politely and turned to leave.

“Wait.” She put her hand imploringly on his sleeve.

He lifted his brows in question.

Hannah blushed right there in the middle of the crowded ballroom. “Will you please call on me tomorrow? I have a favor to ask of you but I cannot do so here. It requires some privacy and explanation.”

Intrigued did not even begin to describe his reaction. “I am, of course, always available to such a beautiful lady.”

“Then I will see you?”

He was undeniably very intrigued but drawled in his most practiced bored tone, “Most certainly.”

* * * *

She was playing with fire. Though usually a person would not think it if they met the cultured and urbane Earl of Auberville, he was much deeper and complex than the image he presented. She didn’t quite understand why, but Hannah knew it.

No matter how much he might imitate an attitude of a true dilettante, he had a keen intellect and an extreme grasp of the workings of the
ton
. For reasons unknown, he cultivated a reputation as a jaded aristocrat who did nothing but dabble in a bit of politics and attend social gatherings, but she was convinced it was an act.

She wasn’t sure as to his motives, but it added to his already considerable attraction and that was potent enough.

Enough to make her decline all offers of marriage last season. He didn’t know she had done so because of him and a secret hope he might—might—be interested in her, but it was true.

He arrived as promised around tea time. Today he wore buff breeches and a blue coat, and his cravat was as pristine as a Christmas snowfall. He declined tea, accepted a glass of claret instead, and charmed her Aunt Rose with an amusing story, but all the while Hannah was aware of his occasional glances, casual as they might seem.

She
had
donned her favorite day dress; a deep blue that flirted with being violet and matched her eyes, taken care with her hair, and used a touch of perfume that she usually reserved for a more formal event. When he had finished his wine and there was a break in the conversation, she murmured, “Would you like to see the garden, my lord? It is a beautiful afternoon.”

Since he knew full well she wished an audience, he immediately rose and offered his hand. “I would indeed.”

“Go on.” Aunt Rose’s smile did not exactly hide her triumph. After all, he was an earl, Hannah thought ironically. His title didn’t matter to her, but it did to most young ladies, especially those who were past their first season. Her aunt waved a languid hand but her eyes were bright with interest. “Enjoy your stroll.”

Once they were outside, Beau turned to her with lifted brows. “I am here, and I must admit, curious as to why we need privacy.”

She peered around for the gardening staff. “Once we have it, I will tell you. This way.”

“Hannah.” There was a hint of exasperated laughter in his voice. “Why all the secrecy?”

It was lovely to hear him use her first name with such familiarity as she tugged him toward a deserted path. “I just need a moment of your time.”

There was a small alcove in the row of holly bushes, the glossy leaves providing some measure of concealment. She turned and smiled, but it was shaky, all her courage suddenly deserting her.

What am I doing
?

Looking up, she took in a breath, and said, “My lord, I want very much to ask of you a favor.”

“Such as?” Impossibly handsome in the slant of the afternoon sunshine, he looked truly puzzled, his blond hair catching the light.

“Is there a possibility we could give the impression you are courting me?”

He said nothing, his expression going completely impassive, and in the moment before he responded she thought he did a quick-fire analysis on what the repercussions of his response might be, before he said in a neutral tone, “I am, as always, at your service, but may I inquire as to why we should put up such a pretense?”

She was prepared for the question, though she had no right to feel a twinge of disappointment, she reminded herself. He’d never said one single word that might make her think he was inclined toward a more serious relationship. “I am in the middle of a second season and my father is not inclined to let me wait another year to marry. Cassandra’s disappearance has momentarily distracted him, but I fear should there be an offer from a gentleman he approves of, he will not allow me to refuse. You and I have formed a friendship and he has heard of it, so…perhaps it could work to my advantage to have him think I might be settled soon so he won’t try and thrust suitors at me at every turn.” She added hastily, “I am not asking you to lie. Never think that. If asked directly, feel free to tell the truth and I will not fault you, but I am asking for an impression only.”

There. She’d said it. That she wished he
was
courting her was immaterial.

The undecipherable look he gave her was punctuated by the curve of his lips into a cynical smile. “I would lie for you, so you needn’t worry over that, my lady. I’ve done much worse, rest assured. Of course I will oblige your request.”

The illusion, no matter how it stung when the season was over, would be a lovely dream.

“Thank you.”

He took her hand then and maybe it was her vivid imagination, but she thought his mouth lingered as it brushed the back of her fingers. He murmured, “It will be my pleasure.”

It took her aback for a moment because she actually thought he meant it.

Chapter 6

Gibraltar was not the solution after all.

Damnation
.

No ships headed to England with convenient chaperones for a stranded aristocratic lady. No ships departing for England for several weeks in fact.

Christopher had always wondered if an avenging God would make him pay for his sins and now he knew the answer.

There were enough British in the colony that he was able to find Lady Cassandra some clothing, but he didn’t dare disclose her identity for fear of it getting back to London on the next ship that carried the post. He’d thought all along he’d just find her safe passage and be done with it, but that plan apparently had to be discarded. He’d informed the crew of the
Sappho
they would be sailing for England as soon as they could replenish supplies. He might as well take her himself. Arriving in England in his company would do her reputation no favors, but perhaps it was possible to keep it all quiet.

Take her
. Poor choice of words he thought as he hesitated outside her cabin door, parcel in hand.

The wench was just too damned tempting.

Except she wasn’t a wench; she was a high-born lady and he was the libertine who wanted her.

The trip had been a special little form of hell. He’d dined with her each evening because it seemed unfair to force her to stay in her stateroom—his stateroom actually—alone for every single meal but she could hardly eat in her mostly undressed state with the crew, who were an unruly bunch at best. While she was obviously still embarrassed deeply over both her nudity when he had found her in the seraglio and their subsequent conversation later on the ship, he sensed a certain sexual pull that intrigued them both.

That attraction had grown to the point that he found the paradox of wanting her off his hands as soon as possible warring with an unprecedented desire to spend as much time with her as possible.

He did not form attachments to women, no matter how beautiful and alluring. He chose his lovers on the basis of their sophistication, availability, and skill in bed. Cassandra had none of those three attributes.