Edith Layton (7 page)

And then he’d tottered and tried to regain his balance, his arms waving madly, his body arcing to and
fro. Everyone gasped. They stopped talking, the noise of the fair slowly ground down to silence as they all looked up to see him struggling to right himself. And then, he’d fallen, like a spinning top, all the way down to the straw-covered ground beneath. She could still hear the awful sound he made when he hit the ground.

The crowd had gone as deathly still as he lay there, crumpled in a heap. She’d been so afraid. But before any of his shocked fellow performers could reach him, he’d stirred. He’d groaned, and staggered upright. She’d held her breath as he’d looked around. And then, he’d given the transfixed crowd a shaky bow. They’d gone wild. She’d never forget how her emotions had soared with the acrobat, fallen with him, then miraculously risen again.

This man remembered, too.

She stared at him. “You are
really
Christian?” she asked, incredulous. “Oh, stupid, stupid,” she asked herself in frustration before he could answer. “What should I expect you to say?”

“Hello, Little Jewel?” he asked.

And then she closed her eyes to keep in the tears. Because no one but her parents had called her that for so many, too many, long, lonely years.

They couldn’t stop talking after that. He told her about the land he’d come from, about little green birds that could speak like men, about animals with pockets, and sharks big as trees that patrolled the seas around that alien land. She told him about Jon’s life after he’d left, then, when he asked, about her own.

“I’d no heart left after Jon died,” she said. “We
were so close, and when I understood he was never coming home, I took it badly. Dr. Raines said it was because it happened at a melancholy age for a girl, as I was entering womanhood. He said that was when females are particularly emotional. But I think it would have happened however old I was.”

“And that’s why you haven’t married?”

Her eyes went wide. “I’m single at an age when many women are married, but I’m not in my dotage.”

“I know,” he said. “But you’re so lovely and charming it’s strange that you’re still alone. Or am I being stupid? Have you a beau?”

“No,” she said. She pretended to look around. “My goodness! We’ve walked a long way. We’d better turn back before they begin to worry about where we’ve gone.”

“Too far, too soon, I suppose,” he mused as he turned in step with her. They went in silence a while before he spoke again. “We’ve talked about where I’ve come from, and what you’ve done, but there’s so much we haven’t touched on. Would you walk out with me again, so we can talk some more?”

She nodded. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“Good,” he said. “But before we do, and before we get back to your cousins, would you like to ask me the most important question so we can have it out of the way?”

She looked at him.

“Whether or not I’m a thief, of course,” he said mildly.

She gazed at her toes. “I didn’t know how to ask that,” she whispered.

“I thought so. Well, I’m not a thief, and neither was my father. You’d expect me to say that, so let me explain. The thought of theft was so far from our minds we didn’t have a defense when we were ‘apprehended,’ as they said then. Think about it. Would you have a ready excuse if you went back to your cousin’s house now and found them confronting you, accusing you of stealing a ring, or pin, or brooch? Of course not. Innocent people can only keep protesting their innocence, they don’t have excuses. Neither did we.

“My father was a very smart man, Julianne. Other men trusted him to correctly tally their life savings and investments, after all. And what would I want with a silver candlestick?” he asked. “We weren’t rich, but we had everything I wanted. I can’t prove that even now, of course. The man who accused us is long dead. But why we were accused? That’s a different story. I always meant to return and find out. Now that I’m here, I will. I don’t ask you to believe me, but I have to ask you if you’ll try.”

“Why?” she asked, her eyes searching his. “What does it matter if my testimony in court doesn’t mean anything?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Julianne, life took a lot of things from me, and from you. I think its time we take back what we can, put things back the way they could and should have been. Don’t you? So I’d like to know now, before more time goes by, will you give me a fair chance?”

She took a deep breath. “You know why my cousins brought me here?”

He laughed. “Of course.”

“And yet you trust me?”

“As much as you do me. No, more than that, I’m sure.” His smile was warm, intimate, beguiling. “Julianne, I’m only asking you to give me time.”

She wanted to be as candid with him as he seemed to be with her. She tried to find a way to allow herself this dawning joy. “Why aren’t
you
married yet?” she finally blurted. “Or are you?”

“Yes, I am, and with three children,” he said. He laughed at her expression. “Don’t look embarrassed! That’s a good fair question. No, I’m not married. I wasn’t in a position to marry for a long time. Then, when we made our way up in the world, I didn’t find any woman I trusted enough to love with all my heart, much less marry.” He grew serious again. “Women sent to the antipodes aren’t all depraved, some were innocent, too. But not for long. I’m not saying that made them unlikely candidates for love, only that if I loved any, it was never for long. And understand, there aren’t many females there. They’re still so scarce they’re a valuable commodity. At first, I wasn’t rich enough to interest many, then, when I understood that, I was too wary.”

He bent his head to her ear and lowered his voice. The sound of it, soft and husky, made Julianne shiver. “But I wasn’t a monk,” he breathed, “and I don’t want you thinking I’m claiming to be one. It’s just that I never found anyone I wanted to stay with. Come, Julianne, don’t worry. I’m not asking you to trust me yet. I’m only asking you to give me a chance.”

“Why?” she murmured.

“I’ll swear you know that,” he whispered, glancing
at the maid walking behind them. “And if you don’t, that’s an answer I can’t give you here and now. At least, not the way I want to.”

He looked sincere. He also looked devilishly handsome. Of course he wasn’t a monk. He might be a cheat and a conniver, able to convince people of a great many things, but he’d never convince any sane female of that. He was also intelligent, he’d just inherited a vast fortune, and if he could be believed, he already possessed a tidy one. And yet he was plainly making up to her.

She didn’t believe it. She didn’t believe him. She didn’t want to doubt him.

“I’d like to know you better,” she said.

His smile was wide and warm. “Then you will.”

He took her hand and placed it on his arm. They walked back to the squire’s house that way, although Julianne wanted to skip along the path, the way she hoped she had with him so long ago.

He said good-bye to her at the garden gate. Annie, the maid who had accompanied them, ducked a curtsey and went back into the house.

“Tomorrow then?” he asked, holding her hand.

The way he looked back at her made her catch her breath. “Isn’t tomorrow too soon?” she asked.

“Not for me.”

“For my cousins,” she said, hoping he’d argue with her.

“They’ll be delighted. You’re hot on the case. Lord, I hope you are,” he breathed, and bent and brushed his lips against hers.

It felt like a shock, it felt velvety sweet, it felt like
she had to taste more. But he only stepped back, smiling that cool smooth smile.

“Yes,” he said, “I thought so.” He bowed. “Tomorrow. At noon? We’ll ride or walk, but we’ll talk. Until then,” he said, and strode to the stables to collect his horse.

And left her to try to collect her thoughts.

They were waiting for her in the parlor when she came back into the house, and for a moment, Julianne wondered if her cousins
were
going to accuse her of stealing a pin or a ring or a brooch.

“We asked you to question him, not fall in love with him,” Sophie said angrily the moment she walked in.

“I beg your pardon?” Julianne said. Her cheeks were burning. They must have seen that kiss.

“You were out an hour, and you come in looking dazed?” Sophie sneered. “I believe you know just what I mean.”

They
hadn’t
seen. Julianne let out her breath. Her cousin would certainly have more to say if she knew. “You asked me to get to know him. Would you rather I wrote him letters?” she asked haughtily.

“Now, now,” the squire said, “Julianne’s right, Sophie. She does have to lull him.”

“I wondered from the first if it was right to ask an innocent girl to do such a thing,” Hammond said with concern. “If he is a rogue, we’ve done her a grave disservice leaving her in his company for so long.”

“Oh, good heavens!” Julianne said, honestly angry. “I don’t know if he’s a rogue, but he hasn’t done me
half the disservice you’re doing now. We walked, we talked. I discovered nothing to discredit him so far. Do you want me to continue with this or not? I can always go home.” She waited. She didn’t know what she’d do if they told her to leave.

Sophie’s mama shot her daughter a furious look.

“Please stay,” Sophie said grudgingly. “And forgive us. We were only worried about you. The fellow’s too handsome and smooth by half.”

“I said I’d do as you asked,” Julianne said. “Now I find I want to know just who and what he is for myself as well as you.”

“I can understand that,” Hammond said with sympathy.

“So can I,” Sophie said, watching Julianne closely. “But don’t be misled, Cousin. If he really is going to be the next earl, the knowledge of who he is will be the only thing you’ll get. An earl will look higher than a farmer’s daughter for a wife.”

“I know that,” Julianne said, because she did. “But if he’s really who he says he is, there’s something else for me, too. I’ll have more memories of my brother, and you cannot know how much that means to me.”

“We do,” Sophie’s mama said. “But so does he. Be very sure he’s counting on that. So. Did you discover anything new?”

“I did,” Julianne said, keeping the enthusiasm from her voice. “Some things that seem to point to his telling the truth. He remembers our dog and Jon’s favorite food, even going to a Gypsy Fair at home with us, with too many details for him to have made it up.”

“Dogs and favorite foods,” the squire scoffed. “Such could be learned secondhand from anyone in your village. I’d expect him to have researched things that the true Christian Sauvage would have known. And the Gypsy Fair, what’s that to say to anything? They’re all over England. One comes here, too. It’s the one with the fortune-tellers and fire-eaters, the living skeleton and suchlike, isn’t it? And that acrobat? Ho, Sophie, remember? We thought she’d weep her eyes out when he fell and pretended to be hurt,” he told Julianne. “The next year she couldn’t wait to see him do it again.”

Julianne closed her eyes. She felt, she realized, very like that acrobat who fell. Because she’d been so high, and the wind had been knocked right out of her.

T
he lone horseman clattered into the courtyard of the White Hart as the sun began to move from its zenith. He slid down from the saddle, handed the reins to the stableboy, and walked into the inn, looking thoughtful.

“Good afternoon—Softly, softly, sir!” the Bow Street runner exclaimed, flinging up both hands as Christian whirled around and dropped to a crouch, his hand snaking inside his jacket. “If I’d wanted to have at you, I’d not have spoken first, would I?”

Christian stood up. He tugged at his waistcoat to straighten it. “As for that, I think ‘Death to Tyranny’ was the last thing Caesar heard before he was stuck like a pig. Some assassins like to get in a last word. No hard feelings, Murchison? My fault entirely, but I don’t like being surprised.”

“No offense taken. Don’t blame you for woolgathering, though,” the runner said. “She’s a lovely piece.”

Christian’s eyes turned icy, his voice was as cold. “I didn’t mind seeing your shadow all day, but I do
mind your language. She’s a lovely lady, and please don’t forget that in future.”

“Aye, ‘lady,’ then,” the runner said, unperturbed. “But here I was, brought up to think only females with titles was called such. Well, live and learn.”

The younger man checked. “Oh, right. That’s true. I’d forgotten. Well, at least, I think of her as a lady because she has the manner and manners of one. Whatever she’s called, she’s not what you implied.”

“I don’t imply. I’m here to prove. If you say she’s a lady, so she is in my book. Speaking of which, I’ve a few new notes in mine. Do you have time to talk?”

“I have nothing but, until tomorrow,” Christian said. “But not here, let’s go into the taproom.”

The runner hesitated. “Mebbe this needs talking about in your room?”

Christian laughed. “No, I don’t think so. Much as I trust you, whatever we say can be said at a table with my back to the wall and my eyes to the front.”

“My feelings are hurt,” the runner said. “But I don’t blame you. That’s what I want to talk about.”

“Oh?” Christian said with interest, as they went into the taproom.

They took the same table they had the previous day. Two local men were at the tap, and the same man sat huddled at the farthest table in the darkest corner.

The runner put his hands on the table. He raised a thumb toward the man in the corner. “Him,” he said. “Just thought you’d like to know you had two shadows today while you was out on your stroll with the…lady.”

“Oh, I knew that,” Christian said, signaling the
innkeeper. “Make it two,” he called the man. “Like the number of my shadows,” he told the runner. “You know who my other admirer is, Murchison?”

“I wouldn’t be worth my shilling if I didn’t.” The runner took his well-thumbed occurrence book from out of an inner pocket. “Captain Anthony Briggs advertises himself as a retired army officer who does private investigations, for a fancy fee. Leastways, that’s how the squire got his direction when he went to London to put in his inquiries about you.”

“Makes sense,” Christian said. “The squire would be a fool not to take double precautions. So he hired a runner and a private party. Wise of him. I’d do the same.”

“Aye. He says yon cove was a decorated officer, invalided out of the service. He don’t act sick, nor look it, ’cept for that limp, and a nose that looks like he went a round or two in his days. His hands must be mincemeat, too, he never takes off his gloves. So here we have a fellow who looks like a pugilist but carries himself like an officer, and rides like the devil. So it makes sense that he was one, though there isn’t a trace of him or his commission in any of the records I’ve had my sources sorting though.”

“That makes sense, too,” Christian mused. “It’s probably not his real name. He’s obviously down on his luck and has to work for his porridge now, and the upper classes are funny about admitting that. I think my new family minds my history of working as much as my having been a convict. Breaking rocks or mak
ing bread, it’s all the same to them if you do it with your hands. Gentry don’t use their hands for anything but playing cards, collecting rents, and patting horse’s rumps and women’s arses.”

“Well said!” the runner chortled.

“So, have you spoken with him?” Christian asked.

“No. I tried a time or two, here and in the road, but he answers in one word and don’t give another. Aye, thankee,” he said, pausing to take his pint from the innkeeper. He downed it in long swallows and wiped his mouth with his hand. “Excellent brew! These locals know a thing about the heavy wet, don’t they? Well, I’ll leave you now, sir. Just thought I’d tell you to watch your back. Yon captain’s watching you right enough, and I don’t know enough about him to be sure it’s all for the squire’s sake.”

“I’m obliged,” Christian said. “And so to save you time spent in lurking, I’ll tell you my plan for the rest of the day. I’m going to write letters, then go for a ride to shake out my fidgets. I’ll dine here, then to bed. I’ll be going to the squire’s at noon tomorrow, so you can save your energy until then.”

“Thankee,” the runner said, rising, touching a finger to his forehead, as if he were a peasant saluting a lord. “Mighty considerate. Damned if I wouldn’t like to see you turn out to be an earl, at that.”

Christian chuckled and watched him leave. Then he finished his pint, and left the taproom, and the man sitting in the darkest corner.

Christian put down the pen, and read over what he’d written.

“I’ll keep you informed of events, but it is going as planned. See to events at your end, and all will be well.”

He frowned, then added,
“Don’t worry, and don’t lose faith in me. I can do this, and I will. My love to you all, C.”

He reached for the box of sand and prepared the sheet of paper for the post. When he was done, he took it and the two other letters he’d written and left his room. He went quickly and quietly down the stair, but when he got to the main room of the inn, instead of going out the front door, he went to the kitchens. He slowly pushed the door open and looked around. As he’d thought, it was quiet because it was the hour when the innkeeper and his wife were napping in their room. The scullery maid dozed in her chair by the hearth; the inn’s old yellow dog raised its head and looked at him. Christian didn’t disturb either of them as he stole through the room and slipped out the back door.

The ostler was sitting in the sunlight in front of the stable, head back, eyes closed, enjoying the spring sunshine. Christian didn’t disturb him either. He quietly saddled his own horse, put his letters in his saddlebag, and led the horse down a back path to a meadow. Only then did he mount, and ride, going over the soft grass so his horse’s hoofbeats wouldn’t be heard. When the inn was far behind him, he turned toward the main road. Then he galloped.

It took him less than an hour to reach the coast. He
smelled the salt air and smiled when he came to a rise and looked down to the sea. Egremont was indeed a treasure. It not only was worth a king’s ransom, it was wonderfully located to boot, a few hours from London, yet near the wide sea.

He rode down to what had been a sleepy fishing village until the recent wars. Now the snug cove had become a thriving port. Naval families lived in the hills overlooking the crescent-shaped harbor, and all sorts of ships visited its busy docks.

Christian tethered his horse by the docks and went in search of the sea captain he’d been told to find. He found him in minutes, gave him the letters and payment, along with a brief, humorously phrased, but serious warning. Then he left him.

With one last regretful look at the sea—
By God
, he thought,
if I win all, I will buy me a place by the sea
—he got back on his horse and rode off. He didn’t want to be missing for long. Murchison would be mad as fire as it was to find he’d left the village—that was, if the fellow had believed him in the first place. Still, Christian hadn’t sensed the runner at his back. It hardly mattered now. He was sure his letters would be on their way safely, by the next fair tide. He wasn’t sure about king and this country, but one thing he would and did stake his life on. There was honor among thieves. At least among the ones he knew.

He rode on at a more leisurely pace, never looking back. And so it was odd that he turned off the main highway halfway back to the inn. He went onto a one-lane path that some farmer had made to separate his pastures. There he stopped, dismounted, tethered his
horse by the edge of a fence near sweet new pasture. Then he leaned back against a stile and waited.

The rider he’d been waiting for appeared a few minutes later. The man was dressed like any traveler, but nevertheless looked dangerous because of his size and his crooked, obviously once-broken nose. Even so, he was not unhandsome, although his face was a mass of contradictions. He was still fairly young; but his thick honey brown hair had been streaked with umber by the same foreign sun that had obviously gilded his skin. The nose gave his long face an interesting aspect, saving it from prettiness because his mouth was full, well formed, and oddly sensitive, and his long, sky blue eyes were framed by starry black lashes. But his expression was forbidding, and deadly serious.

He rode straight to Christian and swung down from his horse. Now that he stood instead of being hunched over a table at the inn as he usually was, it could be seen that his shoulders were wide and straight.

He flung his reins over the fence as Christian had done and offered Christian his gloved hand. “When did you see me?” he asked, as they clasped hands.

“As soon as you left the inn,” Christian said.

“Liar,” the man said, a crooked grin creasing his face. “You didn’t catch wind of me until I left the docks just now, but let it be if it makes you feel better to pretend you know it all.”

“But I do,” Christian said comfortably. “How are you? How are you faring?”

The man smiled widely, transforming his face, making him look raffishly attractive. “I haven’t found
anything new, or I’d have got word to you. The squire’s still throwing money to the winds trying to pin you down. Murchison’s a canny one, and honest, after his fashion—or at least honest as any damned redbreast can ever be. As for me? I’ve no worries.”

“You never do,” Christian said. “That’s what worries me. So watch your own back, you don’t have to be concerned about me.”

“I shouldn’t worry about you, and that’s a fact,” the man agreed. “You’ve got them scrambling. And what a little honey you found yourself right out of the gate, to while away the time until you take all! Pretty as she can hold together, and smart, but not smart enough, poor lass. Like all the others, she’s ready to fall. You can see it in her big brown eyes when she looks at you.” He clasped his gloved hands to his heart in a mockery of an enraptured girl. “I don’t know how you do it.” He shook his head.

“I’m not doing it,” Christian said blandly. “She’s Jonathan Lowell’s sister. She sees me as a link to her brother; there’s where the warmth comes in.”

“Oh, I know her name. But I don’t doubt that warmth is in other places, too, if you’d a mind to find them,” the other man said easily. “It would be a waste if you didn’t. Seems to me she’s just full of warm places. Wait, Lowell—Jonathan Low…” His eyes lit. “Now I have it! He was the best friend from the past. From the home village. Where’s the boy?”

“Dead, in the wars,” Christian said simply.

“Ah, it makes sense. So that’s why the squire sent for her.”

“She’s also Sophie Wiley’s cousin. Making it easier for them to send for her.”

“Sophie, now there’s a pretty piece,” the other man said with approval. “The kind I particularly like, as sly as she’s delicious. The kind you have to disarm in more ways than one. I ran into her, although, sadly, not literally, the other day when I made my report on you to her father. He introduced me, though you could see he didn’t want to. He may believe I’m respectable as houses, and a retired army officer to boot, but hired help is hired help, after all. Still, she eyed me like I was a roast pig on a platter and greeted me as though that’s what she wanted for dinner.”

“She’s engaged,” Christian said.

“But I’d wager that engagement is a ball in play now that there’s a chance her beau might not get the title. Don’t worry, I know her kind. Since I have nothing she knows about, I’m only for the eyeing. I will survive. Mind, the Lowell chit’s a treat for the eyes, too, and no airs or graces, neither. It’s too bad for me that she only sees you. I wouldn’t toss her out of my blanket. Nor should you. Not only because of the sport; your being warm with her would be a fine way to convince the world of who you are.”

“I’ll never convince them. I can only prove it in a court of law. I will, then be damned to the lot of them.”

“And Mistress Lowell?” the other man persisted, watching him closely.

“We’ll see. Now,” Christian said, “enough about wenches.”

“There’s never enough about wenches,” the other man said plaintively.

Christian smiled in spite of himself but went on, “We don’t have that much time. Where are you staying? I thought I’d swallow my tongue when I first saw you sucking up the innkeeper’s brew calm as you please at the White Hart. I never guessed you’d come so close. And bowing to the beauty at the squire’s house? You’re a mad thing, and one day it will be the death of you.”

“Hasn’t been yet, and I’m not counting on it,” the man said placidly. “I’d been a bit more cautious at first. I had let a room at a cottage, about a mile from the White Hart. It was a snug spot, and a snug dimpled little widow my landlady was, too. Put your eyebrows down. She was too old for sport and too young for me to tarry without danger of making a mistake I’d have had to pay for with my single life. I’m highly eligible, doncha know,” he said mockingly, raising his broken nose in the air. “I put it about that I was a traveling peddler, hanging about waiting to see if there was any custom for me when the new owner came to Egremont.”

Christian laughed. “It may have done you good with your widow, but Murchison told me you are Anthony Briggs, late of His Majesty’s army, now pursuing private investigations. He knows the squire hired you.”