For the Love of Lila (3 page)

She thrust her chin forward. “That, Mr. Wyndam, is my concern. I asked you only for guidance in making the arrangements. If you don’t see fit to help me, simply advise me about the trust, and I’ll—”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help.” He also didn’t intend to, but before he told her that, he wanted to draw forth more details about her circumstances. “Why are you going to France?”

“I have a cousin who lives in Paris. I plan to make my home there as well, which is why it does not matter what anyone here thinks of my leaving without a chaperon. As for your concerns about my safety, I am prepared to hire a footman or two, if you think it necessary.”

Companion, groom, footmen...her expenses would soon consume much of her trust. “I don’t suppose your cousin can come for you with some of his servants, perhaps meet you in Calais, if not here in London?”

“My cousin is a woman, and, no, she is not wealthy enough for me to impose on her any more than absolutely imperative.”

“Yet she can take you in to live with her?”

She hesitated just perceptibly. “I will have my trust to apply toward my support.”

“Not for long, if you spend half of it getting to Paris.”

Her mouth twisted a little, but she said nothing.

“Are you not better off staying in England with the relations you have here?”

“No! That is, I am not...quite happy with my aunt and uncle.” She sighed. When she spoke again, the tightness had drained out of her tone. “If you must know, they expected me to marry their son when he inherited my father’s estate. They have never quite forgiven me for refusing, and they are far from pleased at still being charged with the keeping of me, two years after Papa’s death.”

The tilt had returned to her brows, and what little she’d said had been enough to draw the picture. Not only had she been living as a poor relation but a resented one.

“You have no other relatives in England?”

She shook her head. “No other near relations at all. The Covingtons are not a prolific family. My only other cousin, Felicity, is the one who lives in Paris.”

He frowned. Her circumstances were pitiable, but the solution she proposed was unacceptable. “Miss Covington, I fear we shall have to come up with another alternative for you. First and foremost, you cannot travel unescorted.”

Her gaze sharpened again. “Do
you
have an escort for your journey, Mr. Wyndam?”

“Of course not.” The absurd question mystified him until he recalled Mr. Humphries’ telling him she’d been raised with a boy’s privileges. Suddenly, he understood this wild scheme a good deal better. “Ah, I think I see what you’re saying, Miss Covington. You feel you should be entitled to the same rights as a man.”

“Do you contend that I should not?”

He studied her features, now set hard. She met her obstacles with a determination he could not have imagined in a woman. As unrealistic as her view of the world was, he had to admire her spirit. “No, I rather think you should.”

She opened her mouth and closed it again. After studying him for a moment, she said, “I can see why my father enjoyed exchanging views with you. You have quite a progressive outlook, don’t you?”

“As long as
my
father isn’t within earshot,” he said with a humorless laugh. His neck ached from his earlier studying, and he kneaded the nape with one hand. If only life’s dilemmas had simple solutions, at least once in awhile. “It’s too bad you aren’t male. Then I could simply take you with me. You wouldn’t have to touch your trust.”

Her jaw dropped, and he realized his thinking aloud must have shocked her. An image flashed in his mind of checking into a French inn with her at his elbow. He tried to restrain that line of thought and phrase an apology, but she spoke before he was able.

“If we were to travel together, I would insist on paying my share of the expenses.”

A muscle in his cheek twitched. He stared at her, trying to comprehend her meaning. Was she jesting...or perhaps trying to assert that she was above taking charity? Surely, she could not possibly think they might...

“I see you are stunned by my suggestion,” she said, confirming his worst fears, “but think of this from a purely logical stance. It is only a carriage ride—no worse than the Hyde Park jaunts taken by unrelated men and women all the time. The only difference is in the distance driven.”

Good Lord!
Sir Francis had done his daughter a grave disservice in raising her as he had. For all her intelligence, she hadn’t the least concept of what was proper—and safe—for a young woman out in the world.

“We would both save a good deal of money,” she continued before he regained speech. “You seem an economical man, so I’m sure you can appreciate that. And you know what a difference this would make for
me
. I might even be able to put off using my trust by financing the journey with money I’ve saved from my quarterly allowance.”

“Miss Covington!” he sputtered at last. He stood and turned away from the desk, unable to look her in the eye. “How can you suggest...Don’t you realize how some men might construe—”

“Mr. Wyndam, judging by your reaction, I feel certain you’re not
that
sort of man.”

He spun back around. “I am not, I assure you, but that hardly signifies. An unrelated man and woman cannot travel together. Logic or none, you must know that no one would accept it. We likely couldn’t even find an inn that would let rooms...” He broke off, his cheeks hot.

“I realize we couldn’t expect society at large to view the matter rationally. We’d have to think of a way around that. Perhaps I could disguise myself as a boy—your younger brother. No, we don’t much favor each other. Maybe an orphan whom you are delivering to a relative?
That
would be based in truth.”

He gawked at her impassive face, truly frightened for her safety. Between her unorthodox upbringing and her desperate situation, it seemed she would resort to anything to reach Paris. What scheme she would devise next? And who would she ask to aid her? The next man in whom she placed her confidence could easily have less scruples than he. He actually began to wonder if he should consider taking her.

He looked away and went to the window, absently watching the carriages outside contend for the lanes, much as the thoughts in his head warred with each other. After a long moment, he asked, “Do you believe you would be happy with your cousin?”

“I believe I have my best chance for happiness with her.” Her tone grew low. “Possibly my only chance.”

He winced. Since she had no other relatives, this likely did represent her only way to avoid going into a life of service. He put a hand up to one temple. What he contemplated was outrageous! If anyone ever learned of the two of them making such a journey, she would be ruined. Moreover, with his own aspirations,
he
could ill afford any scandal, especially on a business trip on behalf of his father, the man on whose influence he most depended.

“I am sorry, but I cannot agree.” He turned around and walked back to the desk. “The risks to your reputation—and mine—are too great.”

Her posture wilted, and she swallowed hard. “I understand. ... Well, I would still be obliged if you can offer me some guidance. Do you, for instance, know of a companion I might hire for the journey? No one I’ve interviewed is willing to travel to the Continent. Perhaps someone will agree if I offer more money. And what about a groom and a footman? Do you think two men will provide enough security? I believe my trust should cover three salaries—with some to spare for establishing myself in Paris.”

He frowned. She would have so many expenses—and he didn’t know of any good servants to recommend to her. What if the ones she ended up hiring were untrustworthy? If she reached Paris at all, she might well arrive penniless, again destined to live as a poor relation.

But if
he
saw her safely to her cousin, she could retain her entire trust. She could use it as a dowry to encourage French suitors, just as her father had intended. Sir Francis had expended a great deal of time and effort to help
him
. Could he simply allow the man’s wishes for his daughter to die with him?

No, not when he had the power to do otherwise.

“Suppose we make a bargain, Miss Covington.” He crossed the room and peeked into the outer office. Humphries had stepped away from his desk, but he closed the door anyway. He half-expected her to protest, but she remained silent, watching him with one eyebrow lifted.

He returned to his seat and leaned over the desk, hands clasped in front of him. “I’ll take you to France with me, but only if you agree to leave your trust intact—at least until you

have spoken with your cousin.”

She pursed her lips. “I won’t go to her empty-handed. I’ll still need that money eventually.”

“I can access the trust for you at any later date. I’m often in Paris on my father’s behalf. I can have the interest forwarded to you there and check with you regularly to see if you require any of the principle. Meanwhile, you will retain the best possible investment.”

She moistened her lips, an enticement that multiplied his doubts—and, he couldn’t help but acknowledge, excitement—about the plan. “This could make an appreciable difference in my future standard of living.”

He nodded. “Precisely. Then you’ll agree to the bargain?”

“I have no reason to decline, but I’d hardly call it a bargain for you. Your stipulation benefits me alone.”

“Preserving your trust will relieve me of some of the debt I owe your father. He provided me with invaluable research materials throughout my later years at university. Indeed, he was a great influence in my life during an important period.”

She smiled. “I’m glad you feel that way. Besides, my contribution to our expenses will do you some good, won’t it? I hope my savings is enough to cover my portion. If not, I will, naturally, reimburse you later.”

“Forget your expenses. Traveling with you will scarcely cost me any more than traveling alone.”

“Oh, no. I will be paying half of everything.”

He met her gaze, so fixed and sure. He knew she would insist on her point. “Very well.”

“Then we have a deal.” She stood and shook his hand. Her fingers felt slim and soft but full of warm vitality. “I only wish I knew how to thank you.”

“You can thank me by exerting the utmost discretion.” He let his hand slide from hers, disturbed by the awareness her touch aroused in him. “I think our best tactic would be to pose as husband and wife. I can obtain some papers that would—”

“I prefer our other plan—for me to dress as a boy.” The firmness of her tone challenged any contradiction.

“That would be far more involved. You would have to keep up a constant masquerade—a difficult one.”

“I rather think it would be fun.” Her lips widened with a hint of a smile.

His stomach knotted. How on earth could she see any diversion in the face of such risk? He began to suspect she had a hoydenish streak, a yearning for adventure. He gave her a stern look. “Miss Covington, I assure you that fun will not come to play in this venture. Surely, you realize what a serious matter retaining our anonymity will be.”

“Oh, yes. Don’t worry. I’m used to serious matters.” Her cheerful tone seemed to belie her words. To top it off, she let her smile grow into a grin that exposed an even set of teeth, as perfect as the rest of her features. For the first time, the realization struck him fully that he truly would be traveling alone with this beautiful woman!

His heartbeat quickened, and he concentrated on taking slow breaths. He suspected he would be doing a good deal of this sort of concentrating over the coming weeks—but that wasn’t his chief concern. He could control his own behavior. Miss Covington’s was the open question. He could only hope she would not behave carelessly and get them discovered.

He gave her a sidelong glance, taking in her mischievous grin. What was he thinking? Of course she’d behave carelessly. She had from the moment she’d walked into his office.

Good Lord, what had he got himself into?

CHAPTER THREE

Lila knelt and peered into the blackness under her bed, looking for the crate that held the final touch to her costume, a pair of men’s boots lent to her by Mr. Wyndam. The oil lamp on the dresser shed the faintest of light, but she didn’t dare turn up the flame. Mr. Wyndam had warned her—among a score of other warnings—to have her chamber dark when he came to fetch her at the boarding house. He’d been so worried that they might be seen together that he’d made her nervous as well.

Lord knew why, she thought, grasping amidst unseen dust balls until her fingers struck rough-hewn wood. Careful to avoid an audible scrape as she slid the crate out, she reasoned that even if they got spotted, the cost would be trivial. As a man, Mr. Wyndam would be forgiven his indiscretion. The majority of censure would fall on her, and she didn’t care a fig about society’s arbitrary scruples.
She
would know she’d acted with honor. And soon she’d be a Channel away from whatever gossip ensued. Indeed, she had no cause for anxiety.

Well...there
was
that one small detail.

Her attention strayed from the heavy boots she was lifting from the crate to the dresser where the landlady left the post—or would have, if Lila had received any. The only letter she’d hoped for was a response to the one she’d sent her cousin. Now she was leaving London sooner than expected, too soon for any message from Paris to reach her.

She rose and sat on the bed, trying to dismiss her concerns as she pulled on her cumbersome footwear. Felicity was bound to be sympathetic, having gone through the difficulties of resettling overseas herself. And Lila would be sure not to impose on her for long. She’d made that clear in her own letter, which would have reached Paris well before now.

With a deep breath, she buckled the second boot and held out one heavy leg to check its appearance. Despite the tension she felt, she nearly laughed at the clownlike enormity of her foot. Setting her leg back down, she smoothed her loose leather breeches into the tops of the boots. Then she stood to judge the full effect of her disguise.