Gentleman's Trade (21 page)

Vanessa’s lips set in a straight line. Hugh touched her arm, turning her attention toward him. “There is no need to stand over me, Miss Mannion. I promise I shall not swoon.”

“Oh! Oh, of course, Mr. Talverton,” she said, recalled to her circumstances. She sat down swiftly on a small chair near Hugh and as far from Mr. Wilmot as possible, without being obvious.

“Richard is in the library in conference with Mr. Danielson at the moment. They should be out directly. In the meantime, may I offer you a glass of Madeira?” Mrs. Mannion suggested, sitting in the chair next to his.

He inclined his head in acquiescence, while his eyes roved the assembled company, feeling the tension in the room.

“Jonas,” Mrs. Mannion said when the butler arrived in response to Adeline’s summons, “please bring in the refreshment tray, then see if you can inform my husband of Mr. Wilmot’s presence.”

“Mr. Wilmot,” Hugh drawled, pulling the man’s attention away from the nervousness in the ladies, “possibly you can help us. I understand you employ and are well acquainted with these ruffian river men. Maybe you can help us identify the four that attacked Trevor and me, to see that they’re brought to justice.”

“Perhaps, though it would serve no purpose,” he grated, his voice the sound of stone on stone.

“Well, truthfully, we’re not concerned for the river men. We’re more interested in who hired them,” he said coolly, ignoring the concerted gasps from the ladies.

“Hired them?” asked Wilmot, his eyebrow twitching. “Surely you’re mistaken. That Nongela they serve in the saloons makes brave-hearts out of cowards.”

“No, Wilmot, I’m not mistaken. Those men were hired and were after Trevor,” he said crisply, all vestiges of the London fop, that he’d maintained before Mr. Wilmot in the past, falling away. His tawny gaze pierced Mr. Wilmot, issuing a silent challenge.

“Trevor?” asked Adeline weakly as she rose unsteadily from her chair, leaning heavily against the quilt frame.

Wilmot’s brow twitched on seeing Adeline’s pale complexion. Vanessa scowled at Hugh, realizing with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, just how determined Mr. Wilmot was.

The man shifted slightly in his chair and studied his fingernails for a moment before looking back at Hugh. “Interesting,” he said noncommittally.

A small sound, like a groan, escaped Adeline’s lips as she crumbled to the floor, pulling the quilting frame over on top of her.

“Adeline!” called Vanessa and Amanda, running to her side.

Hugh rose clumsily to his feet cursing his stupidity. As quietly as she sat at her sewing, he had forgotten Adeline’s presence. He grabbed the side of the quilt frame, pulling it off Adeline while her sister cradled her head in her lap and her mother chafed her wrists. With black annoyance, he noted Wilmot had not moved but was watching them, a smile playing upon his lips.

“Let’s get her to the sofa,” he said to Vanessa as he bent down to pick Adeline up.

“Yes, yes,” she said distractedly, relinquishing her position.

“Careful, Mr. Talverton,” Mrs. Mannion said.

A sharp stab of pain pierced his ribs when he picked up Adeline, and he staggered slightly as his head spun for a moment.

Suddenly the door opened admitting Richard Mannion and Trevor Danielson.

“Hugh!” cried Trevor, swiftly crossing the room as Hugh gently placed Adeline on the sofa. He knelt by her side. “What happened?”

Hugh flopped down into the chair Vanessa had vacated, his long legs splayed out before him. Around him he heard the jumble of explanations as everyone moved to speak, save Mr. Wilmot who still sat quietly in his chair. Adeline was coming around, her moans adding a counterpoint to the noisy exclamations of her family.

Hugh’s head was pounding again. He ran his hand across his brow. “Your intended discovered the attack was not an accident.”

“What?” Trevor demanded, glancing quickly in Mr. Wilmot’s direction. That gentleman’s brows merely twitched, and Hugh again cursed his forthright tongue. He must be more muzzy-headed than he knew.

Russell Wilmot slowly uncrossed his legs and rose to his feet. “I think, under the circumstances, I shall take my leave of you all. Richard, I’ll call upon you tomorrow,” he said sharply.

Mr. Mannion nodded, his iron brows lowering over his eyes, his face rigid. “I shall expect you around ten?”

Wilmot paused, taken aback by Mannion’s ready agreement. “Yes,” he said considering, “ten it is.” He bowed to the rest of the company who stood in their places like a silent tableau, then turned to leave as Jonas entered with the refreshments.

His exit heralded an explosion of speech from the room’s occupants. Hugh sat slumped in his chair, letting the exclamations and remonstrations lap over him like the ocean’s tide. He sat apart, his head aching, yet feeling they were approaching the end of the maze and the resolution of their travails.

He looked up at Vanessa, arms akimbo, as she listened to her father’s explanations. Her face was a study of astonishment and dismay. She was fairly sputtering her indignation, her face showing heightened color on her cheekbones in contrast to her pale complexion. She was beautiful in her own unique style. What had he dubbed it last week? Was it really such a short time ago? Did people really fall in love in that short a time? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he felt as if he’d known her all his life. She had a vitality he’d never seen in a woman before, and she exerted a pull upon his senses he’d never experienced. He hoped her solicitous attitude was in some measure a sign of the depth of her regard for him. He’d faltered badly with his behavior at the Chaumondes’. He could not believe he was so blind as to think what he felt for Vanessa wasn’t love. To deny the tug upon his senses that sent his blood pounding in his head was ludicrous. He wanted nothing so much as to enfold her in his arms and claim her lips once again.

Vanessa suddenly swung around to face him. “And you, Mr. Talverton, need to repair immediately to your bed.”

Hugh blinked at her words, coming as they did on the heels of his erotic thoughts. He stirred uneasily in his chair, afraid he would soon embarrass himself before all by the evidence of his increasing arousal. Hastily he clamped down on his wayward emotions, his teeth grinding with determination. He allowed a slow smile to curve his lips upward in a lopsided manner.

“You are correct, Miss Mannion, and I should be grateful for your assistance.”

Mrs. Mannion heard their exchange and broke off ministering to Adeline to address them: “Yes, Vanessa, please do. We do not want him passing out again, and I’m afraid he went beyond his limits when he picked up Adeline. I really should have forbidden it,” she mused. “But Vanessa, as Mr. Talverton no longer appears to be in danger of delirium, we may dispense with vigilant nursing,” she added pointedly.

Vanessa blushed at her mother’s words, acknowledging the propriety, but realizing it warred with her desires. When she saw him smile up at her with his crooked grin and his golden blond waves falling across the white bandage on his head, the tingling surged rapidly up from her toes to shake her entire being. She offered him her hand to aid him in rising but wondered, as she struggled with the light-headedness his nearness created, who would be supporting whom.

Trevor, kneeling on the floor beside the sofa where Adeline lay, rocked back on his heels as he watched the silent drama being enacted between Hugh and Vanessa as she escorted him out of the room. He nudged Adeline to view the play as well, and noted Mrs. Mannion watching with complacency while holding up her hand to her husband to forestall any comment from him.

Neither actor noticed the attention they were receiving from the others in the room as they walked arm in arm toward the door. Vanessa was interestingly pale, and Hugh remarkably formal, yet each tried to maintain a covert regard for the other that was not lost on the rest of the company. Mr. Mannion turned to his wife, a question in his eyes. She nodded. He turned back to watch them exit the room and grinned, with a renewed spark in his eyes that had been missing for four years.

Vanessa quietly touched the door handle, then hesitated, looking up and down the hall before silently pushing the door open. Hugh was sleeping, the etched lines of pain erased from his brow. Vanessa smiled and tiptoed into the room, shutting the door soundlessly behind her.

She shouldn’t be in his room now. She understood her mother’s strictures well. Nonetheless, she chose to ignore them for she needed to see Hugh again, to drink in his presence and dream on what might have been. She crossed to the bed, her hand reaching out to gently brush a lock of hair off his forehead, her slender fingers trailing through his thick blond waves.

All of her life she had been so intent on understanding everything she came in contact with. It was a drive within her. She’d felt the world was run by logic, and all a person had to do was know the rules. Funny, she thought, how those twisted ideas rooted themselves in one’s mind. She’d never dreamed there were emotions that defied rules, emotions that created chaos, a beautiful chaos that felt right.

Such were the emotions gripping her now. She loved Hugh, and her mind was in chaos. What was a person to do when love was not returned full measure? Louisa was lucky, it seemed, for she’d discovered a complete love that was returned. How uncommon was that occurrence, and why did life have to be so unfair as to create love that may not be returned? The trial upon her soul was great, yet it was a trial she bore with gladness for the knowledge she gained of herself and life.

She leaned over to place a kiss on Hugh’s forehead.

Hugh woke the moment her hand touched his hair, the feather-light touch caressing his head like a gentle breeze. He didn’t move but looked out through his lashes. His heart pounded. He was afraid she would hear it, so loud did it sound in his own ears. He was ecstatic at her attentions, and knew he had only to be still to claim what was his.

He felt her lean over him and his arms ached to rise and grab her, tumbling her into the bed beside him. He felt a quick, hot tightening in his loins and prayed the covers would not betray him.

“I’m going to see if I can speak to Talverton now, before Trevor returns with the documents.” Richard Mannion’s voice came from the hallway, just outside the bedroom door.

Vanessa jerked away from the bed and silently Hugh cursed, for his breathing had become labored, his body alive with anticipation of Vanessa’s kiss. She looked around distractedly, then ran toward the large armoire that dominated a corner of the room. Opening its door, she stepped inside, pulling the door after her just as her father entered the room.

Hugh was delighted by Vanessa’s precipitous action, and found it difficult not to smile.

“Mr. Talverton? Hugh? Are you awake?” asked Richard Mannion, slowly approaching.

Hugh stirred on the bed, feigning waking. His eyes fluttered open. “Oh, it’s you, Richard. Yes, I’m awake,” he said, yawning broadly.

“Good, good,” Mannion said, dragging the Windsor chair closer to the bed. He sat down and leaned forward. “Trevor’s presented your plan to me.”

Inside the armoire, Vanessa started.
What plan?
she thought. She peered out through the crack in the door, maneuvering until the small slice of the room in view revealed her father seated at Hugh’s side.

“Great,” Hugh said hurriedly, “why don’t the three of us discuss it further when Trevor returns?” He was very much aware of Vanessa’s listening presence, and therefore wanted to shut her father up.

“Can’t say I’m happy to be taking your blunt now, but I wouldn’t be an honest man if I didn’t voice my thanks,” Richard continued.

Hugh ground his teeth. “My money?” he tried to say lightly. “It’s what I owe you. Let’s just leave it at that.”

“No, no, I can’t do that. Those funds could be invested and earning you interest rather than be used to bail out a foolish old goat from his dreams of grandeur.”

“You did what you thought was best,” Hugh said forcefully, exasperation edging his voice. He was expecting Vanessa to pop out of the armoire at any moment and confront the two of them. “Let’s leave it at that.”

Richard nodded heavily, then a smile curved his lips. “You didn’t do it for me, anyway, did you?” he cajoled, poking Hugh in the ribs. “I’ve seen how you look at my daughter,” he said sagely, rising to leave.

Hugh winced when Richard poked his bruised ribs, more from the man’s words than from any pain he felt. He was surprised Vanessa had not shown herself in a fit of righteous indignation. She had more self-control than he would have thought. He only prayed she’d maintain a modicum of that self-control when she confronted him. Richard’s words sounded far more damning that the reality. He hoped he could make her listen.

Richard took his hand in his, then clapped him on the shoulder before he turned to leave the room. Hugh watched him go with mixed emotions. The man had decidedly more life in his step, and that was good. He only prayed he had not completely ruined his chances with Vanessa. This was one instance where her sense of pride would probably overpower her propriety and passion.

The bedroom door closed with a sharp click, and Vanessa exploded out of the armoire in a flurry of coats and shirts.

“Before you say anything, Vanessa, let me explain,” Hugh said.

Vanessa blinked and stopped short. “You knew I was in the armoire?”

“I wasn’t exactly asleep,” he drawled, his smile broadening as he watched the play of color upon Vanessa’s face when she absorbed the implications of his words. She started to draw back, but his hand shot out to captive her arm in a viselike grip. She tugged and twisted to get free. He laughed shortly. “No, you’re not going to run away from me again,” he warned. “Not ever, if I have anything to say about it.”

His words halted her struggles. She stared at him, stunned.

He chuckled, and tossing the covers aside, sat up and swung his legs to the floor. He gathered her closer to him. She made a little mewing sound of protest and pushed halfheartedly on his chest, but it was all for pride. Passion soon swept pride aside and propriety never had a chance as she melted into him while he rained kisses across her brow and down her neck, nibbling on her ear as he passed.

“I love you, you proud, stubborn wench,” he growled huskily.

She moaned again softly, and his mouth captured her parted full lips in a teasing kiss that sent quivers to the core of her being, heating her from within until she radiated a melting passion. She answered his kiss with the pressure of her own lips, and when his tongue teased the corners of her mouth, she parted her teeth to bid him enter.

He leaned back against the bed, pulling her with him, until they fell among the pillows and linens. Hugh’s hand roved over her back and she arched to meet his body with her own.

“Vanessa,” Hugh murmured as his lips left hers for a moment to trail kisses across her face. He raised a hand to her face, gently tracing the outline with his fingertips. He lifted his head to look at her, a thoroughly masculine, raffish smile on his lips. “You do realize, don’t you, that we are in a highly compromising position?”

A delicate blush suffused her face, but she met his gaze squarely. “Yes,” she returned simply, then nuzzled his neck and whispered in his ear, “It is a position I desire to investigate further.” She lifted her head to look at him. “But not now,” she said, sliding out from his arms and rolling off the bed.

He lay back against the pillows, his eyes mere slits as he watched her straighten her clothes and run a trembling hand over her hair, ineffectually patting wayward strands into place. “When?” he finally asked after the silence had lengthened and it seemed she no longer could meet his eye.

Her brow shot up at the hint of a challenge, and she turned to look at him coolly, her hand sinking to her side. “When I know your love is not the toy you mentioned at the ball,” she said archly, then grinned, spoiling the effect. “But now I must leave, for you have effectively demonstrated that you no longer need a nurse, or anyone, to check up on you. You are a madman for whom there is no cure.”

“Oh, yes?” he asked silkily, springing upright to grab her again. This time she sensed him coming and danced lightly out of reach. She backed up to the door.

“They say, Mr. Talverton, that patience is a virtue. It is a virtue it would be wise for you to cultivate if you truly desire me.”

She opened the door and was out in the hall before the pillow he threw hit the door.

Hugh slumped back against the pillows of his bed, an appreciative smile on his face for his beloved’s humor. She was correct. It was time he wooed her properly, time he treated his damsel in distress like the feisty princess she was. With Wilmot defanged, he would tend to his wooing with tender ardor before he risked all and formally request her hand in marriage. He looked forward to the day he would be taking her back to England with him.