Jo Goodman (51 page)

Mercedes looked at him suspiciously. "Have you really?"

"What are you questioning? That I'm reformed? Or that I was ever a rake?"

She gave him her empty glass. Her right brow was still arched, her look patently skeptical. "Both, I suppose."

"I'm prepared to exile my best friend from Weybourne Park to save Sylvia from herself," he said. "So you judge whether I've been reformed. As for having been a rake..." His kiss was deliberate and slow and deeply passionate. He didn't raise his head until Mercedes was fully engaged and just a little dazed by his ardor. "I never was." He touched her forehead with his and whispered. "What I learned about loving, I learned from you."

The skeptical look had long since faded. Mercedes was a believer. She put everything else from her mind and devoted herself to this moment. Reaching for Colin, she drew him down beside her to teach him what else she knew.

* * *

Aubrey Jones took his leave the following morning. He bore no animosity toward either Colin or Mercedes. He had been packing his belongings, already resolved to leave, when Colin came upon him. There had been very little to say.

"She should have her London Season," Aubrey said, stuffing shirts into his valise. "If she hasn't met anyone that strikes her fancy then..." He shrugged and stuffed harder.

Colin noted that Aubrey's belongings were now so compact that he could have had room for twice the wardrobe. He wisely made no comment. "I prepared a letter for you to carry to Jonna."

"Aye," Aubrey said heavily. "Miss Remington's expecting as much. When I told her about your lady... well, I think she began preparing herself. Quincy wanted me to haul you out of here, but she wouldn't have it."

"So you'll make the China run yourself."

"And beat your record."

Colin didn't doubt that he would. Aubrey Jones had something to come back to. Sylvia Leyden would be waiting for him. A London Season wasn't likely to make her stray from her course. "I'll be counting the days," Colin said. "Money's riding on it."

For Aubrey Jones the stakes were higher. "I'll be counting them, as well." He took Colin's extended hand in his own larger one and clasped it hard. "Good luck to you, Captain. It's a fine thing you've found for yourself here."

He was gone before Colin could return the sentiment.

Sylvia learned that Aubrey was gone at breakfast. She retired to her room and neither the entreaties of her sister or Mercedes could dislodge her. Colin was only glad he was not asked to intervene. He would have rather faced a winter storm on the Atlantic than the young lady's anger. He knew what to do with a cold and icy wind.

"Ride it out," he told Mercedes later that day. "Take in your sails and get out of her wind. This will blow over."

Mercedes patted his hand gently, amused. "You don't mind if I ignore your advice, do you?"

Rather than being offended, Colin was quite comfortable with it. "I hope you do." He picked up a small sandwich from the tray a maid had just delivered to the drawing room. "If I'm right I can gloat—within limits, of course. And if I'm wrong, I can be fairly certain I'll never be consulted again." His response had the desired effect. Mercedes was smiling. Colin believed he was willing to do most anything to bask in that radiance.

He changed the subject. There was no point to dwelling on Sylvia's distress when there was nothing to be done about it. "I recall you saying something about Mr. Patterson yesterday. You were going to call on him?"

"What?" Mercedes was slower to shift topics. "Oh, yes. Mr. Patterson. Yes, I thought I would." She took a small bite of the sandwich she held. "There was no time yesterday. I suppose I could go today since Sylvia won't see me."

"What's your interest in the pickpocket?"

Mercedes shrugged. "I'm not certain I understand it myself. I think in part I need to assure myself that he got away. I know I'll feel better if the sheriff tells me there haven't been any more complaints of the type Mr. Pine caused."

Colin laughed at that. "Mercedes, there have probably been dozens of complaints. Mr. Pine is not the region's only lightfinger. No doubt there are scores more like him in this county alone."

"Yes, but Ponty specialized in ladies' jewelry. He took some purses, to be sure, but I think he must have had a particular fondness for women's pieces. Remember? The necklace. The combs. Earrings."

"One earring," Colin reminded her. "Ponty must have lost his touch there, to come away with only one."

"Was he handsome?" she asked. "I always thought he was likely to be handsome. I mean handsome enough to charm the women he robbed."

"Don't you know?"

"I saw a blue eye. I had to imagine the rest."

One of Colin's brows kicked up. "Stop imagining. Except for that eye he was hideously deformed."

She sat back, surprised. "You're making that up," she accused.

"I am," he said, unrepentant.

"You're not jealous of Ponty Pine, are you?" She clapped her hands together and smiled brilliantly. "You are! How lovely!" Mercedes was also without remorse. "Then he
was
rather handsome, wasn't he?"

Colin sighed. "Any better looking and women would have offered the rogue their baubles. If he returned their things and apologized they'd most likely be moved to forgive him."

"I thought it might be something like that," she said, satisfied. "That will help us know if he's safely out of the country."

And, Colin realized, that was that. Her interest was no more than she had related in the first place. As her smile faded and her expression became more distant, he knew Ponty Pine was forgotten and Sylvia had come to the forefront of her thoughts. "Give her time," he told her. "In a few days Aubrey will be gone and Sylvia will make her own way."

Colin did not suspect then how true his words would be.

In four days the
Mystic
was set to sail, and Sylvia Leyden had made her way to London.

Chapter 15

"You'll find her."

Colin finished shrugging into his jacket before he took Mercedes's hands. They were cold. He squeezed them lightly and gave her the reassurance she sought. "Of course, I'll find her."

"And bring her back?"

"Yes, and bring her back." He looked over his shoulder at the doorway where Chloe stood. At his command, the twins had already run off to the stable to make certain a mount was readied for him. "Do you know how many bags your sister took with her?" he asked.

Chloe's eyes were damp, her complexion even paler than her cousin's. "One valise is missing. Sylvia packed very little." She bit her lip to quell the hiccup. Her entire body jerked as it overtook her anyway. "What can she have been thinking?"

Colin wasn't sure if Chloe was lamenting her sister's elopement or the fact that Sylvia had gone with so little regard for what she might wear. He gave Chloe the benefit of the doubt. "Do you have any way of knowing what she was wearing when she left?"

Chloe shook her head and dabbed at her eyes. She straightened a little as a thought occurred to her. "But perhaps I could look through her wardrobe and determine what's missing," she offered helpfully. "That would narrow it down."

"Good girl."

Chloe's smile was fulsome and eager. She dashed off to the north wing, glad at last to be of some assistance rather than solely the bearer of bad tidings.

Colin turned back to Mercedes. He gathered her close, hugging her and rubbing her back. He kissed the crown of her dark head. "It's going to be all right," he said. "You don't have to worry yourself sick."

Mercedes closed her eyes. "That she could be so irresponsible," she whispered.

"And you don't have to blame yourself."

She pulled away. Her small smile was uneven and a shade guilty. "You know me so well. I thought I might blame Mr. Jones to relieve my own culpability, but I find I cannot. He'll send her back, won't he? I mean, he's a sensible man, he must know how worried we would be. He wouldn't take her on the ship, would he?"

Colin was confident of Aubrey's response. "He'll deliver Sylvia to Weybourne Park himself," he said.
"If
he knows she's there."

Mercedes frowned. "What do you mean? How could he not know? Surely Sylvia will announce herself to him."

"Not if she suspects that Aubrey will march her back here. She may wait until the
Mystic
has sailed."

"You mean she'll stow away?" Mercedes stared at Colin wide-eyed. Clearly the thought had not occurred to her before.

He nodded. "It's not as difficult as you might think." Especially if Sylvia, as he suspected, was wearing men's clothing.

"But—"

"I'll bring her back," he said simply. "Even if the ship's sailed, Mercedes. I'll bring her back."

She believed him, but she didn't know if she could bear waiting for his return. "I want to go with you." It was not so much a plea as a command.

"No."

Mercedes's head jerked back. She wasn't prepared for Colin to refuse her. "But I can help. Two pairs of eyes will be more vigilant."

"No," he repeated firmly. "I'm not taking a carriage and you cannot ride horseback." He saw her shoulders sag a little at this realization. "I can travel more swiftly alone, and that's how I intend to go."

Mercedes recognized he was set on the matter. Arguing would simply delay his departure. "I do not like feeling so useless," she admitted softly.

"Staying here, where I know you are quite safe, is not useless to me. I couldn't devote myself to looking for Sylvia if I knew you were set on following or up to some scheme to bring her back yourself."

She shook her head swiftly. "No, I wouldn't do that to you." Standing on tiptoe, Mercedes kissed him full on the mouth. "Bring her back safely, Colin. And do not set her down too harshly. She's in love and that makes us all foolish sometimes."

* * *

Sylvia had little experience in London. The people were as unfamiliar to her as the streets. She was not prepared for the crowds or the odors or the noise. It was, quite simply, the most exciting adventure of her young life.

A less prepared young lady would have been hopelessly lost already. Sylvia was able to arrive along the river harbor because she had paid particular attention to Aubrey's description of the city. She had asked questions that had sounded innocent enough at the time but were serving her well now. She negotiated the narrow thoroughfares with relative ease, asking directions only when she could not find a landmark to guide her.

The citizens of London, when they noticed her at all, were pleasant. Traveling through the crowded market, she was implored to buy baked goods and sausages, tomatoes and corn, fish and fresh flowers. Her response to all the entreaties was the same: Sylvia touched the brim of her hat in a vague salute and kept moving, never fully making eye contact or studying her surroundings too long.

The journey from Weybourne Park to London had mostly been accomplished at night. She had not had the opportunity to test the efficacy of her disguise until she reached the outskirts of town. Sylvia knew she could not hope to fool anyone who had reason to study her, therefore she was careful not to call attention to herself. The alterations she had made in her father's clothes were not clever or complete enough to pass scrutiny. On close inspection, Sylvia believed quite correctly, she would be found out as a woman. The hat helped, shading the upper part of her face, and because the morning was cool, she had a good excuse for keeping the scarf around her neck and chin. Even with these precautions, Sylvia's size worked against her. Gloves helped hide her delicate hands, but on the back of the mare she had chosen she looked especially slender if not precisely short of stature.

Sylvia arrived unaccosted at the wharf two hours after daybreak. Although she was feeling quite full of herself for her accomplishment, the first moments of alarm and uncertainty were beginning to tap at her psyche.

Panic made her clutch the reins tighter when she became aware of just how many ships filled the harbor. She had imagined being able to find the
Mystic
without difficulty. Now she realized it would not be the case. The hundreds of masts and crossbeams gave the waterfront's skyline the peculiar appearance of a winter wood. Moreover, she had timed her arrival to coincide closely with the clipper's departure. She was very much afraid she may have left it to too late.