Kasey Michaels (33 page)

They had both grown up so much since last they’d seen each other. Except that Justyn seemed happy, while she knew herself to be sunk deep in despair. Not that she’d allow Justyn to see her unhappiness!

“So you’re the one who started all of this, are you?” the viscountess said, eyeing Justyn assessingly even as Callie swiftly lifted a finger to her own lips and shook her head, silently pleading for Imogene to remain silent on that particular subject. “Don’t look much like your sister,” the older woman went on brightly, with only a small acknowledging nod to Callie, “what with that blond hair and all. Well, let’s not stand here giving the tongue-bangers more to talk about—send your coach away and ride back to Portland Place with us.”

“Done and done, my lady,” Justyn agreed, squeezing Callie’s hand, then smiling at Lester. “Talked you into another grand mess, did she, Lester, old fellow? Your papa and ours think not, but I can always smell Callie’s mad starts at ten paces. Yet this time you seem to have landed on your feet, the pair of you. That’s certainly refreshing—and very different from the usual consequences of one of her wild schemes.”

“Hah! You’d think so,” Imogene said as she allowed Justyn to boost her up into the coach. “But that’s just because you didn’t see the boy after she’d dressed him up in a horrid pink gown and marched him up and down in front of White’s—not that I’m supposed to be saying anything of the sort, so I’ll shut my jaws right now before Callie pokes my ribs a third time. You can stop now, gel, I get the point. Come along, son. I can see we’re going to be talking half the night. What fun!”

Callie climbed in behind Imogene, still smiling, still excited almost beyond words, but also realizing that, now that her brother was home, she’d have to tell him why she was in London, and what dangerous mischief she had planned.

Justyn probably wasn’t going to be pleased.

the impossible? that will be done.

—Charles Alexandre De Calonne

Chapter Fourteen

T
he coach had traveled halfway back to Portland Place before Justyn—who had been explaining that Emery had sent him running off to King Street to find his sister when he could no longer bear to watch him pacing the drawing room, impatiently waiting for her to come home—mentioned in passing that he had not come alone to London.

“You’ve hired a valet?” Lester promptly asked, clearly impressed with his country neighbor’s dashing turnout, as he had already said several times, declaring that he’d never seen Justyn look so prime.

“I have, yes, and he’s with me,” Justyn told him, proudly tugging at his shirt cuffs, “but that’s not who I meant.” He turned to Callie, who once more took hold of his hand, feeling unable to resist the impulse to keep touching him, assuring herself that this happiness she felt was not the result of a cruel dream. “Papa’s come with me,” he said, smiling. “And we stopped off in Ockham, seeing as how he’d gotten it into his head that you couldn’t possibly go on here in London without Miss Haverly by your side to make sure you behaved as a young miss ought.”

“Horrible Haverly?” Cathie exploded, aghast. “Oh, Justyn how could you let him do that?”

“You’re not pleased?” Justyn asked, as if he’d just presented her with a wonderful present, just to have her reject it out of hand.

“Pleased?
Pleased!
The dratted woman will have me saying
prunes
and
prisms
until I’m cross-eyed, then read me a lengthy sermon on how I’m to go on at a formal dinner, and how I’m to walk, and stand, and
eat
and—Justyn, you
rotter
! You’re
laughing
at me!” She gave him a mighty shove with both hands, pushing him into the corner of the coach, then slapping at his forearms as he lifted them to protect himself. “Miss Haverly isn’t here at all, is she?
Is she?
”

“Call her off, Lester, call her off!” Justyn appealed, laughing as Callie continued her attack. “All right, all right, I made it all up! I give over, brat—now stop pummeling me. Is this any way for a young lady to act?”

“Who opened the door to the nursery and let the infants out?” the viscountess grumbled, then began to chuckle herself. “You got her good with that one, young man, I’ll give you that. And there’s no question that you’re her brother, for the pair of you are as smart and sassy as can be. Lester—look at you, poor boy, still not understanding that these two monsters have been teasing. You’ve been outgunned and outclassed all your life around these two, haven’t you?” She patted his hand. “Well, you just never mind, all right? I’ll protect you.”

“Ha!” Callie collapsed against the squabs, fairly breathless. “And who’s to protect Lester from you, Imogene, when you start in to talking about your
brazen
days?”

“Who—who
did
you bring with you then, Justyn?” Lester asked, clearly not wishing to listen to the viscountess in case Callie’s words might set her off again, with more talk of bed warmers and the like. “Did you really bring Sir Camber?”

Callie winced at hearing her father’s name, remembering that Justyn had mentioned their papa quickly before dangling Miss Haverly’s name in front of her, knowing how glad she had been to be shed of her last governess. “Papa’s really here?”

Justyn nodded. “And Lester’s papa as well. They’re waiting for us now, at the viscount’s residence.” The coach pulled to a stop in front of Number Forty-nine Portland Place. “Ah, and we’re here. Come along, brat. Sir C is champing at the bit, waiting to blubber all over his littlest chick.”

“Oh, my God—wait!” Callie put a restraining hand on Justyn’s elbow as her brother went to open the coach door. “We can’t go in yet. Lester has to have a broken arm first.”

Justyn slowly turned his head, looking across the way at Lester Plum, who had turned chalk white as he cowered, shrunk against the seat. He then transferred his gaze to his sister, nodding as if he understood completely, and—having lived with the girl for more than eighteen years—he probably did. “A broken arm? Of course he does,” he said smoothly. “You hold him, brat, and I’ll give him a good whack with my cane.”

“Callie!” Lester squeaked, nearly diving into the viscountess’s magnificent bosom.

“Justyn, don’t tease,” Callie scolded, giggling.

Imogene patted Lester’s back, murmuring, “There, there, boy, there, there. I won’t let the bad man hurt you,” as she screwed up her face in an attempt not to laugh. “But we have to do something, Lester. Some time has passed since your supposed accident, but your father will still expect to see your wing in a sling.”

“Sorry, Lester,” Justyn apologized. “I couldn’t resist. But, as Her Ladyship says, you’ll need a sling of some sort. I’ll ask the reason for it later. Much later, if I’m smart. Something to do with some sort of accident, as I recall. Well, never mind. Needs must when Callie drives. Would you care to sacrifice one of your petticoats, sister mine?”

Callie gave Justyn a smacking kiss on the cheek to thank him for being so good-natured about another of her “mad starts,” then bent down to tear a strip off her petticoat—unfortunately one trimmed in lace.

“You’re the best of good brothers, Justyn,” she declared as she worked quickly, folding the strip of cloth so that the lace was fairly well hidden, then motioning for Lester to lean closer so that she could tie the makeshift sling behind his head. “And I’ll tell you everything tomorrow morning, if you’ll just help us get through tonight. Lester, stop squirming, it’s too dark in here for me to tie a good knot with you moving about like this. Now—which arm was broken? Imogene, do you remember if you happened to say which arm was broken? Oh, it doesn’t matter. Justyn—I promise, I’ll tell you every last detail tomorrow, when the viscount meets you. But for tonight, dear brother, if you love me, you’ll just smile and keep your questions to yourself, all right?”

“Happily,” he promised, as the groom held the door open and he jauntily hopped down before the steps were dropped, then reached up a hand to assist the viscountess to the flagway.

“Oh, certainly, you’re happy enough now,” Imogene said to him as she took his arm, then lifted her skirts a dainty inch and headed for the steps leading up to the brightly lit front door of the mansion. “Tomorrow you may be singing a different tune. Now, tell me about this Sir Camber and Squire Plum. They’re both widowers, is that right? There’s a real dearth of widowers in London this Season, and now I’ve got a pair of them in my own drawing room. Guess that makes me happy, too. All that remains is to see if this is a curse or an unexpected stroke of good fortune. Tell me—how tall are they? Are they
old
? Do they mind a woman with more heft to her than a feather? And tell me this—do you think they might...”

Callie rolled her eyes as she listened to Imogene until the woman’s questions faded into the distance, then skewered her childhood friend with a look. “We’re going to have to lie like Trojans, Lester, at least until tomorrow, when Simon will be here to help us. Can you do it? Are you up to it? Lester?
Talk
to me.”

“Papa?
Here
? Oh, God,” Lester mumbled, his eyes wide and blank as they stared straight ahead without seeing her, his jaw rather slack as his tongue tripped over his words. He lifted his right arm, sling and all, to rub at his forehead. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Callie slapped down his “broken” arm and grabbed hold of his shoulders, giving him a bracing shake. “Don’t you dare, Lester Plum, don’t you dare. Listen to me,” she commanded, taking charge, just as she had since she was four and he was seven, and she had taught him how to climb a tree—forgetting that she had not yet learned how to climb back down again.

In desperation, and knowing one sure way to reach him, she reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a licorice whip, slowly waving it back and forth in front of his nose, as she would have waved a vinaigrette or some burnt feathers in front of Imogene’s if the woman looked ready to swoon. “We are going to be fine, Lester, dear, just fine. We’ve been fine so far, haven’t we? Lester? Are you listening to me? We’re fine. We’re just
fine
.”

Lester blinked twice, nodded, then held out his left hand and took the licorice whip.

“Splendid, Lester,” she complimented him as her friend groaned yet again. “Well, at least it’s a very good
start
.”

Simon rose at nine after coming home at ten minutes past four in the morning, so that he was definitely tired. He was not, however, so exhausted that he couldn’t appreciate the ridiculousness of the turmoil he had been in since first meeting Callie at the point of a pistol—a situation that was now bordering on the absurd.

He had gone from being intrigued, to being more intrigued. From exasperation to infatuation. From anger, to pleasure, to confusion. He had traveled all the way to the end of his wits and back again. More than once.

At times, he’d longed to see the back of her, even as, daily, he’d pulled her deeper and deeper into his life. He’d wanted her gone, wanted her never to leave. Longed to be free of her, yearned to hold her so close she couldn’t go if she tried.

In short, in long, and regardless of any way he tried to deny it—and, oh, how he had tried!—he quite possibly could be falling in love with Caledonia Johnston.

She believed he hated her, of course. She couldn’t know that he had feigned disgust at her persistence in order to keep her from trying to help him. Telling her about Robert, about James, had not been easy, but she had deserved to know the truth. After all, he had allowed her to believe she was going to have a hand in bringing Noel Kinsey down. The truth was the least she deserved. Damning her with that truth had been cowardly, yet necessary.

He knew Callie now, knew her straight down to her toes. And she had proved him right. It had taken her no more than a few minutes to go from sorrow at his explanation, embarrassment over his abrupt confession about Robert and James, to offering, yet again, to help him rout Filton.

The girl was a menace. A treasure.

And now, after all they had gone round and round in circles these past weeks, for all the arguments, the teasing, the lessons in flirting, their shared kisses and confusion, she was asking for his help. Needed his help. Felt able, after all they’d been through, to ask for his help.

It was rather lovely, actually. It showed him there was hope for them yet, if they ever got disentangled from this business of Noel Kinsey—which he planned to do, and with a dispatch that would make the man dizzy.

“Simon? Are you still listening to me?” Callie asked as he stood at the mantel in the drawing room and looked off into the distance, thinking his thoughts. “I know you have no reason to help me, and probably are wishing I’d just go away, drown myself in some ditch. I don’t blame you. Truly I don’t. I’ve been nothing but a bother to you from the beginning, one way or the other.”

“Yes, you have disturbed me mightily, Callie. One way or the other,” Simon repeated, wondering how he had ever believed Callie to be little more than a child. This was a woman who stood before him now. A beautiful, disturbing, desirable woman. And she
knew
what she’d put him through. She probably even knew he’d barely been able to sleep since the first time he’d kissed her. They really did have to sit down together and have a long talk. Or possibly just a short talk, followed by a long kiss.