The Major and the Pickpocket (9 page)

‘Pink silk and ruffles wouldn’t suit you in the slightest, my dear. And besides, you will be leading a quiet life for the next few weeks. No adventures in public places where Sebastian Corbridge or his cronies might see you.’

So he wasn’t going to throw her out, then. But the prospect of the shopping expedition lowered her spirits, because she knew the frosty-faced Emilia didn’t like her one bit, and Caro was frighteningly virtuous. All in all, her new life seemed rather overwhelming. ‘Are—are you coming, too?’ she asked hesitantly.

He sipped his coffee as he contemplated her. ‘Hardly.
Ladies’ fashion shops are not exactly my usual haunt. But I shall be back this evening to hear all about it. You won’t try to run away, will you?’

‘No,’ she declared, ‘of course not! We made a bargain, remember? But, Marcus…’

‘Yes?’

‘What exactly do I have to win off Lord Corbridge?’

‘Just a letter. But it’s a letter that signs away my godfather’s estate come September.’

A letter, that was worth so much…’What does it look like, Marcus, this letter?’

‘Look like? The usual kind of legal document. Parchment, rolled and tied with pink ribbon, a seal.’

Tassie sighed a little, then she unexpectedly let a smile dimple the corners of her mouth. ‘I warn you, Marcus. I’ll play cards for you, but I’ll run away for sure if they try to put me in pink silk and ruffles!’ Then she bowed her head to concentrate on buttering more toast.

‘Remember,’ Marcus admonished gently, ‘not to eat as though you’re actually
hungry,’
and she froze, then lifted up a delicate slice of toast to her lips in the perfect, mincing manner of a lady of fashion.

Just then Marcus heard Caro out in the hall. He rose from the table and went to join her. Though Philippa had gone, he was still aware of the delicate floral scent of her perfume lingering in the air. He ran his fingers through his hair, knowing Caro was watching him anxiously, and said absently, ‘The girl, Tassie. I’ve told her to behave herself, and mind her manners while she’s out with you…’

Caro moved closer. ‘I’m sure she will! Oh, Marcus. Won’t you even talk about Philippa? If only I could in some way help. You and she were once so close.…’

He said, ‘She was asking you about my godfather’s fortune, wasn’t she? Unless Sir Roderick’s prospects are
restored, I think my chances of being
close
to Philippa again are negligible.’

Caro’s eyes softened. ‘I’m sorry, Marcus. I hadn’t realised that money played such a large part in the match.’

‘Neither did I.’ He smiled rather bleakly.

‘Yet she invited you to her mother’s soirée…’

‘Philippa’s mother let me know in no uncertain terms, when I called the other day, that she is trying to bring Sir Robert Lawdon up to scratch. He is wealthy—you will know him—and she assured me that Philippa was not averse to the match.’ Marcus’s voice tightened. ‘So my guess is that Lady Fawcett is encouraging all her daughter’s various admirers, including myself, to attend on her, in order to increase Philippa’s desirability in Sir Robert’s eyes. Hence the invitation.’

Caro murmured, ‘You were not always as bitter as this, my dear. I’m sorry you have been hurt.’

‘Don’t be. I should have been better prepared, that’s all.’

‘Well, I shall not go to the soiree then,’ Caro declared. ‘And neither will Hal. He finds these affairs an atrocious bore. Now, listen, Marcus, I must talk to you about Tassie. Hal tells me you want me to ensure that she is taught how to behave in polite company, and I shall do it with pleasure, because I like her extremely; she has considerable spirit. But I need reassurance. She is also very pretty, though I don’t think she realises it yet. You’re not going to lead her into any—any kind of possible
harm,
are you?’

‘Far from it, my dear! In fact, with your help, I can make her quite presentable, and even give her some prospects in life.’

Caro looked far from convinced. ‘But why, Marcus? Why take her up like this?’

‘Believe me, I’m not planning a life of vice for the girl. Let’s say—it’s because of a debt of honour, Caro.’

‘So long as the price is not too high. For Tassie, or for you.’ Caro gazed at him a moment longer, then went on, more lightly, ‘Well, whatever you plan for her will, I am sure, be an improvement. She does not seem to have had much of a life, the poor thing.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. It seems to have been remarkably colourful to me. At least she could never complain of boredom.’

‘That’s true, I’m sure. Now, I wonder what you have in mind for her future—she is intelligent, and could, I suppose, with a little training, become a nursery governess, or a lady’s maid?’

Marcus pressed her hand. ‘Leave it with me.’

‘Of course. Well, the carriage should be here shortly, to take us to Bond Street. I’d better go and persuade her to leave the breakfast table.’

He took her hand and touched it with his lips. ‘Dear Caro. You are simply the kindest person I know.’ Caro smiled, and went into the dining room. A few moments later she emerged again with Tassie at her side. The minx threw Marcus a glance of wary defiance as she walked jauntily past him towards the stairs, humming a tune under her breath; and Marcus grinned back, prompting a flash of merriment in those spirited green eyes. Over the next few weeks Tassie would doubtless stretch his patience with her mischievous ways, but he could deal with her tricks, and put them to good use. What
did
worry him was that she was even prettier than he’d at first realised.

She presented an image of natural grace that no one would expect from an outcast of the streets. And in that flimsy nightgown yesterday, with her blonde hair piled
up in ringlets that threatened to tumble round her shoulders any minute, and those huge green eyes flashing scorn, she’d presented a tempting morsel indeed, whether she was aware of it or not. Did she play such tricks on him deliberately, to try to snare him? He began to wonder if he had made an elementary mistake, one all army officers were warned against:
No involvement with any of your troops!
Especially as in this case his prime lieutenant in dealing with Corbridge was to be not a rough soldier, but a rather delectable, and surprisingly appealing, young woman of considerable spirit.

He’d not give her the chance to distract him again. He would treat her with firm, detached coolness, and make quite sure that she had no chance to try her mischief on anyone else—except his enemy, Lord Sebastian Corbridge.

Marcus’s ponderings were rudely interrupted by a loud shout from the direction of the breakfast parlour, where the butler was collecting the dishes. The shout was followed by the clatter of breaking crockery.

Marcus went quickly to investigate. ‘For God’s sake, man. What is it?’

Sansom just stood there, shaking with rage, a jumble of smashed china scattered around his feet. ‘Sir, the marmalade dish,’ he spluttered, almost incoherent. ‘Someone’s coated the sides of the dish with butter. It’s that hoyden, that street-girl—it slipped right out of my hands. She should be whipped—’

Marcus strode back into the hall. ‘Tassie!’ he roared.

Tassie had reached the top of the staircase with Caro, but she halted suddenly, gazing down at him with expressionless eyes. Caro flew down to be at Marcus’s side. ‘Marcus. What is it?’

Sansom was starting to clear up, his face still black
with fury. Marcus explained quickly and angrily to Caro. ‘In truth, the girl deserves the back of my hand. I’ll make arrangements for her to leave your house immediately. I cannot subject you and Hal to this sort of behaviour any longer—’

But Caro interrupted him, her hand on his arm. ‘No, Marcus, no! Sansom was extremely rude earlier to Tassie. I thought at the time that it might have been
he
who deliberately caused her to spill her coffee…The poor girl was getting her own back on him in the only way she knew. Leave it with me. I will speak to Sansom. Do not be harsh with her.’

With that, Caro went quickly into the breakfast parlour. Marcus looked up again to the top of the stairs, but Tassie had fled.

Rather wisely, he decided grimly to himself. And he was pretty sure that was a brothel ditty she’d been humming just then. Caro was unfailingly kind, but how long at this rate before the minx outstayed her welcome?

D
uring the next few days, Tassie found herself taking unexpected pleasure in her new surroundings, though she would have died rather than let Marcus know it. Caro was like the kindly older sister Tassie had never had; and Hal also proved unfailingly generous. One morning, when Marcus was out on his usual round of visiting people who might be able to help his godfather, Hal offered to take Tassie to the park in his new curricle.

Tassie hesitated, puckering up her little nose in that way that Hal found extremely endearing. ‘I do not think Marcus wants me to be seen out in society.’ No doubt her conduct during Philippa’s visit had reinforced his opinion. ‘After all, I am only supposed to be a country cousin. A
very distant
country cousin.’

Hal reassured her swiftly. ‘Tassie, specifically he doesn’t want his enemy—Corbridge—to see you. And there’s little danger of
that
—Corbridge keeps the fashionable hours, he’s never in bed before four in the morning, and never out of it until well into the afternoon. There’s no chance of bumping into him in the park, believe me.’

Tassie was torn, afraid of Marcus’s disapproval, yet yearning to be out in the fresh air, to ride behind Hal’s beautiful horses. Apart from her visits with Caro to the dressmaker’s shop, Tassie had not gone far from the house. Hal saw how her eyes gleamed with longing, and laughed. ‘Come along. Marcus made no rule against enjoying yourself! And he bought you a new riding habit, didn’t he? Now is your chance to wear it.’

So Tassie scurried upstairs to change into her new habit, one amongst several items she’d been able to purchase ready-made at the dressmaker’s because, the assistant confided, the lady who had ordered them had suddenly found herself unable to pay her bills. Gambling debts, Tassie had decided, shaking her head at such foolishness.

Now, dressed in the burgundy velvet outfit and the little feathered cap, she felt unexpectedly bashful; but as Hal helped her up beside him, she quite forgot her shyness as she gazed at the beautiful horses, and absorbed Hal’s skilled handling of them. And Hal, glancing sideways at her as the breeze ruffled her golden ringlets and brought some colour to the soft curve of her cheek, thought,
Why, she’s a beauty. Quite a little beauty.

‘You like horses, don’t you?’ He smiled at her.

‘Oh yes,’ she breathed, her eyes shining. ‘I learned to ride years ago.’ With Georgie Jay’s band of travellers, on a gypsy pony, though she thought it best not to add that.

The only thing that spoiled her outing was Marcus’s anger when they got back to Portman Square. ‘I’d rather you didn’t make a public display of yourself, Tassie,’ he’d said coldly.

Hal interrupted quickly, ‘Hold hard, Marcus, dear boy. It was my idea.’

Marcus said, ‘Was it?’ as if he clearly still thought it was all Tassie’s fault; and then he’d read Tassie a lecture on obedience, and how their bargain was off if she caused any more trouble.

Instead of retaliating, as she usually did, Tassie had gone very quiet, finding to her horror that she had a big lump at the back of her throat because he was scolding her so roundly and making her feel wretchedly stupid. Tearing off her feathered cap, she stormed up to her room, leaving him staring after her mid-sentence. She slammed the door shut and pulled off her riding habit, her fingers tangling hopelessly with all the buttons, while Edward squawked in sympathy. And then she caught sight of herself in the mirror in her white chemise, saw how the lace edging emphasised the swelling curve of her breasts, and she pressed her hands to her burning cheeks.

Once all this was over, she would have her fifty guineas. She would be free to follow her own fortune. Every night, she made her plans.

But in the meantime—how
dare
Marcus speak to her like that? How dare he?

Tassie did not go down for lunch, calling out that she had a headache when Emilia rapped on her door. She lay on her bed till the afternoon shadows lengthened, but then there was another knock at the door, and Caro came in. ‘We are going to the theatre tonight, Tassie,’ she said in her gentle voice. ‘You will come with us, won’t you, my dear?’

Tassie pulled herself up defensively. ‘Marcus will not want me there. I will spoil it for him.’

Caro said quietly, ‘It was Marcus who asked me to come up and invite you.’

Tassie registered disbelief. ‘But he doesn’t want anyone to set eyes on me at all, let alone at a public place like the theatre! And besides—you will all be ashamed of me.’

Caro said, ‘Nonsense. You will look lovely. I will help you to dress.’

And she did, helping Tassie into a new gown that had arrived only yesterday from the dressmaker’s. It was a hooped polonaise of pale blue silk, with a matching fitted jacket of darker blue trimmed with cream ribbons, and a cream bonnet with a half-veil. Tassie had never worn anything like it, and her heart thumped with apprehension as she walked carefully down the wide staircase in her full skirts and saw Marcus waiting for her there in the hall, his eyes dark and assessing.

Because he was so quiet, she assumed there was something wrong, yet again. ‘What is the matter this time, Marcus?’ she said in a tight little voice. ‘Am I not dressed properly? Caro said this would be suitable for the theatre…’

He stood there a moment longer, looking as imposing, as disturbing as Tassie had ever seen him in his dark grey topcoat and slim-fitting breeches and lace-edged cravat. For heaven’s sake, she thought rather faintly, what on earth had possessed her to tangle in the first place with such a formidable man? She waited, silently, for the rebuke she was sure would come.

But he just said, ‘You look very well, Tassie. Come. Hal and Caro are waiting for us in the carriage. Remember, won’t you, that if anyone should speak to you, you are in town for a few days only, a distant relative of mine; you must say as little as possible in reply. And Caro is your chaperon; you must never, ever leave her side.’

She tilted her chin. ‘What if Sebastian Corbridge is there?’

‘He and his friends are out of town for a few days.’

Ah.

‘And the veil on your bonnet…’

‘Yes?’

‘Use it.’

The play was an unexpected delight to Tassie. She could not help but remember how in winters past she’d sung and danced on the cold pavement outside the theatres as old Matt played his fiddle, to earn a few pence for herself and her friends. And now here she was, in a private box! She half-expected people to stare at her, to laugh at her in her finery, but she made a huge effort to remember to keep her bonnet with its half-veil demurely covering her hair and the upper part of her face, and to talk but little in a low, polite voice. And Marcus looked on her almost approvingly.

If only he would be kinder to her, as Hal and Caro were. Most of the time he was distant, almost severe: rebuking her at mealtimes when she used the wrong fork, scolding her for curling up on a couch, or for chewing her fingernails, or for keeping dice in her pocket to practise with. He treated her as if she was foolish and stupid, which she wasn’t. She suddenly realised that she was almost looking forward to meeting Sebastian Corbridge, and rooking him of his money, just to show Marcus what she could do.

During the interval, Caro left them briefly to visit some friends in a nearby box, and Hal and Marcus talked between themselves, often breaking into merriment over some private joke. They were most likely discussing the pretty actress who played the heroine and showed far too much of her dainty ankles, thought Tassie acidly. Suddenly, she became aware that a plump,
powdered gentleman in a neighbouring box was staring at her rather intently. Her first impulse was to stare back and tell him in no uncertain terms that he ought to keep his roving eyes to himself; but then she remembered that she was meant to be a lady. And perhaps he was a friend of Marcus’s or Hal’s. Uncertain, she dimpled demurely up at him from beneath her half-veil; and the man, giving a delighted grin, lifted his pince-nez and leaned forward to scrutinise her even more frankly.

Tassie coloured, hot and uncomfortable beneath his gaze. He looked very finely dressed, but he was rather portly, and his beady eyes gleamed from his rotund face. She turned away quickly, glad of her veil, wishing he would stop staring, wishing Marcus would do something; but Marcus was still deep in conversation with Hal, who was on the point of going to find Caro and her friends.

She was relieved when the staring man got up at last and left his box; but her relief turned to dismay when, Hal having just gone, there was a light tap at the door of theirs, and the portly man himself, resplendent in satin and lace, came in and made a low bow. He spoke to Marcus, but his eyes were on Tassie.

‘Well, Major Forrester,’ the man said, ‘I heard you were back in town; gather you’ve been rather busy. Going to introduce me to this pretty young filly, hey?’

Instantly Tassie knew there was something wrong. Marcus moved quickly to stand in front of Tassie’s seated figure and said coldly, ‘Your servant, Viscount Lindsay. You mistake the matter, I think. This young lady is a relative of mine, making a private visit to town under the protection of Hal’s sister Mrs Caroline Blakesley, who will be rejoining us shortly.’

‘Really?’ Viscount Lindsay grinned. Taking no notice of Marcus’s forbidding posture, he sidled closer
to Tassie and reached for her hand, lifting it to his mouth and kissing it. Tassie felt herself shivering, because his lips were plump and wet as they lingered on the back of her hand. Also she didn’t like in the least the way his hot eyes were roving over the bodice of her gown. She snatched her fingers away.

‘Must say you’ve been keeping mighty quiet about your young—relative, Forrester,’ said the man directly to Marcus, with a leer that implied he didn’t believe his story in the least.

‘That is because,’ said Marcus through clenched teeth, ‘she is only here for a few days, Viscount Lindsay. She has not yet been properly introduced into society, hence our seclusion in this box. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I think the second act is about to begin.’

‘So it is, so it is,’ replied Lindsay genially. ‘And no doubt there’ll be even livelier entertainment later on with this little lightskirt, won’t there, Forrester? Who’s she for, you or your friend Beauchamp? Or will you share her?’ He grinned and let his hand brush very deliberately along Tassie’s shoulder, fondling her through the filmy fabric of her gown. And he nipped her, lightly with his fingertips, so he didn’t get a reply from Marcus, because Tassie, leaping to her feet, had slapped him hard across the face. ‘God’s teeth, take your filthy hands off me, will you?’ She’d sent her flimsy chair flying; the man, likewise unbalanced, staggered back against the wall of the box, clutching at the velvet draperies for support. Marcus was on him immediately, grasping him by his arm, while Tassie set her chair straight and sank into it, trembling with fury.

‘You’d best get out of here, Lindsay,’ said Marcus flatly. ‘And take your bawdy-house manners elsewhere, damn you.’

The portly Viscount Lindsay dragged himself away from Marcus’s grasp and started towards the door. His eyes were narrowed and malevolent. ‘I’ll not forget this, Forrester. Or that tantalising little doxy over there. A
relative?
She smiled at me, you know, beneath that saucy veil of hers; as good as invited me over. Watch her, Forrester. She’ll bring you trouble.’

‘Not half as much as I’ll give you if you don’t leave now,’ drawled Marcus softly.

On hearing raised voices, people were starting to turn and stare into the darkness of their curtained box. Lindsay, faced with Marcus’s fists, slunk away; Marcus lowered himself into the empty seat beside Tassie. Dear God, she was such an innocent in so many ways in spite of her streetwise earthiness. Lindsay was right; if he was not careful, she would bring him trouble. He said, more sharply than he intended, ‘Is it true, Tassie? Did you smile openly at a man you didn’t know?’

For a moment she flinched at his coldness as if he’d struck her, but then she shrugged in her old manner and retorted, ‘What the devil was I supposed to do, Marcus? He was sitting there staring at me, looking me up and down as if I were a prime bit of horseflesh, but I assumed he was a friend of yours, so, yes, I smiled at him!’

Marcus said with dangerous patience, ‘Tassie.
Tassie.
If you were with your old friends, in some tavern or other, and a man you didn’t know smiled at you and looked at you like that, would you smile back?’

Some of the colour was returning to her cheeks, but her voice was still a little shaky as she replied, ‘God’s teeth, no. But I was trying to be a lady, Marcus.’

Marcus suddenly saw that she was trembling again, and tried to soften his voice. ‘I don’t think he’ll recognise you again. But you intrigued him—and I’m very
much afraid he will talk about you. One of his friends is Sebastian Corbridge.’

Tassie paled again. ‘Does—does this mean you wish to cancel our bargain?’

‘No.’ He sighed. ‘But I perhaps need to reconsider our strategy.’

She gazed at him. ‘Whatever you say.’

He touched her hand. ‘Tassie. Are you all right?’

‘Of course! Please do not make such a silly fuss—and be sure that I have learned my lesson!’

The curtain was about to come up again just as Hal returned, with Caro. Tassie gazed at the stage with bright, unseeing eyes, because Marcus’s touch had burned her, and the look of sudden pity in his eyes had unsettled her far, far more deeply than his anger.

For some days now Marcus had been toying with the idea of releasing Tassie from her bargain. He reminded himself constantly that she’d lived in rough, semi-criminal company. And yet her wary but delighted, almost innocent eagerness for every treat in store—her new clothes, her enjoyment of good food, the ride in the park—had got under his guard in a way he’d never anticipated.
No involvement with any of your troops…

But during those few days in London he had come to the end of the line in trying to see if there was anything he could do to revoke, or at least call into question, Sir Roderick’s debts to Sebastian Corbridge. He’d visited one law office after another in the vicinity of Lincoln’s Inn, questioning dry and sometimes shifty attorneys about the business till his hands longed to fasten round their equivocating necks…but the answer was always the same. The agreement could not be cancelled—and if Sir Roderick didn’t surrender his estate
to Sebastian in September, he would be thrown into a debtors’ prison.