The Scoundrel and I: A Novella (7 page)

“Your husband’s gaming debts were such that he wagered his pension against them.”

Alarm flickered in her eyes.

“Is that—is that legal?” she said.

He shook his head. “But there are moneylenders who’ll take advantage of a man. It’s one of them who holds the note on your husband’s pension.”

Her cheeks went white as a topsail.

“The pension was all we had,” she said weakly. “I have no family, Captain. No work. Nothing. Without it . . . Oh, no. This cannot be.”

“I know.” He drew a deep breath. “Which is why I would like to settle your husband’s debts myself. If you’ll allow it.”

The colorless eyes widened. “But the amount—It is not a small sum. That pension was intended to support me and my children until they are grown.”

“I would consider it my honor.” The devil take his useless honor. His hands were icier than the North Sea.

“You are too generous, Captain. But I cannot accept.”

“I wish to do this. I hope you will allow it.”

“I cannot. Why, for years already you have given my family so much. John adored sailing with you.” Now her eyes watered like leaky planking, one tear dripping out after another. “When he would come home on furlough, he was always so full of tales of the
Victory
and your generosity with all of your officers and crewmen. He said you were the finest commander in the fleet, that everyone wanted to be assigned to your ship. He took such pride in working for you. Once he told me that never in his life before had he felt so useful and so appreciated as he felt serving as your lieutenant.” Her damp eyes were downright starry.

“He was a fine sailor,” he forced through his lips. “An exceptional first officer.”
A first officer he could not have done without
. Good God, he had to end this interview. “His family don’t deserve to suffer from a little gambling debt. Allow me to settle it, ma’am.”

“Gambling is a sinful pursuit, Captain. As such, my husband must answer for it in the hereafter.”

Good God
. This, he had not expected. But now he recalled John mentioning his wife had been the daughter of some starchy vicar up in Newcastle. No wonder his lieutenant had always been eager to return to sea.

“I cannot compound that sin by accepting money from you, who are blameless,” she continued fervently, driving the guilt like a dagger into his belly. “The sacred vows of marriage I spoke to my husband must make that burden mine to bear alone.”

As well as her innocent children’s, he wanted to point out. They seemed to be getting the short end of the stick with this theology.

“Then I’ll be glad to give the money to you, and you can repay the debt yourself. Not the thing for a gently bred female to consort with moneylenders. My solicitor will assist.”

“Captain,” she said, lowering her eyes. “You are very generous to offer. But it would not be seemly for me to accept such a sum of money from a man who is not my relative. What would my children think when they grew to an age to understand?” She lifted her gaze again. It overflowed with sincere modesty. “What would anybody think?”

That he was a cad. A reprobate. A knave, who took advantage of a grieving woman bereft of the protection of her husband to give her a slip on the shoulder. A scoundrel who set up his former officer’s widow as his mistress, whether she liked it or not. She was pretty enough to make it believable, and docile enough to make it likely with at least a third of the bachelors in the navy and a number of the married officers as well. Her religious scruples be damned, Tony knew enough of his fellow officers to be certain that, if presented with this opportunity, those other men wouldn’t even give her a choice.

Tamping down the surge of panicked misery in his chest, he nodded and rose to his feet. She stood too.

“Thank you for offering, Captain. No other commanding officer would be so generous, I am certain.”

He’d no doubt of that. But no other commanding officer had been such a lying, guilty wretch either.

Dropping to his knee on the bare floorboards, he shut out of his memory the last time—
the only time
—he’d been on one knee before a woman—in a printing house, with that woman’s sweet, sodden foot in his hands—and said, “Mrs. Park, would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

When Captain Masinter arrived, Elle was not looking out the window in anticipation. But Minnie was. And Adela. And Esme. And the grocer’s eight-year-old errand boy, Sprout.

Seraphina had sent a note to the shop that morning, informing Elle that the captain would be collecting her early in the evening for the final fitting. They would all leave for the ball together, directly from her home. Elle had been unwise enough to share the news with Minnie, who shared it with their two friends. Then Sprout came by, as he often did to see if he was needed to deliver or retrieve post for Peregrine and Lady Justice, and Adela and Esme set to interrogating him on everything he had seen of the naval hero the previous evening. The four of them had swiftly become quite a merry band awaiting the captain’s arrival, and Elle had retreated to the press room to suffer her agitated nerves in peace and quiet.

“Blimey!” Sprout exclaimed. “Them hacks is bang up to the nines!”

“What does that mean, Sprout?” Esme said.

“That carriage must be worth hundreds of pounds,” Minnie said in hushed awe.

“Elle, he is here!” Adela whispered through the open doorway.

With exaggerated calm, Elle put away her pen, wiped her damp palms on her skirt, and went into the front room. He stood at the door, as tall, dark, handsome, and aristocratic as he had been the previous day and the day before that, smiling at her friends with undiluted good cheer.

Her stomach plummeted to her toes. She could not possibly see this through.

Then he turned his beautiful eyes to her, and his smile changed. It dimmed, but for the better; there was no blitheness in it, only simple, sincere pleasure. He said deeply, softly, as though there were no one else in the room, “There she is.”

And Elle knew she was doomed.

~o0o~

“Does this carriage also belong to Madame Étoile?” she said as he jumped up onto the box beside her and snapped the reins.

“Like it?” he said with a quick glance at her.

“The seat is so comfortable. And we are quite high off the ground, but I do not feel unsafe.”

“Bought it this morning.”

“
You
bought it? Today? Yesterday you said that a bachelor has no need of a carriage in town.”

“I’d a mind to celebrate,” he said, maneuvering the carriage away from the commercial streets.

“Oh? What are you celebrating?”

His swift smile revealed every white tooth. “Bachelorhood.”

Elle did not know why the single word should make her cheeks erupt in heat, except that it was probably because she was a thorough ninny.

“Your friends were good to see you off,” he said, glancing aside at her again. “Making certain I wasn’t a scoundrel, were they?”

“I think they did not entirely believe that I am attending a ball tonight.
I
do not quite believe it.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“I did not tell them about the missing type,” she said, forcing her gaze away from his profile that she wanted to trace with her fingertips. “And I feel positively awful.”

“Wager you did it to protect them rather than yourself.”

“How do you know that?”

He only smiled.

“Perhaps it was to protect me too,” she admitted.

“What did you tell them?”

“That Madame Étoile is considering hiring Brittle and Sons to print advertisements, and she wished to interview me extensively before doing so but has little time to spare.”

He turned his face to her.

“I know!” she exclaimed. “I am a positively wretched liar. I could not even invent a halfway believable lie. But how could I tell them the truth? If Jo Junior even suspected that they helped me replace the missing type, he would go up and down Gracechurch Street blackening their reputations with their employers, until each of them had been released.”

“Jo Junior?”

“Josiah Brittle Junior. My employer’s eldest son.”

“Has it in for you, does he?” he asked with a single lifted brow, and abruptly she realized that speaking to this man about her past with Jo Junior was the height of folly.

“Yes. A bit. Oh, see, we are here! So swiftly. What speedy horses you bought today, Captain,” she said lamely. He knew. Casting her a curious glance, he leaped down from the box and went around the horses to assist her.

She liked the sensation of his hand taking hers. She liked it far too much. It made her feel insensibly light—almost weightless—merely his hand holding hers to assist her from the carriage. Perhaps her grandmother was right. Perhaps she was enjoying this taste of a gentleman’s attention, even if it was only in order to save her position at the shop.

And perhaps she was the greatest fool alive.

Inside the house Seraphina greeted them with the same affectionate elegance as before.

“Off to change for the evening, then,” the captain said as his cousin shepherded her up the stairs.

“Don’t forget, Anthony. You must wear your uniform,” Seraphina said and then drew Elle into the pink and cream satin room.

~o0o~

He did not wear his uniform.

Elle had a very poor opinion of sailors. Her father had been a sailor. He had abandoned her and her mother in a hovel on the unforgiving coast of southern Cornwall, to reappear after her mother’s death when Elle was eight, only to sell every book and trinket in the hovel and spend it on gin then die a year later of a failed liver. She had formed her opinion of the sailorly ilk young and quite firmly.

Captain Anthony Masinter seemed cut from another sort of seafaring fabric altogether. And, however much she wished to deny it, he cut a truly splendid figure in his navy blue and whites.

Dressed for a ball, he was even handsomer.

A coat of rich blue complemented his tan skin and dark hair, and formal black breeches hugged the muscles in his legs so well that Elle was obliged to glue her attention to his face. But that proved no less taxing to her nerves. For as she descended the stairs on silk slippers and he turned from his contemplation of a painting, his beautiful eyes swept her from tip to toe, and his features went instantly, entirely slack.

“What?” she said, reaching up to cover the delicate collar of paste diamonds that Penelope had fastened about her neck and which draped over her otherwise exposed bosom. She wished she could cover up her whole body. Her shift and petticoat were tissue thin, the gown just as scant, and the overskirt entirely translucent, cinched beneath the bodice with a single silver ribbon. “Is something amiss? Am I not convincing enough?”

“As a printing-shop girl,” he said in a low voice, “not really.”

“As a princess, thoroughly,” Seraphina said behind her. “She dresses up nicely, doesn’t she, Anthony?”

“Aye.” As he came forward there was a light of deviltry in his eyes that dispelled Elle’s nerves and made her abruptly eager for the evening’s adventure. He glanced at his cousin. “Not dressed yet, Seri?”

“I will be momentarily. But you must go ahead of me to Lady B’s. Who knows how long Uncle Frederick will last tonight? Now go fetch the carriage, Tony.”

He looked about the foyer. “Your butler’s broken his leg, has he?”

Seraphina chuckled lightly. “Darling, go. I must say a word to Miss Flood without you present.”

“Aha. Feminine secrets.” With a bow, he went.

Elle turned to the modiste. “Thank you, Seraphina. This gown, the jewelry . . . It is all perfect.”

“And your coiffure,” she said, scanning the smooth coils, upswept and decorated with a sparkling tiara. “Penelope is an artist with hair.” She grasped Elle’s gloved hand. “Now, ask me what it is you have been eager to ask me all evening.”

Elle’s mouth opened, but Seraphina squeezed her fingers.

“Dear Elle, you have the most transparent face.”

Elle looked her directly in the eye. “You and Captain Masinter are clearly very fond of each other.”

“We are devoted.”

“Why aren’t you married? To each other. Plenty of cousins wed.”

Seraphina’s eyes smiled. “I was married once. My husband died several years ago.”

“Did the experience sour you on marriage?”

“Not at all. He was considerably older, of course. But he was kind. No, I am not sour on marriage. And I adore Anthony. He is the best man I have ever known. But, Elle, he is not my cousin as everyone likes to pretend.”

Elle felt abruptly sick. He could not have brought her to his mistress’s house; it seemed so unlike him, and unlike Seraphina as well. But what else could this beautiful, independent woman be, to command the attention of such a man? From what Minnie said, men of the aristocracy took mistresses as often as men of the common class drank gin.

“He is my half-brother,” Seraphina said. “From the other side of the mattress, as it were,” she added with an expressive nod.

“Oh.” Such relief filled her throat that she could manage nothing more.

“You wish to know if I am acknowledged by our family,” Seraphina said. “And if not, why Anthony acknowledges me.”

Lips caught between her teeth, Elle nodded.

“Our father, Sir Benton, was a diplomat for many years. On one occasion while traveling in the East, he happened upon a beautiful Turkish girl. Men sometimes being what they are, he temporarily cast aside his marriage vows. When he returned to England, he forgot the Turkish girl, but nine months later my grandmother reminded him. My mother had perished bearing me, you see, and her mother brought me here to be raised in the comfort of wealth. Sir Benton’s wife would not have it. She had five young sons and four young daughters of her own, and she did not like the idea of having yet another, especially not a little brown nut of an infant that was proof of her husband’s infidelity. They sent me to Sir Benton’s youngest aunt, a widow who had once lived abroad not far from where my mother had grown up, as it happened. Great-aunt Seraphina raised me as her own bastard, rather than as my father’s.” She smiled. “Thus, cousins.”

“But they believe you are a cousin only?”

“Everybody knows the truth, of course. Our paths cross infrequently, though, so they rarely have reason to cut me directly.”

“Captain Masinter does not cut you. He obviously cares for you.”

“He protected me from them. He still does. I told you he is a good man, Gabrielle,” Seraphina whispered, turning her to face the man walking toward them from the back of the house. “Be kind to him.”

In the candlelight, his eyes glimmered with admiration. Elle could hardly breathe.

“Well,” she said, “shall we get on with this little charade?”

He offered his arm. “My lady.”

Before the house he handed her up into Seraphina’s carriage, then climbed in. It was dark within, save a glimmer of light from the lamp on the street, and when the coachman cracked the whip even that light vanished.

“Don’t suppose you speak any foreign languages?” he said in an unexceptional tone.

“Foreign languages? A little French. My mother was a schoolteacher before she married my father.”

“Liked him that much, did you?”

This time she did not resist her smile.

“The lady’s voice reveals all,” he murmured.

“I am not a lady, Captain. If you fail to remember that tonight I am afraid you will be horridly disappointed when I prove myself incapable of pretending it.”

“You are a lady, Elle, tonight and every night,” he said in an altered tone, deeper, sending the nerves scampering back into her stomach. “But tonight you will be more than a lady.”

“What do you mean?” she said warily, wishing she could see his eyes.

“Transparent as rain on a spar deck. Open your mouth tonight, and you’ll blow the whole deal to shrapnel.”

“Blow the— What?”

“You’re far too direct, Elle. And earnest.”

“I—”

“Don’t take me wrong. Dashed fond of your directness. And your earnestness, truth is, it turns me inside out. But my uncle’s a prize snob. Thinks everybody’s a fool, and doubly so if they haven’t got a title. Daresay if he knew who you really are he wouldn’t give you the time of day. And, you said yourself you don’t feel up to it.”

“What are you saying?” she said somewhat thickly.
Her earnestness turned him inside out?
“That I have spent two days preparing for a ball I am not to attend after all?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. Just saying that you mustn’t speak tonight.”

“I mustn’t speak? But how will I ingratiate myself to your uncle without speaking? Are you—”

“Stupid as a post? Probably. Fortunately, my uncle already thinks I’ve got a brain the size of a pea. Best let me do all the talking. Now, what would you like to be? Russian, perhaps?”

“What would I like to
be
?”

“Pretend to be, that is. So you needn’t speak, leastways not overly much. How about Hungarian. That’s it! Unlikely to be anybody who speaks Hungarian at this event. Probably.”

“But what if there
is
?”

“Cross that bridge when it hatches, daresay.”

Elle stared into shadow, lit occasionally by lamplight passing by outside. Arms crossed and leaning back against the squabs, he looked perfectly comfortable, like he was enjoying himself thoroughly. Teetering between dismay and hilarity, she laughed.

“There now,” he said in that deep, private voice that made her feel unsteady and hot inside. “Knew it wouldn’t take you long.”

“You knew it would not take me long to what?”

“To fall in.” Then he smiled, and she was quite certain she knew exactly how he commanded men so successfully. He was simply a big, strong, solid thing who, once determined to accomplish a task, devoted himself entirely to it. This was not a lark for him. He was doing it for her because he was exactly what his half-sister had said: a good man.

He had called her a lady, which was ridiculous. But he did not seem to understand that. He was nothing like the gentlemen who came into the shops on Gracechurch Street and made Minnie and Adela behave like cakes; not haughty or superior.

“You do not mind it?” she said.

“Mind what? Putting one over on my uncle?”

“Perilous adventure. Living on the edge of insanity.”