Wilful Impropriety (26 page)

We walked on another few steps. Then Harry’s shoulders went back, and he raised his chin. “I know you, Simon, and I know you to be an honorable man. That is enough. You needn’t say anything more. Whatever matter drove you to lie, you’ll find no condemnation from me.”

Warmth and pain alike burned me within. I had not looked for forgiveness, and did not deserve it in the slightest; yet the fact that Harry gave it, unquestioning, made me feel—if only for the briefest of moments—that I had not, after all, lost everything I valued in the world.

If only he had not given that forgiveness to
Simon
. To an honorable
man
.

It should have been enough to shut my mouth. But my long stalemate with Byrom might as well have been a mist that was at long last clearing from my vision, and with it gone I could see clearly once more. My own well-being did not matter in the slightest, when weighed against the damage that man could do, if given more authority and scope for his flaws. My impending desertion might discredit me, and therefore allow Byrom to escape censure for what happened to the
Persephone
, but sooner or later he would err again. And if others were on guard for it, he might yet be stopped.

Yes. I’d had enough of lying. Whatever the cost to me, the time had come to tell the truth.

“Harry, I’m a woman.”

That . . . was not what I had intended to say.

I stopped, a pace after Harry did. How was it that my knees continued to hold me? The habits of battle, I supposed, that kept my body strong even when my mind was boneless with fear. I could not bring myself to turn and see Harry’s face. He said nothing, and the rest of the truth limped out of me, quieter and less passionate. “I’m not Simon. I’m Victoria.”

A soft crunch of gravel from behind me, as if his weight had settled from the step he did not take. An exhalation of air, cut off, as if he began to say
How?
or something else to that effect, but could not finish the word.

I bowed my head. “Do you recall when you were all given leave, not long after Simon joined as a midshipman? He suffered a blow to his head when he fell while riding.” My throat tightened, such that I had trouble going on. “The truth is that he died. The one who returned to the ship was not Simon, but me.”

Six years. It would not take long for Harry to calculate the span for himself. He had known Simon, the
real
Simon, for a scant few months. The man he called friend was no man at all, but me.

Yet that friendship was real, and I owed it to him at least to meet his gaze. When I turned to face him, he shook his head, not blinking. “Why?”

“The inheritance,” I said. Harry knew the situation well enough; he did not need it explained. Which was fortunate, as I could not have said more if I wanted to. Now, far too late, the enormity of what I had just done struck me. The captain had granted me one final cruise in which to plan my exit, but that was now impossible. I had managed, barely, to live with Byrom when he knew my secret; I could not do the same with Harry.

Which meant I would never return to the
Hesperides
.

Harry shook his head again. I’d seen men with similar expressions, after they suffered a blow to the head in battle. Dazed and uncomprehending. “Why tell me now?”

The unbinding of my true self let the anger loose, that I had tried to keep in check before Granger. With undisguised venom—both for Byrom and for myself—I related the truth of the
Persephone
’s demise, and the second lieutenant’s subsequent blackmail. To this I added the admission that I had confessed to the captain, earlier that evening.

“And damn it all, it isn’t
fair
,” I burst out, when I thought I was finished. “I may hope to block his promotion at the very least, and surely his own flaws will damn him in time. With my word against his, though, I have little hope of his removal from the Navy. Not if I am revealed, or forced to flee. And why should
he
stay, when I must go? I am a hundred times the lieutenant he is!”

Harry’s expression had closed down during my explanation, hiding his reactions behind an impassive wall. He looked up as I finished my tirade, though, and he nodded. “It’s true. You have done very well. For a woman.”

My heart twisted almost into a knot.

Then he added, very quietly, “Or even for a man.”

His praise might be less fervent than Granger’s, yet it meant so much more to me. Even that light, however, could barely touch the darkness that had settled over my spirit. “Much good may it do me,” I said, as low as I had ever been. “If I don’t wish to be court-martialed and hanged, I shall have to find some exit from the service, and likely it will be as a deserter. My only satisfaction will be that I have put a hole in Byrom’s hull, to sink him in time.”

“That, at least, I will be sure to see happen,” Harry said, in a tone scarcely less intense than mine.

It strengthened me, to know I did not stand alone. “Thank you.” I hesitated, wondering if Harry was now regretting the forgiveness he had offered, before I’d even told him the truth. I
had
to know. “I hope we may at least part as friends, on that count if no other.”

Harry’s reply was long enough in coming that I almost gave in to despair. But at last he nodded, not looking at me, and said, “Yes. S—Victoria—we are still friends.”

It was not friendship I wanted from him. With the barrier of my deception stripped away, I could admit that to myself; I had loved him for years, as more than a mere companion. But I must release that now, as I had released all other hopes, and be grateful for what I might keep. His friendship, and the sound of his voice, addressing me at last by my true name.

I wished it felt less like a knife in my heart.

“What will you do?” he asked. “After you leave.”

I aimed for an air of carelessness, and came at least within shot of it. “I will figure something out. My skills are many, if not those of a lady. Come, we should return to the party; your family and fiancée will be wondering where you have gone.” I had not intended to mention Miss Fanning. Where had my restraint gone?

But Harry, it seemed, was as eager to escape this dreadful embarrassment as I was. Distracted, he said, “Yes. Let us go back. I have matters I must attend to.”

•   •   •

The evening was nearly at an end, and I had drunk more than was wise. What else should I do, though? The waters in which I sailed had shallowed without warning; I was surrounded by shoals on every side. (And my imagination was determined to wallow in nautical metaphors, as if to rub salt in the wound of that loss.) Byrom and Granger and Mrs. Warrington and Kate and most of all . . .

Where had Harry gone?

I could not find him, nor Kate. In my search, however, I ran afoul of Byrom, who trapped me against one wall of the ballroom, malicious pleasure on his thin face. “You did well with those women, Ravenswood. Such a touching tale; I nearly wept to hear it. Perhaps I’ll have you set it to music, next.”

Staring into his calculating eyes, I found I could no longer recall why I was protecting his secret. What loss could I suffer, that I would not suffer regardless? My life? There seemed no reason why I should preserve it. The battle madness that had made me speak the truth to Granger was back, but colder this time.

“I thought I might sell my story to a newspaper, instead,” I told him, through a smile that could more rightly be called a baring of teeth. “Tales of blackmail always attract such prurient interest.”

It took a moment for him to absorb my words. Then his own expression hardened into a snarl. “You know I can destroy you.”

“And I, you,” I answered. “A pretty impasse, is it not?”

Byrom scoffed. “No one will take your word for it. Not when I expose you for what you are.”

He did not know I had already told Granger and Harry. He did not know I had already embraced my fate, robbing his threat of its force. “Plenty of people will be willing to believe it when I expose you for what
you
are: a coward and an incompetent, unworthy of your rank, or even the name of gentleman.”

His face purpled with rage. Through his teeth, he said, “If you weren’t a worthless bitch, I’d call you out for that insult.”

Now, far too late, Harry appeared. He had reentered the ballroom with Kate, and was making his way past the dancers toward me. What had the two of
them
been doing together? It hardly mattered. “You don’t dare face me, and you know it,” I said.

Harry only heard my reply, but even a blind man could have seen the threat in the air. His hand closed around my arm. “Come with me, Simon. I need to speak with you, in private.”

Was it habit that made him still call me Simon, or a friendly concern for my dying masquerade? It didn’t matter. The name, I think, lit the final fuse, for Byrom knew it to be a lie. As Harry tried to drag my resisting body away, the second lieutenant laughed, making no attempt to quiet it. “Always together, Wycliffe, eh? Hoping to make him your catamite? You’ll find a nasty surprise if you do.”

All around us, conversation died.

Harry dropped my arm. Body taut as a line under tension, he turned to face Byrom fully. And I remembered, with fierce joy and sudden fear commingled, Harry’s words on board the ship, before we came here.
I should like to see you call him out.

I
could not. But
Harry . . .

His voice could carry over the roar of guns in battle; he only used a tenth of that volume now. It was enough. Everyone within a dozen paces heard him. “For that insult,
sir
, you will beg my pardon on your knees—or you will meet me on the field of honor.”

Byrom licked his lips, a quick, nervous flick of the tongue. He had gone too far, and he knew it. He could provoke me all he liked, and I could not call him out for it; no man need accept a challenge from a woman. But he had always confined himself to that safe target, minding his tongue around those who might rightly demand satisfaction. My secret was no defense for him now: the public implication that Harry was a sodomite would stand regardless. And that challenge must be answered.

Lord Deverell had heard it. So had Kate. And Granger, too, who spoke into the silence. “Mr. Byrom. Your words are an insult no gentleman could accept. Will you apologize?”

The second lieutenant’s gaze slid to me. I held my breath, wondering if he would do it regardless: expose me, simply for the vindictive pleasure of my destruction. But then his attention returned to Harry, and a thin smile spread across his lips. He had, I realized with leaden horror, found a better way to hurt me.

“I will not, sir.”

The captain’s tone was grim. “I dislike my officers to duel, but in this case, it seems unavoidable. Lord Deverell, I beg your pardon for this disruption. Although the law may often look the other way when gentlemen agree to settle their differences in combat, the practice
is
illegal. We will not trouble you—”

“Nonsense,” our host boomed. Kate was by his side; had she whispered in his ear? I had not been watching her closely enough. “If the gentlemen are in accord—regarding the duel, that is; not in the matter of the insult—then I see no reason why they should not be allowed to resolve the matter as they see fit. And one really needs dry land for this sort of thing, not a ship’s deck. I volunteer my terrace.”

It was not the proper form; a duel should be delayed until the following day, to give heads time to cool. But with the
Hesperides
preparing to set sail again, there was justification for concluding the matter tonight, and Harry did not hesitate to take it up. “I thank you for your generosity, my lord. If Byrom concurs, I would be glad to face him now.”

All eyes turned to the second lieutenant. The purple of anger had drained from his face, leaving him white, but he nodded stiffly. “I agree. Let it be done.”

We swept toward the garden doors in a chattering crowd, Lord Deverell calling for a footman to bring his dueling pistols. Some of the ladies hung back, but others, Kate among them, came along. I could not spare any attention for her. To Harry I growled, “What are you
doing
? I did not ask you—”

“You didn’t have to,” Harry said, before I could finish. “I won’t kill him—at least, I don’t intend to. They’d put me on trial for that, and I’d be left ashore while I waited for the acquittal. But he deserves this, and we both know it.”

Servants hung lamps to brighten the terrace, until it was as good as day out there. Fawcett, the Marine captain who had accompanied us to the party, stood as Byrom’s second; he made no attempt to pretend he supported Byrom’s cause, but honor demanded that
someone
observe the proper forms on his behalf. I, still reckless with my impending doom, declared myself Harry’s second. Granger opened his mouth to object, then subsided, granting me this measure of vicarious satisfaction. Byrom’s eyes promised murder for me, once he was done with Harry, but I no longer cared.

Fawcett and I agreed to the terms without difficulty. One pistol each, which we loaded under each other’s supervision. The men would fire simultaneously at a distance of ten paces, and if one or both be disabled, the duel would end there.

I had seen Harry go into battle before, and feared for him, but never like this. However just his cause might be, this time, I could not fight at his side. If he should be wounded—God forbid, wounded badly . . .