Her Officer and Gentleman

by Karen Hawkins

  “Sings? Here? At the ball?”

  An awkward silence met this.

  Christian frowned even as he admired the fresh line of her cheek, the graceful curve of her neck. Just looking at her was a delight. A pity her grandfather was a villain.

  His jaw tightened. That was what he needed to remember—the truth about the Duke of Massingale and how the man had sent Christian’s mother to a horrid death in a damp cell. The thought of his mother alone and dying of the fever, stripped of her possessions and dignity, would keep at bay any attraction he might feel for the woman before him.

  Elizabeth chose that moment to peep at him through her lashes. Humor glimmered in her gaze, as did something else…something sensual and yet innocent. A faint stirring of regret made Christian wonder if perhaps he was doing the right thing.

  Bloody hell, what was he thinking? Of course he was doing the right thing—hadn’t he planned this for years? Life had left him with no recourse. She was his entryway, the key to the mystery of his mother’s death. But first he had to alter his plans. No longer was he seducing a secluded innocent, but instead a beautiful woman besieged by suitors.

  He glanced around and wondered why none of them was present now. Whatever the reason, Christian knew they were there, biding their time. The woman before him was too lovely, and too wealthy, to be left alone. He would have to stand out from the hordes of her admirers. The best thing he could do was be different, intriguing, and, whenever possible, worth pursuing himself.

  He tilted his head to one side, meeting her gaze directly. “Some crave the safety of boredom while others crave the bravery of adventure. Which are you, Lady Elizabeth? A retiring maid who longs for safety? Or a woman of chance and mystery?”

  Beth bit her lip as the warm words floated over her, sending odd shivers across her. One would never call the man before her safe or boring. No, he was far more polished than the men she’d met so far, and definitely more intelligent. She was drawn to him, challenged by him in some way.

  “Well?” he said softly, flashing a breathtakingly lopsided grin. “Which are you?”

  Beth allowed herself to smile—a little. “My lord, what I am or am not is n-n-none of your concern.”

  His gaze flickered just a bit at her stutter and she cringed inwardly. It was sad, but she had no choice; thank heavens Beatrice had caught Beth’s earlier error when she’d forgotten to use it.

  If she wished her scheme to work, she could not falter, at least not this early in the game. She’d already managed to frighten off a number of suitors, but there were several more who needed to go, a few of them amazingly persistent.

  Still…she flashed a glance at the man looking down at her and had to swallow a definite pinch of regret. She did not mind appearing incapable of speech with the dunderheads who’d so far offered to woo her, but she did not wish to be so encumbered in front of this man. She had things to say, quips to make, all sorts of witty comments that bubbled to her lips the second he uttered one of his caustic witticisms.

  Beatrice must have caught Beth’s regret, for she said quickly, “Beth, don’t even think—” She snapped her feathered fan closed with a great display of firmness. “My lord, as Lady Elizabeth’s chaperone, I fear I must cut this conversation until the proper introductions have been performed.” With that, she gave the man a regal nod, took Beth by the elbow, and hauled her toward the refreshment tables.

  “Really, Beth!” Beatrice muttered. “You owe me for that little maneuver. Had I not troubled myself, you would have ruined your own scheme.”

  “I would not have,” Beth protested, though her own voice rang hollowly in her ears. She glanced over her shoulder. The viscount was standing as they’d left him, one hand negligently on his hip, his eyes on her, a glimmer of humor touching his sensual mouth.

  Hesitantly, Beth returned his smile.

  His reaction was instantaneous; his entire face lit with an answering grin. Beth’s breath caught at the warmth of it. What was it about this man that made him so different from every other man in the room? He was so…present. So powerful. Every inch of him emanated purpose, capability, and a barely contained passion. He was arrogant and impetuous, proud and unrepentant. She could read all of that and more in his expression, and she found herself fascinated as never before.

  Beatrice pulled Beth to the other side of the refreshment table. “Safe at last!” Beatrice glanced back the way they’d come. “Good. Lady Cumberland is approaching him now and will soon have him locked in conversation. She’s not one to let a handsome rake out of her sight once she’s captured him, so we needn’t fear he’ll follow us.”

  Beth stood on tiptoe. Beatrice was right; Lady Cumberland was indeed talking to Westerville, her hand laid possessively on his arm. “What is she doing, leaning against him like that?”

  “She leans against every man she talks to.”

  “I know. It’s just that—oh! If her décolletage was any lower, she’d spill out.” Beth scowled. “How can she display herself in such a way? I would never—”

  “Good God,” Beatrice said, her voice stunned. “You cannot be attracted to that man!”

  Beth reluctantly tore her gaze from the viscount. “Attracted? Who said anything about attracted?”

  “I can see it in your face. You had best leave that stone unturned. Westerville may be a viscount, but his position is very smoky, and it is said that he has not truly secured the fortune, either. In fact, there are rumors that he—” Beatrice pressed her mouth in a firm line. “Never mind.”

  “What rumors?”

  “Nothing. It’s nothing at all. I-I was just mumbling off the top of my head.”

  “You might as well tell me all you know now, for I’ll wheedle it out of you before tomorrow, anyway. You never could keep a secret.”

  Beatrice sighed. “I know, I know! But only if you’ll promise me you are not attracted to that man. Your grandfather would kill me.”

  “I am not attracted to Lord Westerville.” It was more than attraction. It was a reckoning of some sort. “As for Grandfather, it is none of his concern what I do.”

  Beatrice sent Beth a flat stare.

  Beth wished her cousin didn’t know Grandfather quite so well. “Oh, very well. Grandfather would be concerned.” Beth glanced back at the viscount and wondered if this was how Grandfather had felt upon seeing his future wife that first time.

  The thought sent her heart thundering. She might be intrigued, but she was not in love, which was what Grandfather had been.

  “What a coil,” Beatrice said, shaking her head. “Beth, there is something between the two of you. Even I felt it, and I wasn’t trying to feel anything, especially not that.”

  Beth glanced across the table toward the viscount. He’d bent down to listen to something Lady Cumberland had to say, her red curls a perfect foil for his black hair.

  Beth’s heart ached inexplicably. Perhaps what she felt was a simple physical reaction. She watched him a moment more, resentment rising. Shouldn’t she at least investigate this odd feeling? Make certain it was nothing more than a physical attraction?

  “Beth, please don’t do anything rash.”

  Beth blinked at her cousin. “What makes you think I’m going to do anything at all?”

  “I have known you since you were born and I can see from your expression that you’ve some scheme in mind. That’s the same expression you wore that time you convinced me to stand watch so you could steal one of your grandfather’s new geldings—”

  “Borrow,” Beth said, grinning a little. “We were going to return the horse, weren’t we? Technically, that is not stealing.”

  “Grandfather didn’t see it as ‘borrowing.’ Especially after that wild horse threw you. Lud, but I just knew you were quite dead. You’re lucky you didn’t hit your head upon a rock. And your grandfather—” Beatrice shivered.

  “He’s always upset about something.”

  “My point exactly! I see enough of his irritation as it is. I hav
e no wish to experience more.” Beatrice met Beth’s gaze. “Whatever you are thinking, I want your word you will forget about it this very instant.”

  Beth almost refused. But then she caught sight of the arrogant Comte Villiers bearing down on them. If she did not maintain her pretense, she could very well end up shackled to a man like the comte. The thought was sobering, to say the last.

  She gave one last, regretful glance at the handsome viscount. From across the room, his gaze locked with hers over Lady Cumberland’s head.

  It was the hardest thing Beth had ever done, but she fought the very real impulse to just throw convention to the winds and walk toward him. Gathering her errant thoughts, she turned away, presenting him with her shoulder as she managed a smile for her cousin. “Very well. I promise to have nothing more to do with the viscount.”

  Beatrice shook her head, a comical expression of dismay on her face as she glanced at the viscount herself. “The problem is that I don’t really blame you. He is quite handsome, and the fact that they say he’s a—” Beatrice sent a quick glance at Beth, then looked away.

  “A what?”

  Beatrice sighed. “Oh, you are right; you would get it out of me sooner or later anyway. Before he inherited his title, Westerville was a lost soul of some sort, wandering about. His mother died in gaol, accused of treason, and his father was the Earl of Rochester, though the man never claimed him. Even more shocking, upon his deathbed, the earl suddenly remembered that he’d really married Westerville’s mother and produced two now legitimate children.”

  “Surely no one believes such a story!”

  “No one has been able to disprove it. The earl produced documents and a witness, even a priest who swears he performed the ceremony.”

  “No!”

  “Oh yes! What’s even more fascinating, though, is where the viscount spent the years when he was not a viscount.” Beatrice’s voice lowered to a delicious level. “They say he was a highwayman!”

  “What?” Beth looked at Westerville. He was talking to yet another woman, this one a brunette with sapphires sparkling in her hair. He was bent low to catch her words over the music, his dark hair falling over his brow. Though he was quite easily the most fashionably dressed man in the room, there was still an air about him…something raw and untamed. She shivered. “I could see him as a highwayman.”

  Beatrice nodded. “So could I. They also say—oh, blast! There is the comte. Pray stutter to your utmost ability. I cannot bear to be near that man!”

  Beth grimaced. “He is a pompous ass.”

  “And in dire need of a wealthy wife. Perhaps you should find a twitch to go with your stutter.”

  “I would fall upon the floor in a fit if I thought it might do some good. The man is a menace.”

  The comte was upon them before Beatrice could respond. Beth spent the next several moments stuttering out answers and trying not to giggle at Beatrice’s broad hints to the man that Beth’s stutter was the very least of her problems.

  During this time, it took quite a bit of Beth’s self-possession not to look in the viscount’s direction. She had to acknowledge that the man was a danger, but one easily avoided.

  Finally, Lady Clearmont appeared from the card room, her reticule noticeably thinner as she shooed away the comte. Beth was more than ready to leave. She made arrangements to meet Beatrice the next morning and was soon in Lady Clearmont’s carriage.

  Soon enough, she and Lady Clearmont arrived at the Massingale London House, where Beth bid Her Ladyship a good night before making her way to her bedchamber. There she undressed with haste, brushed her hair, pulled on her night rail, slid between the cool sheets, and blew out the candles. Only then, in the total darkness, did Beth allow herself to contemplate in uninterrupted splendor the devastating effect of a pair of thickly lashed green eyes and a charmingly lopsided smile.

  Chapter 4

  With care, a good servant can be right in most things, a feat most masters and mistresses would find difficult to match.

  A Compleat Guide for

  Being a Most Proper Butler

  by Richard Robert Reeves

  Hours later, Christian returned home quite content with the evening’s work. He’d been very aware of the lady’s eyes on him throughout the evening. One thing he knew about human nature was that people coveted what other people admired. And so, after Lady Elizabeth’s chaperone had swept her to safety, Christian made certain she witnessed him flirting with a number of other women. He didn’t care who they were—tall or short, fat or thin, handsome or comely—none of them could hold a candle to Elizabeth, a fact he found far too disturbing.

  He met Reeves in the entry upon his arrival. Christian allowed the butler to remove his coat. “Good evening, Reeves!”

  “It is well after midnight, my lord. ‘Good morning’ would be more appropriate.”

  “It is almost three, to be exact. So good morning, ’tis.”

  Reeves handed the coat to a waiting footman and absently watched the man leave. As soon as the hallway was clear, Reeves turned back to Christian. “Will you retire at once, my lord? Or do you require some nourishment to assist you in recovering from your debauchery?”

  Christian grinned. “I am not a bit hungry and I am far from sleepy. I believe I shall have a glass of port.”

  “You have a constitution of iron, my lord,” the butler said in a dry voice.

  “Thank you.” He turned on his heel and entered the library. “Any word from Willie?”

  “Yes, my lord. There is a note on your desk.”

  “Excellent.” Christian crossed to the desk. He picked up the missive and ripped it open.

  Reeves followed closely, watching in respectful silence while Christian read.

  “Good!” Christian tossed the note on a side table. He caught Reeves’s expression.

  “I am sorry, my lord. I am just a bit astonished Master William can pen a letter.”

  “I taught him. Quite a useful fellow is Willie.”

  “I am certain, my lord.”

  “He arrives tomorrow and with something of note.” Christian nodded thoughtfully. “Our suspicions seem to have borne fruit.”

  Reeves walked to the fireplace where a fire was already laid out. He removed the tinderbox from the mantel, and within moments, flames licked the new wood, a faint heat permeating the room.

  As soon as the flue had been properly adjusted, the butler crossed to the sideboard and poured a measure of port into a glass, then brought it to Christian.

  Christian gratefully took the glass, sank into a chair by the fireplace, and took a long drink. The amber liquid burned pleasantly. “This is excellent stock. Almost as good as a shipment I once stole from an Italian count outside Bath.”

  “Please, my lord. Do not mention those times.”

  Christian flashed a grin. “I shall try not to.”

  “Thank you, my lord. Just where is this port that you, ah, procured?”

  “I drank it.”

  Reeves looked offended. “By yourself?”

  Christian considered this. “Well, yes. Most of it.”

  Reeves sighed. “There are times when you are very much like your father.”

  Christian’s good humor fled. “I will thank you not to mention him. At least not until I’ve had time to put a bottle or two of this behind me.”

  The butler bowed and wisely made no further comment. Christian’s jaw ached and he realized he was clenching his teeth. His father, the late Earl of Rochester, had never acknowledged either Christian or his twin brother. Oh, he’d sent the requisite stipend to cover expenses, but that was all.

  Worse, when Mother had been falsely imprisoned, Christian and his brother had written their father begging him to intervene; there had been no answer. Eventually, when they had been reduced to rags, their tutor had sold the two boys to a press gang. Tristan had assisted his younger twin brother in escaping, but had not been so fortunate himself. Tristan had ended up consigned to sea. Eventually, af
ter enduring beatings and worse, he’d come to love his new life at sea, though not for many painful years.

  Christian, meanwhile, had been left truly alone. Only ten and frightened beyond reason, he had slowly made his way to London. It had taken weeks and he’d nearly starved to death in the process, until he’d learned the trick to taking what he needed. But when he arrived at the prison, he discovered his mother had died only days before, a victim to a horrid fever caused by her squalid living conditions. Alone, living in the streets, Christian had been forced to fight every day in an effort to merely survive to the next.

  Odd as it was, even in those desperate hours, every night he’d dreamed of Father arriving in time to save him, to save his brother, and especially to save Mother. Morning after morning, he’d awakened to find his dreams just that—dreams and nothing more.

  Christian caught the butler’s gaze now. “Never again compare me to my father. I will not be insulted in my own house.”

  Reeves sighed deeply. “I can understand why you would harbor ill feelings toward your father, but he did care for you and your brother, in his way.”

  “His way is too little, too late.”

  “Very true, my lord. Your father was not a responsible parent in many aspects. Nor was he as caring as he should have been. But you cannot hold him responsible for your mother’s death. He was out of the country and was unaware of her predicament.”

  “Had he cared, he would have made certain she could reach him. That we could reach him.”

  “The late earl had many, many faults. I cannot defend him as a parent, for he failed so miserably. However, he did know what was due his title and name. I think you should learn the same. It will help you secure the fortune from the trustees.”

  “I have already met the trustees, and they were duly impressed with my elegant manner and tonnish ways,” Christian said a bit bitterly. “They are a pack of fools, the lot of them, impressed with the fold of one’s cravat over one’s character. Providing I do not make a total cake of myself, they will approve the release of the fortune.”