by Beth Elliott
‘In that case, they are certainly beneficial,’ she assured him. They were both laughing when a figure suddenly appeared at her side. It was Greg. Her wayward heart beat faster and she had to struggle to hide her pleasure as she acknowledged his greeting. She looked from him to his father. How closely they resembled each other, not only in their features, but with the same tall, broad-shouldered frame. They both had the same open, direct look.
But while Sir Thomas had the more elaborate manners of her own parents’ generation, Greg was every inch the bluff soldier. So far he had seemed very straightforward in his dealings with her. Yet now she had the suspicion that he was seeking her out simply to enquire about her family. Why was he interested in James? There could be no connection through gambling.
Like a bolt of lightning, a phrase she had overheard shot through her: the brother is making enquiries. Could it be…? Was it possible that there was a link? The idea made her feel breathless with suspense. She had to find out more from James.
In the whirl of these unpleasant ideas, she did not hear Greg speak to her. He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘Miss Davenport….’
At this she looked up and he went on, ‘You seem rather cast down. I trust last night’s exertions were not too fatiguing for you?’
She made an effort to appear at ease. ‘I am not such a fragile creature as to be worn down by one assembly. In fact, it was very enjoyable.’
His amber eyes shone. ‘I am glad to hear it. I already know how energetic Lizzie is. So, if you also enjoy exercise, perhaps I can suggest that we all take a walk around the Beechen Cliff – on the next fine day, that is.’ He looked ruefully at his father. ‘I will reserve the offer of a drive until I have strengthened my arm. My father has made me promise that I will be cautious.’
The older man nodded gravely. ‘We are here to get you well, so we will stick to the doctor’s advice.’
Greg caught Sarah’s eye before looking away hastily. She saw the darker colour stain his cheekbones. He had been an officer in the bloody war being fought in Spain and no doubt had faced terrible danger and hardship countless times. But he could not say a word. Sarah understood. Sir Thomas was reacting to the loss of his eldest son by watching over this one with over-protective care.
She smiled at both of them. ‘How fortunate you are, sir, to have such a loving parent.’
Sir Thomas gave her a nod, bowed and walked away to return his glass to the attendant. She watched him greet an elderly lady and, as he lingered, chatting to her, another dowager joined them. Sarah’s eyes narrowed in amusement.
‘Your father seems to be quite at home in Bath.’ She turned back to Greg, who had recovered his usual poise by now. He glanced at his father and smiled. ‘It seems half of his old London friends are here. I am glad of it.’
While he watched his father, Sarah inspected him. As always he had a splendid appearance. Today he wore a smart russet jacket and snowy cravat. His buckskins emphasized the powerful muscles of a man who spent many hours in the saddle and his boots were dazzling. Her eyes travelled up to his lean face and coppery hair. She felt like a fly being relentlessly attracted into a spider’s web.
Then suddenly, the spell was broken. She gave a gasp of horror. Not two yards away Lord Percival was in conversation with another very rakish-looking man. She heard his bray of laughter. She stiffened with dismay. Her escape had been short indeed!
At length she heard Greg’s voice as if from far away. ‘Miss Davenport? Are you quite well? You have gone very pale.’
Slowly she raised her eyes to his. There was no way she could explain the problem. He put a hand under her elbow. ‘Come,’ he said, I think you need to find a seat.’ He gently pulled her along, out of the Pump Room and into the wide entrance area. Here he found a bench and pushed her down on to it.
Sarah was angry with herself for being so weak. Her knees were trembling and she was finding it hard to focus her thoughts. She was conscious of Greg’s kind help and made a pitiful attempt to smile. ‘Thank you, I am well again now. I am sorry to be so troublesome.’
He bent over her. ‘What happened? It seemed you received a terrible shock.’
She nodded. ‘Yes. I – I saw someone I did not expect to find in Bath.’ She drew a shuddering breath. ‘I cannot say more.’
Greg frowned down at her, looking very like his father. ‘Is this person likely to cause you annoyance?’
She looked at him miserably. What could she say? There was a long silence.
‘Will you not tell me his name?’
Sarah hesitated. Unconsciously, she started twisting a curl. This time, Greg took no notice.
‘I will soon discover it, you know,’ he said quietly. ‘Is it the same person who claimed you for the dance at the ball in London two weeks ago?’
Sarah clasped her hands firmly. It was foolish to act like a vapourish little miss. And Greg was only trying to help.
He is Lord Percival, the Earl of Ramsdale.’
If she had thrown a bucket of cold water over him it could not have had a greater effect. Sarah almost forgot her own woes as she watched Greg’s head jerk back in shock. He definitely went pale. Then his face hardened. Sarah glimpsed the steel that underlay his usual pleasant expression. He stared at her out of narrowed eyes. She sensed a withdrawal. And that was the last straw.
‘I do try to avoid him,’ she said in a low voice, ‘but he is my brother’s particular friend. I cannot ignore him.’
He nodded slowly. ‘I understand,’ he said at last. ‘You are in a difficult situation.’
She stood up and squared her shoulders. ‘At least I am prepared now. But I prefer to keep away from him if I can. Would you be kind enough to tell Lizzie I forgot something and returned home?’
‘I can escort you if you wish. Indeed, you still look pale.’
And so do you! But why should that name have such an effect on him? Sarah forced a smile to her lips. ‘Thank you but I am perfectly well. It is a very short walk to Milsom Street.’
It was clear she wanted to be alone. Greg watched as she set off, a slender figure under her umbrella, picking her way round the puddles. Now he had the key to her anxieties. But it was going to be a tricky matter to help her. He turned back towards the Pump Room. It would only be a question of time before someone introduced him to Lord Percival and then the subject of the gaming debt would arise.
Sarah’s reaction to Lord Percival was most instructive. It made Greg more determined than ever to discover just what had happened at that hunting party where his brother had died. As he wove a path through the crowd in search of Lizzie, he decided that his first task was to make the acquaintance of Sarah’s brother and see what he could find out from him.
Lizzie was at the far end of the room, in the midst of a group of people and chattering happily. Greg paused for a moment. He was shaken at how savagely the bitter anger over the loss of his brother had surged up again. He must not show any sign of that.
As if to remind him of his other woe, his arm was aching like the devil after the previous night’s exertions on the dance floor. He tucked his elbow into his side and moved towards Lizzie, summoning up a polite smile.
Lizzie caught sight of him and stepped forward. The group of people all turned as she did so. ‘Here you are at last,’ she said brightly. ‘Let me introduce you to the Earl of Ramsdale. Lord Percival, this is Major Thatcham.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘Sarah! Where are you going in such a hurry?’
That peevish voice could only belong to James. Reluctantly, Sarah stopped and waited for him to cross the street. It was busy with carriages and he had to dodge and run to get across, which did not improve his temper. His face was just as pale and haggard as when she had last seen him.
‘You have scarcely tired of the shooting at Russeldene so soon?’ she asked, by way of greeting.
A passing coach threw up a spray of water. James cursed and moved away, brushing at his greatcoat. ‘Just look at that. W
hat a damn— dashed place Bath is for weather.’
‘Well, you should have stayed in the country, then.’
He scowled at her. ‘George took a fancy to come here. Thing is, Sarah, he wants to pay court to you. And there is no need to look like that!’ he added explosively.
‘Like what?’ she challenged.
‘As if you had seen something disgusting. George is a great fellow and my particular friend, y’know. I insist you give him a chance.’
She shook her head.
‘Sarah,’ he pleaded, ‘dash it, Alice thinks he is suitable—’
‘Alice does not want the expense of an unmarried sister living with her,’ she flashed. ‘And she knows I am soon to be a pauper if you go on wasting all our inheritance.’ She turned away, took a deep breath and set off again in the direction of Milsom Street.
‘Hey!’ James came scurrying after her. He took her by the arm and forced her to stop.
‘Let – me – go!’ she said through her teeth. She tried to pull away but he kept a firm hold.
‘I mean it, Sis. You must make yourself agreeable to George. Thing is, I owe him the devil of a lot of money. He will not heed it, however, if you let him pay court to you.’
Sarah gave him a withering look. ‘How dare you! How could you sink so low as to gamble even your sister. Have you taken leave of your senses?’
He blinked at her. ‘It is not like that. Why do you put it in such a way? George is—’
‘Spare me,’ she interrupted. ‘He is ruthless and people hint at very dark things in his background. But are you so deep in his debt you have bribed him with me? James, is there no end to your gambling fever? You were not like this before you got drawn into this man’s circle.’
Under the fire of her gaze, his bloodshot eyes sank. He shuffled his feet then jerked his shoulder and shot her a quick glance. ‘There is no other way now. He could turn us out of our home if he wished. It all depends on you to save us.’
It was a clear statement of how matters stood. The blood turned to ice in Sarah’s veins. The horror must have shown in her face because James shifted uncomfortably. Then, as usual, his temper snapped. Sarah knew from experience that if he could not easily gain his own way, he would resort to threats and bullying.
‘You might at least give him a fair hearing,’ James continued. ‘Dash it, he is very well set up. Most of the ladies are falling over themselves to be noticed by him. What ails you? Come on! Let us get out of this curst wet.’ He forcibly pulled her in the direction of the Pump Room.
They were attracting glances and some whispered comments. Sarah allowed herself to be walked back down Union Street. The rain was falling heavily and the hem of her dress was soaked. It clung unpleasantly to her ankles as she hurried to keep up with her brother’s long strides.
Her umbrella wobbled due to her hasty steps. The drips landed on James and made him curse. He swept her up the entrance step and into the wide hall that she had left so short a time before. There she stopped and wrenched her arm free of his hold.
‘James, just look at me. My gown is sodden from the knees down. I can feel that my hair is damp. Even the ribbons of my bonnet are dripping. I am in no state to be exchanging social chitchat. I shall catch an inflammation of the lungs.’
He scowled. ‘Deuce take it, Sarah—’
But she was no longer listening. She had spotted Greg walking in her direction. He had an unusually grim frown on his face. She felt a little shiver down her back that had nothing to do with the cold and damp. Here was another side to this man’s character. He was dangerous in his anger.
When he noticed her he stopped in his tracks, made a visible effort to adjust his expression and then came up to her.
‘Whatever has happened, Miss Davenport? Have you fallen in the river?’
‘It feels like it,’ she admitted. ‘Oh, this is my brother, Lord Davenport. James, this is Major Thatcham.’
In the act of bowing, James jerked upright again. ‘Thatcham!’ he ejaculated. ‘Oh, Lord!’
Greg looked at the dissipated young man. He was tall and slender, with regular features and dark, curly hair, at present rather flattened by the rain. He could be handsome if he did not have that unhealthy pallor and irritable expression. He was almost as wet as his sister. Only ten minutes ago she had been desperate to get away from the Pump Room. Why had her brother forced her to return here?
Greg strove to calm his own inner turmoil in order to concentrate on this problem. It was strange that in the space of a mere ten minutes, he had met the two men he most needed to find. And it seemed that his instinct was right. On learning his identity, this young man immediately betrayed a consciousness of something. Greg eyed him keenly. ‘You already seem to have heard of me.’
James opened and shut his mouth. His hat dropped from his hand. ‘Er … no, no – that is, believe you have a brother in Town….’
Greg nodded. He would pursue this later. At present, if this creature could not see that his sister was shivering with cold, Greg could.
‘Miss Davenport, this time I insist on calling a chair for you. You need to change those wet clothes.’
The look she gave him was thanks enough. In a very short space of time, Greg had summoned a sedan and handed her carefully into it.
‘Be sure to hurry,’ he urged the porters as he closed the door. He nodded to her and watched her on her way before turning back into the entrance hall. He shook the raindrops off his face. Now for a word with her negligent brother, but, not entirely to Greg’s surprise, the wretched fellow had disappeared. Greg’s lip curled. How typical. No doubt James Davenport had fled to his crony, Lord Percival.
His face hardened as he saw again the moment Lizzie had presented him to that man. The arrogance seeped from every pore. Here was a man who trod over the feelings and lives of others for his own selfish gain. The sneering voice, the hint of contempt and yet – and yet, Greg mused, the eyes were wary, defensive, watching him for any sign of weakness or emotion, or could it be that Lord Percival had something to conceal?
Greg puzzled to understand why Henry had ever consented to play cards with this type of gamester? Why, Theo had said that Lord Percival was well known as a deep player. After seeing James Davenport, Greg suspected that Lord Percival was the type to lead young men into gaming hells and relieve them of their fortunes.
He would test that theory when the right opportunity offered. For now, he must observe the habits and favourite haunts of his quarry. He strolled back into the Pump Room and made his way slowly across to the long counter where the girl was serving glasses of the spa water. Greg took a glass and leaned his back against the counter. He looked at the gently moving crowd while he sipped the foul tasting stuff.
Across the room Lizzie was still chatting in her lively way to a group of young ladies. A smile curved Greg’s lips as he watched her. Such vivacity and sweetness. She was a pearl. His expression changed as he made out James Davenport in the group surrounding her. So he was interested in Lizzie, was he? Greg determined to increase his guard on her.
His survey continued. The room was definitely more crowded today. The people were still mainly elderly and infirm. Groups formed and then drifted on, so that there was a continual murmur of voices and footsteps, together with the clink of glasses. At length he saw his quarry. Lord Percival was with a couple of other overdressed gentlemen. Their dandified appearance was earning them many glances. Well, it would be easy to pick out the fellow at any function.
Satisfied, Greg set down his half-full glass on the counter. But he had forgotten that his arm was weak and a spasm of cramp seized it. The glass wobbled and tipped over. Recollecting his surroundings just in time, he swallowed down the curse that rose to his lips. It was time to find a sporting salon and start strengthening his arm again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sarah was curled up on the sofa with a novel when Lizzie arrived home. She burst into the sitting-room, still wearing her outdoor clothes.
‘You see, she is quite all right,’ she announced over her shoulder. James appeared in the doorway. He cast his sister an angry glance.
‘Good heavens, James,’ she said, before he could begin his reproaches. ‘I wonder if it is possible for you to get any wetter. If you mean to stay in Bath you should get yourself an umbrella.’
‘Never mind that,’ he snapped, ‘just see you remember what I told you earlier. We shall be at the Pump Room at the same time tomorrow.’
There was a distinct emphasis on the we. Sarah looked at him very levelly but said nothing. He glared at her and opened his mouth, then glanced at Lizzie and snapped his mouth closed without speaking.
‘You are dripping on to the carpet,’ Sarah pointed out. With an exasperated snort, James swung round and went out.
‘It all depends on the weather,’ Lizzie said, following him into the hallway. ‘Perhaps we shall go for a walk if it is fine tomorrow. You might like to join us? And, oh, James, what do you think of….’
The rest of her words were too faint for Sarah to make out. She heard James say something in reply, then the front door slammed shut and Lizzie came back into the cosy sitting-room. Sarah raised her brows enquiringly. ‘What schemes have you been planning?’
Lizzie took off her wet cloak and set it on a chairback in front of the fire. She peered into the mirror over the mantelpiece and adjusted her curls. ‘The Keatings went to visit Wells last week. It is something we never did when we were at school here. They are full of admiration for the fine architecture of the cathedral and the beauties of the countryside. I am sure I can persuade Greg to drive us there.’
Sarah felt the now familiar lurch in her chest. She longed to see him yet dreaded it because every time she did, his good qualities made her even more aware of how much she liked him. There was no pleasure in being a bystander while he and Lizzie seemed to be growing ever closer.