For Your Arms Only

by Caroline Linden

  She scowled at her reflection. As if he had nothing else to worry about in his life but her feelings. She pinched a wisp of hair from her temple and wound it around one finger, wishing her hair would shine and curl like Callie’s instead of needing tight braids and pins to stay put. The wisp of hair uncurled from her finger to hang limply beside her cheek, and she gave up and went downstairs.

  It was a fine dinner. Callie was seated next to a Mr. Davis, and he appeared quite taken with her. Cressida was between Tom and Sir Edmund Leslie, an old friend of the family. Sir Edmund was charming and talkative, unlike Tom, who grew quieter as the evening went on. Alec was nowhere to be seen, and after a brief hesitation, John stepped into the role of the host. There was an odd glance between him and his mother, but Alec’s mother just smiled graciously and thanked John.

  After dinner they retired to the large drawing room, and Emily Hayes played the pianoforte before card tables were set up. Cressida watched her sister agree to partner Mr. Davis. Callie’s eyes shone as he escorted her to the table and seated her, then fetched her a glass of sherry. Callie, she realized, looked happy with a man for the first time in years. Since her dreadful marriage, Callie had shied away from men; Tom was the only one she was at ease with. It broke Cressida’s heart to think of her generous, kindhearted sister spending the rest of her life alone. But as Callie grew more confident and easy, gentlemen noticed her. Mr. Davis, for certain, seemed enchanted. Granny would be so pleased.

  She turned and caught sight of Tom, standing by himself just inside the door. He had excused himself after dinner, and she hadn’t seen him come back. He was so quiet and somber, and wore an odd expression as he gazed across the room. Cressida took a step toward him, thinking he must be looking for her, when she realized where his eyes were fixed.

  Not on searching for her. On Callie, now laughing at something Mr. Davis had said.

  Cressida sucked in her breath in dismay. Oh dear. Now she saw, with painful clarity, why Tom had sold his consuls to buy the fabric for the dresses she and Callie wore tonight. Tom was in love with her sister. And Callie, to judge from her pleasure at Mr. Davis’s attentions, either had no idea or didn’t return the feeling.

  He caught her staring at him then. His face changed and he turned and slipped out of the room. Cressida murmured an excuse to Julia, seated beside her, and hurried after him, following all the way to the stables.

  “Tom!”

  He stopped, squared his shoulders, and turned. “Aye?”

  “I wanted to thank you again,” she told him. “For the silk.”

  He gave an embarrassed grin. “It was my pleasure, Cressida. And you look so lovely, too.”

  “Thanks to you.” She couldn’t stop stroking the soft fabric that flowed over her body like a cool, bright stream of water. “Such a choice of colors! Callie’s dress is just perfect for her.”

  His face softened even more. “Aye,” he murmured.

  “How long have you been in love with her?” Cressida asked in the same matter-of-fact tone. For a moment Tom didn’t react, and then he just turned on his heel and walked away. Cressida went right after him. “I saw how you looked at her just now, and realized I was a fool not to have guessed earlier. Does she know?”

  Tom’s face twisted but he made no effort to deny it. “Ah, blessed Lord, I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?” He looked miserable, but Cressida pressed on. “Why have you not told her? What if she returns your feelings?”

  He jerked so hard she thought he would fall to his knees. “She couldn’t. Feel the same, I mean. You won’t—I beg you—”

  “I think you might be wrong,” she told him softly. “I think Callie cares for you very much. But after the way Mr. Phillips…well, after being married to him—”

  “He was a coldhearted devil,” growled Tom. “I knew it from the moment I met him, but your father wanted—”

  He stopped so suddenly Cressida blinked. Her father had approved the match, even though he hardly knew Julian Phillips, but then he had gone back to his regiment. In fact, none of them really knew Mr. Phillips before he offered for Callie, but he was a well-to-do local merchant, and very eligible for a soldier’s daughter. “What, Tom?”

  He shrugged and turned away. “Nothing.”

  Cressida picked up her skirts and ran after him as he walked off again. “What did you start to say? Tom!”

  Tom stopped but didn’t face her. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “Phillips offered him two hundred pounds for her hand,” he said, his voice echoing in the carriage bay. “The sergeant needed the money. And if—if she married Phillips, then she could never…” His voice quivered a moment. “Never marry someone like me.”

  Cressida closed her eyes and exhaled, as if part of her spirit had deserted her. Oh, Papa…

  “That’s what the sergeant didn’t want,” Tom added. “Not ever. Not even after Phillips got his rightful reward.”

  “That’s why you stayed with us,” she whispered. Not for Papa’s sake; for Callie’s. “You’ve been in love with her for years. Oh, Tom…”

  “I don’t want pity,” he said. “It’s not her fault. I tried to go, Cressida. I just…” His shoulders slumped. “I just can’t.”

  She didn’t know what to do, or say, or even think. Her heart quailed from believing her father would so callously deny one man and reward another. Callie’s marriage to Mr. Phillips had been disastrous and wretched, but Cressida had always thought Papa acted in Callie’s interest, to find her a well-situated husband and a secure home. He had encouraged her to receive Mr. Phillips, pointed out how advantageous a match it would be, and given Phillips permission to marry Callie in barely a month’s time. Had he done that for money—and to deny Tom?

  Traitorously, she suspected he had. She recalled all the times Papa had made sport of Tom, laughing at his steady temper and humble dreams. Papa’s dreams had never been humble, and nothing about him was steady. Tom had always absorbed it with a halfhearted smile or a shrug and never seemed much to mind it. But in denying him Callie’s hand, Papa had still succeeded in tying Tom—steadfast, devoted Tom—to their family for years.

  “I’ve got to clean the tack,” Tom mumbled as she stood there, too aghast to say anything. “Need to make myself useful around this fancy house. Good night.” He disappeared into the back of the stable, leaving Cressida alone with the horrible knowledge that her father was not merely less noble than her grandmother had always claimed, but that he might in fact have been an utter fraud.

  Chapter 19

  Cressida took her time returning to the house. She couldn’t go back to the drawing room, where the rest of the company was chatting and laughing. She sat outside on a bench in the garden for a long while, trying to reconcile this new view of her father with her long-held affection for him. It was not easy to admit that the man she had always loved, if not revered, could have been so cold—but as she had realized in London, she hadn’t known him as well as she thought. It was Granny who worshipped him, and she had taught her granddaughters to do the same.

  Now that Papa was gone, it seemed she was learning ever more unsavory things about him. Cressida had been working on the journal and made some progress, but it was years old and probably wouldn’t tell her anything about where he was now. Perhaps that was best. She would continue working on it, because she couldn’t bring herself to leave a puzzle undone, but only for enlightenment on who her father really was. If he truly was gone for good, it might be her only chance to know.

  The cold of the stone gradually seeped through her skirts, and she rose to go back inside. The house was quieter when she did, the servants no longer standing at attention in the hall. The gentlemen who lived nearby must have gone home, and it was past the hour when Mrs. Hayes usually retired. From the drawing room she could still hear Julia and her cousin Emily, talking with John and Callie. She hesitated, not wanting to be rude but also not wanting to join them.

  “Cressida.”

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sp; Her heart lurched. She swung around to see Alec, in his greatcoat and hat. He must have come in from the side door, closer to the stables, and missed crossing her path outdoors. He looked tired and dirty, but the sight of him unleashed a sudden burst of happiness within her.

  “Yes?” she said, a little breathlessly.

  Laughter drifted from the nearby drawing room, Julia’s voice and Emily’s. His eyes moved to the doors, then back to her face. “I trust you enjoyed the evening?” She nodded. He sighed, peeling off his riding gloves and stuffing them into his pocket. “Excellent. Might I…might I have a moment to speak to you?” Again she nodded, and walked with him in silence to his study.

  A fire was already burning, and the lamps lit. A servant appeared to take away his coat and hat. Alec had to look away from Cressida until the footman left. She was temptation itself in that ocean green gown, with her hair pinned high on her crown and one long wisp curling down her cheek. It made him think of the other day, when he had held her up against the library door and her hair had tumbled loose as he dragged his fingers through it. He gestured toward the settee, and then sat as far from her as possible. “I must beg your pardon. I’ve spent this week looking into your father’s disappearance, and have found no trace of him.”

  “Why must you beg pardon for that?”

  Because he had thrown himself into that effort to avoid the house—and her. If he could locate her father, she would be able to leave his house before he lost whatever remained of his honor and seduced her, which had been on his mind almost every minute since he held her in his arms and tasted the soft skin at the nape of her neck. He didn’t want her to leave; quite the contrary. But he adamantly wanted her to have the freedom to leave. He knew all too well how it felt to be hemmed in and powerless in life. The best thing he could do for her—aside from controlling his private desires—was give her back what she had lost. So he traced every connection and possibility, riding out early in the morning and coming home late at night, making no secret of his object and paying generously for information. Stafford would have an apoplexy when he heard how much money Alec had spent in pursuit of this one sergeant. “Because I promised to keep you better informed of my actions,” he said. “In my defense, I can only say that it was tedious and tiring, and involved roaming about the country asking a great many people very dull questions.”

  She nodded soberly. “I see.”

  “I have looked from here to London and back, at every town on the main road and some off to the sides, and no one has seen him or heard from him since he vanished.” He paused. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you.”

  Alec didn’t feel compelled to tell her the uglier details, how many bills George Turner had left unpaid, nor how many of those publicans and merchants had expressed an interest in getting their hands around Turner’s neck, if not his purse. He didn’t tell her about the retired soldiers and officers who seemed oddly relieved Turner had gone missing, nor about the well-to-do widow who claimed he had been engaged to her even as she spat on the ground at the mention of his name. None of that changed the fact that all his inquiries had come to nothing. He would wait a bit longer, in case his questioning flushed out information later, but for once Alec was at a loss. The man had simply disappeared, along with his horse and whatever baggage he had taken to London. He didn’t want to discuss any of that with Cressida.

  There was, however, the encounter in the library between them. She was a guest in his mother’s home, for pity’s sake, and he had trapped her and held her and kissed her. But when he tried to form an apology, it wouldn’t come; he knew he should regret his actions even as he thought about repeating them every day. Avoiding her hadn’t dimmed the desire at all, and now she was here beside him, more tempting than ever and not looking reproachful in the slightest. It was a siren call to the beast inside him, tempting him to close the distance between them and take up where he had left off that day, when she had been aroused and seductive and his for the taking.

  But he was not that beast. Cressida Turner had a loyal but wary heart, and it had been broken once before. How could he ask her to risk that again? He wasn’t the sort of man she needed, a decent honorable man who could give her a proper home. He was a man adrift, disgusting to his own family and unwanted by his neighbors. Even if he offered her marriage, she would be a fool to accept. Alec focused on his hands, clasped on his knee, and reminded himself of that last fact. If he looked at her too long, it might just slip his mind.

  “Unless there is something in his journal, I fear we have few avenues left to explore.”

  She started at the word “journal.” “Oh! Yes, I have been working on it, but haven’t solved the code yet.”

  He nodded. “Perhaps that will reveal something.”

  She nodded, smoothing her palms over her lap. “Yes, perhaps.” After a moment of awkward silence she got to her feet. “Thank you for telling me. Good night.”

  He drew a harsh breath as she crossed the room. “Cressida.” She paused at the door without looking back. “The other day, in the library…” Slowly she turned her head, not quite facing him. Her eyelashes veiled her gaze. “I apologize.”

  Her eyelashes trembled. “For what?”

  “For—” Not for kissing her. Not for touching her. “For keeping you when you wished to go.”

  “And for the rest?”

  Finally she looked at him, that direct, open gaze that had first caught his attention. Alec couldn’t have lied to her now to save his soul. “I am only sorry for that if you are.”

  The color rose in her face and heat flared in her eyes. He would probably spend the rest of his life trying to find a name for that color. “Good,” she whispered. “Neither am I.” She opened the door and went out, closing it softly behind her.

  Cressida went to her room, hardly able to believe she had said that to him. She might as well have said out loud that she wanted him, which made her smile nervously as she climbed the stairs. The flash of desire in his eyes was everything she could have hoped for. She just didn’t know what it could lead to.

  Callie was unpinning her hair, humming quietly. There was color in her face and a sparkle in her eye that Cressida hadn’t seen in a long time. The rose silk dress was hanging over the wardrobe door, as if spread out for continued admiration and enjoyment. The sight brought back her conversation with Tom, and shook her out of her haze of longing. Silently she picked up the brush and went to work on Callie’s curls.

  “What a lovely evening,” Callie said. She smiled at her reflection, tilting her head a little to the side and looking almost coquettish. “Did you enjoy it?”

  “Yes.”

  Her sister glanced at her. “You disappeared quite early. Where did you go?”

  “I didn’t have your queue of admirers waiting on me. I’m surprised you noticed I was gone.”

  “Hardly a queue. One gentleman who was kind.”

  Cressida raked the brush hard through Callie’s hair, making her sister squeak. “Very kind, it looked to me. No, I walked out and talked with Tom instead. Sometimes it seems we take him for granted, since he’s been with us for so many years.”

  “I suppose,” said Callie on a gasp. She was holding tightly to the edge of the table as Cressida yanked on her tangled hair. Cressida relented and gentled her strokes until her sister’s fingers eased their grip and slid into her lap.

  “I think we’ve all underestimated Tom. He is one of the most wholly decent men I know, a gentleman in deed if not by birth. Just think of where we’d be now if he hadn’t stayed with us all these weeks since Papa left. I cannot imagine life without Tom, can you?”

  “Of course not.” Callie looked surprised by the question.

  “And it struck me, as I was watching Mr. Davis hang on your every word, that I’ve known Tom for years. We get on quite well together.” She had Callie’s undivided attention now. Cressida hid her satisfaction and continued sweeping the brush through her sister’s long dark curls as she talke
d. “Perhaps I’ve been overlooking something, or someone, right before my eyes.”

  “Cressida.” Callie seemed to have trouble speaking. “Are you—are you saying—or trying to say—is he—Tom—does he—?”

  “Well, setting my cap for Tom would be sensible, wouldn’t it? We would neither of us be deceived in the other’s character. Granny would always have a home, and you, too, if you wished.”

  “Well…perhaps, but—”

  “And he has his pension. He told me, when he bought the silk for the dresses. Now that we’ve lost Brighampton, we might go anywhere. In Portsmouth there would be more work for him, and we could take one of those cozy houses down by the quay, the ones you and I used to admire so much.”

  “So you—you are in love with him?”

  Cressida heaved a sigh. “No, not in love, although I am very fond of him. Didn’t Papa always say that would be more than enough? I suppose I’m too old to be particular about that anymore.”

  “Papa said—” Callie’s voice rose into a high squeak. She stopped, then spoke in her normal tone. “Papa disapproved of Tom. Mr. Webb, I mean.”

  That was twice Callie had slipped and called him Tom. Cressida would have smiled, except that she heard the feeling not in those utterances, but when Callie called him Mr. Webb. “Papa’s no longer here, and I cannot help thinking he doesn’t mean to come back. And in any event, I’m hardly a young girl who has to do my father’s bidding. I daresay if Tom will have me, I couldn’t find a better match.”

  Callie sat silently.

  “Do you not approve of my idea?” Cressida prodded.

  Her sister stared at her reflection with wide, dismayed eyes. Cressida sank down and sat on the back of the dressing table bench. “Unless, that is, you fancy him,” she said quietly. “And think he might return your affection.”

  “Perhaps,” whispered Callie, meeting Cressida’s gaze in the mirror.

  “Did Papa…?”

  Callie blinked, and gave a slight nod. Cressida tamped down the burst of anger at her father. She put her arm around her sister’s shoulders. “Then you should—”