Regency Admirer/The Merry Gentleman/The Gentleman's Demand

by Meg Alexander

  REGENCY

  ADMIRER

  The Merry Gentleman

  The Gentleman’s Demand

  MEG ALEXANDER

  www.millsandboon.com.au

  CONTENTS

  THE MERRY GENTLEMAN

  THE GENTLEMAN’S DEMAND

  MEG ALEXANDER

  After living in southern Spain for many years, Meg now lives in Kent, although, having been born in Lancashire, she feels that her roots are in the north of England. Meg’s career has encompassed a wide variety of roles, from professional cook to assistant director of a conference center. She has always been a voracious reader and loves to write. Other loves include history, cats, gardening, cooking and travel. She has a son and two grandchildren.

  The Merry Gentleman

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter One

  1794

  “Well, I’ll be damned!” Lieutenant Peregrine Wentworth stopped abruptly, peering through the darkness at the first floor of the house across the street.

  “Probably, old chap, but why just now? What’s up?” His companion swayed a little, shaking his head as if to clear it.

  “Quiet! Look up there! Don’t you see? There’s some fellow climbing up that tree. He’s almost reached the balcony...”

  “Can’t see a thing myself through all that greenery. Shouldn’t have ordered that last bottle... Sure you ain’t mistaken?”

  “He’s there all right,” Perry whispered. “Burglary, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  A branch creaked as the climber tried to conceal himself among the foliage. Perry’s deep voice had carried clearly through the still air of the Mediterranean night, and the climber knew himself to have been discovered by the watchers on the ground.

  “Blest if you ain’t right. Must we fetch him down?”

  “Most certainly.” Perry strode to the foot of the tree. “You, up there, come down at once!”

  There was silence from above his head.

  “Make haste, or you’ll regret it.” Perry gripped his sword, but his words brought no response.

  “Very well then, have it your way.” He didn’t remove the weapon from its scabbard, but he used it to jab upwards none too gently into the tangled branches.

  There was a yelp of anguish and an ominous creaking as the climber tried to scramble higher. Leaves rained down on Perry’s head, followed by a shower of twigs. Then the silence returned.

  “Stubborn devil, ain’t he? Must we shake the tree?”

  Perry shook his head. “If he falls, he’ll break his neck. I’ll go up after him, Chris.”

  “The tree won’t bear your weight, old chap...not with him as well. You ain’t exactly a midget.”

  Perry laughed at this reference to his massive frame. “It’s solid enough at the base. I won’t go far. Perhaps I can grab his foot. Here, take this!” He handed his sword to his companion and took a firm grip on the nearest branch.

  As he swung himself upwards, he realised that Chris was right. The tree began to sway alarmingly. He reached up a long arm and gave a grunt of satisfaction as his hand came into contact with a booted foot.

  “I have you now,” he announced. “Might as well give it up.”

  A volley of imprecations answered him.

  “I don’t understand a word of this Italian lingo,” Perry replied cheerfully. “You may as well save your curses for the magistrate.”

  “As you may yourself,” said an arctic voice from further along the balcony. “Take yourself off at once, or I shall summon the Watch.”

  Perry was so astonished to hear himself addressed in a cultivated English voice that he almost lost his grip upon the branch. His captive shouted in alarm and began to thrash about.

  “Stop that!” Perry shouted. “You’ll send us both headlong...”

  The girl on the balcony ran towards them. “Grip the balustrade, Cesare,” she cried. “As for you, sir, it would serve you right if your brains were dashed out in the street. For heaven’s sake, be quiet! Are you trying to rouse the neighbourhood?”

  Perry looked up to see a pale face peering down at him. The balcony and the room behind it were in darkness, so it was impossible to distinguish the girl’s features, but he guessed that she was very young.

  “I was attempting to do you a service,” he said with dignity. “I thought this fellow was a burglar.”

  “Well, he isn’t,” she snapped. “How dare you refer to Cesare as a ““fellow”? He is my...er...my friend, and at least he is no busybody. Go away!”

  With that she rapped Perry smartly over the head with what he guessed to be a fan. He reached up to defend himself, and felt the thin struts snap beneath his fingers.

  “You...you vandal! Now see what you have done!” The girl reached out to strike at him again, and he dodged aside as a heavy plant pot hurtled towards him, missing his head by inches. It fell to the ground with a resounding crash.

  “Charming!” Perry announced. “You have some curious customs in this country, ma’am. My own friends knock at the front door.”

  “Have you any?” she enquired. “I am surprised to hear it. Haven’t you done enough harm for one night?”

  The injustice of this accusation left him speechless. Boiling with indignation, he began to lower himself to the ground.

  There he found Chris convulsed with silent laughter.

  “It wasn’t funny!” Perry said in an injured tone. “She might have stunned me with that plant pot.”

  This sent Chris into fresh whoops of glee. “I guessed she wasn’t pleased,” he gasped. “Tell you what, old chap, you’ve disturbed a lovers’ tryst.”

  “How was I to know? The damned fellow didn’t have a guitar.”

  This finished Chris completely. For some moments he was unable to speak. When he did, it was to assure his friend that to serenade a lady was more usual in Spain.

  “That’s by the way,” Perry said darkly. “A lovers’ tryst? Why, that little hellcat is just a child! Couldn’t see her face too well, but she can’t be above fifteen. What a temper! She’d benefit from a sound beating.”

  “It’s the Latin temperament,” Chris said wisely. “These Italians are a hot-blooded lot.”

  “But she wasn’t Italian. Her English is as good as yours or mine. No trace of an accent. I’d stake my life that she is one of us.”

  “Well, it ain’t much of a mystery. Italy was always popular with our countrymen who made the Grand Tour. Now, old chap, the night is young. What do you say to sharing another bottle before we go back to the ship?”

  “That’s the best idea you’ve had all evening. I could use a glass of wine after that experience.” He began to chuckle. “It has taught me a lesson,” he admitted. “From now on, these Italian fellows may shin up trees and walls without another word from me.”

  The humour of the situation struck him suddenly and he too began to laugh. In great good humour they strolled together to the far end of the street, kicking aside the broken plant pot as they went.

  Perry glanced about him. “This place is like the tomb. I thought the commotion must have brought someone into the street. And not a tavern in sight.”

  At the end of the street they found themselves in a
deserted square, lit only by a single beam of light from a window not yet shuttered against the evening air.

  “Nothing here.” Chris looked about him in disgust. “We must be in the wealthier part of the city, though you’d never guess it with all these blank walls.”

  “I hear they keep their treasures hidden inside. Possibly they ain’t too fond of noise.”

  “Well, they don’t mind smells, apparently. God, there’s a stench! It’s worse than London. Just look at the gutters! They are heaving!”

  “Only a rat or two. Let’s go back. We’re bound to find something better than those drink shops round the docks.”

  “Very well. A good stiff brandy wouldn’t come amiss.” Chris turned and began to retrace his steps, but Perry had stopped beside what looked like a discarded bundle of clothing.

  “Hang on!” he said. “I thought I heard a moan.”

  Chris pushed at the bundle with his foot. “Just some poor devil sleeping rough,” he said. “I tell you, Perry, I never saw so many beggars in my life as here in Genoa.” He heard the tinkle of coins as Perry bent down.

  “At it again?” he chaffed. “I hope his friends ain’t lurking close. At the sound of money they’ll be down on us like a pack of wolves.”

  Perry grinned at him. “They won’t attack two English officers. They must know we are armed.”

  “Even so, it ain’t a bad idea to get away from here. Come on, after eight weeks living on salt beef I’ve a thirst that will take some quenching.”

  “You’ve done your best this evening,” Perry teased him. “You won’t tell me that you ain’t just a trifle bosky?”

  “Not a bit of it. It will take more than this Italian wine to put me on my back.”

  “Boasting again? Admit it, you were somewhat up in the world an hour ago. I thought...” Whatever he was about to say was lost as they heard another moan. A few quick steps took Perry back to the figure on the ground.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked. Then he looked up in exasperation. “Damme, he can’t understand me.”

  “Yes, I do,” a faint voice murmured. “Will you help me? I’ve been attacked.”

  “Are you English, sir?” Perry fell to his knees beside the man.

  “Yes. If you could raise me to my feet...? I took a blow to the head which rendered me unconscious.”

  “You need water,” Perry said decisively. He bent and raised the victim in his arms. A few long strides took him to the fountain in the middle of the square. There he soaked his handkerchief and wiped at the bloody face of what was clearly an elderly man.

  “You need more light,” Chris said quietly. “Bring him over here to where the lamp is shining from that window.”

  There, both men could see that the wound was still pouring blood.

  “You need a doctor, sir. Do you know of anyone close by?”

  “Just take me home,” the old man pleaded. “My house is just around the corner. I’ll send my man to fetch the surgeon.”

  “Can you walk if we assist you?”

  “I’ll try.” The man struggled to his feet and then sank back again. “I’m sorry, but I feel so faint.”

  “If you will allow me, sir.” Perry picked up the thin figure with ease, marvelling that a grown man could feel so light and fragile. “Will you give me your direction?”

  “Over there, in the street on the left...the Villa Castiglione...” The weak voice died away.

  “He’s fainted again, but it shouldn’t take long to find it.” Perry began to follow the directions, untroubled by the slight weight of his burden. “Can you make out the names?”

  “This must be the place. Wait a moment, Perry! Ain’t this the house where we saw the burglar? There’s the tree, and the plant pot scattered about the ground.”

  “No matter. Knock them up! The old man’s losing a lot of blood.”

  Chris beat a tattoo upon the massive wooden doors. Then they swung open and an astonished porter barred their way.

  “Stand aside!” Perry ordered briefly. “Your master has been injured. Bestir yourself! He needs a doctor.”

  He looked up to find himself under scrutiny by a major-domo. This individual wasted no time on questioning. A quick word dispatched a footman on the necessary errand and he led the way up a curving staircase.

  “This is Mr Grantham’s room.” He threw open a door upon the first floor. “What can I do to help?”

  “We need water to wash the blood away, and cloths to staunch the flow, smelling salts, and perhaps brandy... Oh, better not the latter for a head wound. If we get him into bed, he’ll be more comfortable.”

  The major-domo gave his orders quickly. Then he looked at Perry. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, Miss Elizabeth must be told.”

  “Not just yet, I think. A screaming woman is all we need.”

  “Miss Elizabeth will not scream, sir.”

  “Very well. You must do as you think best. Meantime, you might hand me a clean nightshirt.”

  “I will send for Mr Grantham’s valet, sir.”

  It was unfortunate that Miss Elizabeth Grantham arrived before the valet. Barefoot, with her hair in disarray, and clad only in her night attire, she was exposed to the full horror of the situation.

  She did not flinch at the sight which met her eyes, though the floor of her father’s bedchamber was scattered with bloodstained clothing. A sharp intake of breath was the only sign of her distress. Then she hurried across the room to bend over the prone figure on the bed.

  “Father?”

  “He can’t hear you, ma’am. He is still unconscious.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “I believe it is but a flesh wound, but we have sent for the surgeon.” Perry had recognised her at once.

  This was the girl he had seen previously on the balcony. He knew it before she spoke, but when she did so the clear, autocratic voice was unmistakable.

  She turned and looked at him. Then her eyes widened.

  “You?” she said in disbelief.

  Perry bowed. “First Lieutenant Peregrine Wentworth, of HMS Artemis, ma’am. This is Lord Christopher Rainham.”

  The introduction did not faze her in the least. She nodded briefly, and turned to take her father’s hand. His wound was still bleeding freely, soaking the compress on his brow, and his pallor was alarming.

  Elizabeth felt about her blindly for something to staunch the flow, and Perry thrust a cloth into her hand. Then he saw that she was shaking.

  “Let me!” he said. “Pray don’t distress yourself, Miss Grantham. Head wounds bleed profusely. The blow must have been severe, but it may not be as serious as you fear.”

  “He...he looks ghastly.” Her voice was not quite under control.

  “That may be due to shock, rather than a fatal injury. The surgeon will tell us more.”

  She turned to face him then, her face drained of all colour, and Perry caught his breath. Even in her distress, she was quite the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. In the light of the candles her dark hair gleamed like a raven’s wing, but it was her eyes which held him. Huge and lustrous, they were almost black.

  Though she was very young, she was not the child he had at first supposed. He guessed her to be seventeen or so, but she seemed to be mature beyond her years. There was strength of character in that determined little chin, and a certain promise in the wilful, mobile mouth.

  Beside him, he heard Christopher gasp. Then his lordship advanced towards Elizabeth.

  “Will you not take a little brandy, ma’am?” he suggested gently. “You too have suffered a shock.”

  Elizabeth straightened her back. Then her chin went up. “It won’t be necessary. I shall not faint.” She rose and faced the two men. “I should like to know what happened, if you please?”

  “We were walking through the square—” Perry had no opportunity to say more. It was at this moment that the surgeon bustled into the room. Ignoring Elizabeth’s protests, he demanded to be left alone with his patient, and she ha
d no alternative but to obey him.

  As she preceded the two young men down the massive staircase, her stiff carriage warned Perry of her displeasure. He smiled to himself. This young lady was unaccustomed to having her wishes thwarted. He was forced to accord her a certain amount of grudging admiration. She had neither screamed nor fainted at the shocking sight which met her eyes. A cool creature, this, with a will of iron. He could only guess what it had cost her to maintain her self-control.

  Admirable, of course, but her faults outweighed her virtues. Personally, he had no taste for hellcats, beautiful though she was.

  She stalked across the marble hall ahead of them and led them into an ornate salon. Motioning to them to take a seat, she then rang for refreshments.

  Chris was quick to protest. “Really, ma’am, there is no need to trouble yourself. You cannot wish for company at this time.”

  “I wish to hear what happened.” Pale, but composed, she seated herself opposite.

  “As I told you, Miss Grantham, we were walking through the square when we heard your father call for help. He must have been attacked, though we saw no one in the vicinity. He was able to tell us where he lived, so we brought him here.” Perry made his explanation as brief as possible.

  “Then I must thank you, gentlemen.” She offered each of them a glass of wine, though she did not touch her own. “Possibly you have saved his life. We are in your debt.”

  Perry gave her a curious look. She was the oddest creature. So tiny that her feet barely touched the ground as she sat in the wing chair, she now reminded him of a child playing at being a hostess. A glance at her face swiftly disabused him of that idea. The martial light in her eyes made him suspect that she had guessed his thoughts.

  “So!” she said coolly. “You are officers in the British Navy?”

  “Yes, ma’am, put into Genoa for watering and provisions.”

  The information did not appear to interest her. After satisfying herself that their glasses were empty, she rose.

  “I thank you again for your timely intervention.” Elizabeth held out her hand. “You will excuse me if I don’t offer you further hospitality, but under the circumstances...”