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

by Meg Alexander

  ‘And that would have been acceptable to you?’

  ‘No, it would not!’ Hatton had reached the limits of his endurance. Now he walked towards her and lifted her face to his. Then he kissed her long and tenderly.

  ‘Does that answer your question?’ he asked in a low voice.

  Sophie broke away from him in a panic, drawing her hand across her mouth as if to wipe away the touch of his lips.

  ‘Despicable!’ she cried. ‘How dare you insult me so? If I were a man I’d call you out!’

  Hatton regarded her for a long moment. ‘If you were a man I should not have kissed you,’ he said reasonably. ‘Have you forgotten our plan?’

  ‘Who were you convincing of your ardour this time?’ she snapped. ‘No one is observing us.’

  ‘I thought I heard approaching footsteps, ma’am.’ His eyes were dancing. ‘Anyone might have entered the room.’

  ‘Liar!’ Her anger was directed as much against herself as at him. With his mouth on hers she had wanted to throw her arms about his neck and hold him close as long-forgotten passions fired her blood. Such weakness was humiliating.

  ‘Take care!’ she cried. ‘After today’s experiences it would not take much to persuade me to take my son and leave this place, whatever the consequences.’

  ‘Would you be so foolish?’ he enquired mildly. ‘I think not. Some of your experiences have been unpleasant, but not all of them, I trust. You seem to be none the worse for them.’

  A glance at her face showed him her heightened colour, but at least she’d lost that look of terror which the stranger had inspired in her, and Hatton was satisfied.

  ‘Now, let us a call a truce,’ he cried. ‘Can you tell me nothing more?’

  ‘No! I had no time to move among the men on the chance of discovering their destination.’

  ‘It is no matter,’ he mused. ‘The first approach has been made. When our friend returns he will have some plausible reason as to why his goods are stored in the cellar here. Don’t be too eager to believe him...’

  ‘You mean I should ask him for some proof of ownership?’

  Hatton laughed. ‘He will have nothing in writing, Mistress Firle, but he’s no fool. As we heard, he would rather have you with him than against him. I would expect him to counter your objections with some hints as to how a penniless widow might provide herself with a comfortable living.’

  ‘But what shall I say?’ she cried in desperation.

  ‘Let us play it by ear. The important thing is that you allow him to persuade you to let him move the cargo.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Then I shall follow him to his destination.’

  ‘Suppose he should recognise you, sir? Clearly, you have been connected with the authorities for some time.’

  ‘Worried about me, ma’am? I am flattered.’ Hatton saw the glowering look upon her face and laughed. ‘The gentleman does not know me by sight. It is only in this past year or so that I have taken on these duties.’

  ‘And before then?’

  ‘I was with Wellington in Spain, Mistress Firle. My brothers are still there.’

  Sophie was surprised. It was the first time Hatton had spoken of his family. ‘That must be a worry for you,’ she told him with quick sympathy. ‘The campaign is said to have been hard-fought...’

  ‘It isn’t over yet,’ he told her grimly. ‘I had no wish to leave, but it was felt that I could be of more use here.’

  ‘But why you?’

  ‘There are family reasons. My grandfather was instrumental in breaking up the Hawkhurst Gang. You will have heard of them?’

  Sophie shuddered. ‘Were they not murderers to a man?’ she asked in faint tones. ‘But that was fifty years ago.’

  ‘Little has changed. My father carried on the work, but he has paid for it. When his house was fired he suffered serious injury.’

  Sophie tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. She stretched out a hand to her companion. ‘Forgive me!’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t understand. You have the best of reasons to pursue these men, apart from a wish to serve your country.’

  Hatton took her hand in his and kissed it, but whatever he had been about to say was interrupted when Kit rushed into the room.

  ‘Hatton, Hatton, you are back! The pond is frozen hard. Will you teach me to skate? You promised...’

  Laughing, Hatton took the child upon his knee. ‘I don’t skate in the dark...but tomorrow... Shall we say at ten o’clock?’

  ‘If it rains the ice will melt.’ Kit looked crestfallen.

  ‘We’ll face that dreadful calamity when it happens. Meantime, you might like to try your skates. Do you see that parcel in the corner? Open it and see what you can find.’

  As Kit flew across the room and tore at the wrapping of his parcel, Sophie shook her head.

  ‘You spoil him, sir. You are too indulgent.’ Her smile left him in no doubt that she was pleased.

  He shrugged her thanks aside. The expression on the child’s face was reward enough.

  Kit came towards them, carrying a pair of sturdy leather boots with long blades screwed into the soles. He might have been carrying the Holy Grail.

  Sophie knelt beside him to help him lace them up. She was unsurprised to find that they were a perfect fit. Now she knew the reason for the sudden disappearance of a pair of Kit’s old boots.

  Hatton held out his hands to help the child to his feet.

  ‘Comfortable?’ he asked.

  Kit nodded. ‘I’m a bit wobbly, sir.’

  ‘You will be so at first, until you find your balance, and the boots may be a little stiff. Try them for a while, but don’t wear them for too long today, or you may get a blister.’

  Both he and Sophie hid their amusement as Kit tottered away, doubtless to show Reuben his new treasures.

  ‘I hope he doesn’t fall and hurt himself,’ she said anxiously.

  ‘He’ll have worse falls upon the ice. Are you sure that you wish to trust him to my tender care?’

  ‘Kit has set his heart on it. Besides, Mr Hatton, I have no fear that you will let him come to any harm.’

  For the first time in their acquaintance Hatton looked embarrassed, but he made a quick recovery.

  ‘You mollycoddle him!’ he told her roughly, expecting a furious retort. It did not come.

  Sophie rose to her feet. She did not trouble to hide her amusement. ‘And you are worse,’ she told him. ‘Kit has only to express a wish to you, and it is granted. Dear me, what a father you would make!’

  The implications of this remark were not lost on either of them, and Sophie hurried away before she could compound her error further.

  For the next few hours she was fully occupied in caring for the unfortunate occupants of the overturned coach. One of the gentlemen had suffered a broken arm, whilst the other was nursing various cuts and bruises. Only the woman had escaped with little more than a severe shaking. The experience had done nothing to improve her temper. Demands that their coachman be dismissed without a character were interspersed with bouts of strong hysterics.

  Sophie lost all patience. She ordered a hot toddy and added a couple of extra measures of strong rum. With any luck the woman would fall into a drunken stupor and could then be carried to her bed.

  ‘Why, Mistress Firle, you shock me!’ Hatton was at her elbow, grinning broadly. ‘I thought you despised hard liquor.’

  ‘I am come to the conclusion that it has its uses,’ she replied with feeling as she thrust the tankard into the woman’s hand. ‘Drink this, ma’am! It is a powerful restorative.’

  She heard a choking sound beside her. ‘Powerful indeed!’ Hatton whispered. ‘That potion is enough to fell a horse!’

  Sophie did not deign to answer him. She moved away to enquire about the condition of the others. The man with the broken arm was not complaining, but his face was twisted in agony.

  ‘The surgeon will soon be here,’ she comforted. ‘Then you will be more comfortable.’

>   ‘Ma’am, will you see to my friend?’ he asked. ‘I fear that he is bleeding badly.’

  Sophie called for hot water and bandages. Then she set about treating his companion’s wounds. She was still working on them when the surgeon arrived. He set her aside at once.

  ‘No great harm done,’ he announced. ‘You have stopped the bleeding, ma’am. Now let us see to this gentleman here.’

  Sophie fled. She could cope with bleeding, but she could not face the thought of standing by whilst the broken arm was set.

  ‘Squeamish?’ a deep voice enquired.

  Sophie turned to find Hatton looking down at her.

  ‘I suppose so,’ she admitted with some reluctance. ‘It will hurt quite dreadfully.’

  Hatton threw his arm about her shoulders. ‘You have done enough,’ he announced. ‘Those travellers need rest. Leave them to their slumbers and come and dine with me.’

  ‘No!’ she told him firmly. ‘There is too much to do, I have not yet enquired about the groom—’

  ‘Thrown clear, and quite unharmed,’ he assured her.

  ‘Well, the damaged coach will need repair. I must send for the wheelwright—’

  ‘Already done! Anything else?’ She saw the challenge in his eyes and thought she knew the reason for it. ‘Perhaps you do not care to be alone with me. Could that be the motive for your unwillingness to give me the pleasure of your company.’

  ‘Of course not!’ Sophie stiffened. As usual he seemed to have this curious ability to read her mind, but she would not admit to the truth. ‘I am not aware that you found pleasure in my company,’ she told him coldly.

  ‘No? Then I must be slipping, ma’am. I thought I had made it clear.’

  Sophie backed away from him, suspecting that he intended to kiss her again, but he laughed and held out his hand to her.

  ‘May we not be friends for this one evening at least? Let us forget our problems for these next few hours and dine like civilised people. You shall tell me of your life before you married Firle and I will entertain you with the gossip from Brighton.’

  Sophie looked at him uncertainly, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. He was a disturbing being, dangerous to her peace of mind. In his company she felt fully alive, piqued on some occasions and furious on others, but always excited for some reason she could not fathom.

  And then there was his kindness to Kit. That she could not forget. It would be churlish to refuse this simple request to dine with him.

  At last she held out her hand. ‘Very well,’ she demurred. ‘But on one condition, sir...’

  ‘And what is that, Mistress Firle?’

  ‘My servants need no further convincing that you...I mean...they all believe by now that you are come to...to offer me your hand.’

  ‘Do they, ma’am? I must take leave to doubt it. Matthew and his wife both know full well that I have another purpose here. That is unfortunate, but once we entered the cellars it was inevitable. Let us hope that they did not share that knowledge with the others.’

  ‘Matthew is no fool,’ she told him quickly. ‘He would not tell Abby. Nor will Bess speak of it to her brother and his son...’

  ‘Good! I trust that you are right. It means, of course, that I must continue to pursue you.’ Hatton’s eyes were dancing.

  ‘From a distance, sir. I must have your word on that.’

  ‘Agreed!’ He gave her a solemn bow. ‘I must not kiss you, nor may I hold you in my arms, unless, of course, Abby should chance to enter the room.’

  ‘Even then,’ she told him solemnly. ‘It is unseemly.’

  ‘Suppose you trip or faint?’ he teased. ‘Am I to let you fall to the ground?’

  ‘I shall not faint, Mr Hatton. And if you continue to annoy me, you may be the person who falls to the ground.’

  ‘Threats, my dear?’ Hatton shuddered in mock terror. ‘You are a modern Boudicca...’

  ‘Then you would do well to remember that the Queen of the Iceni was said to have scythes upon her chariot wheels. They cut away the legs from her opponents.’

  ‘Touché.’ He grinned. ‘A truce then, ma’am?’

  ‘A truce!’ Sophie gave him her hand. ‘Now, sir, I must change my gown. Bess does not care to have her cooking spoiled by laggardly diners.’

  Hatton let her go, well satisfied with her complaisance. He’d determined not to allow her to dine alone, knowing that, if she were left to her own thoughts, Sophie would continue to reflect upon the dangers of her situation.

  Was that why he had kissed her? If so, it had served its purpose in diverting her attention from the ugly scene she’d witnessed. She could no longer be in any doubt as to the ruthless nature of the men he sought.

  Then he cursed softly under his breath. He was deluding himself. He’d kissed her because his passion for her could no longer be denied, and it was madness to fall into this easiest of traps. What was happening to him? Every instinct warned him to stay away from her...to keep her at a distance...but it needed only the sight of her to set his blood afire. Such folly was unlike him.

  In the past he’d felt contempt for those who’d been so easily led astray by a pair of fine eyes or a charming smile, combined with a winning disposition. Now he was caught in the same toils. Perhaps it was not too late to extricate himself.

  He grimaced in some amusement. Sophie’s disposition most certainly could not be described as winning. She’d fought him every step of the way since the moment of their meeting. She was no milk-and-water miss, fierce as a tigress in defence of her young so he could do no other than admire her.

  And that had led to...what? There had been no need to make a parade of his devotion. An arm flung carelessly across the back of a lady’s chair was enough to cause a scandal in his circles. He’d kissed her to annoy her, as he now admitted to himself. Well, he had been hoist with his own petard. Her response had startled him.

  At first he’d thought that he must have been mistaken, but when he had repeated the experiment he could no longer be in any doubt. This was a woman worthy of capture. At another time, and in another place, he would not have hesitated, but now his hands were tied.

  Nothing of this showed in his manner as he rose to greet her later in the evening. Gravely, he led her to a chair and offered her a glass of Madeira.

  Sophie shook her head. She had no intention of lowering her guard. Long reflection had persuaded her that, in agreeing to dine alone with Hatton, she was playing with fire. Long months as belle of the county before her marriage had given her a certain insight into gentlemen’s intentions. Now she knew that Hatton wanted her, in spite of his protestations that he was playing a part.

  Strangely, the knowledge pleased her. It gave her a degree of power over him, but she could not guess at its extent. That she would only learn by trial and error.

  As they sat down to dine the tension in the room was palpable. Hatton addressed himself to a dish of turbot in sauce with every appearance of enjoyment, but Sophie seemed to have lost her appetite.

  ‘Do try this macaroni à la napolitaine,’ he coaxed. ‘The Prince’s chef could not better it.’

  Sophie took a bite or two to please him.

  He bent a critical gaze upon her. ‘Let me ask you something, ma’am. Have you ever seen a racehorse?’

  ‘Why, yes, of course.’

  ‘Then you will have noticed their fine condition, with gleaming coats, and every muscle in perfect harmony?’

  Sophie stared at him. She could not imagine where the conversation was leading.

  ‘That is so,’ she agreed.

  ‘And are we any different, Mistress Firle? Racehorses are fed with care, and that is the reason for their success. Human beings are no different.’

  ‘Quite possibly. I cannot think why this should concern you.’

  ‘It should concern you...’ he said with meaning. ‘You don’t eat enough. It will tell on you in time, believe me. We humans have survived across the centuries because of our willingness to eat a varied diet
.’

  ‘You would have me make my way through seven courses?’

  ‘No, ma’am, there is a happy medium. Now try these collops...’ He helped her to a couple of chops, neatly trimmed of fat. ‘You will find them light enough to leave room for the next course.’

  Sophie was tempted to remonstrate. Instead she changed the subject. ‘You promised to tell me all the Brighton gossip,’ she reminded him.

  ‘You sound like your son, ma’am.’ Hatton chuckled.

  ‘I must suppose I do, but I have always longed to hear of the doings of the great and good—’

  ‘Or even the doings of the great and not so good?’

  ‘Even that.’ Sophie could not hide her curiosity. ‘My father spoke often of the Prince and what a pleasure it was to see him strolling about the town, so popular and so much at ease with the common folk.’

  ‘That, I fear, is somewhat changed since your father’s day, though Prince George is still more popular in Brighton than he is in London.’

  ‘Have you met him?’ she asked eagerly. ‘One hears so many rumours that it is difficult to judge of his character with any truth.’

  ‘He is a curious mixture, much more so than other men. Obstinate, vain, highly strung and over-emotional, he is quick to take offence, sometimes where none is intended. He never forgives a slight to his person...’

  ‘Then it is easy to dislike him?’

  ‘It is almost impossible, Mistress Firle. You have not studied the other side of the coin. I think I never met a man with so much charm, when he chooses to exert it. He can be witty and entertaining, with an affability which disarms his enemies. I have seen them change their opinion of him in the course of a few moments.’

  ‘You sound as if you admire him.’

  ‘I do. He is greatly gifted. Did you know that he speaks four languages as fluently as English? He is fond of music, as are all the Hanoverians, and we have not had such a patron of the arts since the first King Charles.’

  ‘But?’ Sophie had sensed a certain reservation in his tone.

  ‘But he is his own worst enemy. The people have no quarrel with his fondness for the ladies, to put the matter delicately. What they won’t forgive is his treatment of his wife...his second wife, I mean.’