The Surrender of Miss Fairbourne

by Madeline Hunter

“That is true, Emma. It is very unfair too. However, as it happens, I have a very nice house here in London, and much more than a cottage by the sea. And I have a lot of carriages, and one of them can be yours.”

  “Are you offering me an arrangement, Darius?” It touched her deeply that he still wanted her in any way, and that she might not lose him too soon. Eventually, but not yet. Even the liaison he implied would be ruinous for him, however. Perhaps he counted on his famous discretion to keep her a secret.

  “I am suggesting a very special arrangement, Emma.” He glanced over her head to the building. “I have half an auction house. I think I need someone to watch over that investment for me in the years to come. I am not inclined to leave it totally in the hands of my partner. Not that I do not trust your brother’s expertise or honesty, of course.”

  “Of course.” He did not seek a romantic liaison, then. He was not proposing she even be his mistress. It would primarily be a business arrangement of a different kind, it seemed. She pretended that sorrow did not already sicken her heart. “I would be proud to be your representative at Fairbourne’s. I promise you that nothing will ever be done there in the future that might bring discredit to your name, Darius. That will never happen again if you allow me to watch over your interests there.” She realized that he might doubt her, considering the past. “I give my word on this.”

  He caressed her face and looked deeply into her eyes. “I do not need your promises. Your character speaks for itself, and I know it very well now.”

  She tried to smile, but felt her mouth tremble. “You can be sure of discretion too. I will see to that as well. No one will ever know you invested.”

  He kissed her sweetly. The emotions that his tenderness evoked pained her. She knew then that she could not bear what his caresses seemed to imply.

  She broke the kiss, but remained within his embrace. She savored how his arms encompassed her for a few final moments before she spoke. “I am grateful that your trust and friendship will keep me from being dependent on my brother, Darius. However, I do not think that I can agree to being an employee with whom you might occasionally share passion. It is not for lack of desire, as I think you know. Rather, I love you too much, and an arrangement like that would break my heart over and over, I fear.”

  He gave her an odd, quizzical look. “I think that we have had another Outrageous Misconception, Miss Fairbourne.”

  “Have we?”

  “Yes. I do not want to share occasional passion with you.”

  “Oh.”

  “Nor am I offering you employment at Fairbourne’s. Not in the normal sense, at least. Since you misunderstood, I can see that I should have spoken plainly.”

  “That is often wise, if not always welcomed.”

  “I pray that it will be welcomed now, Emma. There is only one arrangement that will make me happy, and only one that you deserve. I am speaking of marriage, Emma, and nothing less.”

  He astonished her. She had certainly not expected another proposal. Not now, and not ever. Not after what had happened.

  It was different this time too. He was under no obligation. She had compromised his good name, and not him hers. He should be repudiating her completely, if he cared about his reputation at all.

  Her heart ached from happiness wanting to break free, but she dared not believe this was real.

  “Are you very sure you want to do this, Darius? It is not sensible at all. I can think of four reasons why this proposal is most unwise on your part.”

  “Can you, now?”

  “Yes. First of all, your—”

  His finger touched her lips. “Your honesty and forthrightness are among your more charming qualities, Emma. However, I do not need you to explain. I know every reason why I should not propose. They do not matter.”

  “They don’t?”

  “No.”

  “But others know what I did, Darius.”

  “They will know that you aided us in trapping a courier into exposing a network of spies. You will be seen as a heroine by the time Ambury and I are done describing it. However, even if anyone suspects the whole truth— When a man thinks of a woman the way I think of you, when he loves a woman the way I love you, he marries her. The only question is whether you feel the same way, and will marry me. Will you?”

  He gazed in her eyes, waiting. She realized with amazement that he was not sure of her. He did not know that she hesitated only for his sake.

  “I will. Of course I will, if you want me that way.”

  He smiled. It was a wonderful smile. The joy in it astonished her. “I want you in every way, Emma, but especially that one.”

  He kissed her, and his passion contained all the ways he wanted her. She gladly surrendered to the spell he cast, and accepted with gratitude the love that made her extraordinary.

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  Ravishing in Red

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  An independent woman is a woman unprotected. Audrianna had never understood her cousin Daphne’s first lesson to her as well as she did today.

  An independent woman was also a woman of dubious respectability.

  Her entry into the Two Swords Coaching Inn outside Brighton garnered more attention than any proper young woman would like. Eyes examined her from head to toe. Several men watched her solitary path across the public room with bold interest, the likes of which she had never been subjected to before.

  The assumptions implied by all those stares darkened her mood even more. She had embarked on this journey full of righteous determination. The shining sun and unseasonably mild temperature for late January seemed designed by Providence to favor her great mission.

  Providence had proven fickle. An hour out of London the wind, rain, and increasing cold had begun, making her deeply regret taking a seat on the coach’s roof. Now she was drenched from hours of frigid rain, and more than a little vexed.

  She gathered her poise and sought out the innkeeper. She asked for a chamber for the night. He eyed her long and hard, then looked around for the man who had lost her.

  “Is your husband dealing with the stable?”

  “No. I am alone.”

  The white, crepe skin of his aging face creased into a scowl. His mouth pursed in five different ways while he examined her again.

  “I’ve a small chamber that you can have, but it overlooks the stable yard.” His reluctant tone made it clear that he accommodated her against his better judgment.

  An independent woman also gets the worst room at the inn, it seemed. “It will do, if it is dry and warm.”

  “Come with me, then.”

  He brought her to a room at the back of the second level. He built up the fire a little, but not much. She noted that there was not enough fuel to make it much warmer and also last through the night.

  “I’ll be needing the first night’s fee in advance.”

  Audrianna swallowed her sense of insult. She dug into her reticule for three shillings. It would more than cover the chamber for one night, but she pressed it all into the man’s hand.

  “If someone arrives asking questions about Mr. Kelmsley, send that person up here but say nothing of my presence or anything else about me.”

  Her request made him frown more, but the coins in his hand kept him mute. He left with the shillings and she assumed she had struck a bargain. She only hoped that the fruits of this mission would be worth the cost to her reputation.

  She noted the money left in her reticule. By morning she expected most of it to be spent. She would be gone from London only two days, but this journey would deplete the savings that she had accumulated from all those music lessons. She would endure months of clumsy scales and whining girls to replace it.

  She plucked a scrap of paper from her reticule. She held the paper to the light of the fire even though she knew its words by heart. The domino requests that Mr. Kelmsley meet him at the two swords
in Brighton two nights hence, to discuss a matter of mutual benefit.

  It had been sheer luck that she even knew this advertisement had been placed in The Times. If her friend Lizzie did not comb through all such notices, in every paper and scandal sheet available, it might have escaped Audrianna’s attention.

  The surname was not spelled correctly, but she was sure the Mr. Kelmsley mentioned here was her father, Horatio Kelmsleigh. Clearly, whoever wanted to meet him did not know he was dead.

  Images of her father invaded her mind. Her heart thickened and her eyes burned the way they always did whenever the memories overwhelmed her.

  She saw him playing with her in the garden, and taking the blame when Mama scolded about her dirty shoes. She called up a distant, hazy memory of him, probably her oldest one. He was in his army uniform, so it was from before he sold his commission when Sarah was born, and took a position in the office of the Board of Ordnance, which oversaw the production of munitions during the war.

  Mostly, however, she kept seeing his sad, troubled face during those last months, when he became the object of so much scorn.

  She tucked the notice away. It had reminded her why she was here. Nothing else, not the rain or the stares or the rudeness, really mattered. Hopefully she was right in thinking this Domino possessed information that would have helped Papa clear his name.

  She removed her blue mantle and the gray pelisse underneath and hung them on wall pegs to dry. She took off her bonnet and shook off the rain. Then she moved the chamber’s one lamp to a table beside the door, and the one wooden chair to the shadows in the facing corner, beyond the hearth. If she sat there, she would immediately be able to see whoever entered, but that person would not see her very well at all at first.

  She set her valise on the chair and opened it. The rest of Daphne’s first lesson recited in her mind. An independent woman is a woman unprotected, so she must learn to protect herself.

  Reaching in, she removed the pistol that she had buried beneath her spare garments.

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  Giselle had ample time to practice swallowing her pride.

  She spent most of the afternoon doing so, while she paced Andreas von Bremen’s luxurious hall. She came to know his carved furniture very well and memorized every image in the four tapestries adorning his walls.

  Occasionally, she paused to gaze through the unshuttered windows at the yard surrounded by stables and storage buildings. Wagons kept arriving from the docks, carrying the products that secured Andreas’s wealth. As a member of the Hanseatic League, the network of Germanic traders whose famous cogs plied the northern seas, Andreas von Bremen was no ordinary merchant.

  Which was why she had come.

  She strove to quell not only her pride but her growing resentment. In a way, it was Andreas’s fault that she was here at all. For that reason alone, he might be more gracious and not keep her waiting so long. They had an old friendship, too. That should count for something, even if they had not spoken in four years.

  Irritation spiked again, colored by disappointment and hurt. She itched to stride right out of this house.

  She didn’t. A deeper emotion kept her waiting.

  Fear.

  She had to see this through. Andreas was her only hope. If he refused her, she had nowhere else to turn, and her brother would be lost to her.

  Boot steps on the stairs and voices speaking lowly penetrated the noise rolling in from the yard.

  She swung around. Two men’s bodies lowered into view as they descended from the upper level of the house.

  The short one of middle years, the one wearing a richly tucked and embroidered robe and a hat festooned with drapery, did not interest her. The other one, the young one of commanding height and lean strength, with thick dark hair and beautiful blue eyes, riveted her attention.

  Other than distant glimpses in the city, she had not seen him in a long time. She had forgotten how easy it was to smile whenever he arrived. Even now, despite her worries and pique, the old joy sparkled through her.

  As he escorted his guest through the hall, Andreas became aware of her. He glanced over and the light of recognition flared.

  Snatches of the men’s low conversation reached her ears. They did not speak in English, or French, or even Andreas’s language.

  She suddenly realized who the other man was. The Venetian galleys had arrived in London a few days ago, and he must be one of the powerful traders from that city.

  The Venetian took his leave. Andreas stood at the threshold, watching until the horse trotted through the gate.

  He turned his attention to her.

  “Giselle.”

  He did not say anything else, but just looked at her with those blue eyes. The lights of his youth still sparked in them, but other, deeper ones did, too. At twenty Andreas had possessed good humor despite his natural reserve. Now, ten years later, his silence had grown more complex.

  And dangerous. It made no sense, but she could not escape the sensation. As the pause stretched, she grew increasingly unsettled.

  “My apologies, Giselle. My man said that a woman was here. He did not explain that it was you.”

  “You are very busy when you visit London. You could hardly ask your guest to wait while you spoke to me.”

  “That would have been difficult to explain, I will admit.”

  He smiled with wry amusement as he said it. Giselle realized that she had arrived during some very special trading.

  It was rumored that Andreas had come to London to negotiate a new marriage. Not with an English family, it appeared. He was looking for a more ambitious match than that and had timed his visit to coincide with the galleys from Venice.

  Years ago he had confided to her a mad dream of linking his family’s network to that of a Venetian’s. It appeared he was about to make the dream a reality.

  Small wonder he had kept her waiting.

  He moved two chairs to the windows on the side of the hall that faced the garden. He came back to her. “Please sit. I am happy to see you. It has been too long.”

  She hesitated. Something in his manner made her want to make a quick retreat. This was the Andreas she had known so well, but also an Andreas she had never met.

  His hand almost touched her back as the other gestured to the chairs. With a phantom embrace, he guided her to the window.

  A prickle of excitement and caution scurried up her spine.

  They sat facing each other, their knees separated by an arm’s span. Soft northern light gently illuminated the face that she knew well. Many times she had admired at close range the square jaw and straight, feathering eyebrows. None of the details had changed, but the countenance had. Youthful softness used to mute its chiselled severity but no longer did. Mature precision revealed the intelligent, shrewd mind of the man who owned it.

  Despite the change, for an instant it was like old times. They might have been sitting together in her own home, by her windows, during one of his visits to the city. When he was younger and his trading brought him to London, he did not live in this grand house, but in hers, as a guest and friend of her brother, Reginald.

  The joy sparkled again, reminding her of how much she had enjoyed his company back then.

  It had been thus from the first time Reginald brought him home and announced that he would use the tiny, spare chamber that jutted out over the street. She had looked at Andreas’s astonishingly handsome face that day and immediately seen warmth in his eyes despite his cool manner. They had formed a quick bond during that first visit. Over the years the connection had grown deep and steady and full of unspoken understanding.

  And then, abruptly, four years ago, Andreas had severed the link to Reginald, the house, and her.

  Rememberi
ng that insult made the joy disappear.

  “You are looking well, Giselle. You are as beautiful as ever.”

  The Andreas she had known had never flattered her. It appeared that with his success and wealth he had assumed courtly airs.

  It did not help that at twenty-eight she was no longer as beautiful as ever. The first bloom of youth had passed, and she knew it.

  “It is kind of you to say so. You also appear well, and happy in your success. I always knew that you would rise high in the Hanse.” She could not keep her gaze from drifting over the deep green garment he wore. Its cut and fabric spoke of his ascending status, just as her worn, mended blue gown revealed how debased her own had become.

  Her gaze moved back up and met his. Her breath caught as the years fell away. She might have been seeing him at her threshold, so familiar was what passed between them. The instant bond, the promise of a quiet intimacy—it flashed through her with an intense, vital reality, just as it had when they had been friends.

  No, it was not quite the same. Those reunions had never made her uncomfortable, and this one did. Something new simmered in the familiarity. As if a gauzy veil had been lifted, certain aspects of her reaction sharpened and de-manded her attention. A sly, alluring disturbance wound its way around her other emotions.

  She had intended to beg for his help, but his manner provoked her, and she decided to change her approach. There was no point in pleading in the name of a dead friendship. She would speak in a language he would understand and respect.

  “I have not only come to visit, Andreas.”

  “No, I expect that you have not.”

  He sounded resigned. She thought that took some gall. After all, she had not dropped his friendship.

  “I am in need of money. I will repay it,” she said.

  His gaze shifted to the garden out the window. The old Andreas completely disappeared. Suddenly she was speaking with a stranger who had heard petitions like hers before. Too often.