by Cheryl Bolen
"Why can't we just tell my parents the truth?" she asked.
His mouth formed a grim line. "We tell no one the truth. To ensure success we must have total secrecy."
Of course he was right. If she told her parents the truth, even if they were sworn to secrecy, Mama would--in the strictest confidence--have to impart the secret to her sister--perhaps even to the twins, who would be obliged to convey the secret to their spouses, who would . . . Oh, yes, Captain Dryden was right to insist on complete secrecy. "I foresee another problem."
His dark brows lowered. "What is that?"
"How can we convince anyone that you're attracted to me?"
He didn't so much as blink. Nor did he offer false claims of her beauty. "For starters, you're an earl's daughter."
She had not thought of that. Probably because she had never thought of any man being attracted to her. Ever. Because no man had been. Ever. Other women would have been offended that the handsome captain had not rebuked her with flattery, but not Daphne. She was well aware of the drabness of her appearance, and she liked the captain all the more for his honesty. "And I do," she added, "come with a respectable dowry. Would that be attractive to a man in your position?"
"Undoubtedly."
With dawning disappointment she realized he could have offered a modicum of flattery. She crossed her arms over her meager breasts and glared at him. Lesson One: Instruct overly honest captain in the art of flattery. "My dear captain, you are going to have to learn the art of polite flattery. Especially to the woman you hope to marry."
The corners of his mouth tweaked into a smile. He reached to take her hand, then proceeded to settle soft lips upon it, meeting her gaze as he spoke gallantly. "Lady Daphne, I will count myself most fortunate, indeed, to be betrothed to one of the lovely Chalmers sisters--the finest, most intelligent of the sisters."
Daphne blushed for the second time in her life. How cleverly the captain had managed to flatter her without imbuing her with beauty she did not possess. His success as a spy must be a direct result of his intelligence. Thank heavens she wasn't to be saddled with a tedious buffoon. All too many men in her circle were tedious buffoons.
Her heart still fluttering from his seductive touch, she lowered her gaze to his shiny black Hessians, then up to his buff breeches which seemed almost painted over the pronounced muscles of his lengthy thighs. It wouldn’t at all do to stare at his utterly masculine thighs! That was even more provocative than his kiss on her hand. She therefore fixed her gaze upon the pristine white linen of his cravat and tried to speak in a casual voice. "I'll need to know something about your background."
Unaccountably, the first question that rose to her mind was, Why hasn't some beautiful woman snatched up Captain Sublime? Surely he'd had his fair share of women. But such romantic nonsense was certainly none of her business, and there were far more important things she needed to know about him if she was going to marry him. Or pretend to want to marry him."How old are you?" she finally managed, though for the life of her she could not imagine why that fact was important.
"I'll be thirty in May."
Which was precisely the age she took him for. And how was it he hadn't been snared by match-making mamas and their Pretty Young Thing daughters? Then Daphne was considerably ashamed of herself for wondering about so unimportant a detail when the regent's very life was in jeopardy. Of course, Captain Dryden most likely had been in the Peninsula for a number of years. That could explain his bachelor status. Suddenly her stomach dropped. Perhaps he was not a bachelor. Perhaps that, too, was a ruse. "Are you married?" she asked.
"I've never had that pleasure."
She went limp with relief, then really could have slapped herself for thinking of such drivel. "Any understandings with a particular woman?" She assured herself this line of questioning did relate to the ruse they hoped to perpetuate. She gulped as she waited for his response.
"I haven't had time."
A sigh swished from her lungs. "And how long have you been in the Dragoons?"
"Almost ten years. I served in India until five years ago."
She crossed her legs as if she were settling in for a long afternoon with Captain Sublime. "And where is your home?"
"In Kent."
"You said you were a second son . . ."
"The second of four. I also have one sister."
She noticed the pattern of the tiny church's stained-glass window reflected on his face. "And your parents are still alive?"
"They are."
"I don't suppose you have the occasion to visit often with them." Or with any lady loves. Now why had she gone and thought such an idiotically irrelevant thing?
"There will be time after the war."
"In the war I suppose you've faced a great deal of danger. Have you ever been wounded?"
He did not answer for a moment. A muscle flicked at his bronzed jaw. "I shan't wish for those in London to know of my duties in the Peninsula."
End of discussion. Daphne almost laughed to herself. He might not wish to talk about himself, but he hadn't reckoned on her powers of deduction and perception. Within a month she would know everything there was to know about Captain Jack Dryden.
"Do you have any pressing engagements?" he asked.
"Now?"
He nodded. "I thought I could ask you some questions about the regent and his set."
"We can speak now, though you must understand I'm not of the regent's generation."
He smiled. He had an especially nice smile, with fine white teeth. "I never thought for a moment, Lady Daphne, that you could be of the regent's generation."
"But, of course, I've known him all my life and am acquainted rather well with his set. As you must know, my sister's husband, the Duke of Lankersham, is some sort of a cousin to our dear regent."
He nodded. "Those who hold the regent in dislike must also be known to you."
She cringed. It was abhorrent to think someone she knew could have tried to kill their kindly ruler. Her thoughts whirled. Of course there were those who disliked the monarch, but enough to kill him? "Disliking him and wanting him dead are two different matters, Captain."
"But enumerating those who dislike him is, you must admit, a place to start."
"Well . . . there's the Maria Fitzherbert business. . ."
"I understand that liaison has ended, and the regent says there's no animosity between them."
"It is said she still receives some six thousand a year from His Royal Highness."
"So, of course, she wouldn't want him dead."
"However!" Daphne exclaimed, "There is her uncle. I don't even know if the man is still alive because Mrs. Fitzherbert herself must be close to sixty."
"What of her uncle?"
"He was one of the witnesses to the unrecognized marriage. He signed the marriage document. It's my understanding he most particularly wished for his niece to one day become queen."
"Suspect number one. What's his name?"
She shrugged. "I'm not sure, but I'll find out. And I absolutely cannot rule out Princess Caroline. I've not met her. The regent doesn't even let their own daughter be with her mother. The woman is so very repugnant and not at all a good model for dear Princess Charlotte. Mama assures me a coarser woman than Princess Caroline does not exist." Daphne wrestled with her conscience over what she was about to say next, but decided her principles must fly out the window since the regent's life was in danger. "The woman is not at all discerning about whom she . . . sleeps with."
Another smile crooked on his angular face and his black eyes flashed with mirth. "Interesting. Definite possibilities. Do you think Princess Caroline would have knowledge of the regent's schedule?"
Daphne shrugged. "He, quite naturally, maintains a total separation from her, but I daresay she has supporters--even at Windsor. Especially at Windsor."
"The bloody Brunswick connection. Is she not the daughter of the king's sister?"
"Indeed she is. King George would never allow
his son to dissolve the marriage." Her eyes flashed. "I know our poor king is not at all himself, and I feel prodigiously uncharitable even mentioning this, but King George has no love for his first son. He settled all his affection on Freddie, the Duke of York."
The second son. "That is most enlightening."
"I cannot help but wonder if someone close to the king might wish to ensure that a person more favored by the old king sit on the throne."
"The regent's daughter? Princess Charlotte."
A pained expression pinched at Daphne's face. "I'm sure the girl is exceedingly fond of her father, but . . . we must close no doors. Even though the princess has been kept away from her vulgar mother, she's not as . . . as elegantly behaved as she ought to be. It's painfully obvious her father is disappointed with his only legitimate offspring."
After a moment's silence the captain asked, "Do you speak and read German, Lady Daphne?"
"I do."
"Like all members of the Royal Family," he said with a nod. "That might be helpful in our investigation."
She started to ask him if he spoke Spanish and Portuguese since he'd been so long in the Peninsula but realized how irrelevant that was to the matter at hand.
"Are you aware of any affairs the regent may have conducted with married women?" he asked.
She could not hold back a laugh. "My dear captain, we do not have enough time to go into all of that before nightfall. Besides, you must understand in our circle marital infidelities are tolerated."
His brows lowered. "What kind of man tolerates another man's intimacy with his wife?"
Despite his bravado Jack Dryden was a Puritan at heart. Which she found somewhat endearing. And for the first time since she had left the school room, she was ashamed of her class.
He cleared his throat. "When I come to your house tonight I should like you to discreetly furnish me with a list of the married women who have had dalliances with the regent."
"Tonight? But---"
"I happen to know your father won't awaken for another hour. You must talk to him when you return to Cavendish Square. I beg a word with him tonight. At seven o'clock."
"You, sir, are in possession of far more confidence than I. My father's a terrible snob. Persuading him that you will make an excellent husband will be decidedly difficult. You see, he doesn't perceive my lack of beauty. My matrimonial failures he credits to the unfortunate fact that I'm forced to wear spectacles. He still imagines I will one day make a grand alliance."
The captain stood and looked down at her with inscrutable eyes and spoke sternly. "You must convince him ours is the only alliance you'll have. The regent's life may depend upon it." He turned and unlatched the gate to their pew, then faced her. "Until tonight, my dear fiancé."
Chapter 4
From his brief acquaintance with Lady Daphne, Jack had every confidence that she would be successful in smoothing things out with her doting father. Therefore as the Sidworth butler showed Jack to the earl's library, he strode after the servant with confidence. But it was not to Lord Sidworth's library that the butler took him. He was shown into a small parlor, and there on a silken sofa, her skirts fanning out around her, sat Lady Daphne.
He watched her through narrow eyes. Surely the lady had not failed at her first assignment.
After the butler closed the door, she spoke. "I told Roberts that when a handsome man showed up at the door begging to see my father that he bring you here directly." She patted the cushion beside her.
Refusing to be some puppy at her beck and call, he did not budge. "For what purpose, my lady?"
She scowled. "I shan't tell you until you come sit beside me. I must speak in low tones so we won't be overheard."
He strode across the Aubusson carpet and came to sit next to her. The French sofa was far too feminine--and too small--for his liking. "Is your father even in?"
"Of course, he's in. He's greatly looking forward to meeting the man I've so singularly honored."
That, at least, sounded promising.
"But before you actually meet him, you must learn something about yourself, sir."
Bloody hell! What had she gone and told her father about him?
She sat up straight as a poker, folded her (ink stained, he noticed) hands into her lap, and met his gaze. "As you know, my father would not like me to throw myself away on just any man. Seeing as how I'm his favorite, and seeing as how he does not seem to be aware of my lack of beauty, he believes the man who is fortunate enough to secure me for a wife must be a man possessed of many staggeringly fine attributes."
Dear lord! "Pray," he growled, "what did you tell your father about me?"
"I couldn't tell him the truth--not even the part about your distinguished military service because you did not wish that to be known."
He nodded.
"I tried to think of the things my father would wish for in my husband--besides a title, which I think you'll agree was out of the question."
On that, they were in perfect agreement. "Yes."
"Because he thinks me exceedingly intelligent, he would wish for me to marry a man of equal or superior intelligence."
That seemed reasonable enough. "So you told him I was smart?"
"Not only smart, but a man of scholarship."
Jack credited himself with intelligence, but scholarship? His brows dipped. "What kind of scholarship?"
"Oh, you know, the classics."
"As in Greeks and Romans?" It had been almost fifteen years since Jack had read any Latin, and he'd never been comfortable with Greek.
"Yes, that. And I might have mentioned that you have a facility for languages."
His French was tolerable, and his Spanish and Portuguese were actually quite good. Perhaps he would be able to pull this off with her father. Hadn't the last several years of his life been spent in deception? "I pray that you did not mention any specific languages."
She put her hands to her hips. "Of course I had to mention specific languages! I couldn't very well have promised myself to a man I don't know well."
"What languages did you mention?" he demanded.
She shrugged. "In addition to Latin, Greek, French and Spanish--I thought not to mention Portuguese because we don't want anyone to suspect you've so recently come from there--I threw in Bantu and Hottentot."
"Bantu and Hottentot!" he yelled. What in the hell were Bantu and Hottentot? They sounded suspiciously like African tribes.
"They're two of the native languages of South Africa."
Oh great. "Why, precisely, did you 'throw in' those?" He could only barely control his anger.
"For two very good reasons." She looked so utterly serious when she peered at him through those wretched spectacles.
"Enlighten me, if you will."
"First, my father will never be able to determine if you can or can't speak those languages since he's not familiar with either of them."
He nodded. That seemed acceptable. "And your second reason?"
"Because until recently you've been living in South Africa, where you made a vast fortune in diamond mines." As she watched his face harden, she rushed to explain. "You see, that is the second thing I believe my father would seek in my husband: great wealth."
"So you've made me a rich miner?"
She gave him a self-satisfied smile.
"Could you not have discussed this with me first? I know nothing about South Africa and even less about mining."
"I had no way to get in touch with you, sir. By the way, you must give me your direction."
"I'm surprised you didn't tell your father I live at Kew Palace!"
She frowned. "You don't have to be so ruffled. As it happens, my father knows nothing about mining or South Africa, so he won't be a threat to your charade. And you don't actually have to know about the mining, either. You're so wealthy, you merely own the mines while your underlings do all the work. Which leaves you time for humanitarian work with natives."
Somehow he didn't think he want
ed to hear what was coming next. "Pray, Maiden of Evil, what kind of humanitarian work do you have me doing--besides speaking fluently to the Bantus and Hottentots?"
Her eyes narrowed to slits. "There aren't Bantus, sir. That is the name given to the language of several tribes who speak in the Niger-Congo tongue. The Hottentots have their own language which is entirely different from Bantu."
He was quickly becoming desirous of strangling the young lady who sat beside him. "What kind of humanitarian work, Maiden of Evil?" he repeated through clenched teeth.
"You, sir, have undertaken to inoculate the natives against the pox. They are so grateful to you for eradicating the disease they call you Great White God." She smiled. "I rather liked that touch. What father wouldn't wish his daughter married to a Great White God?"
Strangling was too good for her. "Are you sure you didn't tell him I walk on water?"
Those green eyes of hers rounded, then she slapped at his forearm. "This is nothing to take lightly, Captain Dryden."
He had never been more exasperated. "What do I do if your father asks me to say something in Bantu?"
She appeared to consider the matter for a moment. "I daresay you should just utter some nonsensical gibberish. He won't know it's not actually Bantu."
During his years as a spy he'd had to perpetrate many deceptions, but nothing could compare to this. Wretched woman.
Just then the door cracked open, and a gray-haired man poked his head in. From his reconnaissance, Jack recognized Daphne's father immediately and stood up.
"Papa!" she said, "This is my wonderful Mr. Rich."
Rich? Would that she'd been born mute. Wretched female.
Lord Sidworth strode into the room, stopped, and gave Jack a long look. "He's a very fine looking man, Daffy." Then returning his attention to Jack, he asked, "Do you fence?"
At least Jack wouldn't have to lie about that. "I do, my lord." Lord Sidworth, Jack thought, was even taller than he looked. Standing in front of him, Jack realized they were the same height, which was considerably above average. He also realized that Lady Daphne inherited her thinness and height from her father. She, too, was considerably taller than the average woman.