With His Lady's Assistance (The Regent Mysteries Book 1)

by Cheryl Bolen

  He gazed down at his leg. Had the wound which he was only just now recovered from saved his life?

  Many weeks after Edwards's death Jack had been able to lay its blame on Duc d'Arblier. Jack and Edwards had been gathering information on the Frenchman's activities. While purporting to support Napoleon, the snake had been selling information to the English. Only Jack and Edwards had learned that the information d'Arblier furnished to the English was carefully being fed to them by the French.

  With Jack and Edwards dead, d'Arblier would ensure his secret not be revealed to the British, but Jack's failure to go into Segura that day had spoiled the duc's vile plot.

  Three days after Edwards's death, Jack--even more cautious than usual--managed to foil an assassination attempt on his own life. Killing the assassins had reinjured his damn leg, and he had been useless for several months.

  "Tell me about your leg injury," Daphne said once they entered the park.

  Could the blasted girl be reading his thoughts? Hadn't he denied any injuries that first day they met in the chapel? How in the hell did she know about his leg? He frowned. "And I thought I'd managed to shirk the wretched limp."

  "Oh, you have. But I've come to know you well. While others might not notice it, I can tell when a movement pains you."

  The girl was far too perceptive. "My thigh stopped a musket ball in Spain."

  "In battle?"

  The memory of that day still pained him. It was the last time he'd ever seen Edwards. He shook his head. "No. My fellow officer and I were obliged to make a hasty exit from a Spanish village. He fell, and when I paused to give him a hand, I became an easy target."

  "So you could have been killed because you meant to save your friend?"

  His glance flicked to her. "How did you know he was my friend?"

  "It's perfectly obvious to me that you cared a great deal for him." Her voice softened. "Did he die?"

  Jack nodded. "The next day, actually. I should have died then, too, but because of my injury, my friend was forced to go back alone."

  Her hand covered his. "I'm sorry."

  He had not felt so choked up in the last twelve months. Jack was in far too morose a mood.

  "Don't blame yourself," she said. "You couldn't have saved him. They'd only have killed you too."

  Which was likely true. "I will avenge his death."

  "I exceedingly dislike the thought of you going back to that wretched place."

  Her words lifted the gloom, and he found himself chuckling. Having won her affection--though certainly not her romantic affection--pleased him excessively. "You don't have to play your role," he said. "No one's listening."

  "My dear captain, I am not playing a role. I've come to admire you very much. What's not to admire? You're beastly puritanical--which is delightfully refreshing--and you're quite noble. In fact," she said, facing him, the sun glancing off her golden mane, "the woman who wins your heart will be most fortunate indeed."

  A pity a man such as he could never win Lady Daphne's heart. Not that her father would allow his favorite daughter to marry the second son of a country squire--and not that Captain Jack Dryden had any romantic notions about Lady Daphne Chalmers whatsoever.

  She sat up straight, folded her hands in her lap, and nodded to passing acquaintances. When there were no carriages near, she asked, "So when do you see Princess Caroline again?"

  How could she be so convinced her silly scheme was successful? "I don't," he teased.

  Her mouth gaped open. "You mean my brilliant plan did not succeed? I simply cannot believe it. I was so convinced that once she beheld your . . . physical attributes she would encourage a closer alliance. How could I have been so wrong?"

  He chuckled. "The pity of it is," he conceded, "you're always so bloody right!"

  Daphne turned and regarded him through spectacles which crept down her straight nose. "Did she or did she not offer to meet with you again?"

  "She did," he said begrudgingly.

  A stupendous smile burst across Daphne's face. "When? You must tell me everything!"

  It embarrassed him to admit that Daphne's plan worked for in so doing it seemed he was acknowledging that the princess found him attractive. And though he'd always had a facility for attracting females, he was loathe to either admit or discuss it. Especially with another female.

  He related every detail of his meeting with Princess Caroline.

  Daphne gloated. "This is too, too wonderful!"

  "It won't be so wonderful if she sees me with you." Good lord, that made him sound pompous, as if he expected the princess to be jealous. "Not that I---"

  "Of course you don't think your relationship to another woman would matter to her, but in fact, it probably would." She settled her hand upon his arm. Even though he knew she did so because Lady Carlton was heading their way in her flashy barouche, the gesture pleased him.

  Daphne smiled and greeted Lady Carlton as she drove past their phaeton, and when the barouche was many feet beyond them, Daphne said, "Trust my instincts, Captain. They're always right. Besides, I am a female. Give me credit for knowing the female mind."

  She certainly wasn't like any female he'd ever known. She wasn't even anything like her own sisters.

  Years of painstakingly covering his tracks, of constantly being on the alert to anything deviant of the ordinary made Jack incapable of simply riding through a park. He eyed every byway and every conveyance for the corpulent princess. "What if we see her in the park?" he asked.

  "Don't give it another thought. She's far too lethargic to seek sunshine."

  "And you're certain she won't show up at any functions I'll be attending with you?"

  "Absolutely."

  "Perhaps we--you and I--should feign a disagreement to explain my absence during this investigation with the princess."

  "We'll do no such thing! Though Princess Caroline is Suspect Number One, we can't afford to let down our guard. You must continue to mingle in society and learn all that you can."

  Did Lady Daphne Chalmers always have to be so damn right? "We have no assurances I'll ever see her again after I deliver the new dress tomorrow."

  "You will have to make certain she's well pleased with you."

  "And how do I do that?"

  "By lying through your teeth. Tell her she's beautiful. Tell her how honored you are to be in her company. Beg her to wear the dress for you." Daphne paused. "You must think of a way to convey that you are sexually attracted to her."

  He thought of the regent's words again. "Daphne, I am sick. Pray, get me a glass of brandy."

  To which his companion collapsed into laughter. "Don't forget, Captain," she finally managed, "though the prince was repelled by Caroline, he managed to beget a child with her."

  How fortunate that Jack had not eaten in the last few hours. Had he, the notion of bedding the princess would have had him casting up his accounts. "I truly am sick."

  Daphne giggled again.

  Despite the potential pitfalls of his present trio of identities, he was sincerely enjoying this ride in the park with Lady Daphne. It must be the crisp, cool air and exceedingly blue skies that brought to mind sunny days on the Iberian Peninsula. "The day my friend in Spain was killed was like it is today," he said somberly. Now why had he gone and made so personal a reflection?

  Daphne had a way of relaxing those about her, of exhibiting compassion that belied her privileged station. Was that why she never lacked for dance partners?

  Her dainty hand squeezed his arm. "Despite the coolness, it's almost too perfect a day. The sky's seldom such an unrelieved blue; the sun's rarely as brilliant. I can scarcely believe it's almost winter."

  He gave a bitter laugh. "It was winter when my best friend died. I wondered how the sun could shine so brightly when my friend was drawing his last breath." Good lord, he was babbling away like some bloody bleeding-heart! He hadn't felt so close to another soul since . . . since Michael Edwards was alive. Not that he and Edwards actually discussed
emotions.

  "It seems the world should stand still to acknowledge such grief, does it not?" she asked in a somber voice.

  How could she so thoroughly understand? From what he had discovered about Lady Daphne's life, it had been quite pleasant. Nary a woe in the world for her. Uncommon empathy. That's what Lady Daphne possessed. He nodded gravely.

  "What was your friend's name?"

  "What does it signify?"

  She shrugged. "I would like to know."

  "Michael Edwards."

  They rode on a great distance--well past the highly frequented areas of the park. He wished to prolong this lovely afternoon.

  "How will you convey to the princess that you're sexually attracted to her?" she finally asked.

  He did not look up from his ribbons. "How does a maiden such as yourself understand about sexual attractions? A maiden who has not been seized by lust in the three years she's been dousing herself with spearmint?"

  Daphne giggled. Just like one of those Pretty Young Things. "I told you," she said, "I'm possessed of right-on-the-money instincts. I happen to be a student of human nature--and I've always been an exceedingly brilliant student."

  She smiled up at him, and he was possessed of a strong desire to kiss that self-satisfied little face of hers. But, of course, he would do no such thing.

  Even in her self-promulgation, she was unfalteringly accurate.

  "Since you're so knowledgeable about human nature, you tell me how I should convey to her Royal Highness that I find her sexually attractive." He almost choked on the words.

  "I presume you know what to do in bed with a lady," she said with unflapped composure.

  Lady Daphne Chalmers was a most singular lady! "Surely you don't think me a . . ." He had started to say virgin, but it sounded too feminine. "That is to say . . . I'm not a celibate man, if that's what you're asking."

  "Though I didn't think you would be, you must admit you sometimes act rather stodgy."

  "Rules of adultery do not apply to those who are single."

  "Because you're not without experience you must know how to be seductive with words, without actually completing the act."

  His breath was growing short. Why must she sit so devilishly close to him? "Do you mean by looking at her like this?" He brought the horse to a complete stop and turned to her, his smoldering eyes lowering as he slowly looked from her mouth, down the length of her neck, and settled on the small mounds on her chest.

  Her cheeks became scorched, her eyes not leaving his as she nodded. She swallowed, then found her tongue. "That will do very well."

  Exercising a great deal of self-discipline, he returned his attention to the reins and urged the horse ahead. If he hadn't, he would have ravaged the poor lady right there in the middle of Hyde Park.

  When he deposited her at the front door of Sidworth House a quarter of an hour later, she tilted her head to him and said, "I beg that you come to me straight away as soon as you've met with the princess tomorrow."

  "I doubt there will be anything to report."

  "Then you don't know the power of your seductive glances."

  Chapter 9

  As he waited for the princess in her opulent drawing room, Jack was surprised at the confidence that surged through him. His thoughts flashed back to that day he'd been overwhelmed at being thrust into a royal audience at Carlton House. Though he was still a lowly captain of undistinguished birth, Jack's brief foray into privileged society had taught him one thing: if a man looked like a gentleman and talked like a gentleman, he would be taken for a gentleman. And for that, Jack was sincerely indebted to Mr. Weston.

  And to Lady Daphne Chalmers.

  Ever since he had ridden with her in the park on the preceding day, Jack had been unable to purge Daphne's words from his mind. You don't know the power of your seductive glances. Did she? There was nothing in her demeanor to convey that his seductive gaze affected her personally. She had uttered her shattering remark as casually as one would comment on weather.

  That she even understood seduction stunned him.

  Not for the first time he regretted he was obliged to seduce the portly princess. Why could Lady Daphne not be the target of his seduction? Such a quirky wish shocked him. How could he even think such a thing about an earl's respectable daughter? He chastised himself for denigrating Lady Daphne in such a manner. Daphne Chalmers was a lady. She was too fine a woman for illicit affairs and too high born to engage in an affair with an army captain of undistinguished birth.

  He was astonished that he actually wanted to seduce Daphne Chalmers. His astonishment was not only linked to the fact that she was the antithesis of every smoothly rounded, elegant woman he'd ever been attracted to but also to the fact that Lady Daphne herself was bound to be resistant to such attentions from him.

  There was also the fact that seducing a prurient princess would be far easier than seducing a woman firmly entrenched into spinsterhood. He would wager a quarter's income that Lady Daphne's lips had never touched a man's. She might speak of sexual intimacy like a long-married woman--or a courtesan. She might even speak of said intimacy without blushing or averting her gaze from his. Hell, she'd expounded on his own physical attributes! But he'd stake his life on her sexual innocence.

  Despite the fact Lady Daphne Chalmers looked like an old maid, and her actions were those of a woman resigned to spinsterhood, she was in no way a typical old maid. Thinking of Daphne as an old maid denigrated her even more than wishing to bed her.

  Lady Daphne could not be pigeonholed into neat little compartments. She was neither beautiful nor homely but a curious cross between the two. She was in no way provocative, yet she was sweetly appealing. She was undoubtedly a virgin, yet she possessed a keen understanding of carnal needs.

  No, he reflected, nothing about Daphne Chalmers was typical. Most especially her effect upon him.

  As he took in the princess's surprisingly tasteful surroundings, Jack could not shake Daphne from his thoughts. Most especially, he could not dispel his desire to seduce her. Through the silk-swathed casement directly across from him, Jack watched the skies growing darker and hoped like hell they would not sprout rain. He had wished to persuade the princess to walk with him on the nearby heath. The prospect of sharing an enclosed room with an ill-smelling woman definitely lacked appeal.

  And, frankly, England's future queen stank.

  Jack found himself wondering if the princess's estranged husband had overseen the furnishings of this house. Every room in the modestly proportioned house and every object in it reflected the fine taste of the man she had wed. Yet Jack was fairly certain the regent's hatred toward his wife would have prohibited him from lifting a finger to beautify her environment or to promote her comfort.

  Jack was also convinced the regent had orchestrated Princess Caroline's "banishment" to remote Blackheath. Blackheath was far enough away from London's Carlton House to ensure the two would not have to suffer each other's presence in society. Now that Jack had passed through innumerable toll booths to arrive here, he understood why Daphne had been so certain they would not see the princess at Hyde Park. Or at the theatre. Or at any number of ton activities.

  He heard the room's door swish open, and for the first time that day experienced nervousness. As the sound of her rustling skirts drew closer, he wondered if she had donned the new dress that her maid had been kind enough to take off his outstretched hands moments earlier.

  Coaching himself to look delighted, he slowly turned around.

  She was wearing the dress he had picked up from Mrs. Spence's that morning. Its only resemblance to the teal gown he had rendered useless the day before was that it, too, was silk. Only this silk was a persimmon color. Not a good choice for one with already ruddy skin.

  Now he must force himself to play mind games. He told himself to imagine that the loveliest creature he had ever seen stood before him. Unaccountably, he thought of Daphne's duchess sister who was spectacularly pretty. Then he forced himsel
f to imagine the beauty unmarried and giving him a sultry glance. Taking it a step farther, he instructed himself to caress her with his most seductive gaze. All of this completely stretched credibility when he peered at the sagging, middle-aged mistress standing before him.

  But the memory of whisking a seductive glance over Daphne's thin frame yesterday sent a simmering smile hitching across his face as his gaze dipped over the princess. From her meaty jowls down to her overly plump breasts, he gawked, his gaze skidding to a halt at her dimpled bosom. He wasn't sure how he managed it, but he actually deepened his smile and listlessly brought his scorching gaze back to the princess.

  After bowing to her, he said, "I'm gratified that your Royal Highness is wearing the dress I was honored to purchase." He was not sure how he could convince the princess that he could be sexually attracted to her. The only thing he could think of was to stare at her bosom. She no doubt thought her breasts an asset. He lowered his dark lashes and eyed her doughy cleavage. "Your . . . " He could not say beauty. What then? "Your . . . appearance in the lovely gown quite robs me of breath," he said, meeting her gaze and brushing his lips over her proffered hand while holding it a fraction longer than necessary.

  "You are all kindness, Captain." Was it his imagination, or did she sound a bit breathless?

  He did not know whether he should be elated or deflated.

  He continued staring at her. "Kindness has nothing to do with my praise, your Royal Highness."

  She looked pleased. "Nevertheless, it vus very kind of you to travel such a distance to deliver my dress."

  "I would gladly travel such a distance every day of my life if I could be rewarded with such an agreeable a sight." His glance whisked over her again.

  She sucked in her stomach, an act which bore a remarkable resemblance to the constriction of a bagpipe--and which made maintaining a sultry gaze devilishly difficult for him when he felt like chuckling.