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

by Cheryl Bolen

  Yet Captain Jack Dryden was too fine a man and too proud to be humiliated by her father's certain rejection. Better to break her own heart than to destroy his.

  So while every cell in her body throbbed for his touch, she must pretend otherwise. She stiffened and spoke in a cold voice. "Oblige me by not ever doing that again."

  His body turned rigid, and he did not speak for a moment. When he did, his voice was as icy as hers. "I beg your pardon for getting carried away with my role playing."

  For the remainder of the dance she was oblivious to the upbeat tempo of the orchestra music and the steady hum of dancers' lulling murmurs around them. She felt as if she were all alone, drowning in an arctic sea.

  When the dance was over, he asked her to point out Lord Melbourne.

  "I'm not sure I've seen him tonight," she said, careful not to touch Jack as they moved from the dance floor. "Though he's a most jolly man, he's not terribly social within our set. I believe he prefers the company of the former actress who's his present lady bird."

  Jack mumbled something inaudible beneath his breath as they swept from the ballroom and almost collided with Reginald St. Ryse.

  St. Ryse reached out to Jack. "Just the man I wished to see."

  "Your servant," Jack said, slightly bowing.

  "Since you're new to London and since your fitness attests to your handiness with a sword, I was wondering if you'd care to join me tomorrow at Angelo's fencing studio."

  "I should be delighted to."

  St. Ryse gave a smile of satisfaction. "May I call on you at eleven?"

  Jack's almost indiscernible pause would not be apparent to anyone other than Daphne, who drew in her breath.

  "Better I meet you there," Jack said casually. "I have several business matters to attend to in the morning."

  St. Ryse's face fell. "As you wish. Do you know where the studio is?"

  Jack shook his head.

  "At Albany just off Piccadilly."

  "We'll pass near there tonight, Mr. Rich," Daphne said. "I'll point it out to you." She nodded to St. Ryse as they turned away. She had grown so used to physically clinging to Jack that she felt bereft now that they walked beside each other like two tin soldiers.

  "Did you find that odd?" he asked her.

  "St. Ryse's invitation?"

  "Yes."

  "Decidedly. For some reason, the man is keen to know where you live. I pray he--or a hired underling--does not follow you when you leave my house tonight."

  "I would hope I'm not so inexperienced I could not detect a shadow."

  Gone from his voice was the easy camaraderie they had always enjoyed. A subtle air of formality now iced his words.

  "I suppose we should rejoice," she said without enthusiasm. "St. Ryse's suspicious action is the first break we've had."

  They searched every room on the second floor for Lord Melbourne, then climbed to the third floor and strolled from room to room, but there was no sign of the peer. Nor was he to be found where they later searched for him on the first floor.

  "It was a long time ago, Jack," she said.

  He looked down into her pensive face. "Lady Melbourne's fling with the Prince of Wales?"

  Daphne nodded solemnly. A pity Jack could read her better than any man of her own class ever had. Or ever would.

  "So you wish to dismiss Lord Melbourne from scrutiny?" he asked.

  "I didn't say that," she said testily.

  "Good, because the decisions shall be mine to make."

  This was the first time he had indicated theirs was not an equal partnership. "Of course you're free to pursue anyone you like," she said in a frigid voice. Her gaze locked with his. A more meticulously groomed man she had never met. Except for Brummel. It was obvious Jack had shaved just before leaving his lodgings. As dark as his hair was, there would have been a dark line of stubble. She could not help but to smile when she remembered how neatly he lined up his boots and stacked his newspaper.

  "Is there somewhere we can speak privately?" he asked in his newly adopted manner of detachment.

  Her stomach dropped. She prayed he wouldn't plead for her affections because she wasn't sure she had the strength to resist him. And she needed to resist him. For his own sake. "The ornamental garden," she said, striding toward French doors at the back of the house.

  They weren't alone in the walled garden that was illuminated by a dozen gas lights. Near the building huddled a knot of persons who had stepped out to cool themselves after the rigors of dancing. He and Daphne began to stroll along one of the narrow brick paths that wound its way through the manicured shrubs. Her insides felt as if they'd been put through a grinder.

  When they were too far from the others to be overheard, he said, "You must stop your father in the morning. If he involves his man of business in drawing up the marriage contracts, they will be sure to learn there's no mine owner known as Jack Rich."

  "Exactly what I was thinking." More's the pity.

  "Do you have any ideas?" he asked.

  She nodded solemnly. For the first time in her life she knew what a bleeding heart felt like. "I shall tell him I wish to cry off."

  Jack halted and stood there like a marble statue. "Then you're disassociating yourself from the investigation?"

  "Not from the investigation. From you." She forced an insincere smile. "But our investigation can continue. We'll still be friends."

  "As you wish, my lady." He turned on his heel and left her in the middle of the garden.

  * * *

  "I don't understand, Daf," her father said later that night, his bushy brows drawn together with concern as he and Lady Sidworth met with her in the library. "I thought you two were in love."

  Lady Sidworth's face looked as if she was on the brink of breaking into tears. "I know the man's perfectly besotted over you," her mother said. "In fact, I've never seen two people so well matched."

  Did her mother have to twist the knife so thoroughly? "We do have much in common, and I'm excessively fond of him, but I refuse to live in South Africa--which, I'm afraid, Mr. Rich insists upon."

  "A wife's place is with her husband, dearest," Lady Sidworth crooned. "Don't let your affection for your family deny you this chance for a great love."

  Her mother was obviously afraid Jack was the last man who'd ever be interested in Daphne. Not a comforting thought. "I believe it's my fate," Daphne said prosaically, "to live and die a spinster."

  "It doesn't have to be that way," Lady Sidworth said. "Mr. Rich would make you a fine husband."

  "Indeed he would," Lord Sidworth added.

  It was all Daphne could do not to add her own endorsement of Jack's worthiness. Without fortune, without title, he was still the most noble man she knew. But were her parents to know the truth of his origins, they would not agree. Her shoulders sagged. The woman who would eventually marry Captain Jack Dryden would be the most fortunate of creatures. Daphne could weep at the thought.

  She could not let her parents think the break was complete because she planned to maintain contact with Jack until the investigation was cleared. "Perhaps I'll change my mind," she said brightly. "I daresay Jack wishes I'd find a way to work out our problems."

  Her father's brows squeezed together. "But when he did not see you home tonight I thought--"

  "He'll be back," Daphne assured.

  A smile tugged at Lord Sidworth's mouth, and his eyes danced. "Then I pray you don't treat him so beastly when he does come."

  "I shall be all that's civil," Daphne said as she got up and started for the library door. "Now I must go to bed. I'm excessively tired."

  It was not excessive fatigue but eagerness for her own bedchamber that beckoned her upstairs.

  After her maid helped her out of her gown, she collapsed into her feather bed and wept. She was filled with remorse for all the times she had chided her sisters for the tearful indulgences she had never been able to understand. She understood them all too well now.

  The mother lode of her
remorse, though, was for Jack. In a lifetime she would never meet his like again. Her hands fisted and pounded against the mounds of pillows that surrounded her. The sudden slap of rain against her windows outside perfectly matched her forlorn mood.

  Why did she have to be born an earl's daughter? Why couldn't she have been the daughter of a tradesman or a country squire?

  She felt like a rare flower that produces a magnificent bloom just once, then returns to its life of indistinguishability.

  Would she have been better off had she never met him? As she listened to the rain slam into the windows of her dark room, she pictured him. The very memory of his manly body and handsome face with its easy smile caused her to feel as if she were falling from a great height. A gnawing pain tore through her as she remembered the many ways he had come to know her, as she remembered how thoroughly she understood him.

  Better to suffer like this than never to have known him.

  * * *

  The same bitterness that sent him storming from Glenweil House hours earlier still ripped through him as he paced the parlor of his lodgings. Never before sottish or sloppy, he was now oblivious to the brandy bottle lying empty on its side and the frockcoat littering his floor.

  At first his rage had been directed at Daphne. Her kisses had been no more than a game, and now that she had thoroughly captivated him, she wanted to pick up the pieces of her game and move on.

  But the more he thought of her sudden chilliness toward him, the more he realized he should be grateful that she'd aborted his burgeoning affection for her. Theirs was a union that could never have been consummated.

  Just like with Cynthia Wayland when he was eighteen. Only now could he admit his feelings for Lady Daphne Chalmers were a thousand times more powerful than what he had once felt for Miss Wayland. He was cursed with the misfortune of losing his heart to ladies who were far above his touch.

  As the fiery brandy raced through his veins, he told himself to be thankful he had not made a fool of himself over Daphne, thankful that he would never be rejected by her aristocratic father. He could retain his pride.

  But nothing else.

  When he finally did go to bed, he could not sleep. Daphne had made it clear they would continue to work together, and his thoughts turned to their fruitless investigation. He tended to agree with Daphne that the elusive Lord Melbourne was an unlikely suspect, and he wondered if he would ever make the acquaintance of George Lamb. Reginald St. Ryse, though, was looking more promising.

  But there must be someone else, he kept telling himself as he lay in the dark, rain pounding against his window. His thigh throbbed where the musket ball had shattered his bone. It always did when dampness set in.

  Just as he knew when rain was imminent by the soreness in his leg, he knew he and Daphne had overlooked someone.

  Then, like a shot from a rifle, he bolted up in his bed. There just might be someone they had overlooked! He recalled the meeting with the regent when Prinny had explained how he knew Daphne could be discreet. Daphne had surprised the regent and a married lady who had been performing an indecent act upon the prince's person in the royal box at the theatre.

  Who was that married lady?

  He would ask Daphne tomorrow.

  Chapter 19

  He didn't like this new, restrained Daphne one bit. Her face void of expression, her voice chilled, she had greeted him minutes earlier at Sidworth House. Not a shred of surprise registered on her face, nor had anything in her demeanor told him she was happy--or disappointed--to see him. After donning her bonnet and pelisse, she now rode silently beside him in his phaeton as they entered the crush of Hyde Park. He wanted to shake her. Why did she not interrogate him as she usually did? Why did she not share with him the explanation she had given her parents? And why in the hell did she no longer desire his kisses?

  "We have much to discuss," he said, his voice as flat as hers.

  "You went to Angelo's this morning?"

  "I did."

  A sliver of a smile touched her lips. "I perceive you washed and redressed before presenting yourself at Sidworth House."

  "Of course I did!"

  She laughed. "You could rival Brummel in your fastidiousness."

  "I have no desire to be a fop."

  "No, I don't suppose you would. You're merely excessively tidy."

  "How---" He stopped himself. The wench knew him too thoroughly. Nothing would be served by regurgitating the closeness that had developed between them.

  She obviously did not like what she knew. Even if she did insist that he was sinfully handsome.

  Her disinterest should not surprise him, given the lady's obliviousness to physical appearances. His glance whisked to her. Though she wore still another stylish dress, her unbound mane craved a hairdresser's attention. Did she actually desire to make herself undesirable to those of the opposite sex? Was she incapable of bestowing her affections on those of his gender?

  "And what did you learn at Angelo's fencing studio?" she finally asked.

  He was almost relieved that her curiosity had reasserted itself. "I learned that Lord St. Rhys is looking for skilled swordsmen to man the militia he commands in his home county."

  She burst out laughing. "That is all?"

  "Apparently. In the event of an invasion by the French, he wishes to assure that his unit is the most superior."

  "That sounds like St. Ryse. Though I'm not well acquainted with him, I've heard that he's a bit of a megalomaniac." She faced Jack. "And was he impressed with your skills?"

  Jack shrugged.

  "I'm not asking if you were the best, Captain. Surely you can answer without fear that you're boasting."

  "He was, I believe, satisfied with my skill."

  "And what excuse did you give for not lending your expertise to his militia?"

  "I said I would be returning shortly to South Africa."

  "Speaking of South Africa," she said, nodding, "I used my refusal to live in South Africa as my excuse for breaking off our betrothal."

  His gut clinched. Some small, irrational part of him had clung to the hope that their estrangement was only temporary. "A good excuse," he said, "given your reluctance to leave the family you're so close to." He would like to think her parents were sorry he would not be marrying their daughter. "And how did you father react to your crying off?"

  "Both my parents were most disappointed. You're to be commended for having won them over."

  He gave a bitter laugh. "Not me, but Mr. Rich's vast wealth and scholarly pursuits."

  She shrugged. "Those things merely lubricated the way for your obvious physical attributes to cinch your worthiness. And I must say you were most convincing in your devotion to me."

  Now that it was well into December, the sun had ceased to shine. His gloom matched the gray skies overhead. The happy couples in nearly every passing carriage only served to remind him of the happier times he and Daphne had shared. He stiffened. "My experience in deception makes me well-suited for the task at hand." The cruelty of his words was guided by his beastly pride.

  Not affected by his biting remarks, she sighed and said, "My poor parents are convinced you're the last man in the kingdom who would have me."

  He did not like her to disparage herself. Nor did he like to think that for the rest of her life the passion he knew her to possess would simmer beneath her unyielding surface like a slumbering volcano. Yet he stopped himself from voicing these thoughts. He was still wounded enough from her rejection to wish to lash out against her. "Your disinterest in a fashionable appearance could prove your parents right."

  She stiffened, her unwavering gaze fixed directly in front of them. He stole a glance at her. Damn! Her eyes watered. He'd been devilishly insensitive. How he wished he could pull her into his arms and assure her there was no more desirable woman on earth. Instead, he said, "Forgive me for saying that. A man worthy of you will not care how you dress or style your hair."

  "You needn't apologize for speaking the tr
uth, Captain. I'm well aware of how slender my prospects of marrying are."

  He allowed himself another glimpse of her. It was difficult now for him to see her as others might. Her rigid posture accentuated her thinness; her spectacles obscured the beauty of her eyes. To an impartial observer there was nothing at all attractive about Lady Daphne Chalmers. But he was NOT an impartial observer. More the pity. "Then the men in London are complete fools," he said.

  "You're excessively gallant."

  "Being gallant is not something I aspire to. All that matters to me at present is finding the fiend who wishes to kill the Prince Regent."

  Now he must learn the identity of the woman who pleasured the regent with her mouth. He did not like to think of Daphne witnessing such an act. Would she, in her innocence, even understand what she saw? He also did not like to have to bring up such a delicate subject with a maiden. He cleared his throat. "Who was the woman in the regent's box that night?" he finally asked.

  She sat silent for a moment, the gusty wind ripping through her curls. His sideways glance confirmed that the blush had stormed into her cheeks. "You know about . . . that?" she asked in a faint voice.

  So she did understand. "Your silence following the incident is what convinced the regent you could be discreet."

  "I can't believe he would discuss something so . . . utterly personal."

  "His life's at stake, Daphne." What Jack did not tell Daphne was that he had asked himself how the mysterious woman's husband--had the man chanced to learn of the repugnant act--would react to the knowledge his wife had so demeaned herself. Wouldn't the man wish to do murder? Jack certainly would. But he'd as lief his "puritanical" stodginess not be reaffirmed to Daphne. "Was her name on your list of women associated with the regent?" he asked.

  She shook her head. "I've been so foolish. When I learned that she and her husband were back in each other's favor, I convinced myself that her inclusion on the list was unnecessary. There's also the fact I had no wish to discuss her indelicate act with you or with any man, actually."