For a long moment Caro and Alec were silent, then their eyes met.
"I wonder what our little girl is up to?" he murmured, arching a white brow.
"Why do I doubt that it has little to do with an overpowering need for new gowns?" Caro replied. Pensively she drizzled honey over a wedge of corn bread and added, "She's behaving very oddly. We may not have seen her for six years, but I know my daughter...."
"Less than twenty-four hours have elapsed since she arrived in Philadelphia," Alec exclaimed. "How could she have become embroiled in a drama so quickly?"
* * *
"I think Grandmama may have a gentleman friend," Kristin said. She and Natalya had just settled back into their carriage after being turned away by their grandmother. She hadn't time for tea that afternoon, she'd explained, because of a pressing engagement she could not break. The girls had hinted that they could remain at the house on Third Street and partake of refreshments without her, but Antonia had been firm, if apologetic. It was a most inconvenient day, she'd sighed, shooing them gently out the door.
"Grandmama?" Natalya echoed, incredulous. "But she's past eighty! And it's been less than a year since Grandpapa's death. What you suggest is... unthinkable!"
"Is it? She's been awfully secretive lately, and why did she make us leave?"
"I don't know. Why did she?"
Kristin's voice dropped conspiratorially. "Because her gentleman friend was about to arrive and she didn't want us to see him."
"Ridiculous! If Grandmama is behaving oddly, it is probably because she's becoming a trifle eccentric in her old age."
Kristin shook her head. "She's as alert as ever, and still very much a woman, Talya. Don't underestimate her." Looking out the carriage window as they turned onto Spruce Street, she gasped suddenly and drew back against the seat. "Oh, dear, I think he saw me!"
"Who?" Natalya asked in surprise.
"Hollis Gladstone. He's determined to court me whether I desire it or not." Kristin made an exasperated face. "I just caught a glimpse of him, turning west at the corner, but now I'd wager that he's following us."
The carriage drew up in front of a three-story red brick house with Georgian window frames and shutters and a doorway complemented by two columns and an arch. Natalya had always adored this house; it was here that Nicholai Beauvisage had lived when he and Lisette fell in love. It galled her now to think that Grey St. James was making himself at home inside.
As the driver assisted the two young ladies out of the carriage, a pleasant-looking man hurried toward them on the brick footpath. Clad in a rather old-fashioned suit of brown broadcloth, his cravat slightly askew, he had the look of an amiable bear. When Kristin smiled politely, he grinned with unabashed pleasure.
"Hello, Hollis," she said, smoothing her exquisite pale lavender walking dress. "I don't believe you know my sister, Natalya. She is a published authoress, you know, and has just returned home after six years in France."
He turned to smile at Natalya. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Beauvisage. Kristin has told me a great deal about you, and I don't doubt that your return to Philadelphia is cause for much celebration by your family." His tone was friendly and his green eyes were warm, but as soon as the amenities were dispensed with, he returned his attention to Kristin. "I was just about to summon my carriage to drive to Belle Maison, Kristin. Had you forgotten our plans?"
"Plans?" she repeated.
"Why, yes! When I visited you on Saturday and you were unable to attend the theater with me that evening, you promised to dine with me tonight instead."
"Oh, of course! No, no, I hadn't forgotten." He was so ardent that her heart went out to him.
"Then you must have come into town to spare me the journey out to Belle Maison. How thoughtful you are, and how fortuitous that we are able to begin our time together early. My aunt Felicia has just arrived from Williamsburg, and begged me to bring you for tea at the Man Full of Trouble Inn. Her own daughter died recently, so I have been trying to cheer her up a bit, and meeting you would surely do so."
Kristin's lips parted as she groped for an excuse, then conscience quickly overcame her more selfish instincts. "I would be delighted to take tea with your aunt and do whatever I can to improve her spirits, but first—"
"I can look after this matter on my own," Natalya assured her quickly. "After all, we were only paying a courtesy call on Mr. St. James. I'll inquire after his comfort, offer a servant or two if needed, and be on my way. You go along with Mr. Gladstone and have that tea we missed at Grandmama's." Silently Natalya gave thanks for Hollis Gladstone's timely appearance, for she had been worried that she might not be able to speak to Grey alone. Certainly what she had to say to him was not fit to be overheard by her sister.
Presently matters were sorted out, and Natalya bade the couple good-bye and walked alone up the steps to the front door. Lifting the knocker, she fantasized that an old family retainer would answer and tell her that Grey St. James had decided not to remain in Philadelphia after all.
The door swung open to reveal a startlingly familiar face, followed by a gravelly cockney voice inquiring, "Can I help you, mum?"
"Fedbusk?" Natalya blinked at the sight of the weathered, balding sailor clad incongruously in a black frock coat, knee breeches, and a white cravat.
"The same, mum." He eyed her knowingly. "Here to see the cap'n?"
"Why—why, yes, I am." In struggling to regain her composure, Natalya was relieved to discover that her sense of humor had not deserted her entirely. Fedbusk gotten up as a butler was definitely cause for amusement. "Is Mr. St. James available?"
"Follow, me, mum." He turned and walked with a rolling, seaman's gait through the entry hall that led to the beautiful house's most impressive feature, a stunning elliptical stairway that soared and curved unsupported up three floors. Trailing after Fedbusk down the long central corridor, Natalya peeked into familiar rooms and noticed that most of the holland covers had been removed from the elegant furnishings. She expected to find Grey in her uncle Nicky's study, but Fedbusk passed that and continued on into the kitchen. "Miss Beauvisage to see your lordship," he announced loudly.
The cozy, whitewashed kitchen was dominated by a large, open fireplace, a hundred-year-old Welsh dresser lined with Bristol delft china, copper pots that hung from the ceiling, and a scrubbed worktable in the middle of the room. A beautiful woman with skin the color of cafe au lait stood next to the table writing on a long piece of paper. Swallowing, Natalya finally allowed her gaze to rest on Grey St. James.
The sight of him made her heart leap, for he had never looked more devastatingly handsome. Clad in a simple white shirt and biscuit breeches, and perched casually on a rough-hewn stool, his booted feet propped on a rung, he was the embodiment of male virility in repose. His skin was deeply tanned, his black hair was windblown, and his eyes glinted silver as they met hers.
"Ah, Miss Beauvisage," he murmured, a hint of mirth in his voice. "What a surprise. How thoughtful you are to pay us a call of welcome. I'm deeply gratified."
Natalya smiled sweetly, fighting a powerful urge to choke him. "Knowing your fondness for surprise visits, sir, I could not resist the temptation to bestow one upon you. Moreover, there are certain matters we should discuss...."
"Indeed?" His brows flicked upward. "I wonder what those might be...."
Chapter 19
April 29, 1814
Grey stood up, smiling, and gestured toward the woman on the other side of the table. "Natalya, you must meet the gracious lady who has agreed to be my cook. This is Laviolet Pritchard. Laviolet, allow me to present Natalya Beauvisage."
"A pleasure, mam'selle," Laviolet said in a lilting French accent. "I believe I know your grandmere. I've helped cook for her parties. She is a woman of great beauty and character."
"I agree," Natalya said warmly. "It's good to meet you, Laviolet." She looked at Grey with curiosity. "How did you find a cook so quickly?"
"Speed discovered her when he went to
the market this morning. Laviolet came to Philadelphia from Santo Domingo, during the slave revolts many years ago, and married a cabinetmaker. It seems that her last employer died recently, and Speed heard her mention that she was seeking a new position." He grinned. "Fate is kind to me, don't you agree?"
"You do have the devil's own luck," Natalya replied, with a touch of irony.
"Laviolet insists on knowing all my tastes in food, hence the notes she is making." Grey couldn't resist the opportunity to further annoy Natalya. "I fear that she will spoil me so outrageously that I may never leave Philadelphia...."
"You may be too fat to fit through the doorway," Natalya agreed mildly, nodding. "Would it be possible for you to spare me a few minutes of your precious time?"
Watching them with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, Laviolet waved a slim hand at Grey. "I have a great deal to occupy me for the moment, m'sieur. Perhaps you would allow me to prepare a proper tea for you and your guest?"
He nodded, brightening. "Splendid! Might I have some oysters as well?"
"It's not the usual custom to combine oysters with tea, but for you I shall make an exception," she answered. "Where may I serve you?"
Grey pondered this. It seemed likely that Natalya would find cause to raise her voice at some time during their conversation, and he preferred that they not be overheard. "We'll be in the upstairs sitting room. Have Speed carry the tray; he's accustomed to physical exertion," he told her, eyes twinkling.
Then, taking hold of Natalya's elbow, he guided her out of the kitchen. They had proceeded only a little way down the corridor when she whispered loudly, "Why are you taking me upstairs? I hardly think—"
"This is precisely the reason," Grey cut in. "You seem to have so little control over your temper that I thought I would spare you the further embarrassment of servants' gossip. Perhaps if we conduct this interview on another floor, we can avoid sharing its contents with the entire household."
Cheeks burning, Natalya realized that he was dominating the situation once again. As they started up the flying staircase, she said, "You have settled very quickly into your role of master here; so quickly that one might imagine this house belonged to you! Lest you forget, sir, you are here through the benevolence of the Beauvisage family, and—"
"If I don't behave myself you'll have me tossed out on my ear?"
"Kindly refrain from mocking me!"
"I'll be happy to, if you will likewise refrain from adopting the manner of a toplofty dowager speaking to an insolent gamekeeper." Grey tightened his grip on her elbow when she tried to pull away from him. "For God's sake, relax. I won't gobble you up the moment we're alone."
Remembering what had occurred between them on her bed the night before, Natalya shot him a murderous look. "Past experience has taught me that you are capable of nearly any transgression."
He shrugged lightly and chuckled. "Well, perhaps where you are concerned..."
They had reached the top of the stairs, and Natalya paused for a moment to look down. "How I adored this staircase when I was a child. First I would stand at the bottom and look up, wondering how it could not collapse when someone ascended. I used to worry that it would do so while I was on it. Then Papa told me that it was called a flying staircase, and that because of some magic means it needed no support. He took me up and down, up and down, until I had conquered my fears."
"How old were you?" Grey asked softly.
"Oh... four, I suppose. It's one of my earliest memories."
"This is a wonderful house, but then the Beauvisage family seems to have an affinity for them. I really am grateful to be staying here, you know, and I would be desolate if you tossed me out."
Disarmed by his honesty, Natalya turned away from the carved banister and started toward the sitting room. "Well, it's all academic, isn't it? I couldn't have you put out even if I wanted to. It was Papa who gave you leave to occupy the house, so this is between the two of you. From the sound of it, you've charmed him mightily."
"Do I detect a note of disapproval in your voice?" Grey followed her into the cozy sitting room, which was filled with bookcases, luminous watercolors of gardens painted by Lisette Beauvisage, a pair of blue-and-gold-striped sofas that faced each other on a Kuba rug, and two brocade wing chairs. The glass double doors at the back of the room opened onto a white-pillared porch from which steps descended to the walled garden below. Natalya walked over to look outside for a moment before taking a seat on one of the sofas. To her dismay, Grey chose to sit next to her. "Tell me the truth now," he pressed. "Why are you really so annoyed by my presence? Is it because we've made love?"
Her long-lashed aqua eyes were wide as she turned to face him. "I must ask you not to speak of that night again, sir!"
"To anyone else, or to you? I certainly haven't told anyone if that's what's worrying you, nor shall I." Grey began to fold back his cuffs as he continued, "Rather warm up here, isn't it? Perhaps it's just the sunshine. Ah, I can see by your expression that you're in no mood to discuss the weather." He grinned slightly in spite of himself. "My darling minx—"
"Don't call me that!"
"What's become of the charming free spirit who wore her hair loose in the breeze, sitting on the quarterdeck of the Rover? Or, more to the point, where is the passionate minx who came to my bed just a few short nights ago and insisted that I make love to her? Are you not the woman who reveled in the beauty of her own naked body and—"
"Enough!" An errant curl brushed Natalya's burning cheek as she leaned forward and clapped her hand over his mouth. "That was in the past, and I don't wish to discuss it ever again!"
Grey removed her hand firmly. "The past is part of you, my sweet. The pleasure and awakening you felt that night were real. You were honest about it then. What has changed?"
"Everything," she hissed. "The only reason I was able to do something so reckless as that—"
"Excuse me, sir," Jasper Speed interjected from the doorway. "Your tea?"
Natalya blushed furiously as the stocky, redheaded manservant placed the tray on the table before them. "Good day, Miss Beauvisage," he said, with a smile. "I hope you are well?"
"Yes, Speed," she replied through gritted teeth. "How do you find Philadelphia?"
"Highly interesting, miss. Do you take milk?"
"We'll pour our own," Grey said, already squeezing lemon juice over the closest oyster on the plate. "Did you have any luck with your errand, Speed?"
"Possibly, sir."
Grey looked up, silver eyes agleam. "I'll speak to you later, then."
"Yes, sir. I'll be downstairs."
He was gone then, and Natalya poured tea for them both while Grey savored an oyster. There was also a little plate of cakes, and one of sliced apples. After a moment Grey looked over at her expectantly and said, "Do go on. You were saying that you only behaved so recklessly—"
"I remember!" Natalya's color was high and her hands shook slightly as she stirred milk into her tea. "You know, I really haven't the slightest desire to continue this conversation."
"But I do." There was an undercurrent of steel in his calm voice. "You behave as if I have done you some terrible wrong, as if the mere sight of me is cause for the most unrelenting aggravation, and I believe that I deserve an explanation."
"Fine; then you shall have one." Taking a deep breath, Natalya continued, "I hope that I do not have to repeat all the reasons I originally cited for coming to your cabin. I wanted to have... that experience, and since I don't plan to marry, you seemed a logical person to... have it with." She could feel the blood rising to her cheeks again and rushed ahead. "I thought we were about to part! If I'd known that you would stay in Philadelphia—"
"Ah, I thought so," he interjected curtly. "That very night, when I suggested that you wanted me because you believed you'd never see me again, you protested that your motive was passion, not practicality. How would you feel if a man did the same thing to you—seduced you, shared your bed, and then hoped to be rid of you f
orever?"
She stared at him in shock. How had he managed to twist everything so that she was being painted as a cold-hearted harlot? "That's not fair! You know I'm not like that!"
"I know you're confused," Grey remarked laconically, leaning forward to spear another oyster.
"If I'm confused, it's your doing!" Despite her fury, Natalya was struck by the endearing way his mouth puckered slightly as he savored the oyster's tangy blend of salt water and lemon. She fought an urge to smile. "You misled me, Grey. What I—we—did was crazy. I allowed myself to—to—"
"You needn't search for proper-sounding words," he said imperturbably. "I remember exactly what you did."
She tried to ignore him. "I did it because I wanted to, but also because I thought it would be safe, that it wouldn't haunt me. I wasn't being callous. You implied that you were going to deliver me to Philadelphia and return to England."
"I said that I would be out of your life before spring waned," Grey corrected her. "We're only at the brink of May, my dear."
Jumping up, Natalya began to pace in front of the ornate glass doors. "Is this a game you are playing? Do you enjoy watching me squirm?"
He shrugged. "I may enjoy watching you come to grips with the fact that you cannot control other people, least of all me. You had everything worked out, planned down to the details of our lovemaking and the farewell speech that you would deliver to me on the dock." Draining his teacup, he returned it to its saucer and added, "I fear I don't do very well with other people's plans."
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Natalya cried. "Was it so horrid for me to plan and dream what my life would be like once I returned to Philadelphia? I almost wonder if you are doing your best to disrupt my homecoming because your own, in London, was fraught with disappointment!"
Grey rose with casual grace and crossed to stand before her. "You don't know the first thing about it." The silvery flame in his eyes betrayed him as he grasped her hands in his and said, "Furthermore, I hate to puncture your bubble of self-importance, but I have legitimate business in Philadelphia." His grip tightened slightly. "If you believed that you could come here today and browbeat me into leaving, you were mistaken. I am not a character in one of your bloody books. You cannot write me out of this or any other scene until I am damned well ready to go."
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