Surrender the Stars

by Wright, Cynthia

  The largest cottage, built of stone, boasted a small swinging sign that announced: The Spotted Cow.

  "God, how I used to love to come here," Ryan said with a sigh. "It's an inn by definition, but it's principally an alehouse."

  Inside, he had to dip his head to avoid the low oak beams. The stone and timbered walls looked ancient, and the tables were scarred and worn. Students were scattered throughout the two tiny public rooms, arguing or laughing over their mugs of dark ale. Moments later, Lindsay found herself seated at a corner table, her knees brushing Ryan's, and taking her first sip of English ale. The barmaid lingered over a nearby table, trying to catch Ryan's eye so that she might indicate her appreciation with a flirtatious smile.

  "It's good!" Lindsay decided, laughing. "Strong... and rich."

  "Be careful. It won't do if you're in your cups when I return you to your parents." His blue eyes were agleam as he watched her drink again, wrinkling her tiny nose.

  After a third sip, Lindsay suddenly untied her bonnet and removed it, revealing the soft profusion of bright curls that escaped from the Grecian knot atop her head. "Oh, that feels heavenly! I'm going to take off my slippers, too. Is that all right?"

  Her legs wiggled against his for a moment as she freed her feet, and Ryan chuckled. "As long as you draw the line there."

  "I can't stop! The gloves must go as well!" She drew them off and tossed them into her bonnet with a flourish.

  "The ale's going to your head."

  "I like the Spotted Cow. It's very relaxing—and very old. Isn't it?"

  His brows lifted slightly as he reached for her mug. "Yes, very old. Five centuries' worth."

  "Oh, my. That's hard to imagine after America, where everything is so new. How could you leave a place like this?"

  "The Spotted Cow?"

  "Don't tease me, Ryan! Oxford! Dean Jackson said that you could have been a professor of astronomy! That means you must have been an excellent student. He obviously thinks a great deal of you, remembering you that way years after you graduated. I mean, it's a magnificent accomplishment just to earn a degree from Oxford—"

  "Not necessarily."

  "Let me say this! I'm about to humble myself, and since I may not do so again for years, you ought to at least listen!"

  He flashed a grin and cocked his head slightly in the way she found so appealing. "By all means, do go on."

  "I was going to say that you clearly made a mark for yourself here. You took your education seriously." Feeling her cheeks grow hot, Lindsay put her hands over her face and blurted out, "I'm so embarrassed! Every time I remember all the horrid, superior things I've said to you I could just die! I have put myself above you, insulting your intelligence when, in truth, you should have been looking down at me!"

  Lindsay took a breath that was half sob and waited for his response. When it didn't come, she peeked through her fingers to see the barmaid leaning over with his ale. The girl purposely brushed her breasts against Ryan's shoulder and smiled seductively. Lindsay's temper flared. "Do you mind? We would appreciate some privacy!"

  Ryan was smiling at her with warm blue eyes. "You're amazing, do you know that, Lindsay? I've never known a woman quite like you."

  "You must count your blessings," she whispered, her heart pounding with confusion, embarrassment, and the involuntary attraction she felt toward him.

  "Don't talk nonsense. And, although I appreciate your apology, I'd prefer to forget it. I don't want you to change toward me because of what you've learned today; judge me as a person. As for your past insults, I never took them to heart." His eyes held hers. "You've known all along that I am not stupid."

  Lindsay's mind spun back to that first afternoon on the Point, when Ryan had casually mentioned the bit of Greek mythology that had inspired his choice of Chimera for the name of his ship. Over and over again, he had quietly proved his intelligence while she had stubbornly refused to acknowledge the evidence.

  "I've been the stupid one."

  "I don't want to hear any more of that nonsense. I do want to set you straight about Oxford, though, before we put the subject to rest." Ryan lit a cheroot and leaned back in his chair, stretching out his booted legs. "You're right about one thing—I did receive a wonderful education here but that's largely due to Dean Jackson's guidance. Fortunately, I had the sense to listen to him, but most students don't, and education at Oxford has been stagnating for a century. Spoiled young noblemen come here and very little studying goes on. What makes it all worse is the way Oxford men hold themselves above all others. They're incapable of saying 'I don't know' and, in truth, they know damned little!" He paused for another drink of ale.

  "Things are changing, though, I think. Dean Jackson has been predicting a period of reform for a long time, although I fear he won't live to see it."

  "How sad." Lindsay was stunned by his words. "What a waste!"

  "Well, I was loath to disillusion you, but at the same time, it was important for you to realize that Utopia doesn't exist—even at Oxford." He straightened. "And now, we should be getting back. You have a dinner to dress for."

  "Ryan... you are planning to attend tonight...?"

  "You must see that I cannot. It was foolish for me to come to Oxford at all. I realized this afternoon that the risk of someone else recognizing me is too great to ignore. Radcliffe Camera will be jammed with scores of people who knew me during my years here."

  "But that was a decade ago!" The prospect of going without him tonight made her heart sink.

  "The danger still exists. I could be exposed in front of everyone." He picked up her bonnet and dropped it in her lap. "Get dressed now, brat."

  She did as Ryan bade, trying not to pout. "But what shall we tell everyone?"

  "I'll be ill. Something I ate." Standing, he took her hand and assisted her up. "You must promise me, Lindsay, not to tell anyone what you learned today. Not even your parents. My illustrious past at Oxford will be a secret between us."

  The irony in his voice was lost on her as she sighed, caught up in the romance of sharing such a marvelous secret with Ryan. "I promise!" she vowed. They were halfway to the door before another thought struck her. "Ryan, Hester knows all of this, doesn't she?"

  He put some coins on the bar as they passed, then allowed, "Yes, Lindsay, she knows."

  "And she knows a lot of other things you won't tell me, doesn't she?" Her voice rose accusingly.

  "Only because she was part of my past. I'd be happier if no one knew anything!" Ryan bent to pass under the low door, then guided her in silence back through the twists and turns of St. Helen's Passage. They were nearly out when he stopped abruptly and looked down into Lindsay's wounded gray eyes. "Let it go. Keep in mind that there is a great deal about my present life that Hester doesn't know. And, that's where I live—in this moment."

  A smile rose from her heart as they continued on. Turning back onto New College Lane, Lindsay was so preoccupied that she didn't see Harry Brandreth and Lord Chadwick until her brother-in-law boomed, "Well met! Don't tell me that you two discovered the Spotted Cow?"

  "A student directed us," Ryan drawled, lifting his quizzing glass. "Lindsay was feeling a trifle parched."

  "I'm not certain it's the kind of place a well-bred young lady ought to frequent, Mr. Raveneau," Chadwick observed.

  Lindsay intervened. "I only went once, so you mustn't scold, sir! Besides, I found it a delightful change from the formality of the day." Laughing, she took Ryan's arm. "Please don't think us rude, but we really must be on our way. Though he'd never admit it, my brother has suddenly taken ill, and I must see that he returns to his rooms and goes to bed. You'll excuse us?"

  Watching Lindsay and Ryan disappear around the corner of Catte Street, Harry shook his head and looked down at the shorter Earl of Chadwick. "I say, have you ever seen a cozier pair of siblings in your life?"

  Francis Moore dabbed perspiration from his forehead with a snowy handkerchief and replied thoughtfully, "Can't say that I have, old m
an. Can't say that I have..."

  "Admirable devotion, what?"

  The earl slowly arched one eyebrow. "Quite."

  * * *

  "Lindsay, darling, could you spare me a moment?"

  "Certainly, Mama. What is it?" Lindsay's voice was absent as she surveyed her reflection. Cassie had just fastened a choker of diamonds and pearls around her neck and inserted matching combs into her upswept strawberry-blond curls. She hadn't been certain what the effect would be, for her satin gown was all white and very simple. "What do you think, Mama? Should I wear sapphires instead?"

  Cassie spoke up. "I told her, ma'am, that her hair and eyes are color enough. Not that she should wear just white all the time, but for a change—"

  "You're right, Cassie, Lindsay looks sophisticated and innocent all at once. The other women will seem vulgar by comparison." Devon, garbed in a lovely evening dress of filmy white net over pale blue silk, sat down on the edge of the bed. "Would you mind leaving us alone, Cassie?"

  "Of course not, ma'am!" Startled, she hurried from the room.

  "What's this all about, Mama?"

  "I was hoping you would tell me." Devon's tone was almost gentle. "What really happened today?"

  "Ryan and I already explained. I was foolish enough to go punting with Dudley, and Ryan discovered us and brought me back. But then I begged him to sightsee with me and he grudgingly agreed. That's when we sent the note up to you and Papa so you wouldn't worry. We stopped for a bit of refreshment and Ryan felt ill suddenly, so we came back." Lindsay took a chair opposite her mother, thankful that there were no real lies involved. "I know I exercised bad judgment and I apologize, but certainly you don't believe I did anything seriously wrong?"

  "My instincts tell me that there is a great deal more to this than either of you have said. Since this adventure commenced, I have tried not to interfere in your relationship, even when you were so antagonistic toward him. You are twenty years old, after all. A woman. But, Lindsay, it is very hard for me to keep silent when I suspect that something is being hidden from me."

  "I don't know what you mean!"

  Devon shook her head. "Neither do I, exactly... I suppose that my own worry is that a relationship is developing between you and Ryan that could complicate all our lives, especially given the mission the president has given us and the fact that we all live under the same roof. I am trusting you not to take advantage of the latter circumstance!"

  Traitorous color warmed Lindsay's cheeks. "If you are suggesting that I am carrying on some sort of—of love affair with Ryan Coleraine—that we sneak into each other's beds after you and Papa are sleeping—"

  "Don't overdramatize." Devon reached for her daughter's hand and found that it was ice-cold. "I simply want to remind you that neither of your parents is blind. I have tried to reassure your father and to overlook certain incidents—like that night at Carlton House—for my own peace of mind, and because, as I said, you are a grown woman. I have longed for you to find love, darling, but I have a duty to beg you to use your head as well as your heart." She laughed shakily. "When the two of you disappear like that, I begin worrying. If your father were ever to discover you and Ryan in—a compromising situation, I shudder to imagine the consequences."

  Lindsay rose to pace across her tiny room above the Golden Cross's courtyard. Horse hooves and carriage wheels clattered below. "I hope that Papa's imagination hasn't carried him off, too!"

  "He has had his share of suspicions, which I have tried to allay."

  "I think that you are both dreaming up these things because Ryan and I have been thrown together in the same house. Why, I should think that you would be pleased that we've struck a truce of sorts until this charade is ended and we can all go back to our normal lives." Pleased with these arguments, Lindsay added, "I must say, Mama, I find it a odd that neither you nor Papa is worrying about Lord Fanshawe! He is the one who persuaded me to steal away with him in a punt on the River Cherwell! I can assure you, he is a very ardent and romantic man! Why is it that you are not concerned about that relationship?"

  Devon stood up and smoothed her gown. "Because," she said simply, "there is no light in your eyes when you look at Lord Fanshawe."

  A moment later, standing alone, Lindsay realized that what her mother had left unsaid was far more meaningful than the words she had spoken aloud.

  * * *

  Propped against soft white pillows, Ryan slid his book under the covers when a knock sounded at the door. Harvey Jenkins, who had been brushing his master's coat, went to answer it.

  "Good evening, Captain and Mrs. Raveneau. I trust you both are enjoying this exemplary June day?" Harvey waved them in with a flourish.

  "We'd be enjoying it more if your employer were well," Andre said as he and Devon entered, looking splendidly out of place in their formal attire. "How are you feeling, Ryan?"

  "Better, sir, I'm happy to report. Thinking back, I've decided it was the sausage cake I tried at luncheon in Henley. It had rather an odd taste." Valiantly, he struggled to sit up. "You two are looking magnificent. I certainly wish I were going with you tonight!"

  Devon crossed to the bed and felt his forehead. "I don't remember any sausage cakes."

  "How fortunate. I doubtless got the only one. Probably left over from last month."

  "Ryan, dear, the sight of your chest is very... inspiring, but shouldn't you put something on if you're ill?"

  "I don't have anything." He attempted a pale imitation of his usual rakish smile. "Clothing distracts me in bed."

  Her delicate brows went up. "I don't doubt it." She lifted a nearly empty glass of brandy from the bedside table. "Brandy? On an upset stomach?"

  "Harvey forced it on me, didn't you, Harvey? He swears it's a miracle cure." Harvey nodded agreeably from his place by the window.

  Sighing, Devon narrowed her eyes at Ryan. "I suppose it's none of my affair, is it?"

  "Never say so, Mother dear. However, I wouldn't have dreamed of disturbing your preparations for this momentous evening. So we mere men have just tried to muddle through in the sickroom. Haven't we, Harvey?"

  "Unequivocally, sir." The manservant fussed with a spot of dust on the fawn coat sleeve.

  "Is there anything you need?" Raveneau inquired, wondering why his wife was behaving so peculiarly.

  "Nothing that Harvey can't see to," Ryan assured him bravely.

  At that moment, first Mouette and then Lindsay appeared in the doorway. "Everyone's waiting downstairs," Mouette announced. "We should be going." Peeking into the room, she added, "Oh, my! Perhaps I ought to remain behind to nurse Ryan back to health! I don't suppose Harry would understand, though. Ryan, since you obviously won't be riding tomorrow, you must share our carriage and we'll regale you with stories about tonight!"

  "A tantalizing prospect," Ryan replied with good-natured irony. "Think of me, languishing here in this spartan room, while you frolic at the Radcliffe Camera."

  "We shall! Mama, Papa, come on!"

  Devon turned in the doorway to look at Lindsay. "Are you coming?"

  "I just brought Ryan a book I thought he might enjoy. I'll be down in an instant, I promise!"

  "I feel too weak to read," the patient spoke up, "but, on the other hand, I might revive in an hour or two...."

  "Be quick, Lindsay," Devon warned as Andre gently pulled her into the hall.

  Harvey Jenkins waited until he heard the family's footsteps on the stairs, then silently took his leave.

  "Close the door," Ryan said, sitting up.

  Lindsay blushed. "I can't stay—you heard them—"

  "This will only take a moment. Come here."

  The sight of his bare, hard-muscled chest with its light covering of black hair, his irresistible half smile, and his penetrating blue eyes swept away her reason. "Ryan, I—"

  He caught her hand and drew her down to sit beside him on the bed. "I just wanted to tell you that you look stunning. Ravishing. The sight of you is enough to make me wish I were going along,
if only to keep that supercilious Fanshawe away from you."

  "You smell of brandy." Lindsay smiled in spite of herself and reached out to touch his ruffled black hair.

  "Do you think I'd be doing this if I were sober?" Leaning forward, he grazed her mouth with his. Strong, dark hands slowly encircled her satin-clad waist, then rounded Lindsay's back as he drew her against him and kissed her in earnest.

  Warm arousal surged through her body, until she remembered all that her mother had said and realized that her family was waiting while she sat here in white satin, diamonds, and pearls kissing a naked man. Somehow, Lindsay managed to press her palms against his chest. When their lips parted, the sensation was almost painful.

  "Ryan, I have to go!" Standing up, she felt dizzy. "I brought you a book." She took a gulp of air. "Boswell's Life of Johnson."

  An odd smile curved his mouth as he accepted the volume from her hand and drew his own book out from under the bedclothes. "Why am I not surprised?"

  A chill ran down Lindsay's spine when she saw that they'd chosen the same title. "Oh, Ryan—"

  "You'd best be off, sister dear. Enjoy yourself." When she had reached the corridor, he called genially, "Say something rude to Dudley for me!"

  Chapter 22

  Oxfordshire, England

  June 15, 1814

  "Did we tell you that the military had to be called to the Radcliffe Camera to quiet the students during the banquet?" Mouette asked Ryan.

  "I think so, yes." He shifted uneasily, longing to stretch out his long legs or, better yet, to trade his place in this handsomely appointed carriage for one astride his new black stallion. Every time Ryan thought of Harvey riding Simon in his stead, he cringed.