by Gaelen Foley
Derek rose from his seat as the earl came toward him, patting the sweat off his jowly face with a handkerchief.
“Major, m’boy, what brings you here? Haven’t much time.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you for seeing me.” He nodded in respect, but he watched the chairman carefully. Something told him that asking about the meeting upstairs would get him nowhere. “I just wondered if you had heard yet how soon the transports might be ready to set sail for India,” he said cautiously.
“What, since yesterday?” the old man snapped, rather startling him with his ill temper. “Cool your heels, lad! You’re going to have to be patient. I know you cavalrymen are not known for that virtue, but there is an orderly process that must be observed before the funds can be released. If I were you, frankly, I’d expect delays.”
“Delays?” Derek countered. “Why, sir? Is there a problem?”
“I’m not a magician, to pull a rabbit out of a hat, sir! Of course there’s no problem. These things take time.”
“How much time?”
“Weeks! Months? Hard to say!”
“Months?” he echoed in shock. “I…see.”
But in truth, he did not see at all.
He could not envision any set of circumstances under which it might take months to send off the army’s needed funds. Three million pounds had been specifically earmarked for military operations in India and was sitting in an account held by the Bank of England, waiting for the day it would be needed.
Wasn’t it?
Suddenly, he had a sick sort of feeling in the pit of his stomach. His mouth went dry and he looked at old Sinclair. “Sir,” he blurted out, “the men are counting on that money.”
“Yes, Major, you made that very clear to us all just yesterday.”
Derek cast about for any sort of logical explanation. What was Sinclair not telling him? Something was definitely wrong. “Sir, has something happened to the money?” he asked abruptly, blunt as ever, his tone grim.
The chairman looked him in the eye. “I would advise you to remember your place—Major.”
“Sir?”
“I understand you are itching to get your old post back. Yes, I heard all about it. Your trouble with Colonel Montrose, the debacle at Janpur. If you ever want to be restored to your command, then you will mind your place.”
Derek stared at him in guarded amazement, quite knocked down a peg by the insult. More important, he realized he had just been threatened with the loss of his career.
“I will send you word when I have news,” the chairman said gruffly as he turned away and marched toward the door.
“My lord?” Derek took a single step in his direction.
“What?” the portly old politician shot back, pausing to glare at him.
Derek faltered, entirely taken aback by this unforeseen turn of events—perhaps naïvely so. Careful. He did not dare press his luck, for the only thing out of the man’s mouth that he believed so far was the threat. “If there is, um, anything I can do to help the process along, sir, I am at your disposal.”
His dutiful words and reassuring tone seemed to mollify the earl a bit, perhaps soothing his fear that the colonial savage was intent on causing trouble.
“Very wise, Major. Nothing now.” The earl cleared his throat and adopted a slightly more amenable tone. “As I said, when I know more, I will send word. Till then, you may consider yourself on leave. Amuse yourself in Town like any young man may do. I hear you are a favorite with the ladies.”
Derek dropped his gaze, as stung by the remark as he would have been by another out-and-out insult.
For he saw then that this man did not take him seriously.
This man thought he was an idiot soldier. Cannon fodder, made for taking orders.
Very well. We’ll just see about that. With a look of dark tranquillity, he gave the chairman a nod edged with subtle insolence. “Aye, sir.”
“Good lad.” The earl banged the door shut behind him; a moment later, the butler reappeared and showed Derek out.
What the hell is going on? he wondered as he walked back to Piccadilly with slower, musing strides. Clearly, something was wrong, but what? Some sort of problem with the money?
He turned the mystery over in his mind all the way back to the Althorpe, but as he approached the back gates, a gruff voice from behind him called his name.
“Major! Major Derek Knight?” It was a man’s voice, Cockney-sounding. He kept his tone low, as if leery of attracting too much attention.
Derek halted, turning around in wary surprise. “Yes?”
He saw a coachman leaning against a black carriage that was parked on the other side of the street and appeared to have been there for some time. Waiting for him?
A stocky, sinewy fellow of medium height, the coachman pushed away from the vehicle, approaching Derek slowly. The long, dark Carrick coat he wore could have concealed any number of weapons, Derek noted, though it appeared the man carried only a large driver’s whip for his horses. Beneath the low, scrolled brim of his black hat, he had the weathered face of a bruiser.
“Can I help you?”
“Name’s Bates, sir. My master sent me to collect you.”
“Collect me?” Derek echoed. Bloody hell. Which of his recent bedmates had failed to mention she was married? He lifted his chin. “Who is your master, and what is his business with me?”
“I work for Mr. Edward Lundy, a Company man, sir.” The coachman paused. “He said you might desire to speak with him about committee business.”
Derek was immediately intrigued. On the other hand, this could be a trap.
Edward Lundy’s fierce-looking henchman glanced down the street, as though keeping watch out for unwanted eyes on them. “Mr. Lundy may have…certain information for you, Major.”
“Well, then. Let’s not tarry.” Derek nodded gamely at him, prepared for the risk.
God knew he had plenty of experience in defending himself if somebody had something nasty planned for him. Confident in his skills with his sword and pistol, he climbed into the coach. If Lundy had information and wanted to talk, Derek was willing to listen. Who could say? He might actually get some answers. It was better than being ordered to “cool his heels” and “amuse himself in Town” like some sort of meat-headed rakehell.
’Sblood, there was a war on. His boys were in harm’s way. Damned right he wanted answers if Lundy could provide them.
The coachman shut the door with an ominous bang, and in another moment, they were off.
Beyond the mullioned windows of Edward’s neo-Gothic castle of a house, the golden day beckoned, clear and cool.
From where Lily sat in the great hall, she could see the jagged gray shadow of the house’s towers and turrets and its pointed gables outlined across the emerald grass.
Inside, however, the interior of her future home gave her the feeling of being in a cage. Perhaps it was all those diamond-shaped mullions crisscrossing the narrow windows. The décor was dark, too, heavy and oppressive, with its Gothic theme. Cousin Pamela would no doubt have adored it, she thought. Dark paneling stretched up to a vaulted ceiling of creamy white plaster, ribbed with dark beams. The three wrought-iron chandeliers that hung down from that great height looked as if they’d been pilfered from a dungeon.
Near the yawning fireplace, the furniture grouping where the ladies convened was upholstered in deep, jewel-toned velvets, perched atop spiral-turned legs.
Clad in a demure beige visiting gown with ivory lace trim, Lily sat beside her chaperone while the exuberant Mrs. Lundy rhapsodized on her plans for the garden party.
“We shall have all manner of athletics, cricket for the gentlemen, archery for the ladies, tennis for both, oh, and bowls on the green. Perhaps you would care to see the menu for the day, Mrs. Clearwell? I’ve got it here.”
“May I?” Lily’s sponsor graciously accepted the piece of paper.
Mrs. Lundy watched her anxiously while she read it with an appraising eye, but for
Lily’s part, she continually had to stop herself from staring at the large, gaudy, jewel-encrusted brooch in the shape of a rooster that adorned her future mother-in-law’s gown. It looked like a giant glittering insect crawling up her shoulder. The hideous thing was probably worth a fortune.
“You may have a spot of trouble with the ice cream if the day is overwarm,” Mrs. Clearwell warned. “The almond chicken sounds lovely. And the salad.”
“Oh, thank you for saying so!” Mrs. Lundy patted her sweating cheek with a handkerchief. “I so want everything to be perfect, for Eddie’s sake. He works so hard, you know.”
He was working now and could not be disturbed, closeted away in his study in another region of the sprawling house.
Lily didn’t mind. She would just as soon not see her suitor until she had succeeded in erasing Derek Knight from her head.
Mrs. Clearwell passed the proposed menu to Lily to review, while Mrs. Lundy pulled out a little diagram of how the tables were to be arranged beneath the big striped tent that would be erected on the lawn for the day of the grand picnic.
While the two matrons continued discussing every detail of the garden party, Lily stared down at the scrawled sheet of paper in her hand, but her mind wandered.
Forget him.
She had known from the first second she had seen him that Derek Knight was dangerous. Nothing but trouble. The only thing their stolen kiss had accomplished was to further dampen her enthusiasm about marrying Edward.
Her duty.
Derek Knight was not for her. She had been betrayed by her heart once before, so this silly reaction to him signified nothing. Besides, even if she was somehow to snare him, Mother would kill her if she came home with a handsome half-pay officer. Rich and stupid. Those were her marching orders. Why should she torment herself with what was not to be? If she did not marry Edward or someone equally rich, then she’d have to sell Balfour Manor, and that would break her heart. It would be like admitting defeat, admitting ruin. Failing her family. The final nail in the coffin of the Balfour family’s honor.
Everything rested on her success.
If only she could stop thinking about Derek Knight’s hands. Those big, sun-tanned hands, raking through her hair. Tough and strong and capable—and yet those hands were gentle, too. She could still feel the magic of his touch when he had cupped her face, caressed her neck, her arms. It seemed her fantasies around the garden folly had taken on a very different theme, no longer a child’s daydreams, but the needs and longings of a woman.
God. She shifted in her chair and passed the tip of her tongue across her lips. This would not do! She really wished she were better than this.
“What is your opinion on the matter, my dear Miss Balfour?”
Lily snapped back to attention, clearing her throat guiltily. “Pardon?”
“Ah, what’s this?” Mrs. Lundy teased. “Was our young lady lost in some romantic fancy, hm?”
“Oh—I am sorry.”
“Mrs. Lundy asked if you prefer the fife and drums or the brass band for the midday entertainment.”
“Whatever you decide will be best, I am sure, ma’am.” Lily forced a hapless smile. “Perhaps we should ask Edward which he’d rather.”
“So, that’s what you were daydreaming about, or should I say whom!” Mrs. Lundy beamed at having discovered Lily’s presumed distraction over her big, strapping son. “Where is that boy, anyway? He should come and see you! It really is too rude!”
“Oh, I don’t wish to interrupt him—”
“Nonsense!” Mrs. Lundy rang the silver servant bell beside her. “He is probably caught up in his ledgers. Perhaps he needs reminding that you’re here.”
In short order, a burly footman trudged into the great hall in answer to the summons. Lily could not figure out why all of Edward’s servants looked like pugilists, but Mrs. Lundy did not shrink from ordering the formidable fellow around.
“Would you please tell my son to come and pay his respects to the ladies? They cannot be expected to wait around for his lazy bottom all day!”
“Yes, ma’am,” the footman grunted while Mrs. Clearwell turned discreetly to Lily with a wide-eyed look over the woman’s choice of words. Lily stifled a polite cough into her white-gloved fist.
“Well! We shall see him soon, I’m very sure,” Mrs. Lundy said brightly.
Just then, a carriage came rolling up the drive, past the menacing stone lions that crouched by the gated entrance to Edward’s estate. All three of the ladies glanced out the window; the sun glinted off the spotless coach as it clattered to a halt in the courtyard just outside the mullioned windows.
“I wonder who that is,” Mrs. Clearwell murmured.
The footman’s return interrupted them, his clomping steps echoing under the great hall’s vaulted ceiling.
He stopped and clasped his hands behind his back. “The master wishes me to say he’s about to go into a meetin’ with an associate, madam. He gives his apologies and says he’ll come as soon as possible. He told me to say that it shouldn’t take long, but he does not wish to inconvenience the ladies.”
“Bring us refreshments,” Mrs. Lundy ordered the brawler. “Tea, biscuits. Chocolate, ladies? Lemonade? Something stronger? Fortunately for my son, we still have a few more details to iron out about the party. Tell him to hurry,” she commanded her servant. “He’s welcome to bring his ‘associate’ to take tea with us, as well. As long as the person’s respectable, of course,” she amended hastily.
“Aye, mum.”
Mrs. Clearwell arched a discreet brow at Lily that seemed to inquire whether Edward actually knew anyone respectable other than the two of them.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Lundy had turned toward the window. “Oh! Oh, my. My goodness,” she murmured admiringly.
Lily looked at her hostess in question, but now Mrs. Clearwell had also turned toward the window. Her eyes were wide.
“Heavens,” her chaperone breathed, “if I weren’t thirty years younger!”
“My word, that’s a lovely piece of man-flesh if I ever saw one,” Mrs. Lundy agreed with a lusty grin.
Astonished by their reaction, Lily looked at both women in shocked hilarity, then glanced out the window to see this “lovely piece of man-flesh” for herself.
The second she clapped eyes on him, she nearly shrieked and fell out of her chair—except that she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t even blink.
Derek Knight.
All color drained from her face.
Oh, good heavenly God, what could he possibly be doing here?
Sixteen different explanations barreled through her mind. Few made sense, and one was even more dire than the next. Her heart was pounding, her face had gone ashen, and the only clear words that kept tumbling through her brain were, Oh, no. Oh, no! Why is he here? I’m doomed!
He was in civilian clothes and ten times still more handsome than she remembered from last night, but as many times as she blinked, willing this certain hallucination to disperse, it proved to be no illusion.
It really was he; he was here, and she was doomed.
Obviously, her transgression had been found out. But how? How was it possibly—possible?
If his arrival wasn’t bad enough, her terror turned to pure dread when, beyond the window, she saw Edward walking out warily to meet him.
Neither man smiled; they did not shake hands.
Good God! she thought. They can’t resort to violence!
There was no question in her mind who would win that fight if they engaged in base dueling, but she needed Edward alive! He was no good to her dead!
Oh, this was terrible.
They walked away together, their faces inscrutable. They headed toward the stables, leaving Lily to try to decipher what was going on. Her overactive mind wasted no time in offering up a few choice, dreadful notions. Someone must have seen them together last night and told Edward. Maybe the other lady who had come to meet with Derek in the garden had witnessed the kiss and t
old others what she had seen. What if Edward had summoned Derek here to punish each of them separately—or, wait!
Something worse.
Far worse.
They both had spent time in India. What if they already knew each other from there—Derek and Edward? What if the major’s light blue eyes and angel face hid the soul of a demon? What if he and Edward were in league?
Maybe Edward had put Derek up to it…to test her. She wouldn’t put it past her erstwhile Minotaur. He had that ruthless streak. Maybe Edward could sense that she really wasn’t quite as pure and proper as she seemed.
Oh, God.
She’d have walked right into a trap.
Lily sat frozen in petrified silence, completely at a loss, while the Lundys’ servant wheeled in the tea cart with their refreshments.
I’m dead, she concluded, stunned. She felt paralyzed. Trapped. Strangely helpless before fate. Like one of those poor French nobles waiting in a line of wretched prisoners for his turn at the guillotine. It’s all over now. I am disgraced. There was nothing left to do but wait and watch it all unravel.
She might as well have a spot of Darjeeling and try to calm down, she thought half-hysterically, though she still sat ramrod straight, masking her distress. What else could she do? Run away? What was the point, if her wanton nature had been found out?
The scandalous truth would only follow her.
That was why she had hidden at Balfour Manor all these years, why Grandfather had left the house to her—one safe place for her to hide the next time her world came crashing down.
She had not expected that day to come so soon.
For the moment, however, she could do nothing but try to recover her courage. Her heart pounded. In odd detachment, she watched Mrs. Lundy pour the tea.
But when Lily accepted a cup and lifted it to her lips, she nearly spilled it with the trembling of her hands.
CHAPTER
SIX
“Major,” Lundy greeted him, gravel crunching under his boots as he crossed the courtyard to receive him. “Good of you to come.”