Her Secret Fantasy

by Gaelen Foley

  “I didn’t know I had a choice.” Derek slammed the carriage door behind him and took a wary glance around at the landscape and the house.

  With a hard look, Lundy nodded toward the stables. “Let’s walk.”

  They did. As they approached the barn, the sound of vicious barking filled the air.

  “Guard dog?”

  “Monster,” Lundy grunted. “Don’t worry, he’s caged. Did you have a nice visit with the chairman?” he muttered, keeping his stare fixed on the wide-open door to the stable ahead.

  Derek glanced at him in surprise. “You know about that?”

  “Of course. I’ve been ordered to befriend you.”

  “Really? Why is that?”

  Lundy sent him a dry look askance and nodded in shrewd cynicism. “Hold on. Can’t hear myself think. Maguire! Shut that dog up!” he ordered a groom as they walked into the stable.

  The young laborer blanched. “Sir, all due respect, I ain’t going near that thing.”

  “Oh, aren’t you?” Lundy boomed. “Lucky I don’t feed you to ’im. Where’s Jones, then?”

  Derek raised an eyebrow as he looked from the cowering groom to Lundy, surprised that he would accept the servant’s refusal of an order.

  “He’s gone into the carriage house. Shall I get him?”

  “Never mind. Dog only listens to me, anyway. Maguire,” Lundy added in amusement, nodding toward Derek, “show the major what Brutus did to your hand.”

  The groom shifted the pitchfork he was holding to his left hand, and then held up his right, from which most of two fingers were missing.

  Lundy sent Derek a matter-of-fact grin. “Come have a look.”

  Walking down the center aisle of the luxurious stable, Derek was secretly agog at his host’s kingly collection of horses. Whoever was choosing Lundy’s horses for him, the man knew what he was doing. There must have been two dozen of the finest warm-bloods that Derek had ever seen: Arabians, thoroughbreds, Hanoverians, Irish hunters.

  Jealousy was extremely rare in Derek’s nature, but as a cavalry man, horses were his passion, and looking around, it was depressing to see that this clod Lundy had already attained what he most wanted out of life. The lout probably couldn’t even ride.

  Well, I could sell my soul, too, and take a tidy office post with the Company. But then, who would keep his men safe out there in the field and see that they were properly trained for battle?

  Still, he was only human.

  Ah, damn. With naught but a sigh for what he couldn’t have yet, Derek shrugged off envy and followed his host to the open doorway at the far end of the stable.

  “Brutus! Shut up!” Lundy roared at the big, black dog penned in a large steel cage. Then he noticed a quartet of his thuggish henchmen loitering in the shade, smoking and dealing cards for an impromptu game. “You lot, back to work!” the boss bellowed. “How many times have I told you no smoking near my bloody stable?”

  “Sorry, sir. Sorry.” The cards were swept into somebody’s pocket, the cheroots quickly doused in a nearby horse trough.

  “Don’t sorry me! You’re goin’ to burn the bloody place down one day and then I’ll have you hanged!”

  Lundy’s rough-looking hirelings scattered, but their employer merely slapped Derek on the back. “Now, then! I believe we’ve got some business to discuss.”

  “Right,” Derek said warily.

  As they went back into the stable, his host couldn’t seem to keep from gloating as he showed off all his pampered beauties, announcing how much each horse had cost him. Beyond that, Lundy didn’t seem to know a lot about his bloodstock, but Derek kept his mouth shut.

  The nabob was obviously hell-bent on impressing him—or torturing him—and if he wanted answers, then the most sensible thing to do was oblige the man and act impressed.

  It wasn’t hard.

  The horses were outrageous. They stopped at the stall of a gorgeous dapple-gray Arabian. The mare nibbled at Derek’s coat pocket, searching for a carrot. He stroked the horse’s neck and cautiously steered their conversation back to the business at hand. “So, you’ve been ordered to befriend me. By whom?”

  “Who do you think?” Lundy retorted.

  “Lord Sinclair.”

  “Right-o. Tuppence for the gentleman.”

  “I paid him a call before your man brought me here. He was having some sort of meeting.”

  “I know. I was there myself earlier this morning.”

  “Ah. So, why does he want you to befriend me?”

  “To keep you out of trouble, of course. Keep you busy and stop you from finding out about the committee’s little predicament.”

  “Predicament?” Derek prompted.

  Lundy stared at him. “They think I’m a fool. But they’re not going to pin this on me. I had nothing to do with it. I don’t care what they say.”

  “Pin what on you, exactly?”

  Lundy searched his face with searing intensity, then looked away, still playing his cards close to the chest. “Sinclair is hoping you will be content to amuse yourself in Town in a rip-roaring drunken haze, Major. That you’ll use your time in London chasing skirts and raising hell like the typical cavalryman on leave.”

  “Is that what you think, too?”

  “No. But it is useful to let Sinclair think so.”

  “Right,” Derek agreed, though he was not yet sure where all of this was going.

  Lundy leaned a meaty forearm against the horse’s stall. “You see, I know firsthand the loyalty among fighting men, Major. I saw that loyalty yesterday in your impassioned speeches accounting all the army’s needs. Very stirring. Makes me remember my own army days. The men in my unit…. I served in India, too, though it was only the Company’s forces.” He paused, a glint of the old rivalry between their two armies gleaming in his eyes.

  The proud Regulars, commissioned by the Crown, had always been the envy of the East India Company’s private security forces, which had been established to protect the Company’s trading caravans in India. Whenever their day-to-day security tasks flared up into outright war, the Regulars were called in to lead and assist. The Crown’s forces were assumed by all—especially themselves—to be the superior army, the elite. In war, the Regulars mingled with the Company’s hired troops, usually in command positions. Of course they had better discipline, but in Derek’s view the main difference was one of esprit de corps.

  For the Regulars like Derek and Gabriel, the vocation of warrior was for honor, King, and country, while for soldiers of the Company like Ed Lundy, it was mostly just a job. Thus, while the Regulars tended to look down on the Company’s troops, they, in turn, regarded the glamorous Regulars with a mix of resentment and begrudging admiration. Both emotions were visible in Lundy’s gaze now.

  “I know your kind,” he continued, taking Derek’s measure with a guarded glance. “In India, men don’t last unless they’re bold enough to take the initiative. A man learns how to think on his feet or he dies. So, no, I don’t think you’re going to sit around and do nothing but drink and woo the ladies while you wait for word from Lord Sinclair. But His Lordship certainly hopes that’s what you’ll do.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  Lundy smiled at him, savoring his information.

  “Tell me!”

  “Now, now, Major, this isn’t India. You’re in no position to be givin’ me orders.”

  Derek narrowed his eyes at the man. “Stop wasting my time. There’s some sort of problem with the money, isn’t there?”

  Lundy glanced over his shoulder. “After the vote last night, the committee met to review the books and close out the fund to be handed over to the army. But when we went over the numbers, we found three hundred thousand missing from the fund.”

  Derek stared at him in shock. “Three hundred thousand…?”

  “That’s right. Somebody on the committee’s been skimming off the cream. That’s what Lord Sinclair doesn’t want you to know.”

  Derek’
s mind reeled at the betrayal of their men out on the front lines, but he struggled to shake off his astonishment. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because you’re going to help me find out which of the others took that blunt.”

  “Oh, I am? Why?”

  “Because we both care about the same thing, Major—the men. Besides, I know where I stand on that committee,” Lundy said with a brooding look. “I’m the newest member and I’m an outsider. I’ve never been one of them. One of the highborn. They think I’ve no right to be there. They hate me for what I’ve accomplished in life, the fortune I’ve built. Oh, yes, I know it well. I know the way of the world. Whoever’s done this is going to try to pin it on me. I can feel it in me bones. They’ll gladly make the lowborn fellow the scapegoat if it will protect another of their class. I need you to help me find the truth.”

  “What exactly are you proposing?”

  “An investigation, combining our efforts. They don’t trust either of us entirely. We’re both outsiders in this town. But if we play along with their misconceptions about us and meanwhile work together, then we may actually get to the bottom of this and find out where that money went.”

  “An investigation.”

  “Yes. They told me to manage you, keep you out of the way. We’ll let ’em think that’s exactly what I’m doing. Meanwhile, I’ll be picking up whatever information I can on my end of it and passing it on to you so you can look into it more closely. But I don’t want to be directly involved. It would arouse their suspicions, and I can do more good from the inside.”

  “Right,” Derek murmured, scrutinizing him.

  “If we can track down some hard evidence, then they can’t unjustly pin this on me, and whoever took the money will have to put it back. That gold was earmarked for the men. The sooner we find it, the sooner we can get the money to them.”

  “Well, you’re damned right about one thing,” Derek said grimly. “I’m sure as hell not going to sit around and do nothing.”

  “I thought not. You’d better be careful, though,” Lundy warned. “They’re not taking any chances with you. They’ll push back hard if they realize the two of us are working to expose the real embezzler.”

  Derek folded his arms across his chest and debated with himself, studying the man.

  “You’re very quiet, Major. Surely I haven’t misjudged you?”

  “No,” he said tersely, sending Lundy a warning look, but he did not see fit to tell the man about Lord Sinclair’s veiled threat a short while ago with the permanent loss of his command. Damned right he wanted to get to the truth, but he had a lot to lose.

  More than Lundy knew.

  Derek was silent, weighing his words. “How do I know it wasn’t you who took the money?”

  “You’re welcome to review my personal accounts any time. Talk to my banker if you like. I’ve got nothing to hide. We’ll see if the others can say the same.” Lundy paused. “I heard the Marathas nearly killed your brother.”

  Derek looked at him in guarded surprise, but of course, the story had circulated in Society.

  “You know damned well we can whip those bastards, provided our army has what it needs to march and fight,” Lundy said. “So, do you want us to beat the Marathas or not?”

  Derek glared at him. Of course he wanted to beat the Marathas, but he did not appreciate Lundy’s efforts to manipulate him.

  “Ahem! Sir?”

  They both looked over at the footman who had entered the stable.

  “What is it?” Lundy demanded.

  “Sir, Mrs. Lundy asks if you and the other gentleman would like to come and take refreshments now.”

  Lundy rolled his eyes. “God.”

  “I didn’t know you were married,” Derek remarked.

  “He means my mother.”

  “Mrs. Lundy bade me say Miss Balfour and her chaperone have errands they must run. The ladies cannot stay more than another quarter hour, if you wish to see them, sir.”

  “All right, I’ll be right there!” Lundy grumbled, then he turned to Derek with a long-suffering look. “Refreshments, Major?”

  Derek arched an eyebrow and shrugged. “Why not?”

  “This way.” As they left the stable and walked across the graveled courtyard toward the house, Derek continued mulling over Lundy’s proposed investigation.

  He was a long way from trusting the man, but opposing him wasn’t going to yield anything useful. Might as well go along with it—carefully—and see where it might lead. The man seemed fairly genuine, and besides, compared to Sinclair and the rest of the civilian Gentlemen of the Sub-Committee, Derek couldn’t help harboring a slight bias in Lundy’s favor, since he was a former soldier and had also served in India. Lundy was certainly right about one thing: They both were outsiders.

  “So, who is this Miss Balfour?” he inquired, thrusting the more serious business aside as he recalled the footman’s words about the ladies.

  “A very beautiful creature and my particular friend.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Actually, she is my future bride,” Lundy admitted with an odd, almost secretive smile.

  “You are engaged?” Derek exclaimed.

  “Haven’t asked her yet, but soon.”

  “Do you think she’ll say yes?”

  “She’d better.” Lundy laughed. “You think my horses are beautiful? Wait till you see her. My little jewel,” he boasted. “Even some o’ them Patroness witches have called her a diamond of the first water. She’s gorgeous, man.”

  “Really?”

  “More than that, a lady to the core. Old family. Old as yours,” he added. “Very high class.”

  “So, what is she after you for?” Derek drawled.

  “My charm,” Lundy retorted. “What do you think? Her family’s bankrupt.”

  “Right, so you are knowingly marrying a fortune hunter?”

  Lundy shrugged. “Old bloodlines, like I said.”

  Derek shuddered. “You’re brave.”

  “Bates!” he barked at his driver. “Get the carriage ready to take the Major back to the Althorpe shortly. In here,” Lundy grunted as they went in the front door. Then he showed Derek into the great hall.

  Ahead, three ladies were seated around a furniture grouping, silhouetted before a bank of mullioned windows.

  In short order, Derek was presented to Mrs. Lundy, the beaming lady of the house with a startling, ugly rooster brooch pinned to her bosom, and to the girl’s chaperone, Mrs. Clearwell, an agreeable matron with star-shaped pins in her hair. Last but not least, Lundy introduced him to the elegant young woman who had sat quietly, motionless as a garden statue, from the moment he had entered the hall.

  “This is Miss Lily Balfour,” Lundy informed him with distinct pride. He went to stand by her chair and took her white-gloved hand possessively. “Miss Balfour, this is Major Derek Knight, newly arrived from India. He is a cousin of the Duke of Hawkscliffe,” Lundy added, wasting no time in informing his “particular lady friend” that he had such a well-connected acquaintance.

  “Major,” she clipped out, not even lifting her gaze to meet his.

  Well! She was a toplofty one, Derek thought, taken aback by her chilly reception. Did she deem herself too good even to bother looking at him despite his ducal cousin? Derek stifled a snort. No matter. Bloody London debutantes. He had met her kind before, fortune hunters; they always went for the firstborn.

  They would not spare the time of day for men who didn’t have at least a hundred thousand in the bank. Nevertheless, he greeted her with a gentlemanly bow. “Miss Balfour.”

  She continued to ignore him, studying the floor with her face frozen in a haughty mask devoid of emotion.

  When Lundy released her hand, she tucked it back onto her lap, where it nested with the other.

  The older ladies pulled Derek into a chair between them and began quizzing him eagerly with a hundred questions.

  “What brings you to England, Major?”


  “I was sent to testify before the committee on the state of the army in India, ma’am.”

  “Before Eddie’s committee?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And are you married?”

  “No.” He couldn’t help laughing, for Mrs. Clearwell had wasted no time getting down to brass tacks. “Not me, ma’am.”

  “Well, we’re just going to have to find someone for you, then.”

  “Mrs. Clearwell!” Miss Balfour uttered, her head down in apparent mortification.

  “Quite so!” Lundy’s mother chimed in, quite to Derek’s amusement. “Major, you must agree to come to my garden party. There will be an abundance of beautiful ladies.”

  “Then I would not dream of missing it,” he replied. “Would you mind if I bring my brother?” His innocent query sent the pair to new heights of delight.

  “You have a brother?” they fairly screamed.

  “By all means, he must come!”

  “Is he also a bachelor?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m afraid that he is. Neither of us have been very lucky in love.” Derek suppressed a devilish laugh. Gabriel would want to kill him for this. By Jove, he’d drag the man out of the house yet. “He was hurt in battle before we left India.”

  “Oh, how awful!”

  “The poor man!”

  “Yes, I know. I have been looking after him, but you know, I cannot match the tender solicitude of kind ladies.”

  “Of course not, Major. How sad!”

  “Well! We will be certain to make sure your brother is carefully tended at the party.”

  “You are very kind.”

  To his amusement, the pair of matrons continued doting on him. He was used to this treatment, most females wanting either to bed or to mother him.

  He was not used to being ignored.

  Miss Balfour continued ignoring him.

  Really, what was so fascinating out there on the lawn? She was staring out the window with such absorption one would think there was a unicorn out there grazing in the flower beds. Derek watched surreptitiously as she tore her seemingly bored gaze away from the windows and bent her head, peering into her cup as though the tea leaves might reveal the secrets of the universe.