Chasing Scandal

by Leslie V. Knowles

  When she announced that she was ready for him to finish doing up her ties, he lifted his gaze and swallowed hard. The dress made her skin glow with the warmth of a summer peach and the neckline dipped to reveal the rounded tops of her breasts. She held the bodice in place as modestly as she could, but it mattered not. She had a bosom worthy of choir song.

  He cleared his throat and reached for the ties, forcing himself to ignore the flush that rose on her skin when his fingers brushed her narrow waist. It didn’t help that the flutter of her pulse told him she was as aware of him as he was of her. If he were to remain sane, he would have to recruit Alice to do the service in future.

  Tristan gave a final tug on the laces and secured them with a double bowknot. A wave of exhaustion rolled over him despite the urges that kept his body aroused. Miss Dorsey and Alice had slept along the way, but he hadn’t. Grimly, he acknowledged what he needed to do next.

  He turned away to pick up the fine wool shawl that still lay on the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. "I am sorry this is necessary,” he told her.” He led her back to the chair where he tied her wrists again. "But I need sleep and I cannot leave you free to roam about.”

  THOUGH JULIA INSTINCTIVELY protested against being restrained again, she said nothing. Her heart still pounded from the unsettling experience of his touch. He had not taken liberties. His touch had been as impersonal as that of her maid, yet she had been acutely aware of his breath on the back of her neck, the slight brush of fingertips and knuckles as he adjusted the laces of her borrowed gown.

  Close as he'd been, she'd breathed in the mix of leather, fresh linen, rain and... male. Such intimacy left her shaken by more than the unexpected desire to lean back against him in a silent plea to be held. That need battled with the shadow of something she could not name but that frightened her.

  He didn’t linger when her wrists were secure. He picked up the discarded quilt from the floor, walked to the bed and lay down without saying another word. He rolled himself in the quilt facing away from her. His shoulders relaxed within minutes, and she knew he slept.

  What to do now?

  The dry clothing made her confinement more comfortable, but the seat was hard. He'd locked the door from the inside when he'd returned with the clothing and tucked the key in the pocket of his pantaloons. With nothing to do but wait for her captor to wake, Julia sorted through her options.

  She would not leave Alice with him, no matter that he claimed to be an agent of the crown. Just as he would not believe who she was without proof, neither could she accept his claims on his word alone. She did not doubt his threat to hunt her down if she tried to escape, though, and to travel unknown roads without escort would be as dangerous as taking her chances here.

  Alice didn’t fear him. In fact, Julia had observed that he saw to the child's needs with attention and kindness even when he'd ordered her to obey his commands. His eyes, though. Their piercing, clear blue clarity seemed to know her every thought and Julia worried he would see her fascination with him.

  She must have dozed off, for she woke when she felt hands loosen her bonds. Mid-day light slanted into the room telling her several hours had passed. He must have felt the sudden tension in her arms because he stopped what he was doing and looked into her face.

  "I imagine you are ready for something to eat.” He finished untying her and helped her stand. "There should be some edibles in the root cellar in addition to the remaining bread and cheese I brought with us.”

  "Where is Alice?"

  "Waiting most impatiently for us to join her in the hall. She is not happy with the way you have been treated.”

  "Neither am I,” Julia responded tartly.

  That startled a laugh from him. "No, I don't suppose you are.”

  He grinned, and the grim man who'd run roughshod over her for the last twenty-four hours or more turned into a charming rake that sent her pulse racing.

  He opened the door and Alice launched herself at Julia, hugging her fiercely. "You are all right!"

  "I told you so, Alice,” Mr. Sheffield said. He put his hands over his heart and struck a wounded pose. "I am hurt you did not believe me.”

  Alice let go of Julia and spun around, her fists on her hips and her chin jutted out. "You tied her up!" she declared. "I am most angry with you.”

  He knelt to face her, his teasing replaced with gentle persuasion. "I had to restrain Miss Dorsey so we could be on our way safely and quickly. I am sure you know that people often must do things that they do not wish to do. I promised your father to protect you. To keep my word, I will do whatever it takes.”

  Alice studied him for several seconds, and Julia had to admire the way he had made his point. At last Alice relaxed her arms and told him, "I shall forgive you, Mr. Sheffield.” She reached for Julia's hand and looked up at her. "Let's go downstairs. Mr. Sheffield said there is apple juice in the kitchen.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Tristan’s exhaustion had eased, though his doubts remained as he followed them down the stairs. He'd slept for two hours, enough time to alleviate the grittiness from his eyelids and the fog of exhaustion from his brain. Experience had taught him to be aware of a kind of internal clock when he slept. He smiled grimly. That instinct had prevented his being caught by watchmen when he sheltered in abandoned buildings or overlooked alley corners as a child. The skill still served him well in his work for the crown.

  He’d also learned to plan ahead. Following his meeting with Goodwin, he had alerted his superior to the situation, adding that he’d bring the child here if he found her, and arranging for a courier watch the house until he succeeded. He’d write another report this evening for the courier to deliver, and ask Ravencliffe to verify the Dorsey woman’s story.

  He would also request someone be sent to take over the child’s security because it wouldn’t be safe for Alice to return home until the perpetrators were in custody. Once free of her care, and clear about Miss Dorsey’s status, he’d renew his investigation and expose the traitors who threatened both child and England.

  For now, they would find something to eat, then he’d take them into the drawing room and remove the covers from the furniture so they’d have a neutral location to spend their time until matters were sorted. He was impatient to track down the footman who’d delivered Alice to the Dorsey cottage. He needed to know how soon the man had come upon the scene. It couldn’t have been too long after the crash if the child was still bleeding. He didn’t like cooling his heels, but like it or not, they’d be secluded here for at least a week.

  He stepped into the large, well laid out kitchen. In its center stood a sturdy oak worktable surrounded by stools. Alice sat perched on one. Miss Dorsey stood beside it.

  At one time the room had been stocked with every provision and tool a cook and her staff could desire. Now, used only occasionally by Tristan, it held only the barest basics. The Dorsey woman frowned when he locked the kitchen door to the outside.

  Tristan handed her a crock with apple cider and showed her where to find the crockery and cooking vessels. While she poured some cider for Alice, he descended the stairs to the cellar to look for some root vegetables. As he’d expected, the selection was meager but enough to stave off hunger for a day or two if necessary. Ravencliffe would arrange for fresh provisions within days. For now, though, they could eat.

  He ducked behind a stack of empty barrels, baskets and burlap sacks and through the underground passage located there. The passage led to a smoke house built at a short distance from the house for safety, and served Tristan as a convenient location for sending and receiving confidential missives. The simple expedience of opening the air vent at the back wall told any passing courier that he was in residence. Having set his signal, he returned to the cellar and gathered a basket of potatoes, carrots and onions.

  When Tristan entered the kitchen again, he set to work scraping and cutting the vegetables, dropping them into the pot while Miss Dorsey brewed tea and sliced the re
maining bread and cheese from the inn. It struck him as an incongruous domestic scene. Captor, prisoner, and rescued preparing a meal as though all were normal and cozy. Oddly, it felt comforting. Such scenes did not take place in the home of a duke, and it had been many years since he and his mother had shared such mundane chores.

  When he finished he said, "Miss Dorsey, if you would come with me, I need to collect a few more things from the carriage.” She raised her head and he saw the startled wariness in her eyes. “Alice can stay here and finish her cider. We’ll only be a few minutes.”

  "Of course, Mr. Sheffield.” Her lips pressed together tightly as though to prevent her from saying more, but she followed him as he unlocked the door and crossed the kitchen yard.

  A small courtyard of paving stones had been laid along the back of the house to prevent workers from tracking mud inside. Beyond the paved space, a kitchen garden lay fallow with only a few volunteers remaining from the fall harvest and winter snow. His tenants had not yet begun the spring planting.

  "Did you wish to speak with me?" Miss Dorsey asked as she followed him to the stable.

  "I told you I intend to keep you with me at all times until I receive confirmation of who you are,” Tristan told her. "I see no reason to alarm Alice by keeping you bound and locked away, but you will not leave the house without me, nor will I leave the house without you.”

  "Do you intend to tie me to the chair every time you need to sleep?"

  He stopped at the stable door and turned back, his expression suddenly grim. "No,” he assured her. "You will sleep in the bed... with me.”

  Her face drained of color and her eyes blazed, dark and horrified. He shared her dismay, if for another reason. The idea of sharing his bed with this woman without touching her made his whole body ache.

  "You will be bound but unmolested,” he assured her, "Neither will I let you out of my control.”

  "I prefer the chair.” Her color rushed back flame red and as heated as the fury in her expression. "It is enough that I am alone in a house with a man who is not my husband,” she sputtered. "I cannot –"

  "Your virtue is not in danger.” His body protested that vow, but he would not abuse the circumstance. "If you are concerned for your reputation, no one other than my superior will know you are here. So long as no one knows of the situation, your reputation will remain as intact as your virtue.”

  He sent her a sardonic look. "In society, so long as the appearance of virtue is maintained, virtue exists. I am sorry, but it is the only solution. I cannot chance that you are not who you say you are or that you might find a way to contact your cohorts.”

  "I will sleep in the chair,” she maintained stubbornly.

  "So you say.” Come nightfall she would find he, too, could be stubborn. And he was in charge of this matter.

  They entered the stable and Tristan quickly saw to the horses’ needs, then stepped around to the back of the phaeton and opened the boot. Reaching in, he removed a long wooden box. They returned to the kitchen in silence.

  Tristan placed the wooden box on the table in front of Alice and nodded to indicate she should open it. When she did, she gave a little squeal of delight. "Oh! Mr. Sheffield, thank you!"

  She reached in and pulled out the wooden doll he'd seen in the Portsmouth shop window. Dressed in the latest fashion, the doll wore a dress of rose pink trimmed in braided white ribbon, a dyed-to-match straw bonnet, and smart black leather half boots. Her face and limbs had been painted a delicate peaches and cream complexion with rose pink lips and blue eyes. Her blond wig swept into a coil at the back with short curls clustered over each ear.

  "Look, Miss Dorsey,” Alice said as she moved the jointed arms and legs, "She moves like a real person.” She arranged the doll in a variety of poses, obviously fascinated with the doll's novel structure. After a few moments she stopped, tucked the doll into the crook of her arm and slipped down from her stool. She came to stand in front of Tristan, a broad smile on her face and her eyes sparkling with delight. "Thank you, Mr. Sheffield. I shall treasure her forever.”

  "You are most welcome.” A warm tide of pleasure made Tristan clear his throat before he asked, "What will you name her?"

  "Harriet.” A brief shadow washed over her expression. "It was Mama's second favorite name after Alice.”

  Tristan cleared his throat again and suggested, "It will be some time before our soup is ready. I propose that we retire to the drawing room so you and Harriet may become better acquainted.”

  Tristan finished writing his report to Ravencliffe while Miss Dorsey was commandeered to take part in an imaginary tea party with Alice and Harriet. Between Alice’s childish play and his earlier precaution of locking all the doors to prevent escape, he excused himself to check on their soup. The aroma of cooking vegetables filled the kitchen, and a quick lift of the lid verified it was not in danger of scorching. Satisfied soup was well on its way to being ready, he shifted the pot so it would stay hot but not boil away.

  Before leaving the kitchen, he slipped into the root cellar and down the tunnel to the smokehouse. Tristan quickly opened the smoke vent and placed the report in the messenger bag that hung from the wall. His missive to Ravencliffe before leaving Portsmouth had included Miss Dorsey's name, so perhaps Ravencliffe would recognize the connection with Summerfield, if it truly existed. The sooner Tristan could resolve the situation and return to the investigation, the happier he would be.

  After their supper, Tristan produced the other items he’d bought in Portsmouth with an eye to ease of transport as much as for entertainment. When he handed Alice the bag of spillikins he invited Miss Dorsey to join them in a game.

  When her turn came, she frowned in concentration as she tried to move a narrow stick from the pile without disturbing the rest of the stack. Each time she freed a stick, she laughed in delight, and Tristan’s pulse leapt at the sound. He didn’t want to believe she was a willing partner in treason, but he couldn’t be sure. And until he knew for sure, he couldn’t let down his guard just because her laugh made his senses smolder and she had a voice that seduced a man’s soul.

  An hour or so later, Alice yawned in the middle of a move, causing her hand to slip and lose the final point. Miss Dorsey suggested it was time for the child to go to bed.

  Tristan cleared away the game, then locked the doors, put out the lamps and climbed the stairs after them. During their game, Miss Dorsey had relaxed and her low-pitched voice seduced without effort. He was a fool and an imbecile to share his bed with her for no other reason than to assure that she did not escape in the night.

  His lip lifted in wry amusement. He should tie her to the chair as she demanded. It would certainly make sleep easier for him. He could sleep anywhere and should probably take the armchair by the fire himself, but he had learned at the age of ten that he preferred featherbeds and coverlets. Yet, having a woman as alluring as Miss Dorsey lying next to him did not bode well for a restful night. Sleep lost in pleasure did not leave a man as tired as sleep lost from frustrated arousal.

  He waited outside Alice's door until Miss Dorsey exited the room with a quiet, "Sleep well, my dear.”

  He gestured for her to cross the hall to his room. "Do you play chess? If you are not ready to retire we might spend an hour or two testing our skills.”

  He opened the door and she hesitated a moment before entering the room. He sympathized with her plight, though he had no intention of letting it sway him. She had no reason to believe he would not accost her in the night, any more than he had that she would not attempt to escape. She was embarrassed and nervous despite her stiff-postured bravado—or one damned fine actress. He locked the door and pocketed the key, then lit the lamp before he moved to add kindling to the fire.

  Miss Dorsey had seated herself in the desk chair again.

  He chuckled.

  She rested her wrists on the wooden arms and sent him a challenging glare. Miss Dorsey knew how to make her point, though it was a futile one.


  "You had only to say you did not wish to play,” he said with a grin. "We could go back downstairs and retrieve your book if you prefer.” He gestured to the short stack of books on the desk. "Or you may avail yourself of one of those while I choose another.” He reached for her hand, drew her out of the hard backed chair, and led her to the one by the fireplace. "Either way, you may enjoy the comfort of a hearth chair instead of the less pleasant wooden one.”

  She raised a defiant gaze to his but said nothing before she seated herself in the chair. He was almost tempted to let her have her way just to avoid the discomfort of sharing the bed with her.

  But he wouldn’t.

  CHAPTER 10

  Julia wanted to resist when Mr. Sheffield took her hand, but the amused glint in his expression told her he understood her message. The hour was not late, though it was full dark. Perhaps a game of chess would ease the tension that had leapt between them when he locked them inside the room together.

  Other than his insistence that she not move freely, his behavior toward her and Alice didn’t fit her expectations of a kidnapper. When he smiled, the amusement warmed his eyes and stole her breath. How could she react so disturbingly to a man she didn't trust?

  The few times their hands had brushed during the spillikins game she'd felt a wash of anticipation flow through her. They were large, long fingered hands, with slightly calloused fingertips that made her skin tingle when he’d loosened her clothing earlier. Yet he demonstrated a steady delicacy of skill and the keen ability to see beyond the obvious moves to those that would gain him the most points.

  He had teased her and Alice the whole time and, as often as not, their laughter cost them points. Alice didn't seem to mind. If fact, disturbing the stick pile made her laugh harder.

  He brought Alice a doll.

  Blast and bother, his concern for Alice almost made Julia forgive his outrageous threat to tie her to the bed next to him for the night. She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. Almost.