Scoundrel's Daughter

by Margo Maguire

  “Have you figured out where it is? The Mandylion?”

  “I—”

  “You have to be careful with Temple,” Alastair said. “He’s a canny bastard and if he gets any inkling that you know where it is, he’ll figure some way to wheedle it out of you.”

  “But he—”

  “Now, where does he plan to go tomorrow?”

  “Hornsea,” she said, overwhelmed.

  “Why? Because of the location of the faces on the map?”

  She nodded.

  “What does he make of them?”

  “He thinks they have some connection to the Templar Knights—the faces they—”

  “I concur,” Alastair said. “The Mandylion is all tied up with the Templars. No doubt about it.” The big brown fellow unrolled a document that appeared to be a map and held it up to the light. Alastair turned his attention to it.

  “And what of the key?” he asked as he perused the map. “Anything useful there?”

  “N-not really,” she said. “It seems to be just a letter to the abbot of—”

  “Rievaulx. I know.”

  Dorothea was astonished by Alastair. He was as quick as the crack of a whip with his questions, yet he hadn’t asked a single personal thing about her. They had not laid eyes upon each other in twenty years, but all he wanted to hear was what she knew of the Mandylion.

  She pressed a hand to her chest and tried to rub away the ache.

  The action caught Alastair’s attention. “Heart troubles, eh?” he said, confusing her once again. “Your mother wrote to tell me all about it.”

  “She did?” Dorothea asked, dumbfounded. She had been unaware of any communication between her parents.

  “I was amazed you’ve been able to keep up with Temple,” Alastair said absently. “He’s not one to slow down for anyone.”

  “My heart doesn’t—”

  “And that bit about bearing children,” her father said. “Any truth to that?”

  “What do you—”

  “No need to be bashful,” he said, turning to look at her. “Honoria said there’d be problems, and I just wondered if any of that’s changed.”

  Shock took Dorothea’s breath away. Her mother had never said anything about—

  “How about the swelling?” he asked, pushing aside her skirts in order to see her ankles. “Not noticeable. Maybe your mother was wrong about the other.”

  The tall brown man interrupted, rolling up the map. “We best start tonight,” he said. “Get to Hornsea first.”

  “Let’s not be hasty, Paco,” Alastair said. He gave Dorothea a pat on the cheek. “All in good time.”

  “What will you do with the Mandylion when you…find it?” Dorothea asked.

  “Ahh, now there’s a question,” Alastair remarked.

  “We’ve got to douse this light and get out of here, Al,” the third man said.

  “In a moment, Neville,” her father said. “My daughter wants to know what we will do with the cloth once we find it…and we will find it, won’t we, my dear?”

  Dorothea gave a nod and gained a smile from her father.

  “It will be presented…to the queen, of course,” he said. “Victoria will decide where it goes, and she will grant it to the most worthy of recipients.”

  The breath Dorothea held in her lungs escaped her now. This was perfectly acceptable. Though Alastair was an abrupt—well, rude—fellow, his intentions were honorable. He would do the right thing with the Mandylion.

  After all, it was a much grander gesture to hand the precious cloth to Queen Victoria, allowing her to bestow it upon a likely beneficiary, rather than giving it to some curator in the bowels of the British Museum.

  “Well, come now,” Alastair said. “You must return to your room before—”

  “Quiet!” Neville called out in a harsh whisper. The candle was suddenly extinguished and Dorothea felt lost in the dark. She also felt like a thief in the night.

  “Father.”

  “Hush, girl,” he whispered, taking hold of both her arms. “We don’t want Temple to know we’re on his heels. If anyone were to discover us here, then Temple would find out, and all would be lost, wouldn’t it?”

  Dorothea supposed he was right. Alastair must have been in any number of difficult situations and known how to extricate himself. This was no different.

  They waited for a few long moments, then Alastair helped her up the steps in the dark. They stood by the door at the side of the church until he decided it was safe, then opened it a few inches and gave her a nudge.

  “I won’t contact you unless something urgent comes up,” he said. “If you want to reach me—” he thought for a moment “—just leave a note in the back of your carriage. Neville or Paco will find it.”

  “But I—”

  “It’s all clear now,” Alastair said, poking his head outside. “Scoot back to your room, love. And do it carefully.”

  Dorothea was quiet and distracted again, and Jack wondered if she was coming down with something. She didn’t appear to be ill, but she sure was acting differently this morning.

  When he went out to hitch the horse to the carriage, several of the village men were milling about, curious but wary of the strangers. They asked a number of questions about America, but Jack was eventually able to turn the conversation to the cloth.

  “Are there any stories about a Templar Knight coming through here in ancient times?”

  “Templar Knight?”

  They knew nothing of the Templars or their role in protecting Christian pilgrims in the Holy Land. The sect had been disbanded five hundred years before, and it had been primarily a French order, though the Templars owned a number of properties in England.

  “I’ve heard of such a thing,” said one old fellow who was missing most of his teeth. “Well,” he said, drawing out his words, “I don’t think they called him that…Templar…but maybe.”

  “What did you hear?” Jack asked, anxious for any information at all. He hoped the old fellow wouldn’t fabricate something just to impress a stranger.

  “It was in the reign of Edward,” the man said. “The first.”

  “Oh, aye,” said another. “I remember, too. A monk it was, not a knight, though.”

  That was all right with Jack. The Templars were monks as well as knights, honest defenders of the pilgrims before greed and secrecy destroyed them.

  “He was heir to a grand estate east of here,” said the first man.

  “How could that be, if he was a monk?” asked another.

  “The story goes that he was wed, too.”

  “Then he couldn’t have been a monk.”

  “Maybe he had a woman, but she wasn’t his wife.”

  As they argued among themselves, Jack doubted he would learn anything useful here. At least he knew there’d been a mysterious character in the correct time frame, who’d wandered through here on his way to an estate farther east. That was where Jack and Dorrie were going, and the discussion here only confirmed that they were heading in the right direction.

  “Thank you, gents,” he said, leading the horse to the front entrance of the public house. He only had to collect Dorrie, and they would be on their way.

  She came out of the building with the landlord’s wife, smiling and talking cordially with the woman. Jack was unaccountably relieved that her mood did not seem to change when she laid eyes on him. In fact, he saw a spark of something that she quickly quelled.

  Jack felt an odd wave of something he couldn’t define when he looked at her, too.

  They traveled all morning. By mutual agreement, they bypassed every castle ruin on the way to the coast. It was threatening to rain, and they agreed it would be best to get to Hornsea before the sky opened up. Jack was still somewhat worried about Dorrie, though she assured him she felt fine.

  He felt certain that something was bothering her, but it was clear she wasn’t inclined to discuss it with him.

  After an hour’s ride, Jack could smel
l the ocean and hear its waves, though it was a short while before they even arrived in town.

  “There’s a hotel,” Dorrie said, pointing out the first place she saw.

  But this was a resort town. Jack knew there would be lodgings closer to the water, and he wanted to stay somewhere picturesque. Something compelled him to find a unique place, unlike anything Dorrie had ever seen before.

  He turned to look at her and felt a surge of arousal. She was leaning forward in her seat, taking in all the sights, her eyes gone round with delight.

  “You act as though you’ve never been to the shore before,” he said in an attempt to subdue his unwelcome reaction to her.

  “It’s wonderful,” she said. “Might we go down to the beach later?”

  “Of course,” he said. “Do you swim?”

  “In the ocean?” she asked.

  “Lots of people do,” he replied, even more puzzled about her than before. “Want to try it if the weather warms up?”

  “I don’t know how to swim,” she replied. “My mother wouldn’t allow…I just never had an opportunity.”

  Jack fully intended to pursue the conversation once they’d checked into a hotel. He drove all the way to the beach and saw exactly the kind of accommodation he’d hoped for. He turned and drove down the lane on which stood an elegant inn overlooking the sea.

  There was a wide porch facing the water, and bits of color in the planters at the windows.

  It was just the type of place Jack would bring a new wife—

  He frowned at that ridiculous thought, then glanced at Dorrie: his adversary, his partner. She was the only woman who’d ever put such thoughts into his head, and he was going to make it stop. For all her starch and decorum, she was intensely attractive, beautiful, desirable. And she puzzled him, but that was all.

  In all the time they’d spent together, he’d learned very little about her travels with her father and heard only vague references to her mother, whose recent death weighed upon her. She seemed to know practically nothing about her father’s collection of ancient erotica, yet she had a facility with the antiquated languages that would be very useful to Alastair in his work.

  “Oh, how lovely!” she said. “Jack, may we stay here?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he replied. They turned their carriage over to a groom and entered the lobby of the Marine Hotel.

  Dorothea tried to appear sophisticated, but the beautiful room, with its polished floors and beautiful rugs, the glossy desk and softly glowing lamps were beyond anything she’d ever seen before. Plush sofas and an ornate fireplace graced the far end of the lobby, where the members of a young family gathered their belongings for a trip onto the sand. The handsome young husband held a small child in one arm while he circled his wife’s expanded waist with his other. A child of about four or five years dashed toward Dorrie.

  “We’re going to the beach!” she cried.

  “Yes, I see,” Dorothea replied, observing the small metal pail and shovel in the little girl’s hands.

  “And Daddy is going to make a sand castle,” she continued. “While Mum gets a nap.”

  “How wonderful,” Dorothea replied.

  “Sorry,” the young mother said as she took the child by the hand and cradled her ballooning belly with the other. “Our Sara is a mite outgoing, while Davy,” she said, gesturing to the boy in his father’s arms, “is rather too shy.”

  Dorothea smiled. “They’re no bother,” she said. “Lovely children.”

  With a quick thanks, the young couple took their children and headed toward the door. Dorothea pressed her hand against her abdomen and thought again of her father’s words. Had it only been a few days ago that she’d imagined herself bearing Jack’s child? Now she knew she would have difficulty with childbirth. Her dream—no matter how remote it had been—was shattered.

  Honoria had never said anything to her about it, and Dorothea wondered if this condition had something to do with her weak heart. She’d never had any problems besides her restricted activities, and always believed she’d have a husband and children. She was planning on it with Albert Bloomsby, though the prospect of Albert as her husband had become less attractive with every day that she passed in Jack’s company.

  When a tear slipped from one eye, Dorothea quickly turned away and brushed it from her cheek, before Jack or anyone else nearby had an opportunity to notice.

  Everything had changed since last night. Her father was not at all the proper academic her mother had led her to believe, and Dorothea learned that Honoria had kept a very important piece of information from her.

  She could not have children.

  “Adjoining rooms, if that’s all right with you,” Jack said, interrupting her thoughts. He picked up her hand and dropped a key into it while Dorothea schooled the expression on her face to betray none of the emotions flying through her.

  “Perfect,” she said, keeping her voice steady.

  A man in livery carried their bags ahead of them. Dorothea’s heart thudded heavily in her chest as she climbed the stairs to the second floor and followed the man into the first room.

  Jack went to the far wall and pulled back the curtains, then opened the long windows that overlooked the sea. Dorothea was spellbound by the view. She had never seen anything to compare to the majesty of the ocean.

  It seemed impossibly quiet to her, even though the sound of the surf was loud in her ears. Gulls flew overhead, then landed on the water or the sand, squawking at each other and the people who walked the beach.

  “I’ll be in my room next door,” Jack said. “Why don’t you get settled, and then we’ll go find some lunch. I’m starving.”

  She nodded absently, then turned and watched him leave through the adjoining door. He closed it behind him.

  The wind suddenly kicked up, making the curtains billow around her. Keeping the window open so that she could still see and smell the ocean, Dorothea stepped away from the window and sat down.

  She could not think about her father’s words now. When she saw him next, she would question what he knew of her condition, and if there was nothing more, Dorothea would write to Doctor Bates—the physician in Oxford who’d looked after her since childhood.

  She had to know the truth of it, but the matter of the Mandylion had to be resolved, too. Her theory on where to look for the cloth was a good one. She knew it would be found in a castle somewhere near here—overlooking the sea or at least nearby. The search was not going to be easy, and Dorothea’s conscience told her that it was time to part ways with Jack.

  She could not pore over the map or key or search another castle ruin with him. Though he’d known from the start that she intended to work toward finding the cloth for her father, it felt altogether too unethical now, to stay with him. When she next met with her father, she would stay with him. That was where her loyalty had to stay, not with Jack.

  “Ready?” Jack’s voice accompanied a knock at the adjoining door, startling Dorothea out of her thoughts.

  He had washed his face and combed his hair. He did not give her his usual easy smile but wore a slight frown when he came in.

  Dorothea knew she’d been unusually quiet all morning. She had been so preoccupied by her thoughts and worries after her meeting with her father that she had hardly spoken to Jack at all. And now he was suspicious of her.

  That would never do. She had to behave as if nothing had changed, at least until she was in contact with Alastair again and had somewhere else to go.

  Yet the thought of leaving Jack brought no peace, either.

  “The dining room is not serving,” he said. “But the clerk offered to find us something to tide us over until tea.”

  “That sounds fine,” she said. She started to walk past him, but he caught her arm.

  “Dorrie.”

  He turned her to face him. “You have no idea what it takes for me to keep my hands off you,” he said gruffly. “I want to lay you on that bed and kiss you until your mo
uth is swollen. I want to fill my hands with your breasts and bury myself so deep inside you that you’ll know that you belong to me.”

  Dorothea felt her eyes fill and her face burn. If not for Alastair and the Mandylion, she would want these things, too. She would want Jack to love her and care for her and give her the children she’d always wanted.

  But it could never be. And they both knew it.

  “Once the Mandylion is safely locked up at the museum,” he said, his voice tightly restrained, “there will be nothing to keep me from you.”

  Unable to speak, Dorothea swallowed and blinked back her tears. She bit her lip and nodded, certain that Jack meant everything he’d said.

  However, she doubted he would still want her after she betrayed him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A gentle rain fell while they lunched, but as soon as it cleared, Jack was determined to visit the ruins of an ancient castle that lay just north of Hornsea, near the water. It would be a distraction, at least.

  Dorothea remained quiet, and any fool could see that she was upset, as much as she tried to hide it. Was it because of his promise to make love to her as soon as they resolved the Mandylion issue? She had been a willing participant yesterday, but she had to be having second thoughts now. Jack wondered if it wasn’t frustration and confusion that was making her incommunicative.

  It was clear that she’d never experienced anything like what had happened—or nearly happened, if Jack hadn’t come to his senses in time. Even now, it took all his willpower to keep from taking her upstairs to his room and taking possession of her in the most primal way possible.

  A man in hotel livery approached them, just as they were finishing the meal. “Mr. Adams?” he asked.

  Jack nodded.

  “One of the wheels of your carriage is cracked,” the man said. “I thought I’d see if you’d like me to have it repaired for you.”

  Jack leaned forward. “Can you fix it here?” he asked. The man looked like a groom, not a mechanic.

  “No, I’ll send it over to Alf Tindall, in town,” the fellow said. “He’ll have it ready by tonight if you’ll be needing the carriage.”