She drew herself up primly. “Since you didn’t answer either of my first two letters, I assume something in them didn’t meet with your liking.” Tonight she was determined to discover what those things were. “If we can find a calm, quiet place to discuss my proposal, I feel confident we can come to an amicable agreement.”
***
Beau extended his arm to point. “Look, there in the fog, I think I see a bench.” As they made their way toward it, they passed under a lamp allowing him a closer examination. Nothing about this mysterious woman added up. Not a bauble or jewel adorned her person. Her coarse shawl and worn, dark-purple, high-necked gown might indicate any number of occupations.
What was she? A shopgirl? A governess? A Union spy? A tart? He studied her entrancing lips. A kiss might identify one vocation. Yet the way she carried herself shouted prim, proper and upper crust. If he were to needle her in the right manner, he’d not be surprised to find the airs and graces of a ‘papa’s little princess.’
Enough. He needed some answers. He pulled her to a stop. Taking her hand, he kissed a gloved knuckle. Her enticing vanilla and honeysuckle perfume blossomed through his senses—the same fragrance as on the letter. Lord, she smelled good. How long had it been since he’d even noticed a woman’s perfume?
Clearing his throat, he said, “Now then. Would I be correct if I said your initials are C.C.?”
“Yes, they are,” she said with an air of self-possession.
He didn’t know what he’d expected, but he never would have imagined a woman like her. “Why have you asked me to meet you here tonight?”
She waited for a couple to walk past before leaning in to whisper, “Did you not read the letters?”
He pulled the note from his jacket pocket and held it up. “I read this one.”
Her features tightened. “You should have received two more. Did you read them?”
Rather than deny he’d gotten the letters, he merely said, “No.”
Two elegant brows drew into a frown. She lifted her chin. “Why not?”
He almost laughed at her presumptuousness. Who was she to take him to task for not reading her letters? She reminded him of an autocratic Greek tutor he’d once had, although he found her much more interesting. “Madam, before a few minutes ago, you were a total stranger. When I receive unsolicited letters from unknown addressees, alas, they go into the fire.”
“Into the fire!” She rocked on her feet and glared up at him, her ringlets bouncing to and fro. “If you’d bothered to read them, you would have found that my man of business set forth the whole proposal in detail!”
Well, well now wasn’t she a feisty one…so direct and so…different. “Perhaps you could give me the short version,” he drawled, unable to keep the smile from tugging at his lips. Ordinarily he might take offense at her plain speaking. Instead, her uninhibited boldness made him want to laugh. He could almost see sparks sputtering around her tight hair coils and rather enjoyed ruffling her.
She glanced about them again, waited for another couple to pass and said in a quiet clipped tone, “The short version is that I am in desperate need of your help and expertise.”
“To do what?” He grinned.
Cannon blasts pummeled the air and shook the ground. The percussion slammed him in the chest and knocked him back a step. All the air disappeared. He clutched his arms to his sides, gasped for air and hoped to God this very attractive woman couldn’t see how his nerves were fraying.
In the distance, a stentorian voice announced the reenactment of a battle. Even though his mind knew the cannon fire was only an exhibition, his body couldn’t be so easily convinced.
Concern etched C.C.’s countenance. “Are you all right?” She gently placed a gloved hand against his cheek, tipping his head down.
He had the oddest sensation of falling into fathomless eyes filled with compassion, calm strength and a steely will—a mooring of sorts.
Rifle volleys sent sharp waves screaming through him. He clenched again, and struggled to mirror her slow inhale and exhale. Gradually, his rigid sinews began to loosen.
“Do you have difficulties with London’s air, too, Captain?”
“How did you do that?” he gasped.
“Kipp, a little boy at the orphanage, has weak lungs. His brother showed me how to help him when he has an attack.”
Beau had never experienced anything like it. In those silent, breathless moments he’d sensed a connection form between them. But was it an illusion? Another trick from a lady of the evening or a spy?
The cursed prickles began treading up his spine again. Cringing, he slowly peered over his shoulder. If C.C. was standing in front of him, who was spying on him from behind?
Several couples strolled toward them out of the fog.
Clutching her elbow, he led her across the manicured lawn into a copse of trees.
“What are you do—”
He swung them behind a tree and peered out. Whatever she wanted to talk about suddenly lost importance. The villains following him were the more immediate problem.
“Tell me—”
“Shhhh.” He pressed a finger to her lips.
Two men in top hats stepped off the gravel path and picked their way across the lawn.
Beau marched C.C. deeper into the grove around trees and shrubs. Then through an archway of fragrant vines to a fountain struggling to reflect hazy moonlight. They needed to stay quiet and hidden.
“Before you drag me any further into the bushes—”
Didn’t the woman know the meaning of shhhh? She would give away their hiding place if he didn’t do something quick. He pulled her to him and covered her mouth with his. Mint and vanilla filled his senses.
Her sweet, almost maidenly response surprised him. No, she probably wasn’t a tart. Just a hasty stolen kiss, yet he couldn’t help appreciate the tantalizing fit of her supple lips under his and how her body softened against him. His heart stammered and launched into a faster beat. Lifting his head, he gazed about her bewildered, upturned countenance, breathlessly poised for a man’s kisses. Hmm, not entirely a maiden either.
Perhaps another quick kiss would clarify matters?
Alarms blared through his mind, but the evening’s stresses muted their warning. Months of wondering if each day would be his last had his inner voice insisting: live life when it’s handed to you…it could end in a heartbeat.
He lowered his head and softly brushed her lips.
Though clearly not experienced, she returned his caress with such tenderness he couldn’t describe why it felt so thrilling, so right. They’d just met, yet she kissed him as if she was…as if they were…well, something more than strangers.
She circled her arms around his neck and leaned into him. This spurred him further. He angled his head for a better fit; she moved to accommodate. Warmth trickled into the damaged, hollow place in his heart. For the first time in a very long while he allowed himself the comfort of human contact, and he couldn’t keep his starved longing from entering his caress. Lifting her off her feet, he held her tight in his arms.
C.C. responded with a sigh and melted into him, sending shocks through his torso. A sensual fog clouded his mind. His heart thumped wildly and another part grew uncomfortably insistent. The woman wasn’t joking when she promised the Highest Rewards and Benefits.
Hazy thoughts struggled through overloaded senses.
No. This was too convenient. He still didn’t know why she’d sent him the notes. Two men were trailing him. Was she really a spy? He set her down. “Madam, this better not be a trap.”
At his words, she pushed out of his arms. Her confused expression sharpened. “If you’d responded to the first two letters we wouldn’t be tromping around a darkened pleasure garden at nearly midnight.”
“Quiet,” he breathed, as he peered around for their pursuers. “Four words, madam. What’s this about?”
“The Roundabout…the blockade.” Her voice quavered between gasps.
> The Roundabout? How did this woman know about his ship? “I don’t understand.”
“I need your help. You have the experience and knowledge to help my family—”
Footsteps crackled through the leaves and grass only a few feet away. A deep, gravelly voice rasped through the gloom, “It was her, I tell you. She went into this grove with some bloke. Keep looking.”
She went into this grove with some bloke? They were chasing C.C. and not him? Beau’s protective nature marched to the fore. He pushed her behind him and peered out from the side of the bower. Two large figures clomped toward them. A breeze carried the stench of stale sandalwood and sweat. One of the men coughed so badly he bent over double.
C.C. gasped behind him and he could only make out a few of her muttered words: “Not again…that insufferable termite.” Before he could stop her, she scurried out the back of the bower and disappeared into the fog.
***
Miss Calista Collins dashed from hedge to tree on quivering legs. Indecision dogged her wobbly retreat. After three and a half years the War Between the States had slowly dismantled the South. Now her family in North Carolina desperately needed her help, and Captain Tollier was the only man she would trust to take her through the Union blockade.
Laws, he’d actually kissed her…and she’d kissed him back! She fingered her lips and drew in a ragged breath. Should she try to find him again, or leave Cremorne? She couldn’t decide. His kisses had scrambled her wits. And drat him, the captain didn’t even know the extent of her business proposal because he’d thrown her letters into the fire!
Now those two scoundrels had ruined everything. Did they suspect her real reason for being here?
A branch snapped behind her. She turned. All she could see was swirling fog. It could be Captain Tollier, or it might be the coughing villain who’d been loitering on her street corner.
Nothing had gone as planned. After all her work and forethought she’d not been prepared for any of it…the captain’s dazzling charm or his lusty manner or…the sun-kissed lights in his honeyed hair.
Another branch crackled, sending her scampering into a nearby vine-covered arbor.
“Oh!” a woman yelped.
“Christ!” growled her partner.
The couple’s odd silhouette quite shocked C.C. “Oh, my, I’m terribly, terribly sorry!” Gasping, she quickly backed out and skittered to another hedge. This evening’s events had stretched her nerves to a frazzle, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. The air was indeed dense tonight. She pressed a hand over her mouth to muffle her wheezes, only to be reminded of the captain’s kisses.
Kissing had never much appealed to her. Only a handful of men had made the attempt. Anything more than a quick peck made her feel slobbered on—like her aunt’s Basset hound’s kiss. But when the captain pulled her into his arms and sealed his soft, full lips over hers the unexpected pleasure stunned her.
Now annoyance struggled with unwanted desire. How had he enticed her into doing things totally contrary to her character and certainly not on her agenda? It had been years since she’d found a man irresistible. And that had ended in disaster.
She didn’t like how the captain’s kisses alternately bewildered and sent thrills through her, or that her treacherous body melted so comfortably into his.
She’d too much to do and no time for confusion. Why did she have to find Captain Tollier so compelling?
She inhaled. Laws, his exotic citrus cologne still lingered on her cheek. Tingles raced over her skin. No one told her his voice had such a deep, rich timbre or that he possessed such roguish charm.
A deep voice murmured in the distance.
Her pulse leapt. She almost called out before stopping herself. It might be one of those scoundrels instead. Hadn’t everything been spoiled anyway? Could she even have a reasonable conversation with the captain now?
It was getting late. The pleasure gardens would soon close. Should she wait for him, try to find him or leave? This whole endeavor had been assembled with Captain Tollier in mind.
Her family in North Carolina needed her help. If she didn’t make haste things could get a lot worse. This also might be her last chance to discover answers to a decade-old mystery.
A hand bell rang through the fog followed by a booming voice, “Cremorne Pleasure Gardens will close in ten minutes. Please proceed to the exits.”
C.C. ground her teeth. Captain Tollier obviously hadn’t followed. No doubt, he’d slithered away into the mist. Drat it all, now she’d have to hunt him down again.
Chapter 2
Beau slumped against dusty seat cushions as the hired coach rocked and bumped along, jarring his every muscle. Two days had passed since the bungled meeting at Cremorne, and he’d come no closer to sorting it out or getting C.C. off his mind.
What an astounding woman. Delving into her steady gaze and finding the strength of will to defeat his battle demons still filled him with awe. And every time he thought about her tender response to his stolen kisses, his pulse jumped. But the rest of it—villains on her tail and a havey-cavey business proposition—made him certain his first instincts had been correct. Had he stuck to his rule, the whole bizarre, confusing escapade could have been avoided.
Besides, there were other things he’d vowed to do. The losses he’d recently endured made him long to reunite with his family and return to the peace and quiet of his childhood home.
The reunion made him a little uneasy, however. After little communication for more than a decade, he wasn’t sure how he’d be received. With all he’d been through—an officer in the Royal Navy, the informal, wild revelry in the Bahamas, a blockade-runner, and a prisoner of war—conforming to the confines of English aristocracy might be a challenge. And heaven help him should there be any sudden noises like at Cremorne.
As the coach pulled through the heavy iron gates, Beau lowered the window for a better view. Morning mist veiled rows of terraces in the distance. Rising above the clouds like a castle of old stood his family’s ancient crenellated and multi-spired country home.
When the horses finally halted at the manor’s front entrance, Beau swung open the door. He climbed out, stretched his stiff back and took a deep breath. The fragrance of ancient yew trees and old oaks surrounding the mansion mixed with the unique combination of damp earth, rock and antiquated mortar—the scent of Grancliffe Hall.
Home.
Once, he’d considered the country mansion’s quiet to be stifling, its tranquility boring, and the fortress’ solid security a jail. After enduring the real-life miseries of a Union prison, he drank in the sight of the old place almost with reverence. The experience had altered his perspective. Now he saw a mythical castle filled with one hundred and two rooms of blessed, hushed peace.
On the west lawn a man and four children played croquet. Nostalgia hit him like a heavy gust. He’d spent many a boyhood hour romping over that lawn with his sire and siblings. The man rushed toward him, waving a croquet stick. A big smile covered his face.
Beau rubbed his tired eyes. It couldn’t be Father. He was long dead. As the man neared, he realized he was his eldest brother, Thomas, now the Earl of Grancliffe. Thomas had grown into an exact likeness of their patriarch—a tall, formidable, strong-featured man with dark eyes and thick, wavy dark hair—another identical copy of their marauding ancestors.
Grinning broadly, his brother marched up, grabbed him in a strong embrace and then held him out by the shoulders. “I knew it was you, Beau. You haven’t changed a bit, well, maybe more weathered, a little more fur on your face.”
Beau scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Aye. Haven’t had a meal or shave in two days.”
“You don’t look like you’ve had much sleep either.” Thomas winked.
“None to speak of. When the first train broke down its replacement took hours to collect us. I missed the next two because of the first. I apologize for my untidiness and tardy arrival.”
“No need for apologies.” Thoma
s pulled out his pocket watch, flicked it open with his thumb, frowned at the time and arched a brow at him. “It’s only been a dozen years, what’s a few more hours?”
Beau’s eyes widened. So his brother had become a time stickler like their father?
Thomas threw his arm around Beau’s neck and pounded him on the chest. The same kind of rough hug he’d given him as a boy. “I’m teasing, little brother. Get me full of ale and I can reprise more of Father’s memorable quirks. I’m glad you’re finally home.” He pounded him again fondly. “We should have warned you. Trains in these parts are reliably unreliable. Many forgo the frustration and take a coach.”
Thomas’s joking calmed some of Beau’s unease. He’d always idolized his eldest brother and couldn’t help a surge of affection. Thomas had intelligence, good looks, a good nature, and strength of character—everything an admirable earl needed. And he never stepped wrong. Not one foot out of place.
Stepping wrong had been Beau’s lot in life.
But no more—he’d vowed to change. If his brother could be respectable, so could he. He was done playing the family’s scoundrel.
Three boys, all miniature versions of his brother, romped over. A little girl dragging a croquet stick soon followed and latched onto her father’s knee.
“I’d like you to meet Alistair,” Thomas said. “He’s nine, Royce is seven, Ernest is six and Daisy here is three. Children, this is your sea captain Uncle Beauford come home at last.”
The boys stepped forward like little men, stuck out their hands and gave his a shake. The little girl stuck her thumb in her mouth.
Beau lowered himself to Daisy’s eye level. Her sweet little face and dark eyes and hair squeezed the damaged, hollow place in his heart he dared not think about.
He spoke quietly, smiling. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Daisy.” She popped her thumb out of her mouth, gave him a shy smile and bashfully hid her face in her father’s pant leg.
The Trouble With Misbehaving Page 2