“That’s never stopped you before,” Garner muttered.
“—I had to remove Miss Lyfeld from danger.”
“You sacrificed the greater good to save the life of one.”
And so the conversation renews again. “With all due respect, each life is—”
“Of value to its creator, I know. At least, according to your faith.” Garner’s mouth twisted. “Miss Lyfeld remembered no other unique characteristics about the Sovereign?”
Tavin shook his head. “A pity, but no. I’ve no doubt he’d hurt her if he learned her identity, though. I’m relieved she’s safely away from Hampshire, here in London.”
Garner’s eyes narrowed. “You underestimate him time and again. I deem it wise for you to remain here, close to Miss Lyfeld, should our foe search for her. She might require your protection.”
Icy dread pumped through Tavin’s veins. “It’s doubtful he can identify her at all.”
“But you will be at hand, should she remember something of vital importance about his appearance. Or if the Sovereign is correct and she is, indeed, some sort of spy.” Garner tapped his fingers against his desk.
Preposterous. “She’s no more spy than I am a chimney sweep.”
Garner’s gaze lowered to his papers as if dismissing Tavin. “It cannot hurt to be certain. Just stay near her.”
Play nursemaid to a come-out? “Are you punishing me?”
Garner laughed. “’Tis unlike you to question orders.”
“She doesn’t merit my protection or my investigation.” Tavin’s fists clenched. “She’s a country miss on the verge of a betrothal, and no more.”
“Monitor the situation. You may cease and return to Hampshire if she remembers nothing and no ill befalls her, or if she behaves with suspicion, or if she becomes affianced and her betrothed dismisses you. But until then, stay close. You’re the perfect man for the task. With your entrée to the upper crust, no one will look twice at you.”
“Everyone will look twice at me.” He stood. “They know who I am and what my mother did.”
“History as ancient as dust.”
“If I am seen among the ton, my grandmother will believe—Never mind.” Tavin rubbed his suddenly aching forehead. “I’ll follow Miss Lyfeld to ensure no harm befalls her, but I’ll not escort her about town like a moon-eyed pup.”
“As you wish.”
What Tavin wished was to mount Raghnall and ride to Hampshire.
A wave of foreboding roiled in his gut. He could not fulfill anyone’s expectations. Not his family’s, not God’s and certainly not his own. He should be in Hampshire, putting an end to the Sovereign and his murderous spree.
Hugh Beauchamp had better propose to Gemma Lyfeld by the end of the week or Tavin might have to do it on his behalf.
Chapter Four
At the creak of the library door flinging open behind her, Gemma startled and dropped the book from her hand. Despite being safely away from Hampshire for a full week now, her nerves felt raw, exposed. She spun to the doorway.
“Oh, ’tis you.” She slumped against Wyling’s desk.
“A pleasure to see you, too, sister.” Amy grinned. In her yellow-trimmed dress, she looked reminiscent of sunshine and puffy clouds, a pleasant contrast to the overcast skies outside.
Gemma bit her lip. Amy had always been the prettier sister. The more beloved sister, perhaps. As a child, Amy had never trudged through the mud with her and Hugh, never required reminding she was a lady. Now that they were grown, Amy held the favor of a dutiful, titled husband and the respect of her family and peers. Including Gemma, who couldn’t blame anyone for preferring Amy. Her sister was kind, gentle and wise. And a woman of strong faith, too. Without the model of Amy’s forgiveness after their parents’ deaths, Gemma’s faith might well have disintegrated along with the ash from the fire that had killed her parents.
She scooped her book from the floor and smiled. “Forgive my unfortunate greeting. I was caught unawares.”
“Woolgathering about Hugh?”
Discussing Hugh was far easier than speaking about that Sovereign fellow. The throb in her ankle had nearly dissipated, but her thoughts of that day still ached. Hoping for distraction, she’d come here, her favorite room in the town house. Its soothing green palette and shelves of books invited her to curl into a plush, padded chair and lose herself for hours.
And wait for Hugh. “We expected him a sennight ago. I hope he’s not ill.”
“I’m certain he’s giving you time for shopping and your court presentation. Do you miss him so much? Perhaps you do love him.”
Gemma blinked. Did love feel like annoyance? “Are you certain he hasn’t dropped by while we were out?”
“He’d have left his card.” Amy patted Gemma’s arm. “I’m certain he has good reason.”
Or perhaps Cristobel was right. Did Hugh have no intention of honoring his obligation? Her stomach soured. God, if Hugh begs off, where will that leave me? Serving Cristobel for the rest of my days?
And what if God wanted that, for her to live as Cristobel’s companion? Would she obey Him with joy or bitterness?
Gemma pushed the question aside. God understood how important it was to honor her parents and wed Hugh. And once they had married, she’d be close enough to see Petey and Eddie every day. It was best for everyone.
“In the meantime, I promised I’d find a book to read to the boys when they wake from their naps. Something with, as Petey demands, ‘a-venture.’ This title is promising. It has the word journey in it. Maybe it’s about a sailor, although a book on knights would have been preferable.”
“It must wait, I fear.” Amy’s mouth set in a grim line. “Mr. Knox has been closeted with Wyling these past forty minutes. Now he asks for you.”
A jolt shot up her spine. “What happened? Has that villain harmed Peter or Cristobel?”
“I don’t think so, else Wyling would have told me.”
At her words, the door opened and Tavin Knox entered the room, dressed in his usual black coat, boots and pantaloons. Although plain in style and color, his clothing was well tailored, revealing the breadth of his shoulders and lean waist to perfection. When he folded his arms over his broad chest, Gemma recalled what it had felt like to be held there, just over his heart.
Such notions would not do. She clutched the leather-bound volume to her chest.
Wyling followed Tavin, who offered a hasty nod of greeting. “You won’t like what I’m to say, Miss Lyfeld.”
“Good day to you, too, Mr. Knox.”
His dimple flashed. “Where are my manners?”
His sarcasm grated like clothing over a wound. “Where they always are, I expect.”
Amy tugged her to the silk settee and bade her to sit. “Enough, both of you.”
“Forgive me, ma’am.” Tavin’s smile grew. “Shall we start again? Good day.”
Despite herself, she smiled back.
His stance spread, reminding her of the portrait she’d seen of Admiral Lord Nelson. Confident, unmovable despite the churning waves beneath him. “While I expected to continue my search for the Sovereign, my superior has issued new orders for me.”
Disappointing, considering the sooner the Sovereign was caught the sooner she’d sleep through the night. “Is someone else investigating the Sovereign, then?”
“Not...exactly.” Tavin speared her with his stare. “As a precautionary measure, I have been ordered to watch you.”
Her jaw loosened, fell. “Like an animal in the menagerie?”
“Yes. That is to say, should you remember any more details which would help us in our investigation—”
“I have told you everything.”
“—or should some danger befall you, I shall be close by to protect you and appr
ehend the Sovereign or his henchmen.”
She gripped the book to her chest, wincing when it dug into her ribs. “He is coming here? To London? To me?”
He shifted his weight from one boot to the other. “My superior, Garner, wishes to ensure your safety in the unlikely event the Sovereign has identified you and comes to London.”
She searched her relatives’ faces for protests, help, sympathy, something. But Amy’s smile was forbearing, and Wyling just shrugged.
“I cannot name the man. I am no threat to him.”
“But he is a threat to you. Potentially.” He expelled a long breath. “The Sovereign cannot be underestimated. I told you my friend Thomason was killed by the Sovereign, but I did not elaborate because it is unfit for feminine ears.”
How maddening. “If there is something to be said, please do so.”
He glanced at Wyling and stared into her eyes. “Several months ago, the revenue agent assigned to your part of Hampshire noted a change in the local smugglers’ habits. Five local men murdered...in the same singular fashion.”
“Why did I not hear of five murders until now? Not from Peter, nor in the village.”
“You are a woman. And the men were not wellborn. It is little surprise you never heard of it.” He shook his head. “Thomason must have discovered something, for he was murdered in the same manner as the others.”
What manner? Gemma’s hand pressed her churning stomach. Perhaps she did not wish to know. “And I may meet the same fate?”
“Doubtful. I spent the week watching you—”
“You have spied on me?” The book smacked the table.
“’Tis for your own benefit,” Amy insisted.
“You knew?” Again? They had told her nothing and, worse, had allowed someone to observe her? What else had he done? Pawed through her drawers with his enormous hands? Gemma’s teeth clenched, reverberating pain through her jaw.
“We just learned it, Gem.” Wyling shook his head.
Tavin held up his hands. “They didn’t know. And I didn’t spy.” He said the word like she’d no idea of the true definition of the word. “I watched the house. Nothing more. I had hoped to convince my superior that you were in no danger so he would alter his orders for me. Unfortunately, he wishes me to continue on awhile longer.”
“Spying on me?”
“Guarding you,” he corrected. “Which will be easier to do if you are aware.”
“I do not require a guardian. Tell your superior I decline.”
“Whether you or I wish it, I will still be tasked with watching you.” He looked no more pleased than she.
“I cannot believe this Sovereign would follow you here, but I trust Knox.” Wyling’s voice was firm but kind. “If I had to entrust you—or Amy or Petey or Eddie—to another, it would be him. So I say, yes. You must tolerate it, both of you.”
She’d grown adept at tolerance these past six years. But this seemed ludicrous.
Tavin’s gaze seemed to burn into her, so intense it brought to mind how he’d looked at her in the drawing room back home, smelling of wood and water, right before she’d stomped off to climb Verity Hill.
And started this whole mess. So she nodded. Amy’s shoulders sagged in relief, and a pang of remorse shot through Gemma for making things difficult for her family.
“I’ll follow from a distance. If necessary, I shall attend the same events.” Did his cheeks pink? “A few rules will make this easier on both of us. Tell me where you’re going and when. And no going off alone or hiding from me.”
“In other words, you’re my new governess.” She sighed.
“A discreet, invisible one.”
Wyling chortled, Gemma squeezed Amy’s arm and then rose. “If that is all, I should get to the nursery.”
“Good day, Miss Lyfeld.” Tavin’s brow quirked. She nodded back and hastened to the nursery. Despite whines of protest from their harried nursemaid, Nellie, her nephews bounced on their beds. As he jumped, Petey tossed toy soldiers into the cradle in the far corner—still desolately empty despite Amy and Wyling’s desire for children. Eddie jigged on his cot in imitation of his brother, his finger in his mouth, cackling in delight.
“What terror is this?” Gemma dropped the book on a lacquered table with a reverberating smack. “My nephews do not screech and hop like jungle creatures. Cease at once.”
“So sorry, miss—down, boys!” Nellie’s voice sounded panicked.
“Sowwy, Aunt Gem.” Eddie’s bouncing slowed.
Petey thunked to his bottom, creaking the bed frame. “Sorry.”
“Express your apologies to Nellie, and we may move forward.” She retrieved the book while the boys embraced Nellie. Opening to the first chapter, her hopes sank to her red leather shoes. She scanned a few pages and set the book down with a sigh of disappointment.
“This book will not do.” A book of sermons, the writings would certainly edify, but they would not provide the adventurous fiction she had promised the boys. “Nellie, get the boys’ coats. Let’s venture to Hatchards.”
“For books?” Petey’s eyes grew wide as his coat buttons.
“I’ve yet to find a book which quite meets our needs.” Until Wyling and Amy were blessed with children of their own, their library would no doubt remain lacking in suitable material for young ones.
She tugged on Eddie’s coat and fastened the brass buttons. What had Tavin said? Tell him where she was going and not to go out alone?
Well. She was not alone in the least. She was accompanied by a nursemaid and two small children. She tried to inform Tavin, but the butler, Stott, was emphatic Mr. Knox and his lordship were in the library and not to be disturbed, so she did not feel the slightest trepidation leaving the house after jotting him a short note with word of her whereabouts.
* * *
The sun broke through the clouds in gleaming shafts as Gemma, her nephews and Nellie walked the well-kept square down Berkeley Street to Piccadilly, past the grand gardens of Lansdowne House and Devonshire House. Crested carriages pulled by fine horses traversed in both directions, while well-dressed persons sauntered by at a sedate pace. A gentleman tipped his beaver hat and wished her good day, and Gemma returned his greeting with enthusiasm.
New faces. New experiences. Freedom. London was wonderful.
A crisp breeze ruffled her hem and fluttered the ribbons of her poke bonnet, carrying the pleasant smells of scythed grass and wood smoke, twined with the tangy odor she had come to associate with London. Perhaps its source was the Thames, but the smell made her nose wrinkle. A small price to pay, however, for the delights of the city.
Piccadilly bustled with traffic. Her little party crossed the busy street and within moments, the gleaming wood facade of the booksellers came into view.
“Miss Lyfeld.” The baritone behind her held no trace of amusement. Or patience.
Oh, dear.
The boys spun around and began to bounce. “Mr. Knox!”
“You are on an outing?” Irony dripped from his words.
“We’re off to the booksellers.” Petey hopped on his toes. “Aunt Gem says she’ll read us something with an a-venture in it.”
“Like a knight jousting.” Eddie spoke around his finger. Gemma gently pulled it from his mouth and took his wet hand in hers.
Tavin’s lips twitched. “Serious business, indeed. May I accompany you?”
“It is unnecessary.” Gemma spoke before the boys begged Mr. Knox to please do.
“May we go inside now?” Petey hopped.
“Manners, my love.” Gemma released their hands. “Nellie, would you to take the children in? I shall join you in a moment.”
Gemma watched until they disappeared into the depths of the bookstore. When she turned back, Tavin leveled her with a frown.
&n
bsp; “Ignoring my rules already, Miss Lyfeld?”
“Hardly. I am not alone. Nellie is here, as are the boys.”
“Feeble protection, honestly.”
“I left word for you. What else could I do? You were not to be disturbed, according to Stott.”
“Disturb me. Always.” He leaned closer and, oh, there was that wood smell again. “From now on, take me or Wyling with you.”
Lovely wood smell or not, this was absurd. “’Tis most impractical.”
“We must all bear the inconvenience for now.” He gestured to the door. “Now that we understand one another, do you care to look at books?”
“Not particularly. I’d rather throw one at something.”
“I shall find a shield for myself, then.”
Did everything she say and do amuse him? She gripped her reticule and turned. Catching sight of another familiar face, a grin pulled at her cheeks. Hugh, on Piccadilly of all places, smiling down at her. Now, God willing, everything would be well.
A young lady clung to his arm.
Yellow curls peeped from under a silk bonnet embellished with snow-white feathers, framing a schoolroom-fresh face. A bow under the bosom of her white pelisse accentuated her generous curves, inviting the eye to linger most improperly on her ample décolletage.
Gemma fingered the linen fichu at her neck.
Hugh’s shining face radiated excitement. “Gem, pleasant journey and all that? So good to see you. And you as well, Mr. Knox.”
“Mr. Beauchamp.” A genuine smile spread over Mr. Knox’s lips, as if he were relieved.
“How delightful to see you.” Gemma’s glance flicked at his companion.
Hugh turned to the girl on his arm. “Where are my manners? Abysmal of me. May I present Mr. Knox, and this lady before you is, of course, my Gem—Miss Lyfeld.”
Something inside Gemma fluttered at his possessive words.
His smile grew wider, if possible. “Gem, Mr. Knox, may I present Miss Patrice Scarcliff? Pet, I call her.”
Pet? What sort of name was that for—
The Reluctant Guardian Page 4