by Cheryl Holt
Their apartment had been filled with his corrupt, lazy friends, and she’d regularly taken advantage of them. She was a survivor, and there wasn’t much the world could throw at her that she couldn’t deflect or manipulate to her own ends.
They’d left the hotel and were at James’s house. The residence was all right—for a person who liked common things—but James wasn’t common anymore, and she couldn’t deduce why he was content with such ordinary choices.
The dwelling was two stories high, with meager windows, low ceilings, and small rooms. It looked like any abode she might have entered in London, but then, Brits never liked to feel too far from home.
Brinley had hoped for some Spanish architecture. After all, they were on the border with Spain. She’d have liked tiled floors and arches, a courtyard, and a bubbling fountain, but they’d gotten accommodations that were dowdy and dreary.
James hadn’t been present to greet them. He’d had a paltry army private usher them in instead. None of his roommates had been there either. They were all soldiers who had duties during the day, so she and Miss Boyle were on their own in deciding how to settle in.
Brinley wouldn’t dawdle and debate with her. Laura knew how Brinley liked her belongings to be arranged, and she could unpack. Brinley was eager to begin exploring the town. It would be a much more productive way to waste a few hours.
James was determined to send her back to England, and she was determined that he wouldn’t. Not yet anyway. So she had to have plans in place in case he booked passage before she was ready to leave.
She always needed money, and she’d always been a thief. From her first memories, she’d liked taking things, and she’d received a huge thrill from pilfering other’s possessions.
As a girl, she’d stolen silly, useless things, but as she’d grown older, she’d begun choosing things of enormous value, things that could provide a financial benefit. She’d learned where people hid their treasures. She could slip into a bedchamber or library and swiftly locate precisely what she required. With her being young and female, she was never suspected of being the culprit.
She had to start taking things in Gibraltar too, had to accumulate funds before he kicked her out.
“I don’t mind if you have the bedchamber,” Miss Boyle said—as Brinley had predicted she would.
“You can have the maid’s room behind the kitchen,” Brinley told her.
“I expected I would, and I’ll be fine with that. What about Laura?”
“She’ll sleep with me. She’s Lord Denby’s sister. It wouldn’t be appropriate for her to be dumped in a maid’s closet with you.”
“She’s not Lord Denby’s sister. Not according to Captain Hastings.”
“Not technically, but she’s my sister, so that makes her his sister.”
“Why insist he’s Lord Denby when he claims he’s not?”
“Oh, that.” Brinley waved away Miss Boyle’s question. “He doesn’t want to seem uppity in front of his fellow soldiers. He would hate to have any of them think he’s been raised up above them.”
“Are you sure you should refer to him as Denby? He doesn’t like it.”
“Miss Boyle, let me give you a little hint about men. They’re all dolts and fools. I never listen to any of them.”
“That’s certainly your prerogative, but you’re skating on thin ice with him, and he’s angry over your unannounced arrival. Perhaps you shouldn’t deliberately antagonize him.”
“James will be irked no matter how I act, and I didn’t arrive unannounced. I was very clear in my letters that I was coming. We’re simply having a minor spat as to what was agreed upon.”
Miss Boyle was correct though. James had viciously demanded she not travel to Gibraltar, but she’d been trying for months to persuade him to resign from the army and return home to assume his rightful spot.
He was stubborn though and wouldn’t consider it, so she had journeyed to Denby to tour the manor and the grounds. It was a tad dilapidated from being shuttered and untended, but all in all, it was a smashing estate, the exact sort of property she’d always felt should be hers.
James detested Denby for idiotic, juvenile reasons. When their father, Charlie, had still been alive, and James’s parents still married, they’d occasionally visited Denby, and his snooty cousins had been rude and cruel. James had been teased for being a provincial dunce, and he’d never forgiven them for their many slights.
Now, with all of them deceased, James was having the last laugh. If he’d just open Denby Manor and carry on like a king, he could have them rolling in their graves, but he wouldn’t, and his recalcitrance was so infuriating.
If she could get him to embrace Denby, as was his obligation and responsibility, her life would be perfect.
Over the prior winter, she’d made Gaylord Hobbs fall in love with her. He was a rich baron’s son and a spectacular catch out on the Marriage Market. He wasn’t very bright though so, if she could wed him, she’d land herself a wealthy husband, and she’d be able to completely control him.
She’d worked like a fiend to guarantee his affection, but his father was a stern old goat who’d refused to ponder a match between them. He’d heard too many stories about her—stories that were all true—and he’d grown so incensed over their dalliance that he’d shipped Gaylord off to his plantation in Jamaica to rescue him from her machinations.
She could never bear to be thwarted, and she was positive—if James proclaimed himself Lord Denby and abandoned his lowly role as an army horse trainer—Gaylord’s father would have to relent and let them marry. She wouldn’t stop hounding James until she could bring that conclusion to fruition, and she wouldn’t head to England until she was sure he was coming too.
She handed Miss Boyle an envelope. “James left this on the nightstand, but you might as well have it.”
“What is it?” Miss Boyle asked.
“It’s instructions for running the house. He’s included pin money and the names of shops where he has accounts so you can charge food or whatever else you need.”
“I’m glad he furnished information on how we should proceed.”
“He thought I might like to manage this stupid place for him,” she said, “but I’m not interested. You seem more the type who would revel in domesticity.”
“Yes, he and I discussed this yesterday at his office. I told him I’d be delighted to help out.”
“More fool you,” Brinley muttered.
Miss Boyle reached for the envelope, but Brinley peeked in it first and took out some of the money. Then she gave the remainder to Miss Boyle.
Miss Boyle scowled. “I don’t believe he meant for you to have any of it.”
“He’s my brother, Miss Boyle. He won’t mind.” She glanced over at Laura who was huddled by the sofa. “Stay with Miss Boyle.”
It was obvious Laura wanted to inquire as to Brinley’s destination, but she wouldn’t, so Miss Boyle inquired for her.
“Where are you going?”
“Out,” Brinley vaguely replied.
No doubt there were many intriguing men in Gibraltar, and James had absurdly insisted she not meet or socialize with any of them. He’d actually commanded her not to leave the house without his consent. He intended she be his prisoner until he could arrange for her passage to England, but who could guess what sorts of schemes she could pursue before then?
She was never one to miss out on an opportunity.
“When will you be back?” Miss Boyle said.
“Later.”
“Shall we expect you for supper? I’ll try to have it served at eight.”
“Yes, I should be here by then.”
“What if your brother asks after you? What should I tell him?”
“Why would he ask? He didn’t bestir himself to greet us when we moved in. Why would he twist his trousers into a knot over where I am?”
With that, she grabbed her parasol and marched out.
“Well, I would, Miss Boyle, but we don’t have one.”
“I’ll have one shortly. Captain Hastings has requested I hire some servants.”
“Once you’ve done that, let me know. If you can retain someone who’s not overly aggravating, I might allow her to tag after me.”
“Be careful. The streets wind in odd directions. It’s easy to get turned around.”
“I’ve never been lost in my life, and I won’t start now.”
She continued on, as Miss Boyle and Laura hovered anxiously, watching her go. Their powerful need—to glom onto her, to pry into her plans, to monitor her behavior—was exhausting and stifling. She’d been on her own since she was a baby, and she didn’t permit any idiot to boss her.
She sauntered around the corner, relieved to be out of their sight. She paused, then headed toward the harbor where many of the shops were located. It’s where the crowds would be, where sailors and soldiers would be dawdling and certain to notice a pretty girl strolling by.
She paraded herself for an eternity, not seeing anyone worth mentioning, and she’d about given up hope, when a fancy carriage passed by, pulled by four white horses. She lurked in the shadows, observing as the driver stopped, as the outriders leapt down and opened the door. The fellow who emerged looked foreign, rich, and very grand.
He was older than she was, probably James’s age of thirty or so. He had blond hair, and he was a little portly in the middle, but he was handsome enough. His hair was neatly-trimmed, his beard too.
He entered a tailor’s shop, and she ambled by—twice—casually spying on him as he chatted with the clerk. When he spun to leave the establishment, she just happened to bump into him.
“Oh, pardon me, sir,” she gushed.
His eyes were a stunning green, and they immediately sparked with masculine interest. “Ciao, bella.” His Italian accent was clear. “You appear to be in a bit of distress. May I help you?”
“I’ve just arrived in Gibraltar, and I went for a walk, but I’m lost. I was wondering if you could indicate the route to my lodging.”
“I would be happy to assist you.”
She flashed her most fetching grin. “I hate to be a bother, but my brother will be concerned over where I am.”
“Have you no maid to show you the way?”
“She’s a local girl—very lazy—and she sneaked off the minute I wasn’t paying attention. I’m quite desperate.”
“The sun is so hot,” he said. “Shall we climb into my carriage and sit in the shade while we talk? Unless I’m being too bold?”
“You’re not being too bold.”
He offered his arm and lifted her in. She settled herself on the soft leather seat. He slid onto the one across from her.
“May I have the pleasure of learning your name?” he asked.
“I’m Lady Brinley Hastings. My brother is Lord Denby. He’s stationed here with the army. He’s a hero of Waterloo. Might you be acquainted with him?”
“I’ve only been in Gibraltar a few months myself, so I haven’t met many soldiers yet.”
“May I also learn your name, sir?”
“I am Conte Antonio Corpetto, at your service.”
“Italian?”
“Yes.”
“Ooh,” Brinley cooed, “how thrilling!”
He clasped her hand and kissed it. “I predict, Lady Brinley, that you and I are destined to be very, very good friends.”
“I predict we will be too.”
* * * *
British citizen and confidence artist, Holden Cartwright—who was pretending to be Antonio Corpetto—relaxed and smiled at Brinley Hastings. He’d often thought he should have been an actor on the stage. He could be any sort of person, could induce an unsuspecting fool to believe anything.
When he’d fled London over the winter, he’d been eager to become someone else, and he’d chosen Corpetto. He could speak some Italian, and he was adept at the accent. In his experience, people accepted what they saw with their eyes. He claimed he was Italian. He acted as if he were Italian, and the lie was never questioned.
It might have been risky to travel to Gibraltar. After all, there were thousands of Brits living in the spot, and he always had to worry about the prospect of discovery. Over the years, he’d seduced many a young maiden and had swindled many a gullible young man, so caution was paramount.
He’d changed his appearance significantly though. The blond color of his hair was lighter, the ends whitened due to the glaring sun. He grown a beard too and had packed on several extra pounds. The beard made him look older, the weight too. If he stumbled on an enemy, he might seem familiar, but they would never connect him with his past identity.
He was too…Italian.
Lady Brinley stared temptingly, and for a moment, he was taken aback by her concerted assessment. Might she have practiced it for maximum effect? He was sure she wouldn’t have. She couldn’t be more than sixteen or seventeen. British girls—especially aristocratic girls—were terribly sheltered, terribly stupid.
“It’s marvelous to be out of the heat,” she said.
“Yes, it is. Where is your brother’s home located? Can you give me some idea of the direction, and I’ll tell my driver. Is it near the water? Up the hill? In town? Out of town?”
“I can’t guess. Maybe we could drive for a bit, and I’ll peer out at the streets. I’m certain I’ll recognize a landmark.”
“And if you don’t, I can’t complain about spending my afternoon with you. Not when you’re so beautiful. You’ve graced my day.”
Her cheeks reddened to an enticing shade of pink. “Are you flirting with me, Conte Corpetto?”
“Yes.”
“How fabulous!” She beamed with delight. “I’ve only been here a week, and I’m already having an adventure. I don’t remember ever meeting an Italian before.”
“There are plenty of us in England.”
“Not where I was raised. Denby is far out in the country, and I was never allowed to visit London.”
A provincial ninny! His favorite kind of prey!
He chuckled. “You poor child. Rural England must have been torture for you.”
“It was, but things are looking better by the minute.” She laughed and peeked out the window. “I’ve barely seen any of the sights. My brother is so busy with his career in the army that he hasn’t had two seconds to show me around.”
“It’s no wonder you’re lost.”
“I agree. It’s such a pretty town. Where exactly do you live?”
“I’m renting a villa up on the hill.”
“A villa! My goodness. I’ve always wanted to stroll through a villa.”
“Perhaps, when you’re with your maid again, I could give you a tour. I wouldn’t dare take you there without a chaperone.”
“Of course not. Could we…we…” She cut off. “Oh, never mind.”
Holden leaned toward her, charmed in spite of himself. “What were you about to say?”
“I would hate to go home so soon. My house is so quiet. I haven’t made any friends yet, and my brother works constantly. He’s devoted to his job.”
“What is it?”
“He’s a horse trainer. Can you imagine? And him an earl.”
“Some men love animals.”
“Could we ride for awhile? Just for a few hours?” She leaned forward too and stroked her fingers across his hand. “If you could entertain me, I’d be ever so grateful.”
“It wouldn’t be appropriate, Lady Brinley.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t.”
He studied her forever, then thought, Why not?
His outriders were still standing next to the carriage, waiting for instructions as to where they were headed. He peered out the window and told them, “I’d like to meander. Let’s drive by the Water Gate, then down the coast for
a short distance.” He paused and grinned. “There’s no hurry. We’d like to take our time.”
It was so amusing to be an aristocrat. People jumped when he spoke and fell all over themselves to oblige him. He had no idea why he hadn’t employed the ruse years earlier.
The outriders snapped to attention, leapt to their places, and they rolled away.
* * * *
“How long do you suppose she’ll be gone?”
Laura stared at Miss Boyle and shrugged. Where her sister was concerned, she couldn’t guess. She might be gone for a minute or she might be gone for days. Laura would never try to predict.
“I don’t know about you,” Miss Boyle said, “but I’m rather glad she left.”
Laura had been thinking the same. Normally, she panicked when Brinley departed. It was scary to wonder when or if she’d ever return, but with Miss Boyle joining them, she wasn’t fretting nearly as much.
“Your sister isn’t the easiest person to like,” Miss Boyle said.
Was a response necessary to such an obvious statement? Laura provided no hint of her opinion.
“I haven’t upset you, have I, by my comment about her?” Miss Boyle asked. “It’s just that I’m feeling overwhelmed this morning, and your sister makes matters harder than they need to be.”
Brinley couldn’t help herself though. She desperately wanted certain things and was determined to have them. Laura didn’t want much of anything, except food to eat and a roof over her head. She’d also like it if she wasn’t forced to live with strangers.
They’d stayed with Brinley’s brother, Robert, and his parlor had been loud and full of drunken men who’d yelled and quarreled and generally behaved in disgusting ways.
If she could simply find a quiet spot, a safe spot, she’d be happy. The current house was nice enough, but Captain Hastings would be there soon, and his roommates would be too. She hoped they didn’t drink and fight and gamble.
“We have to get moving,” Miss Boyle said, “or Captain Hastings will assume we’re sluggards. I’d like to be able to serve supper at eight o’clock—even though it’s our first night here. I’d like to prove we’re worth the bother of his taking us in.”