by Cheryl Holt
He kissed her yet again, and for the briefest second, she stiffened, as if she might refuse to participate, then she relaxed and joined in. She was as drawn to him as he was to her, and it was becoming more and more obvious that there was destiny at work. They were meant to be together.
He kept on forever, his tongue in her mouth, his hands in her hair. He stroked his palms over her arms and thighs, learning her shape and size. He even massaged her breasts, and when she didn’t protest, he dipped down and nuzzled them through the fabric of her gown.
He was desperate to undress her, but he didn’t suppose he ought. He was positive, if he touched a single button or tugged on a single ribbon, she’d jump up and stomp out, but he couldn’t bear to have her depart.
Since they’d quarreled at her party, he’d been miserable, but after this short interval spent in her sunny company, his woe had fled. He was more content than he’d been in ages. Well, except for the ghastly bruise on his leg. It was ugly, but other than his physical problems, he was quite grand.
Whatever medicinal she’d put in her tea, it was weaving its magic. Suddenly, he was too drained to continue. He slid off her and snuggled her to his side. He couldn’t stifle a yawn, and her scolding expression was back.
“You’ve worn yourself out, kissing me.”
He smirked. “It was worth it.”
She sighed. “I guess it was.”
They were quiet, then he said, “Don’t move out.”
The words practically burst out of him. He couldn’t hold them in. After her brother returned, nothing would be the same, and the notion was incredibly distressing.
“I’ll think about it,” she replied, “now let me up. I should leave so you can fall asleep.”
“Stay with me until I doze off.”
“You’re so greedy.”
“Where you’re concerned, I can’t help myself.”
“And where you are concerned, I’m an utter milksop. I can’t tell you no and mean it.”
“I’m delighted to hear it.”
He pulled her nearer, and slumber crept in. Once he drifted off, he wondered how long she’d tarry, how long she’d dare. He hoped it would be for a very long while. He’d like to wake up in the morning and find her still there. She’d never be that brazen, but still, he could wish for it.
“I’m glad we’re not fighting anymore,” he whispered.
“So am I.”
“You make me happy.”
“You don’t make me happy,” she claimed, “but it doesn’t matter. I can’t erect any barriers with you and keep them in place.”
“You shouldn’t erect barriers.”
“Don’t kiss anybody else,” she said. “Not while I’m here in Gibraltar. I really can’t abide it. Could you promise me you won’t?”
Why not? What could it hurt?
“I suppose I could promise you.”
It was the oddest vow he’d ever tendered. In his dalliances, he wasn’t reliable or steadfast. He had no interest in monogamy and no intention of courting her to the point where she’d start to assume his fondness would lead somewhere. It never would.
Yet for the moment—when he was feeling so low—it was thrilling to pretend.
He tumbled into a deep sleep, the likes of which he hadn’t experienced in years. She snuck away after a bit—he sensed that she’d left—but for the period she’d remained, life had been as perfect as it could possibly get.
* * * *
Laura tiptoed into the house. She’d gone to the stables—as she went every day. Captain Hastings let her feed, brush, and ride the horses. He understood her passion, and he didn’t tease her about it, didn’t chase her away like the child she was, but he hadn’t been there.
She’d lurked in the shadows, listening to the other soldiers talk. He’d been kicked in the leg, and it was alarming information. With his being wounded at Waterloo, he still limped when he thought no one was watching. He tried to hide it, but Laura always watched, and she saw everything.
If he’d leave in the middle of the afternoon, he must have been badly hurt, and she was terrified he might have been. What would she do then? Who would allow her to tend the horses?
His own horse had been tied out front, and it was hot and grouchy from standing in the sun, and it was an indication that Captain Hastings was in a dire condition. He’d never permit an animal to suffer. She’d moved it around to the shade, had filled a bucket with water so it would be more comfortable, then she’d come inside.
It was very quiet. The cook and housemaid were murmuring in the kitchen, but there were no other sounds. Cautiously, she climbed the stairs and approached his bedchamber. The door was open, and he was napping on the bed. Miss Boyle was with him, nestled in his arms.
It appeared Miss Boyle had nursed his injury. The trouser fabric was torn away, the swollen mark of a horseshoe visible on his calf. A portion of his battle scar was visible too, and she studied it, wanting to remember how awful it looked, how painful it must have been to be slashed that way.
Then Miss Boyle stirred and stared at the ceiling, confused about where she was, but recognition quickly dawned. She rolled over and gazed at Captain Hastings with such blatant affection that Laura could only wonder if she was in love with him.
When had that occurred?
As far as Laura was aware, they barely knew each other, but the notion of their being in love was splendid. Maybe they would marry and keep her with them forever! Maybe she wouldn’t have to live with Brinley anymore where she was always so worried about the future. Her heart raced at the prospect.
Miss Boyle shifted again and glanced toward the door, but Laura had vanished like a ghost. She was already down the stairs and out in the garden where she’d rushed behind the house to tell Captain Hastings’s horse what she’d witnessed.
* * * *
Holden Cartwright, who was having a great time as Conte Antonio Corpetto, sat at a table on the verandah of his rented villa. Servants hovered, ensuring his wine goblet was full, that he was fanned with palm fronds so he wasn’t overheated.
He could see to the horizon, the Mediterranean a glorious sapphire color that was very soothing. Why had he wasted so many years in gray, rainy England? Why hadn’t he moved south ages ago?
His success at becoming Corpetto was stroking his vanity and elevating his confidence to a frightening level. He viewed himself as being smarter and cleverer than everyone else, and he was definitely more corrupt. He didn’t have a conscience, and he never felt guilty over any scheme he implemented.
Humans were so gullible that they deserved to be parted from their money or other valuables.
Brinley Hastings was with him. He was fascinated by her and trying to deduce how to swindle her in the most devious manner. She didn’t have wealth or property, but her brother did. Of larger benefit, they weren’t close. If Holden could finagle her into a viable deceit, it was highly unlikely Captain Hastings would chase him down to demand reparations.
She was only eighteen, but she carried on as if she were forty. She had a keen eye for the absurd, and she didn’t tolerate fools. She assumed Holden was rich and titled, and she’d be picturing herself as his Italian countess. He was happy to play along.
“I have a gift for you,” he told her.
“Ooh, I love gifts. What is it?”
He signaled to a servant who presented her with a silver box secured with a blue ribbon. She grinned and ripped into it, finding a pearl necklace and earrings tucked inside.
He’d stolen them just before fleeing London. He’d wedged himself into a group of lazy third sons who’d entertained themselves by flirting with housemaids and other unappealing girls at the public dances at Vauxhall. He’d fixated on one of them, a Miss Amelia Boyle, who’d been grieving the death of her mother. She’d been so desperate to be noticed.
He’d coerced her into a false engagement, claiming he would elope with her to Scotland. He’d feigned
affection as a lark, and he’d been surprised that she’d fallen for his ruse, further confirming his opinion that humans were incredibly stupid.
How long had she waited that day, expecting him to arrive? Females could be very silly, and he bit down a smirk. Perhaps she was still waiting for him, and she hadn’t yet realized he wasn’t coming.
As he’d prepared to book passage out of England, he’d convinced her to host a supper party in her home so he could search for any trinkets as he walked away. There had been so little that was worth the bother—just the pearl necklace and earrings that had been shoved in a drawer in an abandoned bedchamber.
“I adore pearls,” Brinley said, as she held up the necklace. “Can you fasten it for me?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
He rounded the table, pausing to brush her nape with his fingertips. She’d dangled a physical relationship, but they hadn’t proceeded. She wasn’t exactly a tease, but she was adept at hinting that she wouldn’t discourage an amorous advance.
He was curious as to whether she was a virgin. Should he press the issue? He hadn’t decided. Once he settled on how to cheat her, he’d probably forge ahead. When a scheme wound to an end, he liked to receive a reward for all his trouble.
Plucking a virgin’s feathers was always amusing.
“How does it look?” she asked as she preened.
“Perfect, but then, any gem would look perfect on you.”
“Of course it would. My mother was a renowned beauty, and my father was the handsomest man in the kingdom. I’ve inherited their best traits.”
She often made flattering remarks about herself, showing no humility, proving she had enormous disregard for societal rules that required her to be modest and discreet.
He smiled at her, then scooted to his own chair. He waved the servants away so they were alone. It was time to begin corrupting her, ingratiating himself so, eventually, she’d do whatever he suggested.
“I’m glad you like your gift,” he said.
“Feel free to give me more whenever you’re in the mood. I’ll never refuse.”
He sighed dramatically. “I wish I could. I’d shower you with jewels every day—if it were possible.”
“You’re filthy rich. Why can’t you?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” He gestured to the ocean. “Let’s enjoy the view. The afternoon is so lovely. We shouldn’t dampen it with negative thoughts.”
“No, tell me. I insist.”
He wrinkled his nose. “My money is tied up—in a Spanish mining venture. It’s why I’m loitering in Gibraltar. After it’s resolved, I’ll be returning to Italy.”
She gaped at him forever, her perceptive gaze digging deep, and he didn’t like the sensation at all. It was very much like the assessment he typically utilized when he was seducing a girl to his cause.
Suddenly, she burst out laughing, and he bristled. He never liked anyone laughing at his expense.
“What’s so funny?” he demanded.
“I can’t believe you said that to me.”
“Said what?”
“Your funds are tied up in a mining venture. Does that sort of comment actually work on a ninny like me?”
He pasted on an expression of offense. “I have no idea what you mean.”
She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Conte Corpetto—or whoever you are.”
“Miss Hastings, I’m shocked—shocked!—by your statement, and I can’t imagine what’s behind it.”
“Can’t you? I know every trick in the book, Conte. My father and my brother, Robert, taught me most of them. They were the two most dishonest scoundrels in the world. If you want to deceive me, you need to be more cunning than you assume you are.”
He huffed with indignation. “I’m crushed by your accusation. I presumed we were friends.”
“We are. For now. Are you really Italian? Or a count? You’re not, are you?”
If her query hadn’t completely befuddled him, he’d have continued the lie, but he was too awed by her to maintain his false façade. In all his years of swindling, he’d only ever failed to persuade one person—a shrewd army captain named John Dunn—as to his motives and character.
Everyone else simply accepted his stories, but not Brinley Hastings. He was stunned and amazed.
“No, I’m not Italian.” His fake accent vanished in an instant. “I’m British.”
“I’ve been trying to place your origins, and I figured that was it. Why did you skulk out of England?”
“It seemed like I should. I had a few…incidents occur that didn’t go as I’d planned.”
“I hate that. It’s exhausting, isn’t it? When you expend so much effort on a hoax, but it falls apart?”
“It’s very exhausting.”
“What brought you to Gibraltar?”
“The weather?”
“How long will you stay?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Are you running a con at the moment?” she asked. “It appears to me there’s a fortune to be made—what with all the soldiers who are so lonely and so far from home.”
“Soldiers are generally poor, and I don’t like to wager for such small stakes.”
She nodded, understanding him perfectly, and he was even more amazed.
“Would you like a partner to play for some larger stakes?” she asked.
“I’m willing to consider it.”
“I’d be worth it.” She studied the villa, keenly evaluating it, as if debating the value of each item and cataloguing them for later reflection. “My brother thinks he’s sending me back to London in three weeks.”
“Will you obey him?”
“No.” She scoffed. “I might be ready to depart on my own by then. Depending…”
He was almost afraid to inquire. “Depending on what?”
“On what happens in the next three weeks. If I’m to head out, I’ll need some traveling money. Could we have a party here? I’m curious as to what kind of idiots we could convince to attend.”
He pondered, then shrugged. “I could do that.”
“I’d like to ingratiate myself to a higher class of people than I’ve been meeting.”
“Well, Brinley dear, an invitation from Conte Corpetto will attract the shining stars of Gibraltar society.”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” she said. “The whole thing will have to be very fancy.”
“Leave that to me.”
“The guests will have to believe you’re an Italian count.”
“Humans believe what they’re told.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” She stood. “I’d best be going. I have a ton of details to contemplate. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She sauntered out, wearing the jewelry he’d handed over, and on discovering that he’d wasted the gift on someone who couldn’t be coerced, he nearly called to her to give it back, but he didn’t.
He watched her trot off, and it dawned on him that he might have stumbled on a person more cunning and vicious than he’d ever been. At the notion, a shiver slid down his spine.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Amelia sat in the parlor of James’s house. Her traveling trunks were packed, and she was ready to depart. She was waiting for the driver to arrive with his wagon and deliver her things to the cottage she’d rented. Mrs. Bennett was joining her and would reside with Amelia until she could make other plans.
Amelia was looking forward to sharing her home. She’d always lived with her mother, so there had always been another female present with whom to chat, shop, and socialize. Even though she didn’t know Mrs. Bennett all that well, she was positive it would be a satisfying arrangement.
She’d explained the situation to the cook, housemaid, and footman she’d hired, and with her deserting them, they hadn’t wanted to stay either.
Captain Hastings was rarely around, and Brinley—when she deigned to show
herself—was rude and unlikable. She complained about the food, the cleanliness of her room, and the service she received.
The servants were eager to flee both siblings, and they’d begged to follow Amelia to the cottage. She’d tried to refuse, but couldn’t. It was embarrassing to have provided them with jobs, only to hastily flit off, so they were coming with her, and she imagined James would have quite a strident opinion about her pilfering the staff.
Shortly though, he would be moving to the barracks, so it wasn’t exactly a catastrophe. Brinley and Laura would be left in the lurch, but Brinley constantly bragged that she could find much more competent people than Amelia had chosen, and now, she’d have a chance to prove it.
On the afternoon James had been kicked by a horse, Amelia had promised she’d tarry, so she supposed her current conduct branded her a liar. She’d lasted two days on her vow, but Mrs. Bennett had reminded her that gossip was never a woman’s friend, so Amelia had hauled herself over to the naval office and had gotten the lease signed.
She was terribly glum about her decision, but very delighted too. She was worried about Laura though. The girl ran wild—with no one to keep track of her, no one to notice if she was late or missed supper. Amelia had struggled to corral her so she’d realize she was liked and supervised, but it had been a failed effort.
Laura and James needed Amelia. They were lost souls who were wandering in the world and desperate for some love and attention. Amelia had plenty to give, but neither of them would accept it from her. They’d been alone for so long and had never been taught how to carry on any other way.
It was distressing to leave Laura with her sister, and though the notion was distasteful, she would do it anyway. The only other option was to assume control of Laura, to support her and raise her, but Amelia was conflicted over the prospect. Should she? It would be an enormous obligation.
Once Evan returned, she would confer with him. She’d let him advise her on the subject. Until then, she’d try not to feel too guilty.
She glanced over at the desk where she’d penned a note to James. The ink would have dried, so she folded it and took it upstairs to put it on his pillow. It would have been better to visit him over at the barns so she could have told him face to face that she was abandoning him, but apparently, she was a coward.