Busbee, Shirlee

by Lady Vixen

  Eventually a husband would fall heir to those duties, Christopher mused aimlessly. Realizing suddenly the train of his thoughts, he jerked up as if someone had stabbed him. Husband? To Nicole?

  Good God, no! It was ridiculous! They disliked each other, except for the strange chemistry that ignited between their bodies and that, Christopher thought with a sneer, that would fade. No, he was not going to offer marriage as a way out of her difficulties. He came to no solution as he sat there in his room, but he did come to one decision—he would seek out his grandfather immediately!

  Ringing for Higgins, he dressed for the coming interview with especial care. Breeches of light drab, a pristine white single-breasted waistcoat, and a black velvet jacket with flat gilt buttons completed his apparel. The thick dark hair, worn at present longer than was fashionable, was brushed and gleamed like a blackbird's wing in the sun. With his tall, lithe body, his hard, handsome features, and his easy manner, he was a grandson that most men would be proud to acknowledge . . . but would Lord Saxon?

  Christopher approached the tall, stately home in Cavendish Square with a variety of emotions. He did not fear either his grandfather or Robert, but he was slightly wary and uneasy. Simon was perfectly capable of having him ejected from the house, and Robert, if he thought he could get away with it, would take delight in identifying him as a deserter from the British Navy.

  There was, too, a certain typical, devil-may-care tilt to his head. If Simon didn't want to acknowledge him, well—damn him! Yet underlying all his feelings was a desire to make his peace with his grandfather.

  His firm rap upon the heavy oak door was received with polite disdain by a very stiff butler. Without comment the man received Christopher's card. Feigning indifference, Christopher said crisply, "I would like to see Lord Saxon this moment... if he is at home. You may say that it is a personal matter."

  There was for just a second the faintest flicker of interest in the pale eyes as the butler read Christopher's name. "If you will wait here, sir, I will see if Lord Saxon is available," he said. Then he disappeared down the long white and gold hallway.

  Now that the moment was upon him, Christopher felt himself filled with impatience. Restlessly, with short nervous steps, he paced the inlaid tile floor, oblivious to the elegance of his surroundings.

  Suddenly he stiffened as a door banged open and a well-remembered voice roared, "Where the blazes is he? You bettle-headed sapscull! Don't leave him waiting like some ragtag Bartholomew baby—he's my own grandson come home!"

  A tall, gaunt figure, dressed in evening clothes much like Christopher's, his eyes flashing like burnished gold, the swarthy skin lined and seamed with age, and the thick dark hair at variance with the creases in his face, erupted into the hallway. The similarity between them, Simon and Christopher, was incredible—so Christopher would look in forty years' time; to Simon it was like peering into the past, with his own face once again smooth and hard, staring back at him.

  An abrupt silence fell. They surveyed each other without words. Christopher, his pulse unaccountably jumping, bit back an eager smile, as a feeling of joy replaced his earlier fears.

  "Well," the old man said testily, "I see you're back— and high time too!"

  This time Christopher's lips did twist in a grin. "So I assumed! You look the same, sir, if I may say so."

  His grin fading, his eyes searching the dear familiar features, Christopher said slowly, "I expected from what I had heard to find you greatly changed. I'm happy to see you in health, sir."

  Regarding him from under heavy brows, not quite able to hide completely the pleasure he felt, Simon lashed out aggressively, "You young devil, what did you mean disappearing like that? You were very nearly the death of me! And now you have the impertinence to ask after my health! Bah! I've a good mind to send you packing!"

  The words had hardly left his mouth when he whirled on the waiting butler and barked, "And you, you chuckle-headed creature, what are you standing there for? See that rooms are prepared for him!" His fiery glance swung to his grandson and he demanded, "Where are your valises and baggage? Don't tell me you travel that lightly!"

  Not a bit disturbed by the half-angry, half-conciliatory tone of voice, Christopher replied coolly, "I'm presently staying at Grillions, and before you make further plans I should warn you that I am not alone!"

  "Married, hey? Well, that's all to the good m'boy. Provided of course she's a good gel. I'll not have any custom-house goods brought into the house—your wife or not! But come! Come into my study!"

  One hand clutched Christopher's arm in a death grip, while the other pounded him heartily on the shoulders as Simon led him into his study. "Damn me, boy, but this is a most welcome surprise," he finally muttered as if the words were torn from deep inside him.

  Alone they stared at each other again. Christopher realized with pain that his grandfather had been totally unaware of his fate until this very moment, and he found himself at a curious loss for words. What does one say after almost fifteen years?

  Simon, too, was wondering much the same himself, but for the moment he had no need of words. He was content to feast his eyes on those beloved features, which he had feared he would never see again. And he was proud of what he saw. Thank God, the boy was safe, he thought. Safe and come home to me.

  Gruffly, concealing his deeper emotions, Simon commanded, "Sit down! Sit down! Don't just stand there towering over me!" He walked to a liquor cabinet in one corner and poured generous portions of fine French brandy into crystal snifters. Handing one to Christopher and seating himself, Simon demanded bluntly, "Well, now, you young jackanapes, tell me why you ran off like that. You must have known I'd get over my anger! Damn me, boy! If you could have waited, I would have explained matters to you."

  Startled, Christopher stared blankly at him. "Explained matters?"

  "Of course! Damnit, Christopher, what was I to do but go along with Adrian Ashford? There was Annabelle weeping all over us, swearing you had raped her. Adrian was ripe for murder, and I simply had to act as I did." There was a note of entreaty in the older man's voice. "I know I was harsh on you and you didn't deserve it." He paused as he intercepted Christopher's stunned look. "I had to say what I did to you—I couldn't very well tell Adrian that his wife was a liar and a spread-legged little slut, and that it was my son who was her lover, rather than my grandson!"

  Speechless, Christopher stared. At last he rasped, "You knew?"

  "Of course I knew! Oh, not that they planned to use you as a scapegoat. But I had been aware for some time that Robert had an alliance with Annabelle, and I knew that she was playing up to your calf love. I never suspected, though, that they intended to cuckold Adrian into believing that you were the man!" Regretfully, he added, "I certainly never suspected that you were to take the blame. I'll be honest... I was furious that day, with you for being such a romantic young fool, with Annabelle and Robert for creating the situation, and with myself for not having nipped their little plan in the bud." His eyes fixed with painful intensity on Christopher, he asked softly, "Was it so necessary for you to disappear like that? You must have realized that I would never have condemned you like that without first hearing your side—your side alone and in private. Why did you never in these past fifteen years let me know where you were? Didn't you think that I would care? Could you not know I would be half mad with fear?"

  It was the most awkward moment of Christopher's life; he was completely unable to justify himself. It was obvious that Simon had no inkling that Robert had literally almost sold him into slavery. Nor, it appeared, did his grandfather have any knowledge of his own attempt five years ago to reconcile the differences between them. As much as he hated and despised his uncle, he could not betray him to Simon. It simply was not in him to return like this to vilify Simon's only living son. Knowing the truth would nearly destroy the old man before him, Christopher made a grim decision—what was between him and Robert would remain private. Looking steadily into his grandfather's ey
es, a rueful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he lied, "I'm afraid, sir, that I took you at your word when you said you never wanted to see me again."

  Simon's face twisted with pain, and Christopher cursed his clumsy tongue. Earnestly he pleaded, "I beg you, sir, do not be distressed. It was my own folly that caused the entire situation, and I was in the devil's own temper when I left you. No one could have prevented me from doing what I did that day—even if you had called me back an instant later, I would not have heeded you. Don't blame yourself." Seeing some of the anguish fade from the lined face, Christopher continued on a lighter note, "It was for the best, you know. I did as many another young man and offered my services to the Navy. I must say that I have done rather well by my decision too—even if I have lived somewhat precariously at times."

  "The Navy, hey?" Simon snapped, as his eyes searched Christopher's face.

  Disliking himself intensely, Christopher answered blandly, "Why, yes. After I flung out of the house, I stormed into that little village beyond Beddington's Corner. And I happened to meet with several sailors on leave. Their life sounded so exciting that before I knew it, I had asked to join." Firmly he added, "And I have never regretted it, sir, except for the fact that I departed from you with such bitterness."

  Simon waved aside the attempted apology. "Enough! It is behind us and you are home again. A good thing, too," he growled, "You're my heir, don't forget. When I die, the title is yours and all that goes with it."

  Once again the thought occurred to Christopher that Robert may have had another more sinister motive in wishing for his disappearance and death. The entailed Saxon fortune was extremely large and not to be dismissed lightly. The title Baron of Saxony was an old and respected one, one that any man would be proud to hold... but would Robert kill for it?

  Christopher's expression gave no clue to his thoughts. He swiftly said, "I am too soon returned for us to talk of your death. I trust that it will be many years before I become Lord Saxon."

  Simon snorted, "Ha! Little you care, I could have died anytime these past years and you would have never known it! At least I can acquit you of being unduly interested in the state of my health!"

  Christopher merely grinned, knowing that Simon tended to hide what he really felt behind a crusty, sometimes rude, exterior. Simon would never have let Christopher know the extent of his emotions at the reappearance of his eldest grandchild. The nearest he could come were those half-apologetic statements concerning the events that had led to Christopher's departure and those reproachful questions about Christopher's whereabouts during the past years.

  Seeing Christopher's grin, Simon snapped, "If you're going to come back and just sit there grinning like some half-wit at a fair, well, I would just as soon you take yourself off again!"

  An uncontrollable crack of laughter greeted his words, and after an affronted second a reluctant smile curved Simon's lips. "Now stop that, you young devil, and tell me all!"

  Some of Christopher's amusement vanished, and rather hesitantly, taking care to stick to the truth when possible, he regaled his grandfather with his adventures. It was difficult in some places, especially trying to explain why, after eagerly joining the Navy, he had jumped ship and never returned to England.

  Simon obviously disapproved of the fact that Christopher had abandoned a naval career so easily. And Christopher, without implicating Robert, was powerless to excuse his actions. So he merely shrugged his broad shoulders and said, "I had served my time and in the process discovered that a British seaman's life was not for me."

  "And of course you never thought that I could have seen to it that you became an officer!" Simon retorted bitterly, "Damn it, Christopher! If you had written, just one word, I would have seen that you were properly placed. I tell you, it goes against the grain to think of a grandson of mine, my heir, as a mere seaman, when by now you could be a captain or even higher! A Saxon, the future Baron of Saxony, a lowly sailor! Disgraceful!"

  Idly, Christopher wondered how the old man would take the knowledge that not only had he been a lowly sailor, but a pirate as well! In the ensuing hours he cleverly wove a tale of ships and the sea, of winning a fortune in New Orleans, and of his desire to return home. Of his privateering, he passed over lightly, leaving the impression that the bulk of his wealth and land had come on the turn of the card—which in fact, a goodly portion had. And as fortunes passed thus every night in the exclusive gaming clubs to be found in Pall Mall, there was no shame attached to this.

  When he finished his story, Simon stared levelly at him for several unnerving seconds, and Christopher wondered how much of his tale his grandfather really believed.

  Actually, the only part that Simon felt was positively true was the portion dealing with the fortune won at cards; the rest, while telling himself it could be true, he reserved judgment on, for despite a gap of fifteen years, Simon detected an element of falseness in Christopher's account. But Simon was shrewd and kept his thoughts to himself, merely saying, "At least you've had the sense to come back home where you belong."

  It was on the tip of Christopher's tongue to point out that he was here only for a visit and that his home was now the plantation house in Louisiana. But it was unthinkable to say such a thing. He would have to wait, and trust that in time he could bring his grandfather to realize that he could not step back into his old life. Thankfully Simon said no more on that subject but turned to one just as delicate.

  "Now," Simon commanded, "I noticed you made no mention of your wife. Why?"

  Smiling disarmingly, Christopher murmured, "Because I have no wife, sir. I must explain my circumstances to you more fully."

  "Well, get on with it—don't dawdle!"

  So Christopher began to speak of the coincidental meeting with Mrs. Eggleston and Nicole Ashford, but he had barely mentioned Mrs. Eggleston's name when he noticed a peculiar expression on Simon's face.

  "Letitia Eggleston?" Simon demanded impatiently. "Letty, you know where she is?"

  Surprised, Christopher blurted out, "Letty? You mean Mrs. Eggleston?"

  "Damnit, of course I do! I never called her anything but Letty in my life! And if she hadn't been such a hot-tempered article that wouldn't listen to reason—" Simon broke off in mid-stride to glare at his mystified grandson. "Don't you be fooled by that butter wouldn't melt in her mouth air she affects! But if she hadn't been the most stubborn woman alive and if I hadn't been such an arrogant, hot-tempered young fool, she would have been your grandmother!"

  Staring dazedly at his grandfather, Christopher was thunderstruck at the notion that proper, sweet Mrs. Eggleston could have ever been called hot-tempered and that his fractious grandfather had once contemplated marrying her. He swallowed and asked faintly, "You were engaged to her?"

  "Yes. Damnit, haven't I just said so! But we had a god-awful row about something, and like a jingle-brained weanling, I took off in a pelter, vowing I would never see her again. Two weeks later, out of sheer spite, I offered for your grandmother. That, my boy, was the biggest mistake of my life!"

  Fascinated by this unknown piece of family history, Christopher prompted, "And?"

  Simon moved uncomfortably. "I never loved your grandmother, I'll not deny it, but people of our station seldom marry for love and I was good to her. But Letty was always the only woman for me." Angrily he muttered, "I could have throttled her, though, the day she married that court-cad Eggleston!"

  Bitterly, Simon stared at the untouched brandy snifter in his hand. "Don't you make the same mistake, boy! I've had to suffer because of my actions and probably caused a few other people to suffer along with me!"

  Christopher wisely remained silent. Simon, belately aware that he had unburdened himself to an abnormal degree, shot his silent grandson a chilling look, as if daring him to comment, and growled, "I dare say, this is all very boring to you, and truth to tell, it is! Now, tell me how you come to have Letty traveling with you."

  Christopher passed on the story that he had concoct
ed to explain just that situation. Simon heard him out in silence; not even Nicole Ashford's presence seemed to disconcert him.

  "So, the chit's been with Letty all this time," Simon muttered at the end of Christopher's story. "I wondered about that myself. Knew Letty was fond of the child and knew that aunt and uncle of hers were a pair of Newgate birds, the first and only time I met them! Now what's to do?" He peered at Christopher's deliberately bland face and snorted, "Want me to take 'em in, hey?"

  "If you will," Christopher replied promptly and truthfully. "It is not proper for me to continue to withhold Nicole's whereabouts from her guardians. And I know the instant they are notified, they will descend like locusts and no doubt incarcerate her in the country. Certainly they will not allow Mrs. Eggleston to accompany her."

  "No doubt. I can tell you this, m'boy—they're going to kick up a devil of a dust! They've been living for years on her fortune, everyone knows it. Even tried to have the gel declared dead last fall. But the courts denied it, said they'd have to wait until what would have been her majority, her twenty-first birthday, before making that decision. The uncle didn't like it, but the young cub, Edward was furious about it!" Simon gave a malicious chuckle. "Like to see his face when he finds out the chit's back!"

  Somewhat grimly, Christopher smiled. "He'll find that he has me to answer to, if he has any comments to make about it."

  Oh, ho, Simon thought with glee, sits the wind in that quarter. His eyes suddenly gleaming, Simon said, "It's too late this evening to bring the ladies, but first thing tomorrow I expect you three to be here."

  By God, Simon thought to himself after Christopher departed, but this was going to be most enjoyable. Christopher home, Letty with him, and the battle for the little Ashford gel for some spice. Gleefully he decided that outfoxing the Markhams would provide him with more amusement than he had experienced in years!