by Lady Vixen
Having decided to leave in September, he wondered with real distress how he was going to tell his grandfather. He could not sail out to sea without a word, slinking away like a dog in the night.
He would have liked to banish the idea of the coming departure just as he had his unwelcome thoughts of Nicole, but this was something that had to be faced. Displeased by the trend of his musings, impatiently he threw a pebble into the foaming surf and wished he could dispose of his troubles as easily.
He could not say casually, "I've had a nice visit with you, grandfather, but now I must return to New Orleans." Hardly! No solution presented itself, and after a while, frustrated and growing angry, he gave it up—-when the time came he would think of something—he had to!
The long walks along the beach with only the murmuring surf and occasional gull wheeling overhead had been good for him. The sea wind blew out the fumes of too many nights spent drinking in smoke-filled rooms, the hot sun intensified the bronze of his skin, and his eyes lost that world-weary cast that had been evident of late.
One week became two and Christopher found himself curiously loath to return to the noise and crowds of London. He and Higgins had been alone and undisturbed the entire time, except for Higgins's necessary trips to Rottingdean to replenish their food supplies. The tiny cottage had been kept as meticulously as his captain's quarters on La Belle Garce.
But at the end of the second week, the wound a thin red line of which he was hardly conscious, Christopher made the decision to return to London. With a definite date now for departure fixed firmly in his mind, he felt a compelling need to make that last attempt to turn his ill-fated mission into a success.
Arriving at his lodgings in London at dusk the next day, Christopher found a pile of notes, cards, and invitations waiting for him. He glanced disinterestedly through a few and then shrugged his shoulders. After dinner he would discover if there was anything that merited his attention. He took a leisurely bath, and then wearing only a brocade dressing robe, he sat down to one of his landlady's excellent meals. A cigar and a glass of brandy polished it off nicely, and it was only then that his attention turned again to the pile of correspondence lying on the corner of a mahogany sideboard. Consequently it wasn't until after ten o'clock that he discovered Nicole's message.
Frowning, he reread it. What the devil did it mean? As he stared at the signature, his frown deepened. He could think of only one reason for her to have signed it "Nick." Whatever she had to see him about must concern Captain Saber. And the damned note was two weeks old!
He tossed aside his half-smoked cigar, and calling impatiently for Higgins, he began to dress hurriedly. In an astonishingly short time he was on his way to Cavendish Square. But to his frustration his quarry was not at home. Miss Ashford, he was informed by Twickham, was attending an assembly at Almack's with Lady Darby and Mrs. Eggleston.
Cursing under his breath, Christopher sped down the steps, glancing at his watch. Not yet eleven; with luck he would make it to King Street before the doors were shut firmly against latecomers. No one was admitted after eleven p.m.—not even the great Wellington himself. Fortunately he was wearing knee breeches, for it was an inflexible rule that only knee breeches were acceptable. More than one mortified gentleman in pantaloons had been loftily turned away at the door.
Christopher made it to Almack's by one minute to the hour. Leaving off his hat and gloves, he entered the ballroom an instant later, his gaze searching for Nicole's auburn head. He found her easily enough as she stood near one end of the ballroom surrounded by a bevy of admirers. Her bare shoulders were pale apricot above a gown of dull gold silk with an overdress of spangled gauze. The blazing chandelier overhead brought to life the fiery glimmer of her sable hair.
For a long moment Christopher stared at her across the length of the ballroom, his intent gaze occasionally obscured by the constantly shifting kaleidoscope of women in bright silk and satin gowns and gentlemen with white starched cravats and velvet jackets. With something like shock he realized for the first time that Nicole was more than just a tantalizing wench who had haunted his dreams against his will. And the unpleasant thought occurred to him again, that he had been a fool to put her out of his reach. But then he shrugged—women were women. Yet even as that cynical premise crossed his mind, he noted Robert standing by her side, laughing into Nicole's upturned face, and his eyes narrowed. His nostrils flared like those of a tiger about to defend its territory against an encroaching marauder; a swift and powerful emotion swept through his body. He did not recognize the emotion; he only knew that he wanted his arms around that tempting baggage, and he wanted her away from Robert.
With a long, determined stride he quickly stalked across the ballroom floor and approached Nicole just as Robert was about to lead her onto the floor for a waltz that was beginning. A mocking gleam deep in the gold eyes, Christopher deliberately blocked their way and, after bowing politely, murmured, "My dance, I believe!" And before Robert or Nicole could guess his intentions, he swept Nicole out onto the ballroom floor.
The unexpectedness of his appearance, as well as the feel of that familiar hand around her waist as they danced to the lilting music, made Nicole's heart thud with short, rapid strokes, a fact she was instantly fearful that Christopher would discover. But then meeting the audacious twinkle in the thick-lashed eyes staring into hers, she couldn't control a spurt of genuine laughter. A hint of amusement in her husky voice, she scolded, "Christopher, how could you! Robert will be furious!"
With a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, Christopher shrugged his shoulders as they whirled down the polished floor. "What do I care, as long as you are not angry. Are you?"
Puzzled, she looked up into the dark, handsome features just above her. There was something about him tonight that was different, something she couldn't put a name to, and as she continued to gaze at him, an odd expression flickered momentarily in his eyes, making her suddenly giddy. "No," she said at last. "No, I'm not." And she smiled up at him so sunnily and naturally that Christopher felt a queer, startling leap in his veins, and he muttered thickly, "When you smile like that at me, it's fortunate we are in the midst of a crowd or I'm afraid I would not be responsible for my actions."
Feeling lighthearted, Nicole sent him a demure glance from under her long, curling lashes. "Oh? Pray what do you mean?" she teased. Her breathlessness increased at the glitter that flared in his eyes, and she looked away in confusion as Christopher's grip tightened momentarily. But then recalling that they were waltzing in the sacred precincts of Almack's, he relaxed and smiled lazily.
"You know very well what I mean, minx! Sharpen your claws on someone else!" he said evenly, although the bright gleam was still in his eyes.
They danced in silence for a moment, Nicole very aware of his body moving in effortless rhythm with hers. He held her hand lightly in his clasp and his touch was sure and deft at her waist. As they waltzed around the room Nicole was suddenly beset by memories of those hands, hard and caressing, moving over her body, and unconsciously she stiffened. As if reading her thoughts, Christopher said softly, "Relax. I don't intend to pounce upon you." Adding dryly, "You're safe enough, here!"
Unable to help it, she shot back tartly, "But not, I fear, in your grandfather's conservatory!"
Christopher's face tightened; his expression was cool and mocking as he answered readily enough, "You always had a quick tongue, Nick. I seem to recall, though," he continued crushingly, "that you didn't exactly repulse me that day."
Nicole swallowed painfully, torn between rage and shame. Not meeting his derisive eyes, she hissed, "Why do you remind me of what we had both best forget?"
"Because," he snarled savagely, "I can't forget it! You're a devil of a temptation," he went on in a hard voice, "to any man, and for all my faults I am very definitely a man!"
Both of them were disconcerted by his vehement words. Christopher looked away, appalled at the admission, and asked abruptly, "Why did you want to see me?"<
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"Jennings-Smythe from that English packet you took last year is here in London!"
Christopher betrayed no surprise, although his eyebrows drew together in a slight frown, but then aware of the eyes on them as they danced, he appeared unworried. His voice was crisp as he asked, "Are you certain?"
Nicole nodded vigorously, oblivious to those who might be watching. "Oh, yes!" Then suddenly recalled to the danger of the situation, she gripped his hand tightly. "He is here tonight, Christopher. I saw him earlier."
He appeared unmoved by her disclosures, and she could have slapped him for his indifference. For the benefit of any onlookers, she smiled at him and said through clenched teeth, "He may recognize you, as Saber, have you thought of that?"
"No. But you obviously have. Do you think he will denounce me? If he does, you should enjoy it! What a revenge you will have then, watching them drag me away in chains. There is, I think, still a price on my head. Why, you might be able to collect it for yourself!"
"Oh, be quiet!" she snapped, hating and loving him at the same time. Almost pleadingly she raised her eyes to meet his sardonic stare. "Christopher, be careful. Jennings-Smythe is here tonight, can't you understand that? And if he were to see you and realize who you are, you would be dragged away in chains!"
"And would you care?" he asked gently, his eyes holding hers steadily. All her hard-won composure, her infatuation for Robert crumbled in an instant, as she thought painfully, it would be heaven to admit, yes! Yes! I would die if something happened to you! But caution checked her passion, helped her fight her instincts, as she replied carelessly, "Well, it would be awkward, you know. After all, if you were arrested, someone might wonder at my connection with you."
His face froze, his eyes were suddenly icy.
"Oh, Christopher . . ." she said contritely, hating herself for disrupting their intimacy, wishing she had bitten her tongue before telling such a brazen lie. But the damage was done, and as the waltz ended he promptly returned her to Robert and bowed without a word. As he turned, he looked back at her and said, "Thank you again for telling me of Lieutenant Jennings-Smythe's presence. I must go and make his acquaintance!"
Frightened by Christopher's recklessness, conscious only of danger, she said sharply, "Don't be a fool!"
But Christopher only smiled, not a nice smile, and walked away, leaving Nicole feeling at once furious and scared half silly. The stubborn ox-headed jackass! she thought with a quiver of fury. But her anguished heart screamed silently, "Oh, for God's sake, Christopher, don't!"
There was no stopping him, though, and uncaring that Robert was staring at her with open speculation, she watched with dull misery as Christopher sought out an introduction to Jennings-Smythe. Nicole's hands clenched and her body went rigid with anxiety, as she watched a smiling Christopher shake hands with the slightly startled Jennings-Smythe.
Nicole could not hear what was said, but it seemed that her apprehension and terror had been unnecessary. Jennings-Smythe did not recognize the tall, lithe gentleman standing so negligently before him.
Incensed and yet relieved, Nicole looked away at last. Robert Saxon, upon whom nothing had gone unnoticed, remarked carefully, "My nephew appears to have upset you."
She sensed that it was imperative to turn Robert's attention away from what had passed between her and Christopher, but she was too distraught to think of anything to say. But then realizing that as Robert stared, others were doing the same thing, she gathered her twisted emotions together and sent him a blinding smile. "Oh, fudge! I'll admit though, that your nephew is outrageously arrogant. Imagine, whisking me away in that manner, he is so droll!"
Robert subjected her to a probing stare, but Nicole had a tight rein on herself once again and her unconcerned countenance allayed his jealously. But with the knowledge burning in his brain that Nicole was meant to marry Christopher, it was all he could do not to ask her outright if there was in fact a match between her and Christopher. He knew that a crowded ballroom was hardly the place for that kind of conversation, and he was certain that Regina would be bearing down on them any second, so he lightly changed the subject.
Nicole was almost unbearably thankful when Lady Darby swept up to her a moment later and suggested in a tone that brooked no argument that they leave. Meekly Nicole followed her from the ballroom. At Cavendish Square she declined a proffered cup of chocolate and retreated to the privacy of her room.
If she was distracted and uncommunicative, Mauer thought nothing of it as she helped her undress. Miss probably had a headache and would be her usual spirited self in the morning. Alone, attired in a soft cambric nightdress, Nicole prowled unhappily throughout her rooms; sleep eluded her as her thoughts raced angrily around her brain.
What a damned bloody fool he was to court danger so blatantly, she decided scornfully. And she was a fool to have worried over him. Let him hang! I'll dance under his gibbet with glee, she promised, her eyes bright with temper and unshed tears.
While Nicole fumed in her rooms, Christopher was beating a rapid retreat from Almack's. After his first rush of black, savage anger at Nicole's provoking prattle, he knew that by seeking out Jennings-Smythe he was courting danger. However, approaching Jennings-Smythe at a moment when he was prepared and the other man was not had been the wisest course open to him. But having made his acquaintance and remained unscathed, he intended to avoid that young man in the future.
He was fairly certain that Jennings-Smythe had not recognized him. But given time it was probable that he would connect the privateer Captain Saber with the London Christopher Saxon, and Christopher wanted no part of the denouement that would follow.
The hour was late, but the idea of sleep was not particularly appealing, and searching for a way to pass the time, he sought out Buckley and Kettlescope.
After a fruitless search of several clubs, he found the two of them in Kettlescope's lodgings. There were two members of the Horse Guards with them, and the four were rather the worse for drink.
Kettlescope regarded him with a bleary eye and offered him a glass of wine. Though resigned to joining them, Christopher drank his wine with little enjoyment. But his distaste for the scene vanished and his eyes narrowed in concentration when Buckley muttered, "Been celebrating—Kettlescope's going to sea!"
"Really? Where are you off to?" Christopher asked indifferently.
Kettlescope gave him a sleepy grin. "Thash a secret! But I'm to report for duty and hold m'self in readiness!"
Buckley, holding his liquor excellently, snickered, "A pony to a monkey, you're off for America! Everyone knows we're launching another offensive."
A beefy member of the Horse Guards piped in sagely, "No one knows yet who'll lead the attack, but I've heard that Wellington turned it down and that Pakenham is hoping to escape the American campaign. It's anyone's guess who'll be the commander in chief."
Staring into his wine, Christopher murmured dryly, "I wonder if anyone really knows anything about the American attack. I've heard for months that one is planned, but no one seems to know for certain when or where." Smiling disarmingly, he added, "I think my friends, you were just looking for an excuse to get blind drunk!"
"Not so!" Buckley growled disagreeably. "I tell you, I saw the memorandum by accident on Major Black's desk yesterday."
"Oh, yes, another famous memorandum!" Christopher mocked, but his eyes were alert and his thoughts racing. Buckley was just drunk enough to be indiscreet, and the conversation had sprung up so naturally and opportunely that Christopher couldn't tamp down the certainty that tonight he would learn something.
"It's true! It was all there, the troops, the destination, and the date!"
"Really?" Christopher asked, his disbelief plain. "If that is so, which I doubt, my friend, suppose you tell us what it said."
Buckley opened his mouth, then shut it with a snap. "That's secret information," he muttered, recalling himself. "I shouldn't have mentioned it."
"Exactly!" Christopher agreed. Then
almost as an afterthought he said, "But if Major Black leaves this memorandum lying about so carelessly, it's surprising that it hasn't been lost."
One of the Horse Guards laughed. "God, Saxon, that's rich! The War Office is always losing their damned precious memorandums. One was lost just a month ago concerning a supply shipment needed in a bloody rush, and it took them almost two weeks to find it! In the meantime one of the ranking officers was screaming it had been stolen. Very embarrassed he was when it turned up in a file on his desk!"
Christopher joined in the ripple of amusement, but inwardly he cursed the interruption. Without being obvious he had to get back to that damned memorandum. It was the first real piece of evidence he'd heard of since he'd been in England, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let it slip by. Laughter crinkled his eyes as he said idly, "Well, let us hope Major Black's memorandum doesn't suffer a similar fate!"
And his luck was riding high as Buckley took the bait. "Ha! Not bloody likely! The major now has it locked up tight as a virgin in a nunnery!"
"Oh?" Christopher queried sardonically. "I seem to remember that more than one blushing virgin went missing from some of those old stone nunneries."
Buckley smiled patronizingly. "That may be, but in this case our little virgin is locked up tightly in an iron safe in the major's office!"
Apparently losing interest, Christopher shrugged and said, "Perhaps so, my friend. Perhaps so."
He forced himself to remain for another hour, laughing and drinking, but he was already working on a plan. Walking slowly toward his lodgings in the predawn hours he knew he was going to steal that memorandum. Steal it, and soon. But not too soon, he thought with frustration, remembering unpleasantly that September thirtieth would be the date of the next American ship.