China Rose

by Marsha Canham

  "My God!" Lady Prudence was twisting her hands and fanning herself with a lace handkerchief. "Is no one safe on the roads anymore? Where were the patrols? Where were the soldiers we hear so much about but never see?"

  "Soldiers be damned," Ranulf spat through his teeth. "I would have given anything for a brace of pistols or a stout sword."

  "Here here," Sir Wilfred nodded emphatically.

  "Has something happened?" China whispered to Lady Prudence.

  "Happened?" The response was loud and shrill, slaying any hope that China could join the conversation quietly. "Happened? My dear girl, where have you been? Sir Ranulf has been robbed! His coach has been waylaid by thieves and your fiancé, along with his two menservants, bludgeoned to insensibility."

  "Robbed?" China's eyes widened and she turned to Ranulf.

  "Not two blessed miles from here," Sir Wilfred declared. "His purse was taken--how much did you say, Ranulf? Twenty pounds?"

  "Closer to thirty," Ranulf said over the rim of his glass.

  "Thirty pounds! By two ruffians who deliberately laid a trap for his carriage, then made off without a trace into the night."

  "Were you hurt, my lord?" China asked, blanching.

  "Only my pride." Ranulf drained the remaining whiskey from his glass and poured another. "The coach was stopped by one of the oldest tricks on earth...a tree limb across the road where the forest is a good fifty yards away on either side. I was robbed, humiliated, and made to look like an utter and complete fool, but no, I am not hurt."

  "That is quite the splendid egg you have on your forehead, brother mine," Eugene said. "I expect you'll be hearing jungle drums in your head come morning."

  Everyone's attention was drawn to the large swelling on his temple, the skin already discolored blue.

  "I am fine." He dismissed the lump gruffly. "Chambers and Hewitt are the ones who took the brunt of it, each with deep gashes and a cracked skull. If it wasn't for the carriage that came by soon after it happened, they might both have bled to death on that blasted road."

  "And you have no idea who it might have been?" Sir Wilfred queried.

  Ranulf shook his head and winced, touching his fingers to his forehead. "None. They wore capes and had masks over their faces. It was a dark stretch of the road, little traffic. They knew their business and planned it well." He glanced up as the curtain moved, seeming to notice Justin, for the first time, standing in the open doorway. "It could have been anyone...a friend...a brother." His gaze narrowed. "One of the thieves was standing close enough I could smell the cigar smoke on his breath, yet I could not see a single feature of his face."

  "I say, Justin." Eugene arched an eyebrow lazily. "You've not reverted to that profession, have you? That would, indeed, make for a gossipmonger's delight."

  Justin smiled and strolled across the room to help himself to a drink. "I assure you, I have much better ways to spend my evenings than galloping around the countryside in capes and masks."

  "Well it had to be someone who knew Ranulf would be on the road this time of night," Sir Wilfred ventured. "Someone who knew enough to set the trap and lie in wait."

  Ranulf's eyes were still fixed on Justin. "I would be interested to hear how you have been spending your evening. The last, say, hour or two in particular."

  "Me?" Justin looked affronted. "You can't be serious."

  "I am very serious," Ranulf said over a sudden, ominous hush.

  A faint ruddiness crept up beneath Justin's tanned complexion and he appeared to hesitate uncomfortably. He looked around the room, at the faces staring at him, then back to his brother Ranulf. "If you are insisting, then I would have to confess...that I was strolling in the garden with Miss Grant."

  All eyes that had been focused breathlessly on Justin now swiveled toward China and she gasped. It took several moments for the words to register on Sir Ranulf's face, but when they did, his complexion turned a sullen, angry red.

  "You were what?"

  "Walking with Miss Grant," Justin said again as his own gaze turned and locked on China's. "In the garden. We were discussing roses, among other things. All quite innocent and brotherly, I can assure you. As can she, if you care to question her character as well as mine."

  Justin's voice was smooth, his manner calm. There was no hint of a threat there and yet China saw the shadow in the gray of his eyes, the unspoken reminder that they had just been exchanging more than casual embraces in the garden.

  "Is this true?" Ranulf asked her. "Were you with Justin this evening?"

  This evening! This evening! He was making it sound as if they had spent the entire night together. Lady Berenger-Whyte's mouth had dropped open. Eugene's eyebrows had arched to his hairline, and Lord Wilfred was dabbing at the whiskey he had spluttered over his chin.

  Obviously she was not alone in the misinterpretation.

  She glanced at Justin, but he was still watching her, waiting for her reply.

  She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and slowly nodded. "I...I was with him in the garden, yes, but--"

  "Dammit!" Ranulf slammed his glass down and glared at Justin. "Is it not enough that you use the rest of this family, this entire household, for your own pleasures and whims? Have you no sense of propriety?"

  "You're overreacting a little, are you not?" Justin asked dryly. "After all, she is about to become my sister-in-law. She can hardly avoid me altogether, now or in the future."

  "She could if you were not here. If you and that accursed ship and its accursed captain were to sail out of port and never return."

  "Believe me, Ran," Justin said quietly, "as soon as the Reunion is fitted out and her cargo bays are full, Captain Savage will be only too happy to oblige."

  "If I thought there was a chance that ship would sail to hell and stay there, I would personally arrange to speed her on her way."

  "The captain will be relieved to hear that. He was under the growing impression you were doing your utmost to keep him confined to port."

  "Was he now? Worried enough to have two of his thugs stop me on the road tonight?"

  Justin set his untouched glass on the sideboard. The small vein throbbing in his temple was the only indication of the control it was taking to contain his temper. "If he had such intentions, and if he had, indeed, dispatched two of his crewmen to carry them out, you might well not be standing here now."

  Ranulf stiffened. "You press your luck with me, Justin. This is my house and you are but a guest here."

  "Are you asking me to leave?"

  "I am telling you--to stay away from my fiancée. I will tolerate no more late night socials in the library, no more strolls in the gardens, no more sly innuendos at my dinner table that test me to the very edge of my patience." He turned his anger on China. "As for your behavior thus far, madam, I find it disappointing and lacking good judgment. I shall assume it is due to your very different and uncultured upbringing, but there too, my tolerance has it's limits. You would be well advised not to strain it further. And now--" his glance swept the others, --"if you will excuse me, I have business to tend to. Eugene, I want to see you in my study. Sir Wilfred, Lady Prudence...my apologies for any distress this has caused you. I bid you goodnight."

  He strode from the room with Eugene following close behind.

  The silence, when the door clicked shut behind them, was deafening. Justin stared after his departed brothers as if he could see through the walls and down the gallery hall. Sir Wilfred shifted his bulk from one foot to the other and harrumphed softly into his hand. He harrumphed again, louder, in an attempt to win his wife's attention.

  "I suggest perhaps we should all retire for the evening?"

  "But we have not yet eaten," Lady Prudence pointed out, sufficiently recovered to think of practical matters.

  "We shall have a plate sent up to our rooms," Sir Wilfred suggested. "Miss Grant, would that be acceptable to you?"

  China neither moved nor made a sound. The flush was high in her cheeks, her skin wa
s burning from the humiliation. She could feel Justin's eyes on her but she refused to acknowledge him.

  She stood and walked toward the door.

  "Miss Grant?"

  She paused with her hand on the doorknob and turned toward Sir Wilfred's voice. "I'm afraid you will have to excuse me," she said quietly. "The night air has brought on a...sudden headache."

  She left the room with as much dignity as the tears stinging in her eyes would allow. She did not slow down or look back as the voices called out to her; she hurried along the gallery and up the stairs, her fists lifting her skirts in front, crushing the folds of silk. When she was safely ensconced in her own room, she twisted the key in the door then flung it into the midst of the little bottles and pots on her dressing table. She stared at the mirror, at her own reflection, amazed to see how the constant diet of anger and frustration had altered her features in one short week.

  She bit her lip to stop its trembling and walked into the adjoining dressing room. She locked that door as well, having no wish to be disturbed by Tina or any other maid. She knew her trunks and hatboxes had been stored somewhere else in the house, but she flung open the wide doors of the enormous armoire, hoping she might find a satchel or carpetbag that she could use to pack a few of her necessities.

  In the next sobbed breath, she closed the doors again and leaned her back against them, knowing full well that running away was a childish reaction and would not accomplish anything other than to prove to Sir Ranulf Cross that she was little better than an ignorant country bumpkin.

  She started pulling pins and combs out of her hair, loosening the tight chignon with long, furious raking motions. She washed her face in the basin, taking particular care with her mouth and neck to scrub away any lingering traces of Justin Cross's caresses. Tina had already laid out a nightgown and, after struggling through fresh tears to unlace herself from the confines of her dress and underpinnings, China pulled the airy garment over her head, thankful that she could at least breathe freely now.

  She began brushing her hair in the dressing room but finished in the main chamber, where the brush also ended up in a crash of jars and pots alongside the brass door key.

  "I hope you are not imagining that to be me."

  China gasped and whirled in the direction of the voice.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Justin Cross sat on the brocaded divan on the far side of the room, his long legs stretched out and propped on the matching footrest.

  China looked from the shadowy figure to the locked door and back.

  "What are you doing in here? How did you get in?"

  Justin held up a cautionary hand. "You might want to keep your voice to a dull screech. The svelte Lady Berenger-Whyte is still prowling the halls like a bloodhound in search of food."

  "Why...are...you...here? What more do want from me!" She drew a breath that was a half sob. "Do you know what Ranulf would do if he found you in here? You heard what he said downstairs! What more could you possibly want from me?"

  She had been backing away, step by step, with each blurted sentence. The volume in her voice had gone down, but not the level of anger and frustration. Tears flooded her eyes and splashed onto her cheeks with each blink; her hands twisted together and she was trembling so badly, the sheer cloth of her nightdress was quivering.

  "I came to make sure you were all right, and from the look of it, it is a good thing I did." He stood and stretched out a hand gently. "Come over here and sit by the fire, you're shaking like a leaf."

  "If I am shaking it's because I want you out of here. It's because you forced me to lie for you and I never lie. Never!"

  "It wasn't exactly a lie though, was it? We were in the garden."

  "For far less than two hours. You had mud on your boots. Your coat and shirt were askew, and your hair was...was..." she gestured with her hand, but there no words at her disposal to describe the windswept dishevelment that had initially made the breath catch in her throat.

  She covered her face and the half sobs turned whole. Justin was by her side in three long strides, gathering her into his arms as gently as he would a child. He held her while her shoulders shook and her tears soaked a great wet patch on his shirt.

  China was aware of his hands smoothing down her hair, of his lips pressing into the dark tousle of curls, and his voice murmuring words she could not hear through her own distress. She knew she should push away. Hit him. Slap him for this further insolence, but his arms were tight around her and his body was so warm, so comforting. And though she could not understand the why or how of it, she felt oddly safe for the first time since her arrival at Braydon Hall.

  In the end, it was only the realization that there was only the gauze-like thinness of her nightdress between his hands and her flesh that made her gather her wits together and extricate herself from the circle of his arms.

  "Feel better?" he asked, producing a linen handkerchief. Since she now held her hands self-consciously across her chest, he used the kerchief to blot the tears off her cheeks. In another step, he had fetched her shawl off the floor where she had discarded it earlier, and placed it around her shoulders.

  "Now come and sit by the fire. You're shaking like a leaf."

  "If I am it is because of you."A series of lingering sniffles broke some of her words in half. "I don't k-know what to be-lieve anymore. I'm fine until you come a-around me, then everyth-thing goes wrong. Half the t-time I don't even realize what has hap-pened until I'm in the thick of it and it's t-too late and by then everything and every-one has turned against me."

  Justin steered her toward a chair by the fire. "Well, I haven't turned against you. Not yet, anyway."

  "Oh fine." She snatched the handkerchief out of his hand and used it to blow her nose. "That should count immeasurably in my defense, to know I have the support of...of a thief and bounder."

  Justin's gray eyes were steady on hers. "You have need of a defense?"

  "You know damned well I do...or will. It's called being an accomplice, unless I am mistaken, to know a crime has been committed and to keep silent about it when you know who the guilty party is? Or do you think I am blind as well as naive?"

  "I never thought you were naive. But as I have said before, you are far too trusting for your own good, and that could get you into a lot of trouble around here."

  "Not around here," she corrected with a final sniffle. "Just around you. You should have tossed the cape away somewhere on the road."

  "A cape is a cape," he said with a shrug.

  "And a hood is a hood? Is that why you were hiding both of them in the bushes when I walked past? And is that why you tried to distract me by taking me into the rose garden?"

  Justin sighed. "I thought you might have seen, but I wasn't sure."

  "Of course I saw, I--"

  Her words were muffled as his hand shot out and clamped firmly across her mouth. China's eyes rounded until she heard it too. The tread of a footstep out in the hallway, then a cautious rattle. As if someone was testing the lock on her bedroom door.

  She looked up at Justin, who nodded and relaxed his hand, easing it away, then raised a forefinger to his lips.

  "Mrs. Biggs," she whispered.

  He nodded again and crossed noiselessly to the door. He listened intently at the crack, his body tense and motionless until he was certain the footsteps had faded away down the outer hallway. China was not too engrossed in the drama to note how he had instinctively sidestepped the area of floor at the foot of the bed that would have squeaked under his weight.

  When he returned to the hearth, she stood and lashed out hard, striking him fully on the cheek with her balled up fist.

  "It was you!" she cried, swinging her arm back to strike again. "It was you creeping around my room."

  "Hold up there! Hold it, I say! What in damnation are you talking about?"

  "You knew exactly where not to step to make the floorboards squeak."

  "Of course I know--I said hold it!--" He grasped both of h
er wrists and wrestled them against his chest before she could strike again. "This used to be my room, for God sakes. I should know where all the squeaks and creaks are."

  China's breath left her lungs on a rush. "What? What did you just say?"

  "Your hearing is excellent, Miss. I said this used to be my room. It wasn't whitewashed and did not have lace curtains and frilly bed coverings, but it was my room for over twenty-five years."

  "Your room," she said again, drawing her hands slowly out of his.

  "Indeed. And in case your mind imagines another nefarious plot, there was no particular scheme involved in my taking the chamber across the hall. When I saw this one had been transformed into a nightmare of femininity, I simply took the nearest one that had clean sheets."

  She studied his face intently for several long moments and decided he was telling the truth. Her gaze dropped to the reddening mark on his cheek, a perfect imprint of her hand.

  "I am sorry," she murmured.

  "Don't be." He grinned and rubbed his jaw. "You have a good right hook there."

  "Do not try to change the subject. If you have come to thank me for saving your neck, please don't waste the breath. If you will recall, I was not allowed to finish what I started to say, and for all you know, I was about to tell your brother exactly where to look to find your cape and hood."

  "But you weren't. And you didn't."

  She huffed out another breath and sat down again. "No. I didn't. But I probably should have. Your own family seems to think there is every good reason to lock you away forever. And so far, you've done nothing to disprove the fact that you are not a gentleman and certainly not to be trusted."

  "The two are not always entwined. Although, considering the first occasion when we met, and even now, with you dressed in that fetching little veil of nothing...the fact I have refrained from even staring too closely, should demonstrate a certain amount of...shall we call it...reserve."

  She drew the shawl tighter around her shoulders. "Would you call it reserve to admit to having a young lady in your bedroom?"

  "But this is your bedroom now."