An Officer but No Gentleman (2 page)

Chapter Three

Grahame couldn’t recall the last time he’d enjoyed ruffling someone’s feathers quite so much. He whistled a little tune atop his big bay stallion, Aramis, as London disappeared behind them. Miss Bagshaw had shown a surprising amount of fire this morning when faced with his dictatorial orders regarding an early departure.

True, it would have been easier if she’d meekly acquiesced. Meek acquiescence was always easier but a lot less fun. It was also true that she lived up to his expectations, or down, depending on how one looked at them. She was a diplomat’s daughter, haughty and used to getting her own way. When she’d stared him down with green eyes, hard as emerald shards, he knew he’d been right on that account. But she’d done more than stare in anger. She’d also stared in interest.

He’d not been oblivious to the gaze that had followed him up the stairs. Over the years, he’d come to know when a woman wanted him. He’d also come to know when things could be allowed to progress that far. This was
not
one of those jobs. This was not escorting a notorious widow to a ball or accompanying a lonely woman to the opera while her husband was out of town. Elowyn Bagshaw fit into neither of the usual categories. She was a diplomat’s daughter.

It was a pity, really. Her demeanor suggested she was a passionate woman by nature, a woman who had not reached her mid-twenties without some experimentation. The realization wasn’t all that surprising considering her extensive travel and the fact other countries had more lenient outlooks on female sexual purity—outlooks he personally favored. He could well imagine all that carefully coiffed chestnut hair of hers falling over naked shoulders, candlelight limning her curves in provocative shadows as she sat astride her lover. Of course, her lover would have to be a man who could take that attitude of hers in hand or she’d never respect him. Respect was just as essential in bed as it was elsewhere.

Grahame shifted uncomfortably in the saddle against the pressure of a growing arousal. His little fantasy had brought on a rather awkward erection. It was not a pleasant way to ride. He turned in his saddle and surveyed the road behind him for distraction, anything to keep his mind off more prurient subjects. The five wagons of goods stretched out at decent intervals and were keeping up but the going was slow. Caravans were always slow. At this rate it would take two days to reach Dover. It would put their arrival on Thursday night. They could sail on Friday, just ahead of the reported storm front.

Grahame drummed an impatient hand on his thigh. When he had thought of all the inconveniences that would manifest themselves on the journey to Vienna, he’d not counted celibacy among them. He’d been hired for her safety, not her seduction. Never mind that she had a siren’s own body and a caramel cascade of Rapunzel-esque hair that would drive any man mad. She was not in the job description and he’d do well to remember it. A woman like her never would be. Single women of her background had expectations of their men like titles, wealth, social standing, none of which he had to offer. Elowyn Bagshaw was off-limits.

The captain was technically off-limits but that didn’t stop her eye, or her maid’s, she noted, from wandering to the coach window on frequent occasion to view the masculine scenery. Elowyn had come to the conclusion long ago that she was a woman who liked men and there was no point in pretending otherwise. However, there was always a point in being judicious with one’s behavior. Her first lover, a French
vicomte
of incomparable charm, had chosen her, but
she
had chosen the other two—an Italian count and a Russian prince, both of whom had understood the discretion and sophistication required of a successful physical affair. They’d also understood the need for brevity in such circumstances. Nothing lasted forever. She preferred it that way. Control was essential. Brevity was essential. Possession, however, was not. In fact, possession, in most cases, had a tendency to undermine the other two.

Elowyn glanced back out the window. Would the captain understand that? He was a man of the world. He’d seen much of Europe with the military. With his rank, he’d have been invited to balls and parties. He would have met women who would have welcomed a short dalliance with a strong, attractive officer. Yet she did not have the impression it was a world to which he’d been born.

Outside, the captain kicked his horse into a trot. Elowyn bit the knuckle of her thumb. If he was half as good in bed as he was on that horse, he’d be magnificent. “Do you think the captain is out of bounds, Annie?”

Her maid looked up from her knitting with a knowing smile. “He’s a fine figure of a man, miss. The way he hauled those trunks downstairs this morning drew more than a couple of eyes.”

“That wasn’t my question.” Elowyn grinned and nudged Annie’s toe playfully with her boot. “Do you think he’s open to a little sport?”

“Of course. He’s a man, isn’t he? Which of them isn’t?” Annie laughed. “The question is who with? I don’t think you can expect him to make any opening overtures if he’s a man of honor and if he’s not, then you’re better off without him, no matter how well he rides.”

Elowyn tapped her index finger against her lips in thought. That had been her assessment, too. “Then it’s up to me to make the first move.” That suited her just fine. Making the first move gave one a certain modicum of control from the very start, the power to define the course of the relationship and set the rules. Although, she supposed that hot stare he’d given her on the steps could have counted as his opening salvo.

She was already mentally choosing possible gowns. Tonight at supper would be the perfect opportunity to make her intentions known, but not before she had a little payback for the upheaval he’d caused this morning. She didn’t want to reward him for usurping her authority. If she was too easy he’d never respect her and she’d give away the control she valued so much in a relationship. By her estimate, they had two more hours before they’d stop for the evening. Just enough time to plan a perfect welcome reception for the captain.

She was all regal authority when she descended from the coach into the noisy yard at the inn. Elowyn had taken great efforts to appear as perfectly pressed and coiffed as she had that morning. She and Annie had put her traveling case to good use those last two hours to ensure she captured the captain’s eye. A tired and mussed appearance drew no one’s eye. He was over by the horses, holding their heads and talking with the driver. Ah, good, he saw her. She had his attention now. It was time for step two, a little harmless revenge.

Elowyn marshaled her troops with a gesture of her hand, the merest tilt of her head, issuing orders that left no misunderstanding as to who was in charge of this little expedition. “I’ll need those two trunks. Annie, follow them up so I know the trunks get to my room. Then I’ll need a bath set up right away and my sheets on the bed.” She turned to the driver, “Christopher, see that the horses are rubbed down and have an extra ration tonight. We want to leave early in the morning.”

That did the trick. Orders about the horses had infringed on his territory directly. The captain was by her side immediately. His hand took up proprietary residence at the small of her back, sending hot spears of excitement through her, his quick-silver eyes glinting with displeasure, but not entirely. Not too far off limits then, Elowyn thought smugly. He could be swayed with the right inducements.

He propelled her toward the common room, his head bent toward her, his mouth close to her ear in a way that suggested familiarity and intimacy to onlookers, a lover’s gesture, his words for her alone. But his words were not lover’s words. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Elowyn gave him a coy smile. “That is the burning question of the day, isn’t it?”

Chapter Four

Grahame knew very well what she was doing. He had no doubt her show was for his benefit, a payback for usurping her authority this morning. But payback or not, it was garnering the wrong kind of attention from the wrong kind of men as they made their way across the crowded inn yard, and it made Grahame uneasy. Not every eye in the place belonged to a gentleman he’d classify as reputable, or even as a gentleman, for that matter. “You’re a bit spoiled, I’d say.”

“You’re a little close, I’d say.” Elowyn tossed her head and tried to move away but he held fast. He knew what these men were thinking. A man who couldn’t stand up to a woman wasn’t a man at all. If he backed down, it would be nothing short of blood in the water. Elowyn would be fair game for any man there. He knew what Elowyn was thinking, too; she could handle them. She’d be wrong.

He ushered her through the door to the public room, regretting his decision to pass up the inn in the town an hour back in lieu of this one. This inn was well positioned for staging tomorrow’s journey and it was an inn he knew, at least he thought he did. He didn’t recall it having such a rough clientele the last few times he’d stayed here.

“Two trunks? Is such excess really necessary?” He kept his voice low at her ear, hoping to prove to those about them she belonged to him. She smelled good, like lemongrass and wildflowers, even after a long day in a coach. Grahame shot a hard look at the two men lounging near the door who hadn’t quite taken the hint yet. Lucifer’s balls, crossing that yard had been nothing short of charging through a battlefield facing enemy fire. He gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim interior only to discover it was very much a case of “out of the frying pan and into the fire.” The room was noisy and crowded, full of rough working men, not all of whom, Grahame guessed, were legally employed. “We’ll hardly be here twelve hours.”

“One is for bedding,” Elowyn said as if that excused the need for two trunks.

“In case you didn’t know, one usually uses a man for that.”

“Are you always this audacious?” She snapped.

“Me? I’m not the one announcing to all and sundry I will be naked in my room shortly.”

Emerald eyes met his, burning with green fire. “I have done no such thing.”

“You most certainly did when you called for a bath.” He paused and arched an eyebrow. “Unless I’m mistaken and you intend to bathe with your clothes on?”

She looked at him as if he were the most ridiculous man she’d ever met. “You know very well I don’t intend to bathe in my clothes.” It was said a tad too loudly. Too late, she realized her mistake. Color rose becomingly in Elowyn’s cheeks. “I hadn’t thought of it quite like that.”

His grip relaxed. She was starting to understand. “I assure you, my dear,
they
most certainly did.” He gave a nod past her shoulder to indicate the overpopulated tap room beyond. “I don’t find the notion unappealing and I’d wager last month’s salary these men don’t, either.”

The innkeeper hurried over, drying his hands on a towel. “Captain Westmore, my apologies for the clientele. There’s a cockfight in the next town over. We’re full to the rafters but I’ve got your rooms and a parlor set aside for dinner.”

Grahame smiled. “It’s good to see you, Horace. I remember your wife’s cooking fondly. I am sure all arrangements will be satisfactory.” The cockfight explained it. Those with money would have taken rooms closer to the event. The knowledge, though, was merely a consolation prize. It wasn’t going to make his job any easier tonight when it came to protecting Elowyn, who clearly had no idea she needed protecting. Beside him, she gave a huff at being pointedly ignored in the exchange with the innkeeper and mounted the stairs with a final order. “My maid will be coming with my trunks. Please direct her to my rooms.”

Grahame watched her go with a chuckle. The innkeeper shot him a considering glance. “I’d say the chit’s a bit spoilt. If you want my advice, best take that one in hand before it’s too late or she’ll walk all over you.”

Grahame grinned. “Horace, I was just thinking the same thing.” He was also thinking dinner would be very entertaining. Miss Bagshaw had not liked being thwarted in her show of power and she would not let it pass without comment. Grahame found himself looking forward to what that response might be. She’d chosen competition and challenge as her flirtatious weapons today and used them to her advantage.

She’d chosen wisely. He liked strong women, women who weren’t afraid to stand up to him or put off by his more earthy approaches. The simpering miss was not for him. He had no use for women who portrayed themselves as nothing more than pretty dolls. He was starting to have no use for his self-enforced rules of celibacy, either. Just because Miss Bagshaw had not hired him to seduce her didn’t mean he couldn’t. It just meant he wasn’t being paid for it—a concept that held some novelty in itself. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been part of a real seduction, not the paid fictions he played out nightly for London’s more adventurous women. A real seduction. It could be fun. And why not?

Oh, Grahame didn’t kid himself. There were legitimate reasons as to why not—her father’s trust that he’d behave as a gentleman, although her father hadn’t even bothered to meet him. The man had simply taken Channing’s word, an agreement between gentlemen. That was the other reason, his loyalty to Channing. He had no desire to bring scandal to Channing if word of this dalliance ever reached England. But even that was doubtful. If he had to lay money on it, he’d bet Miss Bagshaw was a woman of discretion, and secrets on the road were far easier to hide, especially in foreign countries where no one knew your language, let alone your name. Hmm. It seemed the reasons for resisting were shrinking.

Salvos had been fired from both sides now. It wasn’t as if he were forcing the issue. He could argue he was merely responding accordingly to opening maneuvers. If there was one thing Miss Bagshaw had proven she could do today, it was that she could play the game men and women had played since the beginning of the world, and she could play it well. Fortunately for her, so could he. It was time to cast off any notion of celibacy and see where the game led.

Chapter Five

It was time to make her intentions clear. Elowyn swept down the stairs, fully confident she could tempt the captain. Exactly how far she could tempt him remained to be seen but that was half the fun. After all, what thrill, what
challenge
was there in a chase to which she already knew the conclusion?

Elowyn paused briefly outside the private parlor and smoothed her skirts. One must go fully armed to the hunt, and she’d done just that. She’d dressed carefully for her campaign in a gown of crushed gold silk embroidered with muted green and orange leaves at the hem. She straightened the topaz necklace at her throat, a gift from her Russian prince. She tightened the barrette in her hair. She’d opted to wear her hair loose tonight, caught back at her nape with a simple gold barrette due to time constraints. Her hair had taken longer than she had estimated to dry it and there had been no time to put it up. Satisfied that all was in place, Elowyn squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and put on her smile. It was the same ritual she went through before meeting her father’s important guests when he entertained. Although this promised to be far more exciting. Let the negotiations begin.

The captain was waiting for her. He rose when she entered and came forward, taking her hand with a small bow but not before she’d seen the gleam of male appreciation in his eyes or the way his eyes had lingered on her bodice. “I am in the presence of a veritable autumn goddess. May I say you look lovely?”

Oh, he was very good at playing the gentleman officer. He pulled out her chair and she took a moment to surreptitiously run her eyes up his long legs as she settled her skirts. He, too, had taken pains with his appearance. He’d changed into dark trousers, a snug-fitting jacket of forest green with matching waistcoat and a clean, blindingly white shirt and cravat. In her opinion, other than tight riding breeches, there was nothing sexier on a man than immaculately pressed and starched shirts.

“I trust everything meets with your approval?” He took the chair across from her, the merest of smiles hovering around his lips.

“Yes, it most certainly does.” She gave him a look akin to the stare he’d given her on the stairs that morning. Two could play this game. She knew very well he wasn’t asking about her room. “And yourself, Captain? Does everything meet with your approval?”

“Most assuredly.” He held her gaze a tad longer than what was polite before he reached for the bottle of wine and worked the cork. He poured her a glass. “I propose we dispense with the formalities. Call me Grahame. I don’t think I can stand being called Captain all the way to Vienna.”

Elowyn sipped from her glass. “Then I must insist you call me Elowyn.” The move to first names was promising progress, indeed, although not unexpected if she’d read the signs right.

“It’s a beautiful name, quite original. Tell me about it.” He sliced bread for them from the loaf already on the table. Their meal would come later. “I’m guessing it’s Cornish or maybe Welsh?”

“Cornish. It means Elm tree. My mother’s family is from Cornwall. Elm trees are known for being difficult to split. Strong wood. How about you,
Grahame?
You must have had an interesting life with the military?” She was eager to steer the conversation away from where it was headed. Talk of her mother always made her sad, a cautionary reminder of what became of a woman who surrendered her control. Elowyn didn’t want to be sad tonight; she wanted to be happy; she wanted to feel alive. And she was interested in the origins of Captain Grahame Westmore far more than she was interested in her own. She’d had hours to hypothesize about him in the carriage today, and she’d arrived at certain conclusions but he seemed just as reluctant to discuss himself as she did about herself.

“I think my life is no more interesting than any other soldier’s.” Grahame smiled over his wineglass and took a drink in an attempt at deflection. She wasn’t fooled.

“I’ll reserve comment on that for later,” Elowyn offered coyly. She wanted to call him a liar on the spot. She had a fair amount of experience with the military. Officers were generally gentlemen, literally, because of the cost of buying the commission. She did not think that was the case here. Whoever he was, Grahame Westmore was not a gentleman’s son, even if he had a gentleman’s manners when he chose to use them. He’d given himself away today at the house when he’d gone up personally for her trunks, proof that certain nuances escaped him. That made him all the more exciting as far as she was concerned.

Horace bustled in with their plates and a second bottle of wine, “Just in case you and the missus are in the mood for celebrating.” He set it down on the sideboard and Elowyn raised an inquiring eyebrow in Grahame’s direction while Horace laid out a pot of
crème fraîche
alongside an apple pie. “Fresh baked this afternoon, especially for you, Captain. The wife knows how much you like her apple pie.”

“Give her my compliments.” Grahame drew in an exaggerated breath that made his chest expand. “It smells delicious.” Yet another giveaway, Elowyn thought. No gentleman she knew would be on such close basis with an innkeeper. No gentleman she knew would lie about a wife, either.

“The missus?” she inquired the moment they were alone. That explained the fancy manners, the desire to move to first names.

“I think it best considering the circumstances.” Grahame sliced into the massive beefsteak on his plate surrounded by potatoes and carrots. She was dying to do the same, but things needed to be settled before they ate. She didn’t pretend not to know which circumstances he referred to. There were fifty
circumstances
just outside the door in the tap room. She’d seen them when she’d come down for dinner.

“I appreciate the concern, but I have handled worse.” Cossacks in the Russian Steppes, for instance. She gave him a polite smile and took a bite of tender baby carrot.

Grahame set down his knife and fork. “I am not talking about your ability to handle a drunken diplomat looking for a quick paw in the corner. I have no doubts about your aptitude in that regard.” It was time to dispel his doubts about her
aptitude
in other regards. Elowyn leaned forward over her plate, putting her cleavage on display, and fixed him with a smile designed to bewitch while her hand slid beneath the table and under her skirts. She gave a flick of her wrist. The next instant, a knife jutted out of the center of Grahame Westmore’s steak.

“Lucifer’s balls!” Grahame roared, pushing back from the table in alarm.

“His balls are fine. I’d be more worried about yours.” Elowyn stood and reached over the table to yank the knife out of the meat before retaking her seat. “As I said, I can handle them. Besides, Grahame, it’s not nice to stare.”

“It sure makes things more interesting, though,” Grahame retorted as he pulled himself back up to the table.

* * *

Interesting hardly began to cover it. He’d never wanted a woman more. She’d just pulled a knife on him in the middle of dinner and he was still aroused by her. What the hell was wrong with him? He watched her reach beneath the table and resheathe her blade, his body eager to discover what else what up her skirts.

She resumed eating as if nothing had happened. “I understand you’re out of the military now, so how do you spend your time? Do you take missions like this one often?” It was a casual enough question if it were being asked of anyone else. But she had no idea he worked for the League of Discreet Gentlemen, that he’d spent his last four years selling pleasure to women rich enough to pay for that most elusive commodity.

“No. This is my first assignment.” Graham took a bite of steak.

“Then you’re a virgin.”

Grahame was entirely unready for the comment. He choked. The meat he’d just swallowed popped back out on his plate. He took a quick gulp of wine. “I beg your pardon?” He hadn’t been a virgin since he was fourteen and a half and a Seven Dials whore had given him a free one. He was lucky he hadn’t caught the pox.

“This is your first time.” She smiled coyly as she sipped her wine. He could watch her sip wine all night. Perhaps that’s why Horace had brought the second bottle.

“And you?” Grahame tried to regain his aplomb. It was rare he was taken by surprise. He usually saw quips coming. The women in London had rather limited imaginations when it came to word play.

“No, this is definitely not my first. More like my fifth. Move, that is.” She gave him a seductive glance that ratcheted up the temperature in the room. He was glad he’d already decided to forego celibacy. His morals wouldn’t have stood a chance against her otherwise.

“I’m sure the move this morning was rather unorthodox.” Not like this dinner wasn’t. Barging into her home without an introduction was looking like a minor infraction compared to Elowyn pulling a knife at the table.

“Is that your idea of an apology?” She slid her hand up and down the stem of her wineglass in a manner reminiscent of a hand sliding on a stem of another sort. It was giving him ideas about what to do with the
crème fraîche
besides putting it on pie, well, on apple pie, at least.

“I was unaware an apology was needed.” But he was aware he was driving her crazy as much as she was driving him. She wanted compliance and he would not give it to her. Whether by accident or design, they’d fallen into a most scintillating game of tease and denial, a game he’d played many times before with his clothes off, but never on, never like this.
Scintillating
wasn’t quite strong enough. The word erotic came to mind. This was foreplay at its most refined level where it was hard to determine exactly who was seducing whom.

“It must be nice to live in your world where everything is so obviously divided into black and white.” Her hand moved to the topaz at her neck, drawing attention to the cleavage on display.

“I am to understand diplomacy is more gray, then?”

She gave a short laugh. “One hundred times grayer. Everyone’s got an angle. One never knows if one is looking at the real person or a carefully cultivated image. What’s your angle, Grahame?”

He sat back in his chair, starting to enjoy this. “Maybe I don’t have one.”

“Of course you do.” Green eyes challenged him. “You just admitted it when you said you didn’t take jobs like this. So why now? There must be something you want badly to travel all the way to Vienna.”

A future, a career, a chance to start over. There were so many things he wanted, so many things he hoped Vienna could give him. Elowyn rose and went to the sideboard to retrieve the second bottle. He followed her with his eyes, catching the sway of her hips beneath the silk, mentally outlining the curve of her derriere, how it would feel cupped in his hands, how easy it would be to simply come up behind her and press her forward onto the high, flat surface of the console. Did he dare? Their games tonight indicated such a move would be welcome.

Grahame was on his feet without thinking. She would let him know if it was too much; after all, she was the one with the knife. His hands were at her shoulders, his thumbs massaging the column of her neck. He could feel her pulse race in welcome. “What if I said I wanted you?” he whispered hoarsely at her ear, breathing in the smell of fresh-washed hair and woman aroused. “What if I said I wanted to take you, right here, right now, just like this?” He pushed his hips against the soft curve of her bottom, his erection evidence of his intentions.

Her answer came without hesitation. “I would say yes.”