Dangerous 01 - Dangerous Works (5 page)

Chapter 6

“Damn Glenaire. Damn his devious eyes.” A great bear of a man paced and gesticulated his way across Georgiana’s drawing room. She stood in the doorway for a full moment before he noticed and she came forward to accept his bow.

“Jamie, Major Heyworth! This is a surprise.” The understatement she injected into her voice pleased her. Georgiana knew her brother well enough not to take offense when someone complained about his deviousness—even in colorful language—but wondered what one of his closest friends was doing there. She knew her brother wanted something. “What brings you to my little cottage?”

Jamie raked a hand through his scruffy hair and looked around the opulent drawing room as if to ask, “What cottage?”

“Call me Jamie, please, Lady Georgie,” he said with a boyish grin. “We’re old friends, aren’t we?” He had sketched a bow haphazard enough to say, “We’re among friends,” but correct enough not to offend.

A smile, as warm and genuine as it was practiced, spread over his face and easily melted her reserve. This one would charm her senseless unless she kept her wits about her. If memory served, Jamie Heyworth lived on charm, but he was a harmless young man for all that. Noticing that he had aged, she wondered if he had matured as well.

“Do sit down, Jamie,” she said and tamped down a grin. She asked after his family and listened to vague replies until Eunice Williams arrived with the teacart and disappeared with her needlework into her chair in the far corner.

Etiquette neatly outlined behavior for an afternoon call. It gave Georgiana’s brain room for more important matters, like asking why one of her brother’s friends found it necessary to seek out a spinster he hadn’t seen in several years.

“I am surprised you could be pried from London,” she said innocently. “What brings you to Cambridgeshire?” She watched under lowered lashes for any sign of dissemblance.

“Business,” he pronounced. “Business takes me to Newmarket. Stopped by to pay my respects on the way home.”

“I hope your business won.” She couldn’t stop her smile.

He looked mournful. “Ran dead last.”

Georgiana chuckled and earned an appreciative grin. “You always were a good ‘un,” he said with a smile that warmed her insides. “Never one to cut up at a fellow for his fun.”

“Your way home took you nearby, and you decided to visit.” It wasn’t a question; it was a lure.

“Yes, that’s it precisely.” Jamie couldn’t detect a trap when one opened in front of him. “Knew you’d welcome an old friend. Stands to reason.” His face was a player’s mask of innocence. He took a third cake.

“Please say you will stay for dinner. My household is small, but I pride myself that I have the best cook in Cambridgeshire.” She didn’t lie. Her French chef was her great affectation.

Jamie’s eyes danced. “Oh, Lady Georgie, I don’t doubt you set a fine table. These cakes tell a man that there are good eats to be had.” He took another. “Good friends, good food, hospitality! Nothing better in this life,” he sighed.

Perhaps promise of a good meal drew him here and nothing else. Perhaps pigs would fly by midsummer.

“How is my brother Richard?”

“Fine, that is—” He stopped, caught in his own words. Calculation worked in his face while he framed an answer. “Haven’t seen ‘im in some time of course. Business. In Newmarket.” She had been right the first time. Richard sent him here.

“Don’t you see Richard when you’re in town?”

“Certainly, certainly. Best friend a man could want, the Marquess. Sets a fine table as well.” The cheeky grin widened.

“A Hayden family weakness, I confess,” she replied dryly. “When did you last dine with Richard?” She pressed her advantage.

“Goodness, Lady Georgie, I’m sure I can’t recall. Weeks ago. It was a fine quail and an excellent fish course. Best thing was the pudding though. Always cakes and sweets with the Marquess.”

He didn’t recall when, but he could describe the meal. He was here at Richard’s bidding; she was sure of that, but she needed information. It might take heavier weaponry to break down his defenses. Georgiana hoped to show off her cellar more than her chef. She carefully selected cognac for before dinner, two dinner wines, and a strong after-dinner port.

The first sortie was successful. He poured a second glass of the cognac before she filled her own glass with sherry.

“When did I see you last, Jamie? It was London, wasn’t it?” She sipped slowly, determined to stay sharp. “You danced your way through the city and rushed back to your regiment in the Peninsula as I recall.”
He drank his way, more like it.

“Five years ago that was. Did I see you then? Didn’t have much to do with balls and things, that is—”

“Places ladies frequent? You were too busy with the, ah, pursuits of a gentleman about town, I think.”

Jamie colored. Ladies weren’t supposed to acknowledge gentlemen’s pursuits, at least not the kind Jamie indulged in while on leave from his regiment.

Georgiana regretted making him uncomfortable. He was two years younger than Richard and Andrew. When they were boys, Georgiana felt protective of Richard’s friends. Still, if she weakened now, she wouldn’t be able to find out what her devious brother was up to. Jamie was no longer a boy; he was thirty-two.

She pressed on. “You had other friends to see I imagine, the inseparable four from Harrow—Richard, Jamie, Will Landrum, and Andrew.” Her voice trailed off suggestively. “What did you call yourselves? The Cohort, wasn’t it?”

Jamie grinned. “That was it. Andrew wanted ‘The Phalanx of Thermopylae,’ but Richard told him it was too damned obscure for the teachers to understand.” He colored at his own language. “Sorry, Lady Georgie.” He quickly went on.

“Andrew didn’t come home from the Peninsula that year. Too busy. Will was there though. His father was ill. Went home and came back sorry. Knew he was going to have to sell out. Never saw him as drunk as he was when—”

“Will Landrum? Never say it.”

“Ok. I won’t say it.” Mischief in his face hinted at the old Jamie. “Not always a saint, our Will. Ask Glenaire.”

“Tell me again, Jamie. How did you find my home?”

“Glenaire gave me your direction. Told him I’d pop round to visit.” Jamie delivered lies and half-truths as well as any man, but this one made him squirm. Richard sent him.

Georgiana’s gray-blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “He didn’t mention it to my parents, I’ll warrant. They think Helsington is locked up like a convent.”

He flashed a relieved smile at her humor. “Goes to prove they don’t know you. Never did.”

She attempted to look reproachful, but her mouth quirked into a smile.

“It isn’t at all the thing to say, Lady Georgie, but you look peaky. Are you well?” His statement took her off guard.

That’s it then? He’s inquiring after my health?
Richard already knew about her health. She waved her hand in the air vaguely. “It is just an ill humor. I’m not as robust as I used to be.” She sipped her sherry.

No more opportunities to probe arose over dinner, but she continued to tease his palate with first one wine and then another. He took the bait willingly enough when she invited him to take port in her sitting room.

It took only one glass to give her the opening she needed.

“Your sitting room is full of paper, Lady Georgie. Not
what a man expects in a lady’s parlor. What is it for?”

“You are looking at my work.”

“Work? I thought you ladies did embroidery or painted or some such things. Never say you write.”

“Not write. Translate, or try to. The works I find are in ancient Greek.”

“Translate? That’s what Andr—another friend of mine wishes to do. Can’t see it myself. Don’t tell me a lady can translate also.” Jamie’s forehead wrinkled as though he tried to remember something. She hoped his brain, fogged with drink, refused to cooperate.

“I am afraid I lack your superior education, but I try,” Georgiana said with a carefully controlled self-deprecating smile.

“If you think my education is superior, you must have been sadly neglected.” He shook his head and held his glass for a refill.

“Actually, Jamie, I want to employ a tutor or an assistant. You did your time at Cambridge. Would you know anyone who might accept a woman for a student?” She didn’t sound as neutral as she planned. She was sure her anxiety about the answer must have been obvious, even to Jamie.

“I am long and happily gone from this place, Lady Georgie, and wouldn’t know. Not
much of a scholar.” Jamie looked like a man who realized he had backed into a trap. His voice suddenly sounded more sober than she thought possible. “Can’t help you there,” he said.

She forced a laugh. “What a joy you are, Jamie! Don’t worry. I won’t make you state the obvious. No Fellow would dare endanger his reputation on a female dilettante.”

“Didn’t mean an insult, Lady Georgie. No offense intended at all,” he said, flustered.

“No offense taken.” She sipped her port, encouraging him to drink more deeply before she pounced. “Jamie, Andrew Mallet excelled at Greek, didn’t he?” She kept her tone casual, but it put Jamie on alert. She swore his ears twitched.

“Have you seen him recently? Is he well?”

“Not, not
recently … that is, no. If you’re asking if he is a scholar”—Jamie swallowed convulsively—”he, well, of course, he was the best. He is long from his studies, though. He doesn’t need to take up a profession.”

He rattled on to cover the obvious lie. “Was wounded badly at Waterloo. Mad saber-waving charge. Took out four blasted frog cannoneers at their gun. Explosion, shrapnel hit, horse fell on him. Terrible thing. Shouldn’t have been with the Dragoons.”

Georgiana felt the blood drain from her face. She heard a muttered, “Damn,” and Jamie took her glass from her trembling hand.

“More’n a lady wants to know. Sorry. Ugly thing, war.” He drained his glass and poured another. “But, it happened months ago.”

Jamie’s tale stopped too soon and explained too little. She may not
know weaponry, but she would bet her quarterly allowance that the line across Andrew’s face didn’t come from cannon shrapnel. She no longer cared for subtlety.

“You have seen him then?” She pleaded with her eyes.

Her good port must have breached his defenses. He sat back with a sigh, elbows on his knees. He held the wineglass loosely in both hands between them and hung his head. “Yes. I saw him yesterday. Getting good care. He’ll be fine.” His head snapped up as if at a sudden memory. “Doesn’t need work though. Lives alone. Likes it that way.” His face looked stern.

Georgiana, beyond caring, dropped pretense. “Why did Andrew Mallet join the army? Didn’t his father intend him for teaching?” Jamie choked on his port.

“Don’t know, Lady Georgie. Never asked.” Jamie mopped drink from his shirtfront. “Joined quite suddenly. I had my orders with the First Dragoons to follow Wellesley in India. Strutted around in my regimentals bragging to them all. Next thing I knew Andrew bought colors in the Fighting Fifth, and we were both off to war. Dashed glad for the company at the time.”

“You have no idea why?”

The baron’s son shrugged and grinned. “Liked to pretend my sterling example won him.” He lowered his glass and began to swirl the dregs in the bottom.

“Did it?”

He shook his head mournfully. “Andrew didn’t follow. He led. Always assumed a woman caused it, though I never saw him chase one. Not
even sure why he hung around London that last Season after University.” His face pinched inward, as if the effort of thought pained him. The glass in his hand stilled. “The upper ten thousand wanted more than a schoolmaster’s son for their daughters, though, and especially one more or less penniless.”

“You think he joined the army to impress people?” she asked.

“Maybe, or at least so fathers thought he was up to snuff. It was the same for me. Thought the army would help. Maybe he thought the army would make his fortune. In his case it worked out.” He ran his finger around the rim of the glass and stared at it with unfocused eyes.

“He didn’t care about money,” Georgiana said.

“No,” Jamie agreed with reluctance. “I didn’t expect him to choose the army. I figured him for a University fellow. He wasn’t really the celibate type, though. Can’t say why he bought colors.”

“Where did Andrew get the funds to buy an officer’s place? Isn’t the Fifth a prestigious regiment? You said he was penniless.”

“Don’t know. Never thought of it before.”

“His father perhaps?” The thought chafed her; it didn’t fit what she remembered.

“Old Mr. Mallet couldn’t find that kind of money, now that I think about it. Wouldn’t have wanted to. Andrew must have found a sponsor.” The glass stilled in his hands. “A wealthy one,” he said. “Not a small expense, an officer’s commission in the Fighting Fifth.”

Georgiana remembered that Jamie’s maternal grandfather bought his own commission. Richard once said it was the only thing the old man ever did for him and that Jamie had refused Richard’s help. She looked up with pity and found Jamie examining her with calculation and a bit of devilment in his eyes.

“What is it?” she asked.

“The more I think about it the surer I am that a woman drove him into the army.” He watched her closely. An unasked question hovered in the air between them.

“How can you know that? You said he never talked about it.” Heat burned up her neck, but pride kept her from breaking eye contact.

“Broken heart would explain it.” He cocked his head to one side, but he held her gaze.

“Perhaps he made a lucky escape from an unwanted entanglement.” She looked away, dropping her eyes to her lap.

“Perhaps.” He downed his wine, made a face, and went on. When she looked up she found him watching her speculatively. “And perhaps a proud papa wanted him well out of the way of temptation.”