How to Woo a Reluctant Lady (35 page)

He dragged in a heavy breath. “I have faith in myself.”

“If you did, you wouldn’t be chastising yourself for what
you did years ago. You wouldn’t be calling yourself a failure for something that’s out of your control now.”

“It’s not entirely out of my control,” he bit out. He drew in a deep breath. Time to tell her the worst of it. “It’s possible I could get out of this by agreeing to go on working as an informant. The government doesn’t want me to quit, so if I agree to continue, they might give in to Newmarsh’s demand.”

“Is that what you want?”

“No, damn it! But I can’t see any other way through. If I don’t do it, Newmarsh may very well ruin me. Ruin
us.
”

“And what does Lord Ravenswood say to that?”

Giles shook his head. “The bloody fool says that I should call Newmarsh’s bluff, and trust him and his superiors to make sure nothing comes of his threats.”

“Then perhaps you should listen to him.” She stepped forward to cup his cheek. “I know you must have done a great deal of good for them since that night years ago. And I’ve seen firsthand what good you’ve done in the courtroom. Surely that will count for more than you think.”

“Will it? I know how easily such things can all be wiped away because of politics,” he said hoarsely.

“I believe we reap what we sow, and you’ve sown loyalty and honor and justice for many years. It’s time for you to reap that harvest.” She caressed his cheek. “Ravenswood clearly trusts you, and his superiors probably do as well.
I
certainly trust you. So perhaps you should consider trusting
us
, at least a little. We’re not your father. We won’t abandon you in your time of need, I promise.”

A lump caught in his throat. “I may hold you to that promise, if I’m booted out of the legal profession and can’t support you.”

“I have a sizable inheritance coming to me, assuming Gabe
and Celia marry. And there’s my dowry—”

“I don’t want your family’s money,” he ground out. “Not after everything they’ve said about my motives for marrying you.”

“Well then, there’s always my books,” she said with a saucy smile. “Between that income and your brother’s money, we can survive.” Her eyes sparkled up at him. “Perhaps I’ll have Rockton do something truly spectacular that will make him all the rage in literary circles.”

He managed a smile, touched deeply by her willingness to do whatever it took to save him. “So that’s why you made me a villain in your books? Because I broke your heart?”

She nodded.

Had her heart mended? Did she still love him? He was afraid to ask, afraid of what her answer might be. Afraid of what he
wanted
her answer to be.

Instead, he said, “And it wasn’t as you told me in Calais, that you wrote about that night because you thought it would make a good story?”

“It did make a good story,” she teased. “But no, that wasn’t the reason. Mostly I did it to vent my anger and my hurt. I do that sometimes. It’s as you said that day at the lodge—it gives me a feeling of power over what happened, even when I know I have no power.”

“You had more power than you realize that night,” he said softly. “I never forgot that kiss.”

She dropped her hand from his face. “Don’t patronize me,” she whispered.

“I mean it. I still remember your gold satin gown—with something making it stick out on the sides—”

“Panniers,” she said in a small voice. “They’re called panniers.”

“Your bosom was half bare, and you wore a blue cameo of a lady nestled between your beautiful breasts.”

Her gaze shot to him. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

The hopeful look in her eyes fairly slayed him. “Oh, I remember it very well. I ached to put my mouth right where that cameo rested.” He pulled her into his arms. “I’ve always noticed what you wear. At the Valentine’s Day ball, you wore a pink evening gown with puffy sleeves. And I already told you how well I remember the sausage curl lying on your bosom at our house party in Berkshire.”

“The party where you went off with a sultry widow, you mean?” she said tartly.

He brushed a kiss to her hair. “That was something I did for Ravenswood. He wanted me to learn what she knew about an agitator in the Commons. And I found it out for him.”

“In her bed, most likely,” she said with a sniff.

“I would rather have been in
your
bed,” he countered, since he couldn’t deny the accusation. “I wasn’t lying when I told you that I imagined pulling that curl and watching your hair tumble down about your waist.” He reached up to thread his fingers through her hair to tug it loose of its pins. “Like this.”

He kissed her, suddenly needing to reassure himself that she’d forgiven him for that long-ago night. That she might be able to fall in love with him again. He might even want that, selfish devil that he was.

But just as he was considering laying her down on the settee, a knock came at the door to his study.

He tore his lips from hers with a low curse. “I said I wasn’t to be disturbed!” he barked.

“Yes, sir,” Finch said. “But this fellow from the Black Bull in Turnham insists upon seeing you.”

As Giles sucked in a breath, Minerva exclaimed, “Your trap has sprung! Desmond took the bait!”

“Looks that way.” And damn the bloody man for his bad timing.

Still, it would take his mind off what to do about Ravenswood and Newmarsh.

Hurrying to the door, Giles swung it open to find Finch standing there with the groom Giles had paid to keep him apprised of Desmond’s actions. “Thank you, Finch,” Giles said. “Saddle a horse for me. I’m riding over to Turnham.”

“And one for me, too,” Minerva said, struggling to pin her hair back up.

Giles scowled at her but didn’t countermand the order. He wanted to hear what the groom had to say first. After Finch left, he asked, “I assume Plumtree is at the inn?”

“Aye, sir,” the groom answered. “But he left almost as soon as he got there. Said he was going out to do some target shooting.”

“A little late in the day to be shooting, isn’t it?”

“I told him as much, sir. Plus, I didn’t see him take a gun with him. Seemed right peculiar to me.”

Remembering what Ravenswood had said about the map, Giles asked, “Did he by any chance take a shovel?”

The groom’s eyes widened. “Aye, sir. How did you know?”

“Lucky guess. Did he have his son with him?”

“His son came in with him, but I didn’t see him go out with him.”

“Thank you for the information.” Giles reached into his pocket, pulled out a sovereign, and pressed it into the man’s hand. “And if anyone asks—”

“I’m silent as the grave, guv’nor,” the groom said. “Don’t you worry none about that.”

As the man left, Giles stalked over to his desk.

“What was all that about a shovel?” Minerva asked.

Giles unlocked a drawer and took out the map he’d re-created from memory. “Ravenswood found out what the map is of.”

“Oh?” she asked, excitement in her voice.

“Turns out it’s a copy of one in the British Museum that was found among papers belonging to Henry Mainwaring.”

“The admiral?”

“And buccaneer. Some claim that it shows where he buried his treasure.”

“Good Lord, it’s a treasure map!” She pulled a sheet of paper out of her apron pocket and laid it beside the map he’d set on the desk.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“The current map of the estate. Celia brought it to me this morning when the family came to visit.” She gave him a sly smile. “I’ve had a busy day, between that and my wild affair with Mr. Pinter.”

“Watch it, minx, I’m still chafing over that little incident.”

She laughed, then turned to examining the two maps together. “I don’t see how Desmond could think this a treasure map. It does have a strange marking in the center, but if I’m reading it right and it really is our estate, the marking falls in the middle of what is now the pond. If Mainwaring buried treasure there, Desmond will never find it.”

Giles snorted. “I doubt there
is
any treasure. Your cousin is a fool.” He unlocked another drawer.

“That’s certainly true. And didn’t Admiral Mainwaring die in poverty, anyway?”

“Yes.” Giles pulled out the case for his dueling pistols. “But there’s more to that story. After Mainwaring was pardoned by
the king for his pirating and became vice admiral, there were rumors that he had a secret stash of jewels from his days as a buccaneer. Unfortunately for him, when Cromwell was on the march, Mainwaring threw in his lot with the king and was forced to flee to France once Cromwell won. He died there, which is supposedly why he never got back to England to retrieve his ill-gotten gains.”

Giles removed both pistols and the bag containing shot, gunpowder, and the other necessary items. “Plumtree is mad if he thinks to find them on your family estate. Mainwaring lived in Dover. Why would he hide jewels near Halstead Hall?”

“Perhaps because he stayed there on his way out of the country,” Minerva said as she ran her fingers down a line on each map.

Giles jerked his gaze up to meet hers. “What?”

“Don’t you remember Gran mentioning it? He was the vice admiral who was visiting our family when he got word that Cromwell wanted his head. He went straight to the docks in London and hid on a ship captained by a friend, who slipped him out of the country. He got no chance to go home.”

A chill ran down Giles’s spine. Perhaps Plumtree wasn’t mad. What if Mainwaring
had
buried treasure on the grounds of the estate?

No, that was absurd. “Why would Mainwaring have been carrying around a fortune in jewels while visiting friends? And even if he had, why not take it with him to France?”

“I have no idea. I’m just telling you that he did stay at Halstead Hall. I’ve never heard anything about any jewels.”

Now Giles wished he’d followed Plumtree that day to determine exactly where the man was looking for this treasure. Because if Plumtree
was
fool enough to think that treasure was buried on the Sharpe estate, and was hunting for it on the day
the Sharpes were killed . . .

Giles began to load the pistols.

“What are you doing?” Minerva asked.

“I’m not going after your cousin without weapons,” he told her. “Even if he
did
only take a shovel with him.”

“Do you really think that’s where he’s headed—to look for treasure on our estate?”

“Why not? It’s the middle of summer—he’s got several hours before sundown. And if I can catch him at it, I might get some answers out of him.”

Folding up the two maps, she tucked them into her apron pocket. “I’m going with you.”

“The hell you are.” He shoved a pistol into each coat pocket and headed for the door. “Once I get to the estate, I’ll fetch your brothers to help me.”

“They’re not at home. The whole family is spending the rest of the day in town shopping and going to the theater. No one is at Halstead Hall but the servants. You don’t want to involve them and risk a lot of wild gossip being thrown about until you’re certain it’s necessary. You don’t even know for sure that Plumtree is on the estate.”

He glowered at her. “If he is, I can take care of him alone.”

“Wait here one minute! Just let me change into my half-boots.”

When she flew off up the stairs, he stood there debating. He didn’t want her anywhere near Plumtree, especially if the man had killed the Sharpes.

He headed off toward the front door, but she caught up to him just as he was striding down the steps to his waiting mount.

“I’m ready,” she said, all out of breath as she hurried after him.

“You’re not going with me.”

“Oh, yes, I am.”

He halted on the steps to stare at her. “Now see here, darling—”

“Don’t you dare use that placating tone with
me
, Giles Masters. It never worked for my brothers, and it won’t work for you. Take me with you, and I promise to do whatever you tell me.” Her voice grew choked. “But I am
not
letting you go off alone to confront my cousin while I sit here for the next few hours wondering if you’re dead or alive.”

The worry in her face made his chest ache. “I can handle myself, love.” He cupped her chin in his hand. “I’ve been in far more dangerous situations.”

“But you don’t
have
to face it alone this time.” She covered his hand with her own. “Let me go. I want to help.”

“If something happened to you—”

“It’s Desmond, for heaven’s sake—he’s not exactly a criminal mastermind. And I’ll stay well out of your way. Better yet, once we figure out for sure that he’s on the estate and where he is exactly, then I’ll go fetch you assistance.”

That gave him pause.

“Please, Giles,” she said, her heart in her eyes. “It’s time you started trusting me, don’t you think? You let me go with you when we followed Desmond and Ned to the inn, and everything turned out fine. I was even a help, wasn’t I?”

“Yes, but—”

“This is no different. If anything, it’s safer—you’re armed this time. And if Ned happens to be with him, you won’t be able to handle them both. You’ll need me to go fetch someone.”

“I wish I hadn’t tossed Pinter out so hastily,” he muttered.

“But you did, and there’s no time to go after him. You don’t know how long Desmond will be out there. We
have
to catch him in the act if we’re to get the truth out of him.”

When he still hesitated, she added, “Besides, if you don’t let me go with you, I’ll just follow behind.”

He eyed her askance. “All right, but you do whatever I say, do you hear?”

“Yes, Giles,” she said in a uncharacteristically obedient tone that he didn’t trust for one second.

With a sigh, he helped her mount her horse, then sprang onto his own. “I
mean
it, Minerva.” He flicked the reins to set off.

“Trust me, I won’t do anything to put myself in harm’s way.”

Trust
her? That was bloody difficult. Ravenswood might think that never trusting people was a hard way to live, but trusting them was harder. Especially when the person he was trusting was also the person he cared most about.