Margo Maguire (4 page)

Then he could buy his property and spend his hours poring over the agricultural journals he’d acquired in anticipation of becoming a gentleman farmer.

Gavin followed Christina into the stable. She stood awash in light from one of the high windows as she reached up to slide the bridle over the horse’s head. She looked like some kind of ethereal being—an angel or a—

Gavin gave a quick shake of his head to force a return to sanity. Christina was naught but the high-and-mighty daughter of a man who had inherited his power and influence. She was naught to Gavin but a very troublesome means to a ten-thousand-pound prize.

For that kind of money, Gavin should have known the quest would not be an easy one.

Christina fastened the buckles, then reached for her saddle, surprising him with her initiative. He let her lift the saddle, but took it from her before she had to carry it to the horse. In all fairness, he would not have made his sister do this herself, either. There were certain things a lady should not be required to do.

He secured her saddle and the satchel containing her valuables, then turned to her. “Allow me,” he said, offering to lift her onto the horse.

“But your arm—”

“Is hardly worth noting.” Although he did not mind letting her feel some guilt over it.

She moved to the horse’s near side and when Gavin stepped close and placed his hands at her waist, he caught her scent. It reminded him of a rich delicacy—something he could sink his teeth into and savor. A tempting morsel. Small wisps of her silken hair curled about her ears, and her lashes were spikes of coal black, framing expressive eyes as green as spring grass.

Gavin blew out a breath of air and lifted her easily, then stepped away as she settled herself on her saddle.

It was just as well that they would take her carriage to London. It would prevent him from having to wrap his hands about her waist every time she mounted and dismounted. With Christina inside her carriage, Gavin might be able to lose the imprint of her appealing, feminine body from his hands.

Now that his return to Windermere was so effectively thwarted, he was in no real hurry. It was unlikely that Lang was still alive, no matter what the blackmail note said. Gavin thought it might actually be better if they didn’t make it on time for her appointment at All Hallows Church. It would save them all a lot of trouble.

C
hristina could not imagine what had caused her to shiver as Captain Briggs lifted her onto her mare. She was not cold in her snug riding habit. On the contrary, she felt quite warm. She just hoped she was not coming down with something. She had no time for illness, not now, when she actually had a plan for dealing with her blackmailer.

She waited as Captain Briggs walked out of the stable, pulling on his jacket and greatcoat as he moved. With a tight agility that gave her pause, he swung himself up onto his horse and started down the drive, quite obviously expecting her to follow.

Which she did.

He rode without talking to her, annoyed, she supposed, at being forced to help her in London. But what else was she to do? He was a godsend—help that she had never expected.

“How do you think we should handle the situation at All Hallows Church?” she asked her companion. Not that they were companions, exactly. He was her unwilling escort.

Well, it was no matter. She refused to be intimidated by him.

“I have no idea.”

“What do you mean? Surely you have dealt with . . . with . . .”

“Blackmailers?”

“Well, perhaps not exactly blackmailers, but possibly in the army, you—”

“Is that what you think of our British military, Lady Fairhaven? That we’re all rogues and scoundrels?”

“Of course not. I just—”

“You just thought I would know the workings of a blackmailer’s mind.”

“Do not put words into my mouth, Captain Briggs.” How he managed to anger her. “I only meant that . . . Well, you have the look of someone who can . . . someone who has . . . You’ve probably dealt with disreputable characters in the past.” He looked rather disreputable himself. She’d seen the scars on his body, any of which could have been the result of a serious wound.

His right brow lowered. “Disreputable?”

“Please do not take offense, Captain Briggs,” Christina said, exasperated. “I merely meant to say that the army . . . well, you are an officer—”

“
Was
an officer.”

She moistened her lips. “Did you never have to deal with any reprobates under your command?”

Briggs gave a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. “No,” he said—with distaste, if she was not mistaken. “Tell me, Lady Fairhaven, what you expect me to do.”

She plucked a bit of lint from her sleeve as they trotted along, and tried not to feel self-conscious. Of course, she had no right to ask him to help her. But neither had he any right to take her to the man who admitted abandoning her as a young child. “I am not quite sure.”

“The blackmailer’s letter instructed you to leave the money in a packet inside the lectern at the back of All Hallows Church. Were you planning to do so?”

“My first thought was to put the money in the lectern and then lie in wait.”

“With the pistol, I presume.” His tone was slightly condescending, and beyond annoying. It was not
his
brother who was in jeopardy.

“Yes.” Clearly, taking the pistol had not been a very good idea.
And
she had shot him. But still . . .

“Are you familiar with the area around All Hallows Church?” he asked.

She let her gaze drop just below his shoulder. The bullet had created a small, frayed hole. She cringed inwardly, recognizing, not for the first time, that he had ample reason to be put out with her. “No,” she replied. “I’ve only been to the Tower once, and we did not spend any time nearby.”

She’d gone with Edward while they were courting. Her mother had accompanied them, of course, along with her youngest brother, Colin. The family had all been in favor of her marriage to Edward. He’d been a wealthy peer, with a reputation as a responsible, fair man. A woman who was merely the adopted daughter of an earl could have done far worse.

But Christina wondered if her father would have been quite so favorable toward the marriage if he’d known about Mrs. Shilton—Edward’s mistress. Apparently, Edward’s arrangement with Mrs. Shilton had not been altered by his marriage—much to his detriment. Her parents had not been able to hide from Christina the circumstances of his death, distressing as they were.

“Then you are likely unaware that there are several entrances to the church, as well as an undercroft,” Captain Briggs said, interrupting her thoughts.

“Undercroft?”

“Aye. A lower level beneath the church—a cellar.”

“Then I am very glad of your assistance, Captain . . . or shall I call you Mr. Briggs?”

He turned to face forward. “Whatever you prefer.”

She found she could not think of him as anything but “Captain” Briggs, not when he carried such an air of command.

“Given the geography of the church,” she said, “what do you think we ought to do?”

“If we are to cover every entrance, then we’ll need assistance.”

She shook her head. “No. The fewer people who are involved, the better.” She did not know what they were going to learn about Lang, and she wanted to keep his affairs private. It would not do to jeopardize Lang’s and the family’s reputations, not when Felton was about to make a brilliant marriage to the Marquess of Bedlington’s daughter.

Captain Briggs’s brow darkened slightly in disagreement, but Christina was undeterred.

“If we keep to a schedule, we can arrive in London at least a day or two in advance of the date I am to leave the money at the church, can we not?” Christina asked. “Which should give us ample opportunity to explore the possibilities at All Hallows, after I sell the jewels.”

He made no reply, beyond a nearly inaudible sigh.

Chapter 4

H
olywell House was a large manor, similar in design and size to Gavin’s house—or rather, the house he hoped would be his when he finally had the funds to purchase it. He could hardly believe he was being thwarted when he was so close.

He could write Eleanor to let her know of the delay, but since he was going to London himself, he decided to tell her in person. He had some money now . . . Eleanor and Hettie were welcome to all of it, for there would soon be more. He only had to get Christina back to Windermere to collect it.

A groom ran from the stable to the front of the house and assisted Lady Fairhaven to dismount, relieving Gavin of that task. He was grateful, he had nearly forgotten her scent and the sensation of her body so close to his during their long ride.

Gavin did not care to refresh his memory. He was looking for peace—not for a liaison with a woman who had known wealth and prestige all her life and would have extravagant expectations. As Amelia obviously did.

He took his travel bag from his saddle and walked into the house behind Christina, far too aware of her removing her hat and gloves, freeing those shining curls and baring her delicate hands.

She spoke in quiet tones to the housekeeper, requesting that a guest room be prepared for him. Gavin knew it was pointless to protest, to try once again to convince her to take a side trip to Windermere with him before leaving for London.

Gavin took his leave of the obstinate woman, and followed a footman to a well-appointed guest bedroom. It was more comfortable than any of the rooms he’d let during his travels to find Windermere’s granddaughters, and far grander than any place he’d stayed on the continent. He was never opposed to sleeping in comfort, for he knew their journey to London was not likely to be quite so easy. They would have to make better than thirty miles a day in order to make it to Town in time to deal with Christina’s blackmailer.

Not that he shared her urgency to do so.

He went to the window and looked out at the rolling hills surrounding the Holywell estate, all covered with the new growth of spring. The various shades of green brought Lady Fairhaven’s eyes to mind, and Gavin turned away from the window, quite unwilling to reflect on anything to do with the viscountess.

Her remark about her husband’s mistress—not to mention her cautious manner with Holywell’s housekeeper—gave him pause. There’d been a vague catch in her voice when speaking of the jewels her husband had given away, and her tone with the housekeeper was not at all in keeping with that of an arrogant, pampered noblewoman.

He shook his head. No conjecture about her mattered in the least. Whatever else she might be, Christina, Lady Fairhaven, was the key to his ten thousand pounds, which he had every intention of collecting.

He wondered if he would be able to convince her during their journey to London that there was no point in trying to trap the blackmailer. Because he seriously doubted it could be done.

C
hristina congratulated herself. She had not wrung her hands or betrayed any other sign of nervousness when dealing with Mrs. Fields, her mother-in-law’s housekeeper. “Steadfast Guardian of the House” was more like it. During Christina’s rare visits to Holywell, she tried not to allow Mrs. Fields to intimidate her, but rarely succeeded.

If Christina had kept ownership of the house and refuted Leticia’s claim to it, she would certainly have dismissed Mrs. Fields and brought in someone more suitable.

But Christina had not wanted to keep the house where she had never felt comfortable, even with Edward. More importantly, she hadn’t cared to scrap with Edward’s mother over the provisions of his will. Edward had clearly left the house to his wife, but since Leticia wanted it, Christina had capitulated.

The whole affair had required numerous meetings with solicitors and seemingly countless signatures, which kept Christina from going to Italy with her family. But it had seemed the right thing to do.

Holywell had been Leticia’s home far longer than Christina had had any claim to it, and Mrs. Fields was the dowager’s faithful minion, full of disdainful airs. Quite obviously, she had disapproved of Christina’s marriage to Edward as much as his mother.

Of course, as she was Edward’s widow and the rightful beneficiary of Holywell House, no one would challenge Christina’s right to use the house on occasion, and it suited her now. She had been pleased to find none of her in-laws in residence on her arrival the night before. Not that she minded Edward’s brother and his wife so much . . . but her mother-in-law was the most daunting woman Christina had ever met. She felt quite fortunate that their paths had crossed only two or three times since Edward’s death.

Christina had made the long trip from London already, and ridden all the way from Conistone the day before. Since she had arrived too late to go on to Sweethope for the jewels, she’d spent the night at Holywell House and ridden to the cottage that morning. She and Captain Briggs had made good time on their return to Holywell, but it was too late to begin their journey to London. She had to spend one more night at Leticia’s house.

But at least now she had Captain Briggs, who provided her with some hope of catching the blackmailer. They would be on their way in the morning, one step closer to discovering where Lang was and what he had supposedly done.

She waited for Briggs to be taken to his room before starting up the stairs toward her own, but was stopped by the housekeeper before she’d climbed one step. “My lady,” Mrs. Fields said. “Lady Fairhaven is in residence. She arrived soon after your departure this morning.”

Christina tried not to show her chagrin. All those signatures at the solicitor’s office meant that her mother-in-law had every right to be there. But Christina would have preferred not to see the woman anytime soon.

She raised her chin and spoke with a confidence she did not feel. As her mother had always told her, attitude meant everything. “Did my mother-in-law order supper?”

“Yes. We told her you were expected back.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Fields. Whatever Lady Fairhaven ordered will be acceptable.”

As much as she preferred to keep her business to herself, Christina could not keep Captain Briggs’s presence from Leticia. She supposed she could ask that he take his meals alone in his room, but one of the servants would undoubtedly mention that a strange man had come back from Sweethope Cottage with her. Without Alfred.

She started for her bedchamber, unbuttoning her pelisse as she climbed the stairs. Lady Fairhaven need not learn anything about the blackmailer’s demands for money. As far as her mother-in-law and everyone else knew, Lang had perished three months ago in the explosion at Plymouth.

Perhaps Lady Fairhaven would make an attempt to treat her with some unaccustomed gentility. How novel that would be. She had not even thanked Christina for ceding Holywell to her. Clearly, the woman believed it had been hers in spite of Edward’s will.

Christina still wondered if her mother-in-law had known of her husband’s liaison with Mrs. Shilton. The death of her son in his mistress’s arms was an awkward subject, one of which they had never spoken. But the circumstances of Edward’s death had not been kept secret, and all of society had learned of her husband’s incredibly bad taste to have been caught dead in such a situation.

Christina had turned to her mother in her grief and shame. All at once, she and the rest of society had discovered she was an inadequate wife. Everyone knew her husband had found it necessary to turn to another woman for his satisfaction.

Her mother had tried to soothe her by saying that many gentlemen of society kept mistresses. But Christina had challenged that notion, offering her own father as an example. Lord Sunderland had never kept a ladybird, not when he was so openly affectionate and devoted to his wife. Her parents enjoyed a lusty marriage, and were not shy about demonstrating their devotion to each other.

Clearly, not all men of society were unfaithful pigs.

Christina did not care to share any more personal information with society—or with her late husband’s mother. She had little connection with the woman anymore, anyway. Her second son had become viscount, and now Leticia pinned all her hopes on him and his wife—a woman who had already borne two children, a boy and a girl.

She proceeded to the top of the stairs and turned in the opposite direction of her own bedchamber. No one was in the corridor, so there was no one to note her direction toward the guest bedroom at the opposite end of the staircase from her own.

She tapped lightly at the door, and Captain Briggs pulled it open, standing half dressed once again, his hair and chest moist from a recent washing. Her mouth went dry and the ability for rational thought escaped her.

He’d shaved and combed back his hair, making him appear civilized, and yet somehow more disreputable than before.

She pushed into the room and closed the door behind her.

“My lady, is there something . . . I can do for you?” His arm was still wrapped in the bandage she’d put on him earlier, but blood had seeped through it. No doubt someone in the house would have some salve and a fresh bandage for him. She would make a point of asking one of the footmen to see to it.

She clasped her hands together and averted her eyes from his naked form. “I don’t want anyone to know I’ve come to your room.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

She bristled. “Pray, do not think of entertaining any untoward ideas, Captain Briggs. I’ve come to tell you . . . My m-mother-in-law is in residence. And she knows nothing of this business with Lang.”

He lowered his dark brow. “Of course not. That
is
the point of blackmail.”

“Well, yes, but I thought . . .” He wiped a bit of shaving soap from his neck, and her eyes seemed to lock onto the spot. “I-I thought we ought to agree on an explanation for why you are here.”

“What about the truth?”

She raised her eyes abruptly. “No! I don’t want her thinking any—”

“The truth about you being Windermere’s granddaughter,” he said. “That is no secret. Your sister will have already made her visit to the duke by now, and you will do so soon.”

Christina felt her heart pounding in her throat. Of course. She had hardly given any thought to Windermere, the situation with Lang being foremost on her mind.

And catching Captain Briggs in the intimate act of shaving had disconcerted her, scattering any coherent thoughts from her mind. She really ought to go.

“Yes. Right,” she said.

“As far as I know, you are mourning your brother as well as your late husband.”

She put her hand over her heart. “Thank you, Captain Briggs. I appreciate your discretion.”

“Anything to get you to Windermere,” he said, pulling his clean shirt over his head, “and the sooner the better.”

“Supper will be served soon,” she said. “But I’ll send someone up to see to your arm.”

“Not necessary.”

“If you’re afraid to be stitched—”

“No, Lady Fairhaven, I—”

“All right then, there must be some healing liniment or salve and some bandaging cloth about the house.” She saw his ruined shirt draped over a chair.

“No one need bother.”

She picked up the shirt. “I’ll have someone mend this for you before we leave in the morning.”

G
avin watched the door close behind Lady Fairhaven. She was a whirlwind of agitation and worry.

Not that she need have any concerns on his account. She might be the most novel female he’d ever seen, with her cropped hair and flashing green eyes, but he had no use for her, beyond getting her to Windermere in order to collect his money.

He supposed Christina had good reason to be worried. He would not enjoy being in her position—being the victim of a blackmailer. She clearly cared for her brother and was hopeful for proof that he was alive. And to find out what kind of trouble he’d gotten into.

If he’d gotten into anything at all. Sadly, Gavin did not believe Christina would ever glean the information she sought from the blackmailer.

He wondered who it might be. A shipmate, perhaps. But why extort money from his sister? The earl was likely deeper in the pockets than his daughter.

It must be that by the time the blackmail plot was hatched, the earl and his family had decamped to Italy. It would be much more difficult, if not impossible, to extort money from him at this juncture, and Christina didn’t have the option of putting off her blackmailer’s demands while she awaited her father’s assistance.

It gave rise to a number of questions. Gavin decided to find a moment alone with Christina after supper to ask them.

I
t was just dark when Gavin descended the staircase to join Christina in the dining room. He assumed the elder Lady Fairhaven would be present as well, and did not look forward to spending an evening in idle chitchat. He met no one as he made his way to the dining room, but heard voices as he approached.

“—unseemly to be seen gallivanting about, Christina. Though I don’t suppose I should have expected any better of you.”

“Mother, I have barely left Sunderland House since Edward died. And now, with Lang—”

“And that hair. Whatever possessed you to chop it all off?”

The old woman did not give Christina the opportunity to answer, and Gavin found himself feeling some sympathy for her.

“I told Edward he erred in choosing you. But his word was good as gold, and he would not renege on his promise to your father.”

“Some would say I was the one who erred in marrying your philandering son, Lady Fairhaven,” Christina retorted, but in a deceptively civil tone. Gavin nearly applauded her brass.

“Well! I’m sure I nev—”

“Mother, please. Might we eat our meal in peace this evening?” Her voice turned far more respectful than the old lady deserved, and Gavin would not have blamed Christina if she spit in the old lady’s eye and left the table. “Besides, I have some news.”

“The only news of interest would have been that you had borne Edward’s child. But of course that is im—”