Margo Maguire (6 page)

She had asked Captain Briggs about Lily, but he’d said little. Only that Lily had been raised by a vicar and his wife, and had recently married an earl. Her sister had done well, considering her modest upbringing.

Christina could not fathom why she had been taken to the Earl of Sunderland instead of a family like the one that had taken her sister. Captain Briggs could offer no explanation, either.

Perhaps she could discover the answer one day, after she met Lily. But as much as she wanted to meet her sister, her priority had to be Lang. If he was still alive . . . She needed to uncover the identity of her blackmailer and learn what he knew about her brother.

Then she could meet Lily, wherever she was. Christina wanted sufficient time to spend with her sister, for them to become friends without any distractions. She didn’t care one whit about the duke—he could go hang, the old curmudgeon. How could he deny his own daughter? His orphaned granddaughters?

She did not doubt his sudden pang of conscience was due to the death of his son. Now that he had no direct heir, he felt some belated urge to know his other kin.
How very kind of him!

Christina could not help but be intrigued by thoughts of her sister—her twin. She doubted Lily had shorn her hair as Christina had done, but according to Captain Briggs, they were otherwise the same.

It was unimaginable. She’d heard of twins, of course, but had never known any others. She wondered how it would feel to meet a mirror image of herself. As much as she loved her brothers, Christina had always wished for a sister, and now, as improbable as it was, she had one.

Christina dozed as she thought about the issues that faced her, but she soon slipped into dreams of the man who’d invaded her bedchamber the night before.

I
t was going to take all Gavin’s considerable patience to get through this journey to London and back north to the Lake District. He did not appreciate being given no choice in the matter, but if he did not take Christina to London and help her with her bloody blackmailer, she was not going to cooperate with him later.

He spent most of the day riding ahead of her entourage, feeling irritated as he kept an eye out for unsavory travelers who might threaten her and her valuable cargo. He should have told her to leave it at Sweethope Cottage, and find some other means of raising the money she needed once they arrived in London.

But she was no fool. She would have considered every other possibility before traveling all the way to Cumbria to collect the jewelry from the safe at Sweethope Cottage.

At least her carriage was nondescript, and her driver and footman were armed. Gavin didn’t know if either man could shoot, but they were both young and fit. And they were being paid to see to Christina’s safety.

Gavin was uninterested in riding on or in Christina’s carriage and being jostled along on its stiff springs. He was even less willing to spend any more time than necessary in close quarters with her. He’d been far too tempted by her last night.

Slipping into her bedroom had been a grievous error. He’d found her attractive when fully dressed, but she was beyond tempting in the shimmering white gown she’d worn in her bedchamber. He had to admire the way she’d stood up to him without cowering in the least. She was a woman to be reckoned with.

But not by him.

It was late afternoon when Gavin arrived at the Middleton Arms. He’d ridden ahead since the road had been devoid of travelers all afternoon, and he felt certain Christina and her party would be safe.

He had never been to the small village before, having spent little time in England since his school days. It seemed ironic that he barely knew the countryside in his own land, while he was more than familiar with every little hamlet and village in France.

He did not care to reminisce. The war was over, and he would never again be called upon to commit any of the vile deeds that had been required of him in France.

The Middleton Arms was a decent inn, and Gavin decided it would be sufficient, as long as the beds were not too hard or too lumpy.

Taking his saddle pack with him, he left his horse with a lad at the stable and crossed the road to the lodging house. It was not difficult to secure rooms, for there were only a few other lodgers at the inn. He ordered a meal to be prepared for Lady Fairhaven and her party, then went into the taproom to take his ease.

He had to admit some small part of him did not object to the challenge of dealing with Christina’s blackmailer. As much as he wanted to put an end to his roving days and settle down in his own house in Hampshire, he had a niggling fear that it would not suit him. He could not quite imagine waking up in the same bedchamber every morning, eating his meals in the same room every day, or looking out at the same landscape all through the seasons.

What if he did not like it? Worse, what if he could not stand it?

He thought of the agricultural journals he’d stashed in his pack and took a swallow of the scorching whiskey the barkeep put before him. He rather liked the thought of running his own farm. Of producing, rather than destroying.

When he’d been promoted from the Ninety-fifth Rifle Regiment, he had not considered the toll his new position would take. He’d sought out the most dangerous of Britain’s enemies and eliminated these men in cold blood. Problem solved. No battle involved.

His missions had taken him all over the continent. There were times when he’d been able to merely thwart an enemy strategist or information gatherer, but it was usually more expedient to simply remove the problem. Gavin had done his part to ensure England’s victory over Napoleon, following orders and answering personally to Lords Castlereagh and Wellington.

He felt much more than relief that it was over. His duty, while clear, had not been as uncomplicated as he’d thought it would be.

Luckily, it was only a matter of time before he could purchase his farm and retire there in peace. As soon as he collected his money from Windermere, he intended to send for his sister and niece, and they could move into Weybrook Manor. He only had to be patient and handle Christina’s situation in exactly the same way that he’d have dealt with an assignment in France. With careful planning.

He turned his thoughts to the task before him and considered everything Christina had told him about the last time Lang had been seen.

It was hardly enough to make anyone think the young lieutenant might have survived the blast. And yet there was at least one gaping hole . . .

Bloody hell
. He did not want to get caught up in an investigation of Lang Jameson’s death. Surely his father and the dockside authorities had already done a sufficient job of it. But if Lang’s companions were not sure how long before the explosion he’d left the tavern . . .

Gavin downed another swallow of whiskey. Christina’s limited information was not enough to go on. If they did not make contact with the blackmailer and find out what he knew, Gavin feared she would want to travel to Plymouth and retrace Lang’s steps.

It was the last thing Gavin wanted to do.

He drank again, the liquor helping to dull the uncertainty of his mission. Of finding out what a blackmailer could possibly say about Lieutenant Jameson, of moving into Weybrook Manor and farming his land for the rest of his days . . .

He told himself he could leave Hampshire if life as a gentleman farmer did not suit him. He could hire an estate agent to manage things while Eleanor stayed and ran the house. His payment from Windermere would give him plenty of money to live on until the estate produced an income, so his sister and her daughter would be well provided for.

Luckily, Gavin had insisted on being paid whether or not the duke was still alive when his granddaughters came to Windermere Park. He’d had it put down in writing, and duly witnessed.

All he had to do was get Christina back to the Lake District. But he’d learned—with some difficulty—that she was not an easily manipulated woman.

Contrary to what Christina believed, Gavin had no experience with blackmailers. Of course, he had dealt with any number of villainous men, but Gavin himself was the most dangerous one he knew. Christina had no idea whom she was dealing with, and it was far better that way. He hoped no one ever learned of his wartime missions.

He shuddered at the thought of Christina trying to deal with the blackmailer herself. The situation could quickly become hazardous, especially if she confronted the man with that pistol she’d found at Sweethope. She could easily find herself in Newgate, awaiting trial for murder. Of an innocent bystander.

Gavin finished his last swallow of whiskey and put down his glass for more. The barkeep accommodated him.

He did not believe events at All Hallows Church would play out well. Christina’s expectations were naïve and unrealistic. She was mad even to have considered taking a gun into London and threatening the blackmailer with it. And Gavin doubted they would learn anything of her brother from him. The blighter had to be lying about what he knew.

In Gavin’s opinion, this was a wasted trip. Christina should just ignore the blackmailer and let the dice fall as they may. Lang Jameson was a grown man and an officer in His Majesty’s navy. If he was not already dead, then the consequences of his actions should be his own to deal with.

But Gavin would never convince Christina of that, no more than he could leave Eleanor to her own devices after she’d been tossed out by their bastard of a father. Gavin had to do what he could for her, just as Christina was doing for Lang.

Of course she hoped her brother was still alive, in spite of the fact that his actions might jeopardize another brother’s betrothal. Which meant Gavin was stuck on his present course, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Though he was not usually much of a drinking man, he decided his present situation warranted it.

He gestured for the barkeep to refill his glass a third time.

I
mmediately upon her arrival at the inn, Christina started for her room, but caught sight of Captain Briggs through the doorway of the adjacent taproom.

He remained silent, tossing her a solemn glance while saluting her with a glass that held a small amount of rich amber liquid. Then he turned away and downed it in one long gulp.

Christina swallowed hard, too, as she watched his throat move. But she turned away quickly and followed Jenny to the staircase. She did not care to speak to Captain Briggs anyway, as his behavior that morning had bordered upon rude. Besides, there was nothing further to say.

Christina was not a seasoned traveler. She’d spent most of her youth at the Sunderland home in Edinburgh, only going to London for the season when she turned twenty. In spite of her excitement at experiencing her first season, she’d missed her younger brothers, who’d stayed home. She’d missed riding out to the country with them, missed playing cards, missed laughing at all their antics.

Life had become sedate and dull after her marriage, as Christina had tried to become the wife Edward wanted.

They’d taken a few short trips together, but rarely had they needed to stay in an inn. Not when friends and family expected their traveling acquaintances to come and stay.

Christina followed the innkeeper up the stairs to her room and stopped at the threshold to survey it. The chamber was clean, the fire warm, and the bed appeared to be adequate. It would do.

“I would dearly love a bath,” she said to Jenny after the man had left.

“I’m sure that can be arranged, my lady. I’ll see about it,” the maid replied. “Do you want to go down for supper or shall I have it sent up?”

Christina thought about the probability of encountering Captain Briggs again, and made her decision. “I’ll have it here.”

It was decided that the strongbox with her jewels would stay with Hancock and Trevor. One of them would always have it under his guard while the other left the room to go out for a meal or any other necessities.

Christina decided the small bedroom suited her. She was tired and irritable from her long ride inside the carriage, and envied Captain Briggs his day outside on horseback. There was a time when she’d have insisted upon riding alongside him, all the way to London. Rain or shine.

She went to the window and opened the shutters, and saw that night was quickly falling. Visible on the left was the road they’d traveled from Holywell House, and there was a small village to the right. No one was about, and Christina assumed the townspeople had all gone home for their suppers.

She lit the candles in her room, then opened her traveling case and took out her sleeping gown and banyan. She intended to have her meal, then take a long, hot soak, and retire for the night. She had no intention of thinking about Captain Briggs and the dour look he’d given her from the tavern room.

She supposed it was unfair for her to drag him into her troubles, but what was she to do? Pay the blackmailer again and abandon any possibility of gathering some information about Lang? The Sunderland family had never forsaken her, and she was not about do any such thing to Lang. If he was in need of help, she was determined to provide it.

Jenny returned with her supper, a simple but hot meal. Afterward, servants brought in a large copper tub and filled it with steaming, hot water. Christina undressed with her maid’s assistance, then stepped into the tub. She sank down into its soothing heat and closed her eyes with pleasure.

“Here now, my lady, let me wash your back.”

Christina allowed Jenny to help her for a few minutes, then dismissed the girl. “We’ve all had a long day, Jenny,” she said when the young maid protested. “Go and have your own supper and get some rest. I’ll finish my bath and get myself to bed. I won’t need you until morning.”

Jenny did not protest. “If you’re sure, my lady.”

“Of course I’m sure.” She would relax in the tub for a few more minutes, then go to bed. She was tired, but anxious—about the trip, about Lang . . . and about Captain Briggs. But the hot water was having the soothing effect she’d hoped for. The heat seeped in and her jostled muscles began to relax. She closed her eyes and leaned back. “Go on with you,” she said to Jenny. “I’m sure the kitchen is warm and the staff more than happy to gossip.”