Playing with Fire (18 page)

Not that she had spent her time here so far in a state of nervous unease; on the contrary, Anubis or not, she had indeed slept for most of the afternoon and early evening. After the makeshift cots in the
Lucina’s
great cabin, on which she had slept fitfully at best, it was wonderful to have a proper bed again. And hers was quite splendid, its posts topped with lotus capitals, its golden hangings embroidered with chariot scenes. She had lain down upon the sumptuous coverlet when Dr. Chivenor at last departed after attending Martin, and the next thing she knew it was dark and almost time to dress for dinner! She hadn’t realized how tired she was, but supposed it was understandable after all the turmoil since leaving Constantinople.

She began to walk on, around the landing toward the staircase, but then caught a glimpse of herself in a wall mirror and stopped again. She and Letty, the new maid her uncle had provided for her, had done their best to make her look presentable, but with no great success. Her hair seemed to have taken umbrage because of all the sea winds and salt air, and even though it was quite short it was so full of elf knots that Letty had labored long and hard to achieve some semblance of tidiness. It was in need of a good tonic, and the sooner an infusion of rosemary and chamomile was applied, the better!

Her clothes, however, were completely beyond redemption. Not because they had suffered from the sea, but because they were simply too inexpensive and nondescript. She had been wearing her one good evening gown when the
Gower
went aground, and the only other dress that was in any way suitable was the velvet she wore now. It was a sort of butter-cream color, with a square neck and long full sleeves that were gathered at the wrist. Unadorned, unbecoming, and uninspiring, it was the sort of garment that wouldn’t warrant a second glance even were she to wear it in the midst of a column of nuns! So here she stood, her short dark hair resembling a bird’s nest, and her gown looking as if it had been dipped in a churn. What chance did she possibly have of luring Martin’s heart away from Amanda?

A mewing sound made her turn, and she smiled to see Ozzy and Cleo trotting toward her. The two cats had hit it off so famously that they were already inseparable, and as they pressed sensuously against Tansy’s skirts in that way cats have, she was quite sure they were both smiling. Then they trotted on, making for Martin’s closed door. Such things as doors did not present an obstacle to a determined cat, and Ozzy stretched up to the handle, but Tansy knew the doctor had left strict orders that Martin was not to be disturbed. The patient was to sleep as much as possible, and as comfortably as possible, which meant banishing all felines from his bed. So Tansy said “No,” quietly but firmly, and wagged a stern ringer at the two animals.

Cleo turned her back, her ears back slightly, and Ozzy gave a disgusted snort, but stopped what he was doing. Suddenly the handle jerked down, and the door opened so quickly that Tansy expected Martin himself to appear, but there was just the deserted doorway. The firelit room beyond was revealed, and the crimson-canopied bed where Martin lay asleep. Everything was red and gold, and the frescoed walls were alight with shadows of dancing flames. The cats tossed Tansy triumphant looks, then trotted in, jumped on the bed with him, and turned around and around in preparation to sleep.

Tansy was bewildered. How could the door have opened like that? She’d seen the handle pull down as if operated from the other side, and there had been no mistaking the click of the catch, yet Martin was in his bed. She could only suppose there was a slight draft, and that Ozzy had moved the handle sufficiently for the catch to give way. What other sensible answer was there? To consider other explanations would be to think of magic again, and that was something upon which she really did not wish to embark. She watched crossly as the cats lay down and curled up together, then peeped at her over their encircling tails. There were a number of unoccupied bedrooms for them to choose from, but no, they had to bother poor Martin, who was already stirring uncomfortably because of their weight. They would have to go!

Catching up her skirts, she hurried into the room to remove the guilty pair, but then paused to look down at Martin. The bronze cat lay on the bedclothes, which had been slightly tossed aside, revealing his body to the waist, and the gold chain and locket. He was lean, hard, and muscular, and his skin was smooth and tanned, for he was not the sort of officer to shrink from arduous tasks at sea. Dr. Chivenor had advised the continuation of the laudanum, which now acted with his fever, making him delirious. “I don’t care who you are, sir, or what your rank!” he cried, and started up from the pillow as if to get out to deal with whoever it was to whom he spoke.

Quickly Tansy placed soothing hands upon his shoulders. “Martin? It’s quite all right. There’s no one here except me.”

He allowed her to press him back to the pillows, then suddenly grabbed one of her wrists, his fingers surprisingly strong and viselike. “Speak like that again, damn you, and I will call you out…!”

“It’s me, Tansy,” she said again, putting her other hand to his forehead to push his damp, tousled hair back.

His eyes changed, as if his mind cleared a little, “Tansy?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

For a moment he knew her, she could see it in his eyes. Then he pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Forgive me….”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

“There is.”

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“A little better, I fancy.”

“I hope that is true,” she said, and slid the bronze figurine into his fingers again. She had more faith in its healing warmth than in any amount of laudanum. Magic? Oh, yes, whether she liked it or not. there was magic here….

He gave the ghost of a smile as the warmth spread gently through him again. “This, and a little more sleep will do wonders…” he whispered as he drifted away from her again.

Tears sprang to Tansy’s eyes. She loved him so much that her whole being seemed composed of that single emotion. She wanted to put her mouth to his again, to breathe her love into him as well, as if it too could somehow assist his recovery. The need became too much, but just as her lips touched his, Amanda spoke from the open doorway behind her.

“Well, well, how sickly sweet, to be sure. And how very reprehensible.”

The cats growled, and Tansy straightened with a guilty gasp. She stepped away from the bed, but it was a pointless gesture.

Exquisite in sequined silver satin, with a pink cashmere shawl trailing on the floor behind her, Amanda entered the room. She ignored the cats, being more intent upon poking fun at Tansy than giving the animals the wide berth she might otherwise have done. “Well, Coz, no doubt this is the only way you will ever enjoy his kisses,” she said.

“I…. I didn’t know you were there.”

“That much is obvious.” Amanda’s fan tapped in her pink-gloved palm. She was beautifully turned out, her golden hair shining and perfect, her ears and throat glittering with diamonds. Her new maid, a London girl called Daisy, had once waited upon a duchess, and was far more accomplished than Letty. As a result, Amanda’s fashionable coiffure was all that Tansy’s was not, and the contrast could not have been more pronounced—or more to Amanda’s satisfaction.

In fact, everything was to Amanda’s satisfaction. She was going to meet Randal again later on, and hopefully repeat the intimacies to which she had so wantonly surrendered earlier; at least, she had surrendered to them once the odd incident with the cats had ended and he had stopped speaking gibberish! She had been a little coy with him, resorting to blushes and protestations of maidenly modesty, but she had eventually permitted a resumption of the interrupted kisses. Not to the point of complete surrender, although she had been very tempted. His ancient lineage and impressive title were potent flames to such a moth as she, and maybe tonight, when temptation beckoned again, she would allow her lovely wings to fly far too close….

She stood across the bed from Tansy and looked down at Martin, her sequins shimmering in the firelight. The cats hissed and spat, and got up with their backs arched, but she continued to ignore them. Her interest was drawn to the locket, and she bent to open it.

Tansy was shocked. “You shouldn’t do that, Amanda!”

“Why not? He’s hardly going to object, is he?” The locket clicked and opened. Inside there was a miniature of a woman in clothes that were fashionable in the 1770s. She was dainty and very lovely, with coal-black hair piled up on her head and tumbling in curls over her left shoulder. Her name was inscribed at the bottom of the painting; Marguerite Kenny.

Amanda’s brows drew together. “Marguerite Kenny? Wasn’t she an actress at Sadler’s Wells?”

“I believe so.”

“Why on earth would our brave first lieutenant wear her likeness around his neck?” Amanda mused.

“I really have no idea. Amanda, it’s none of our business. Please close the locket again.”

With a shrug, Amanda did as she said, but then straightened to look down at Martin again. “He is very handsome, is he not? No doubt you would like to win him, but he will not glance at you twice.”

“I know that.”

Amanda’s lovely eyes fluttered. “I am the one he wants.”

“Well, I suppose even he is not perfect,” Tansy responded. It wasn’t often that the Church Mouse bit back, but the moment called for it.

“Don’t think you can best me, Tansy, for you will fail miserably.” Amanda’s eyes glittered like her diamonds. “I have decided to pass the time by making him confess his love for me.”

“Even you would not be that cruel.”

“Cruel? My dear, I will merely be doing that which you yourself would like to do. Do you deny it? Do you deny that you would like to hear the handsome lieutenant swear his undying love for you?”

Tansy didn’t reply.

Amanda laughed. “He already thinks I am the one who sat by his bunk all the time. I told him it was me, and he believed it. Men always believe me, no matter how many lies I tell. I will soon have his avowal of undying devotion, you see if I don’t. Then I shall toss it back at him and tell him I think he is most presumptuous for thinking he can aspire to me.”

“You tread a very dangerous path, Amanda. Let us hope Lord Sanderby does not see through you until after the marriage, or you may not become a countess after all.”

Amanda was amused. “My dear Tansy, Lord Sanderby is my willing slave already. He and I are admirably suited, have no fear of that.”

“How can you be sure? You’ve never met him.”

Amanda smiled enigmatically “I am certain of his lordship’s undying devotion.”

Tansy was puzzled, for it really was as if Amanda and Lord Sanderby had met. Yet that could not be. “Amanda, you may have exchanged letters with Lord Sanderby, but that does not mean you know him. I am sure that the man I perceive in those letters is vastly different from the one you perceive.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” Amanda laughed.

“Maybe in him you will meet your match,” Tansy said quietly.

Amanda was scornful. “No man is a match for me.”

“Take care, Amanda, for you will be playing with fire if you—”

Amanda interrupted cuttingly. “Don’t advise me, Tansy, especially when it comes to handling men. I have been able to wrap them around my little finger since I was a child. Lord Sanderby is no different.”

“You aren’t doing all that well with Uncle Julian, even though you have been exerting your charm for all it is worth.”

Amanda was scornful. “He is a foolish old man who thinks only of antiquities and cats.”

Tansy found Amanda’s attitude thoroughly distasteful. To refer to Uncle Julian in such a derogatory and downright offensive way went against all her principles, especially when he had shown himself to be all that was kind and thoughtful. “It ill becomes you to speak of him like that, Amanda.”

“And who, pray, are you to find fault with me?” Amanda was at her most arch and superior. “You are nothing, Tansy Richardson, a plain, dull nobody of a Church Mouse who will never amount to anything. You will die an old maid, for to be sure no man will ever want you.”

“I would rather be me ten times over than be a
chienne
like you,” Tansy said quietly.

Amanda’s nostrils flared with outrage, and she began to come around the bed with a hand raised to strike her impudent cousin, but Ozzy growled his most dangerous growl, and then a door opened across the landing. It was Sir Julian leaving his private apartment, and both cousins could see him because of the open door. As he paused to absentmindedly tease the lace at the cuffs of his evening coat, Amanda immediately returned to her place across the bed and sat on a chair that was there; then she reached for Martin’s hand.

She appeared angelic again, except that she pinched him hard to make him awaken. He opened his eyes just as Sir Julian noticed the little vignette and came toward the room. Calculating the approaching footsteps to the very inch, Amanda leaned tenderly over the patient. “How are you feeling, dear Lieutenant Ballard? Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked in her most winsome voice.

Martin gazed at her, then saw Tansy from the corner of his eye. His head turned toward her. “Tansy…?” he whispered.

Amanda dug her fingernails into his hand again. “Look at me, Lieutenant,” she said sharply, forgetting herself for a split second.

The cats saw Martin wince and heard his breath catch. It was too much for them, and as one they crept, bellies low, along the bed toward Amanda. Their tails lashed, their fur stood on end like the bristles of a chimney brush, and their growls and spitting were truly ferocious.

“Come away, my dear,” Sir Julian advised quickly.

“Uncle?” she turned, able even now to pretend to be taken completely by surprise that he should be there.

Ozzy rose on his hind legs and waved his front paws at her, his formidable claws unsheathed. It may have been a slightly comical stance, but funny it definitely was not, for he was as much a fighting engine as any frigate, and his claws could inflict as much damage as a broadside. Cleo was less demonstrative, but supported him with some feline swearing that would have seen off the most ferocious Egyptian dog.