Naughty or Nice? Page 24

  LONDON, DECEMBER 1815

  “Garrett? What is it?”

  Lifting his head to meet his fiancée’s concerned gaze, Garrett forced a smile. They were in the dining room of the Pultney Hotel, having a quiet dinner away from family and servants. It was supposed to be a pleasant evening, but it had been her decision to come here, and Garrett found the surroundings anything but pleasant.

  “It’s nothing, Caroline. I was just thinking.” Thinking, yes. Thinking about the woman who agreed to meet him there eight months earlier and never showed up. He’d thought of her often since that night—sometimes with anger, but more often than not, with regret. And when he’d faced Napoleon’s army at Waterloo, it had been the thought of her that kept him alive.

  Caroline smiled that serene smile of hers. “It’s nothing serious, I hope?”

  “No,” Garrett lied, raising his glass to his lips. “Not at all.” I’m just obsessed with a woman who saved my life and then saved my soul and left me. Forgive me, my dear, but I didn’t go to Waterloo to protect you. I went looking for her.

  It was true. He couldn’t even bring himself to feel guilty for it. When she didn’t show up for their arranged meeting, Garrett had torn London—and the Home Office—apart looking for his mysterious “Mrs. Vail,” only to discover she’d left again for the Continent.

  The Season had just started and he knew he couldn’t leave again without seeing his sister, and as fate would have it, he saw Caroline, too. Everyone expected them to marry now that he was back, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually propose—not when she was out there. So he went to war and came back with nothing more than a hole in his shoulder, and an even larger one in his heart. He didn’t even know if she was still alive. The Home Office wouldn’t tell him anything.

  He returned a hero and, with the war against Napoleon over, settled back into his role as viscount. With his return to his former life came his former responsibilities. He needed to marry, they said. He needed an heir, they said. Caroline’s been waiting, they said. So he proposed, and the girl who’d always been more a friend than a lover said yes.

  And now he sat across the table from her, watching unease flicker in her gaze and he felt awful for it. Awful because he wanted her eyes to be the color of sherry, not the summer sky and because he wanted her hair to be black instead of blond.

  “I’ve decided to go to Devon for Christmas,” he announced as the waiter refilled his glass. “Regina’s been after me to make a visit. I thought this would be the perfect time.”

  Caroline smiled. She always smiled at whatever he said. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her frown. He’d never seen her eyes darken in passion. And she’d certainly never whispered hot little sex words in his ear as he took her on an old, rickety table.

  “I think that’s a lovely idea. The children always love to see their war-hero uncle.”

  Garrett smiled at the mention of his niece and nephew. It had been too long since he’d spent any real time with them and Christmas had always been one of his favorite times of year.

  “I think you’re right to spend Christmas with Regina. It’s better than spending it here alone in London.”

  “I wouldn’t be alone,” he reminded her. “Your family is here.”

  Something flashed in her gaze. Was it panic? Nonsense. What would she have to panic over? But she did look uneasy . . .

  “Spending Christmas with my family is not the same as being with your own,” she replied, smile firmly back in place. “Besides, we’ve decided to go to Cornwall this year. When do you leave?”

  “The day after tomorrow.”

  Was it his imagination or did her perpetual smile brighten just a bit? Did she want to be rid of him? No, that couldn’t be. She’d accepted his proposal. Surely she would have refused him if she hadn’t been expecting to marry him just as everyone else had been expecting him to ask her.

  “Give Regina my love, will you?” Caroline sipped her wine. “I miss her now that they rarely come to town.”

  His younger sister Regina and Caroline had been at school together. That was how Garrett had met her in the first place. The last few months, Garrett had taken to wondering how different his life would have been had Regina never invited her friend to Devonshire for a visit.

  He would probably just be engaged to someone else, he thought as he told Caroline he would be happy to deliver her message to his sister. And it probably still wouldn’t be the woman he wanted.

  After taking Caroline back to her family’s house in Mayfair, Garrett had his driver take him to the docks. It wasn’t the safest of places for a man of his rank, dressed in his black evening finery, but Garrett didn’t doubt his ability to defend himself. Nor did he doubt the blade concealed within his walking stick.

  It was cold this close to the water, and Garrett welcomed the icy air on his face, even as his nose started to numb. The blue-white light of the moon gleamed on the patches of ice that peppered the walkway, and made it easy for him to scan the names written on the sides of the ships tied up nearby. He made this journey twice a week, one visit during the day, the other at night. And every time, he walked this same route, looking for a sign. Every time, he was disappointed.

  He would soon have to stop this nonsense. Very soon he would be a married man, and even if he didn’t love his wife like Regina’s husband loved her, he would still respect and honor her as she deserved. And that meant giving up this ridiculous obsession with a woman he knew only by her surname. He should have given up a long time ago, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life not knowing . . .

  Dear God.

  Hoisting his stick, he ran on shaky legs toward the small ship shifting on the waves in front of him. He forgot to watch where he was going and lost his footing on a patch of ice, falling to one knee.

  He scarcely felt it. As soon as both feet were under him again, he continued toward the boat; slower this time because his knee refused to work as fast as he wanted. The most he could manage was a fast hobble. Still, it brought him close enough so that he could see that his eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on him. They hadn’t been.

  There, sitting pert and pretty on the surface of the Thames was The Vail of Tears. It was the boat that had brought him back from France all those months ago. It was the boat he’d been searching for ever since. It was hers.

  Heart pounding, Garrett limped up the ramp as quickly as his knee would allow. “Hello,” he called. “Hello?” Leaning heavily on his stick, he started for the stairs that led below.

  A burly man with a lantern met him at the top. “ ’Ere now! Wot’s all the racket about?” Then, as his gaze took in Garrett’s appearance, his expression relaxed somewhat. “What can I do for ye?”

  “I’m looking for the owner of this ship,” Garrett informed him, resisting the urge to push his way past the man to the cabin below.

  The man puffed up like a peacock surrounded by a flock of hens. “Yer lookin’ at him.”

  Dismay hit Garrett like a boot in the stomach. “How long have you owned this vessel?”

  The man scratched his chin as he thought. Garrett’s hand tightened on the handle of his walking stick. He’d run the great oaf through if he didn’t answer him soon!

  “About four or five months now. It were summer when I bought her.” He grinned. “Ain’t she a beaut?”

  “She certainly is,” Garrett agreed from between clenched teeth. “Do you know where I might find the previous owner?”

  The man shook his head. “I bought ’er from a gent who said his mistress wouldn’t be needing her anymore.” His eyes narrowed. “It was all done legal like, guvnor. I got the papers to prove it.”

  Shaking his head with the heaviness of defeat, Garrett managed to smile weakly at the man. “I’m not questioning the legality of your ownership, my good man. Did the gentleman happen to say why his mistress wouldn’t be needing The Vail of Tears anymore?”

  “No, sir. ’E didn’t say much about her at all.�
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  So she could very well be dead after all. The very best scenario was that she had given up the spy trade after Waterloo, but even that did little to satisfy him. She may be alive, but the Home Office certainly wouldn’t give him any information about her, and she could be in a different country for all he knew.

  “I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” he said, his voice rough and empty. “Thank you for your time.”

  He limped back to the docks, suddenly very aware of the throbbing pain in his knee. Fortunately, his driver had seen his mad dash to the Vail and was waiting a short distance away for his return.

  “Where to, my lord?” the man asked just as Garrett was about to climb inside the carriage.

  “Home,” Garrett replied, his body now as tired as his soul. “I’ll be leaving for Devon in the morning, however. Have the horses ready to leave by eight.”

  He had to get the hell out of London.

  “Eliza! I’m so glad that you could join us!”

  Elizabeth stepped into her friend Regina’s jasminescented embrace with a contented smile. “Thank you for inviting me.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t bear to see you spend Christmas alone!” her friend cried, releasing her. “It just isn’t right. A person should be with the people who love them.”

  And sadly, Elizabeth realized just how few of those people existed in her life. Her own parents were long gone and Thomas’s family, while kind, just served to remind her of how much of a failure she’d been as a wife.

  And then there was him. She couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing for Christmas. He probably would spend it in London, surrounded by all his rich, titled friends. Perhaps he’d married. There were bound to be plenty of women who’d love to be his viscountess. Hadn’t she even foolishly entertained the notion?

  Yes, for all of five seconds.

  She’d gone to meet him that night at the Pultney Hotel. She’d even worn her best dress—it was a season or two out of style as women in her profession didn’t often have time to visit the dressmaker unless it was part of the job, but certainly it would be good enough for her Mr. Maxwell, spy and soldier.

  But her Mr. Maxwell wasn’t a mere mister at all. As Elizabeth had stepped out of the hired cab, she’d spotted him also climbing out of a carriage—a splendid equipage with matched grays at the front and a fancy crest upon the door. And how incredible he’d looked in his evening clothes! Right then, she knew he was out of her league. She watched him enter the hotel and then asked his driver who his master was.

  “The Viscount Praed, ma’am,” he’d replied.

  A viscount! Elizabeth stood in front of the hotel in her outdated gown and wondered what to do. It didn’t take her long to decide. As much as she was attracted to him, as deep an impact as he’d had on her life, viscounts did not marry widows who were spies—not that she had even entertained the idea of marrying him, but now that she knew his true identity, it changed everything.

  The only thing men of his station could want a woman of hers for was a mistress. She was worldly enough to accept that. She just hadn’t expected it from him. And even if it wasn’t what he wanted from her—even if he did want something more, Elizabeth wasn’t foolish enough to think it could actually work, not after being foolish enough to hope that what had happened between them had been more than just sex.

  She hadn’t been able to keep herself from feeling something for him any more than she’d been able to make marriage to Thomas work, and he was only a spy, a soldier. She certainly couldn’t be a wife to a viscount—a man who would want a lady for his wife. A man who would want an heir. In the five years before Thomas’s death, Elizabeth had spent the better part of those years learning how to be a spy, learning how to be anything but a lady. And she’d never once had the joy of even suspecting herself of being pregnant. She’d never been the wife Thomas deserved.

  She would never be what Mr. Max—Viscount Praed—deserved either. He would not be content with someone like her, someone who didn’t want excitement and intrigue in her life—someone who’d rather live out the rest of her life in peace and quiet. He thought she was mysterious, alluring, and wanted her because of it. One look at her gown, one look inside her heart, and he’d know she wasn’t what he wanted.

  And at the exact moment when that realization sank in, Elizabeth turned on her heel and walked away from the Pultney Hotel. The next day she went to the Home Office and instructed them to give no personal information to anyone—anyone—who came looking for her. And then she left England as quickly as she could. She went back to war, to do the one thing she knew she could do well.

  But she thought of him. She thought of him for months after that. She still did, when she was feeling particularly weak.

  It had been one of those weak moments, after returning from the Continent and Waterloo, that had driven Elizabeth to Devonshire, to the coast near Exeter, and to the tiny little village she now called home. She didn’t think it was the same village Viscount Praed called home—she’d never heard anyone mention him. She couldn’t bear the idea of accidentally meeting him again—but it was close enough that she could almost feel him near her, and share the beauty of his home.

  She let a cottage near the beach and sold the house she and Thomas had shared in London. She made a new life for herself on the comfortable nest egg she’d stored away from her spy work and the sale of the house. She’d even made a few friends. The dearest of which was Regina Abbott.

  “Would you care for some tea, Eliza?” her friend asked as they seated themselves in the comfortable warmth of the ladies’ parlor.

  Regina’s husband was an MP and the younger son of an earl, and they lived in the manner befitting their station. Oddly enough, Elizabeth never once felt inferior to her friend. Regina always made her feel at ease.

  One of the reasons Elizabeth felt so comfortable with “Reggie,” as her husband called her, was because Regina never referred to anyone by their title. Anyone close enough to be her friend was called by the first name. Social rank didn’t matter in her home, and oftentimes Elizabeth would sit through an entire dinner party not knowing if the person talking to her was socially above her or not. It was eccentric behavior, and no doubt London society would frown upon it, but no one ever seemed to complain—at least not that Elizabeth knew of.

  In fact, Regina reminded her of someone, but Elizabeth couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She didn’t know anyone else who shared her friend’s exotic coloring of rich auburn hair and bright green eyes, but still the feeling was there, like an itch in the back of Elizabeth’s mind. Sometimes she almost thought Regina reminded her of him. Depending on her mood, however, just about anything could have the same effect.

  “Have you heard from your brother?” she asked, as Regina handed her a cup. “Will he be joining us for Christmas?”

  “Oh, yes!” Regina’s eyes sparkled at the mention of her beloved sibling. Elizabeth didn’t know much about her friend’s brother other than that his name was Garrett, that he was the ideal brother, and that he’d been injured during Waterloo. But Regina’s face lit up so brightly whenever she talked of her brother that Elizabeth looked forward to one day meeting this paragon of brotherly virtue.

  “I expect him to arrive sometime today, as well. I can’t wait for you to meet him. Cake?”

  Never one to turn down sweets, Elizabeth set her cup and saucer on the table and accepted a thick slab of frosted goodness. Regina didn’t believe in being skimpy with her cake, and Elizabeth didn’t believe in pretending she couldn’t eat it all.

  The first bite elicited a moan of pure pleasure. “Oh dear, this is good.”

  “It’s Garrett’s favorite,” Regina replied, helping herself to a large slice. She giggled. “I hope there’s some left when he arrives.”

  Licking a dab of frosting from her lip, Elizabeth grinned. “I’m sure we can save him a little piece. You’re looking forward to seeing him, aren’t you?”

  Regina stared at her as though she thought
the answer obvious. “Of course I am. I haven’t seen him since the summer. Of course, there was the Season and then he and Caroline announced their betrothal.”

  “Oh, so the paragon has found his match, has he? The way you go on about him, I’m surprised such a woman even exists.”

  Regina waved her fork in the air. “The only woman who comes even close to being perfect enough for my brother, my dear, is you,” she replied with a teasing grin. “But Caroline is a precious girl and she’ll do.”

  Elizabeth laughed. It was a running joke between them that Regina was constantly trying to find her a new husband. In fact, Regina had declared that the only man she knew who could possibly match Elizabeth’s incredibly high standards was her brother, the noble and honorable Garrett.

  “I’m so glad that my fiancée meets with your approval, Egg Head.”

  Elizabeth’s heart froze at the sound of that low, rough voice. Icy-hot pinpricks danced along her skin and behind her eyes. No. It couldn’t be.

  “Garrett!” Regina cried, her plate clattering to the table as she leapt to her feet. She raced toward her brother, her arms outstretched.

  Elizabeth sat hunched in her chair, barely hearing the joyous voices behind her. Slowly, her hands trembling, she placed her plate and fork on the table. Please, God, let me be wrong. Please.

  “Eliza,” came Regina’s bubbly voice. “Come meet my wonderful brother, Garrett.”

  Her knees shook so badly, she had to cling to the arm of the chair for support. There was no escape, so she might as well face them. Besides, there was always the chance that she was wrong, that it wasn’t him.

  “Ah, the much talked-about Eliza,” she heard Garrett say, his voice light and teasing. Lord, but it sounded like him. “I’ve been eager to make your acquaintance.”

  Standing, she released the chair and turned. Oh, God.

  “I believe, my lord, that we’ve already met.”

  Garrett couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. He could only stare. That hair, those eyes, that mouth. It was her. He’d found her. Eight months too late, but he’d found her, and in the most ironic of places. Here she was, in the one place he hadn’t looked—the one place that always called him.