Kitabı oku: «Courting The Forbidden Debutante», sayfa 2

Chapter Three

‘Mercenary,’ Ben Crawford commented as he took a long slurp of tea from the delicate china teacup. In his hands the drinking vessel looked foreign and out of place, but Crawford didn’t seem to notice.

‘What’s mercenary?’ Sam asked, rising from his seat to help himself to another portion of smoked haddock from the serving plate on the sideboard. His normal breakfast consisted of porridge and some bread—it seemed a strange luxury to be eating fish for breakfast.

‘You are.’

Raising an eyebrow, he waited for his friend to continue, tucking into his breakfast while the silence dragged out.

‘I know you want to get your revenge on the old Earl, but compromising his daughter—that’s dark, even for you.’

‘I’m not...’ Sam began to splutter, then paused, swallowed his mouthful, took another sip of tea and continued to talk. ‘I’m not planning on compromising the daughter.’

‘You went halfway there last night. All I heard the entire evening was how scandalous Lady Georgina was acting over a ne’er-do-well stranger.’

‘I only danced with the girl.’

‘And led her off into dark corners.’

‘Hardly.’

‘They have different rules here,’ Crawford mused, his voice dipping. ‘No dragging your intended off over one shoulder and holding a pistol to their head until they capitulate into marrying you.’

‘Because that happened all the time in Australia.’ Sam paused, leaning back in his chair, rocking on the back two legs in a motion that he knew irritated his friend. ‘I’m not going to compromise Lady Georgina,’ he said firmly. ‘I merely need an acquaintance with her to gain me entry into her house and a little familiarity with the family.’

‘So you’re not going to punish the father by ruining the daughter?’

‘No.’

The thought had briefly crossed his mind, if he was being completely honest, but Sam, despite his past conviction, thought himself as an honourable man. It was one thing to seek vengeance against the man who had ruined his life, quite another to drag an innocent into it all merely because she was his daughter.

He hadn’t expected to like her. She was the daughter of the man who’d nearly destroyed him and he’d been fully prepared to have to pretend to enjoy her company to get close to her. But in reality he’d found her interesting and, in truth, perhaps a little too alluring. It was the way she’d looked at him with those intense green eyes, the heat he’d felt deep inside when his arm had looped around her waist, the overwhelming urge to kiss her he’d had to fight as they’d waited in the hall together. All in all he knew he shouldn’t like her, but he did, and it made him resolve not to involve her more than was absolutely necessary in his plans for revenge.

‘Did you get what you wanted?’ Ben asked, reaching out and tugging on his friend’s chair until all four feet were on the floor again.

‘Lady Georgina agreed to me calling on her today,’ Sam said, feeling inordinately pleased with himself.

When he, Ben Crawford and George Fitzgerald had decided to return to England, Sam’s main motivation had been revenge. He wanted to look Lord Westchester in the eye and confront the man about how he’d treated him eighteen years previously. Lord Westchester had been solely responsible for Sam’s false conviction for theft and his transportation to Australia. Now he would always be an ex-convict; that never left you. Nor did the years of back-breaking labour, the months spent in the filthiest conditions on the hulk ship or the grief of a ten-year-old boy being ripped from his home, his family and everything he held dear. The day he’d been sentenced had been the last day he’d ever seen his family. Meanwhile the Earl had been living his life of luxury and probably hadn’t given a second thought to the young boy he’d handed over to the magistrate all those years ago.

‘And you’re hoping the Earl is at home?’ Ben asked.

Nodding, Sam swung back on his chair again, balancing perfectly until he heard footfalls behind him.

‘You boys are up early,’ Lady Winston said as she entered the dining room.

They’d returned from the ball in the small hours of the morning, but the years of getting up before the dawn to work on the vast Australian farms meant neither Sam nor Crawford were in the habit of sleeping past seven o’clock and even that was a rare luxury.

‘Good morning, Lady Winston,’ Sam said, standing as the older woman waved a hand for both men to desist with the formalities.

‘Aunt Tabitha,’ she insisted, not for the first time.

‘Good morning Aunt Tabitha,’ Crawford said, placing a kiss on her cheek before returning to his seat.

‘George warned me about your charm,’ Aunt Tabitha scolded and Sam had to suppress a smile. Crawford was irresistible to the ladies, whatever their age. He had that easy-going confidence that meant they just seemed to fall into his arms.

‘Now, have you boys been well looked after this morning?’

Nodding in unison, Sam wondered why he felt like a young lad again rather than a successful landowner of nearly thirty. Aunt Tabitha was no relation to him or Ben, but she treated them in the same way she did George, her nephew. The three men were like brothers, despite their different starts in life, but not many people saw fit to treat them that way. George Fitzgerald was a wealthy landowner, but his father had started life as the second son of an impoverished baron. To many people that title was important and they couldn’t understand why a man of good family, like Fitzgerald, would associate with two ex-convicts, however rich and successful they might be now.

Aunt Tabitha, however, accepted their adopted fraternity and treated all three men equally, albeit like errant youths.

‘Did I hear you’re going to call on the lovely Lady Georgina today?’ Lady Winston asked.

‘Yes, I thought I’d pop around after breakfast.’

‘My dear boy, one does not just pop around and especially not after breakfast.’

Sam grimaced. Of course there would be some long-winded social convention for paying a call on a young lady. There was for everything else after all.

‘Enlighten me, Aunt Tabitha.’

‘First, the proper hour to pay a call is some time after eleven, but definitely before three.’

Sam glanced at the clock at one end of the room. It was a little after eight in the morning. Waiting so long seemed a waste, but he supposed not the biggest inconvenience.

‘Then when you arrive at the house you must present a calling card to the butler, who will enquire as to whether the young lady is at home.’

‘Of course she’ll be home. She said she would,’ Sam growled, finding the whole thing a little ridiculous. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Crawford suppressing a laugh and shot him a warning glare.

‘Oh, she’ll probably be at home, but she might not want to receive you. If that’s the case, the butler will inform you that Lady Georgina is not at home to visitors.’

‘She’ll snub me?’

‘She might have had chance to consider the merits of your acquaintance,’ Aunt Tabitha said, patting him on the hand. ‘If she does accept your call, you will be shown into the drawing room, or another such receiving room where Lady Georgina will be accompanied by her mother. Twenty minutes of idle chit-chat later and you will be expected to depart.’

‘Sounds like a thrilling afternoon,’ Crawford said, slapping him on the back.

‘And her father?’ Sam asked.

‘Ah, yes, the Earl. You probably won’t see him, although if you are an honoured guest he might make a brief appearance.’

He was going to go through all of the palaver of trying to secure an audience with Lady Georgina and might not even catch a glimpse of the Earl for his efforts. Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself. Today was only the beginning of their second week in London, he had to remind himself, and already he’d made the acquaintance of Lord Westchester’s daughter. He had time to nurture the relationship, time to orchestrate a meeting with the Earl, time to initiate the first step in his plans for revenge. If he was going to get close to the Earl the first thing Sam needed to do was check the older man did not remember him. Sam knew he’d transformed from gangly child into a well-built man since the Earl last laid eyes on him, but some people surprised you with their memories. Once he was sure the Earl did not know his true identity he could start on the next step of his plan.

‘Why exactly are you so interested in Lord Westchester?’ Lady Winston asked, her face shrewd and her eyes narrowed.

‘It’s probably best you don’t know,’ Sam said, trying to make light of the situation with a grin.

‘You’re probably right,’ Lady Winston said with a sigh. ‘If you’re up to no good, the fewer people know about it the better.’

He was up to no good, but with good reason. Eighteen years ago Sam’s mother had been an assistant cook in the Earl’s household and on occasion took Sam to work with her to help with the odd jobs around the place. He had been accused of stealing Lady Westchester’s emeralds, and although there was no real evidence against him the Earl had used his influence to ensure Sam was convicted and sentenced to be transported to Australia. Soon after he’d started his sentence in one of the filthy hulk ships his mother and sisters had been struck down with a winter fever, meaning Sam not only lost his childhood and life in England, but also the chance to ever see his family again.

The Earl had become the focus of his anger over the years, especially as Sam was convinced he’d been framed by the older man, even though he wasn’t entirely sure why. Now he was back in England with the express purpose of exacting revenge and enacting a plan he’d been building for the past eighteen years.

‘If I have three hours before I may call on Lady Georgina, I think I will go out for a ride.’

Being newly arrived from Australia, none of the men had access to a horse and Lady Winston only kept enough to pull her ornate carriage. However, when she’d received word of their imminent arrival she’d arranged for them to hire a horse each for the couple of months they were planning on spending in London, declaring, ‘No gentleman should be without a horse.’ And no doubt cackling at her loose use of the word gentleman.

‘Don’t forget to change into your finest riding garb,’ Lady Winston called after him as he left the dining room.

Grumbling at the ridiculous way the English seemed to have a different outfit for each activity within the space of the day, he none the less changed into a pair of buckskin breeches, a long jacket and a pair of high riding boots. Although he had the strong urge to not conform with society, he didn’t want to stand out too much before he’d achieved his aim and got close to the Earl.

As he began to climb the stairs to his grand bedroom he found himself thinking of Lady Georgina. She should be nothing more than a necessary step in his plan for revenge, a way to get close to the Earl, but numerous times in the past twelve hours he’d found his thoughts slipping to the curve of her smile, the way her eyes had glimmered in the half-light on the terrace and the beautiful curves of her body. It would be no hardship to spend more time with her, but he had to keep reminding himself to focus. Eighteen years he’d waited for this moment—he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted by a woman, even if she was the first woman to hold his interest for a very long time.

With a furtive glance over her shoulder Georgina slipped out the back door and into the yard where Richards, the young groom, was waiting for her. She shouldn’t be out at such an hour, especially after such a late night, but always after a ball she found it impossible to sleep. The music was still ringing in her ears, the sips of champagne still fizzing in her blood and the lights and bright flashes of opulent fabrics filled her mind every time she closed her eyes.

Her mother would no doubt scold her later for not trying to get at least get a few hours of sleep before the first of the visitors came calling. At least she’d stopped reprimanding Richards for accompanying Georgina on her early morning rides, acknowledging the young groom couldn’t do anything to stop the headstrong Georgina and was only accompanying her out of concern for her safety.

With practised ease Georgina pulled herself up into the saddle, preferring to test her own strength and agility rather than rely on a boost from the groom. It was another thing her mother scolded her for, chastising her for being unladylike, but Georgina reasoned you never knew when you would be stuck out on your own somewhere with no man to give you a boost. Being able to mount a horse alone would be a very useful skill.

Secretly she dreamed of adventures where she might go riding off into the wilderness with no groom, no entourage to accompany her. It was an impossible dream, but one she still allowed herself to harbour none the less.

‘Where would you like to go this morning, my lady?’

‘Hyde Park, Richards. We can give the horses a little exercise that way.’

She saw the young groom suppress a groan and had to hide a smile. They would head towards Rotten Row. Normally the popular riding spot was busy with the cream of society riding out for pleasure, dressed in their finest and eager to be seen. At this time in the morning, however, there would be a few other dedicated riders, but mostly grooms exercising their masters’ horses. By mid-morning there was an unwritten rule that you travelled down Rotten Row no faster than a sedate trot, but at eight in the morning no one really cared and often a more adventurous rider would be seen streaking past at a momentous gallop.

As always she took the lead, expertly guiding her horse through the streets until they reached the entrance of the park. Only once they were inside, riding over the familiar paths, did Georgina allow herself to relax. Luckily not many of her suitors had found out about her love of early morning rides through the park. If they did, no doubt she would be inundated with chance meetings and another of her little pleasures would be eaten into by the men who were only pretending to be interested in what she said.

‘Please don’t go too far ahead, my lady,’ Richards called from a few feet behind her.

At the moment they were riding close together, but from experience the young groom knew it was only a matter of time before Georgina leant forward and urged Lady Penelope, her beautiful grey mare, into a gallop and left Richards faltering behind.

Nodding in greeting to the few people out and about this early in the morning, Georgina slowly loosened her grip on the reins, signalling to Lady Penelope to start picking up the pace. As they began first to trot and then to canter Georgina threw her head back and marvelled at the feeling of wind through her hair, wishing she could unfasten it and wear it streaming down her back like a medieval princess.

Rotten Row itself was only just under a mile long and to Georgina it felt like a matter of seconds before she was reining in Lady Penelope to navigate the turn at the end. Richards was a couple of hundred feet behind her and even at this distance Georgina could picture his face, screwed up with concentration and effort. Knowing she shouldn’t be cruel she allowed her speed to fall to a much more sedate pace, giving the sweating groom a few minutes to catch up.

This end of Rotten Row was quieter, with some of the grooms preferring to stick to the Hyde Park Corner end, spending much of their time talking and catching up on the gossip about their masters rather than exerting the horses. However, as she turned, one lone rider was coming up past Richards.

Immediately she felt her body tense. She recognised him from his posture, the way he held himself. Of course he would be at ease on horseback; the man seemed to do everything naturally. Trying to suppress the bubble of pleasure at the thought of meeting Mr Robertson again, she wondered if he had contrived running into her while out riding. It was unlikely, she kept these early morning rides to herself, and it wasn’t as though many ladies in London kept a horse in the city, let alone made a habit of being out riding at such an early hour.

‘Lady Georgina,’ he said, his voice deep and warm as he slowed to match her pace. Richards was just coming up behind them and she motioned for him to keep his distance, signalling everything was all right.

‘Mr Robertson, what a surprise to see you here,’ she said drily.

‘You think I’m following you?’ he asked, a smile forming on his lips, revealing surprisingly white teeth contrasting against his bronzed skin.

‘It is rather a coincidence...’ she said, even though she’d convinced herself this was nothing more than chance. Or fate. As she looked at him she tried to limit her admiration to the easy way he sat on his horse, his good posture and clearly excellent riding skills, but she found her eyes roaming over his body. It was hard not to notice the sculpted muscles under his riding garb and the tanned skin that spoke of his time under the blazing sun... Quickly she snapped her eyes back to his and tried to focus.

‘I suppose I did follow you from the ballroom last night,’ he said, ‘but even I wouldn’t dream of ambushing a young lady while she’s out riding for pleasure.’

‘And you? Are you out riding for pleasure?’ Georgina asked.

Even though she knew very little about Mr Robertson she did know quite a lot about how society worked. A man newly arrived in London, with few family connections, would struggle to easily find a horse to ride. To want to hire one for the Season showed either a deep love of riding or a view that all gentlemen should have access to a mount at any time. Given what she’d seen of Mr Robertson so far it seemed far more likely to be the former than the latter.

‘Indeed. Back home I’m in the saddle at least five hours a day. Riding for pleasure isn’t quite the same, but it is better than the alternative of not riding at all for months at a time.’

‘Back home?’ Georgina asked, trying to make her question sound casual.

He regarded her for a moment, and she wondered if he would once again dodge the question about his origins. ‘Australia,’ he said eventually. ‘The Eastern Coast.’

Where they transported convicted criminals.

Telling herself not to be foolish, Georgina found her imagination running away with her. Thoughts of brutal criminals, men in chains, toiling away under a baking sun filled her mind. She’d never even seen a picture of Australia, but in her imagination it had sands the colour of amber and harsh conditions.