A Lady Never Surrenders Part 24

Gillie jumped in to protest, "The miss would have said something to me if she were running off with a gentleman. I don't think-"

"Did she tell you that Mr. Pinter had been kissing her?" Minerva asked.

Gillie looked troubled. "Well, no, but-"

"I rest my case," Minerva said.

"I said 'no elopements,'" Hetty snapped.

"You were ready to waive that requirement for Gabe," Oliver pointed out. "I don't see why you can't do it for Celia."

She glared at him. "Are you blind, Oliver? Has it not occurred to you that Mr. Pinter might want to marry your sister for her fortune?"

"Oh, for G.o.d's sake, not Pinter."

His vehement defense of the man took her aback. She knew that Oliver liked the fellow, but she had not guessed how much.

Could Oliver be right about Mr. Pinter's character? Isaac seemed to agree with him. And she had warned the man that she would cut Celia off if he pursued her. So an elopement might mean he did not care about Celia's fortune.

On the other hand, it could mean he did not believe Hetty would actually hold to her threat. Or...

Another awful possibility leapt into Hetty's mind. "Oh, G.o.d. I am such a fool."

"Well, we all agree on that," Oliver said dryly.

She ignored her impudent grandson, caught up in a new concern. By threatening Mr. Pinter, she had thought to force him into revealing his true feelings. But what if the Bow Street Runner had simply decided to go around her? If he carried Celia off and did not marry her right away, it would force Hetty into having to consent to a marriage on his terms. Which meant she would have to give him Celia's inheritance if she wanted to save the girl's reputation.

Of course, there was always the possibility that he was really in love, and they were running off together because of Hetty's attempts to separate them.

She shook off that disturbing thought. s.n.a.t.c.hing the girl from her family in this secretive manner was not the behavior of a man in love. Not an honorable one, anyway. "Mr. Pinter might have a more devious reason for carrying Celia off than any of us have even considered. If you only knew-"

"If we only knew what?" Oliver asked, eyes narrowing.

Oh dear. She could not reveal to Oliver and Minerva what she had threatened Mr. Pinter with. One of them might tell Celia, and the girl would get all up in arms about it, without seeing how Hetty's scheme could elicit the truth.

"Mr. Pinter lied to my face about his involvement with Celia," she said stoutly. "He denied they had any interest in each other, all the while courting her behind my back. What is worse, he encouraged Celia to lie, too, for she reiterated his claim. That is not the action of an honorable man."

Minerva scowled. "You'll never convince me that the staid and upright Mr. Pinter would behave in such a scurrilous fas.h.i.+on."

"Nor me," Oliver said. "Besides, we are leaping to wild conclusions here. They may not be together at all. Celia may have forgotten the time and be even now trudging home in the darkness while Pinter is off on his expedition."

Hetty's pulse quieted a little. "Perhaps," she conceded. "In which case, all this speculation is for naught."

"Someone should head out to wherever it is Celia goes to shoot." Oliver glanced at Gillie. "Do you know where it might be?"

"I'm afraid not, sir. I never go with her when she shoots."

"d.a.m.n. Well, our first order of business is to find it. Then, if she's not there, we should search the estate. Gillie, check her room, make sure she didn't leave behind a note about where she was going to be or even about an elopement. Take Minerva with you."

As the two women headed for the door, Hetty called out, "Wait! Before we get our guests in an uproar over Celia's absence, perhaps we should handle this more discreetly."

Oliver crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you mean?"

"If she has not eloped with Mr. Pinter and there is no real cause for alarm, I do not want her potential suitors reconsidering their interest in her. Celia is the one who requested that they be invited to this affair. I a.s.sume she had a reason."

She's trying to gain a husband so precipitously only because you're forcing her to.

Ruthlessly, she pushed Mr. Pinter's words from her mind-she still had no idea what his motives were, and until she did, she could not trust what he said. "The duke is on the verge of offering for her, from what I understand," she continued, "and I would not want to ruin that for some idle speculation."

Though Minerva blinked at that, she conceded the point with a nod. "Perhaps Gran is right-we should proceed with caution. I'd hate to see Celia forced to marry Mr. Pinter out of some misapprehension, the way I was forced to marry Giles."

Oliver eyed her askance. "There was no 'misapprehension' involved in your wedding, my dear. You were caught lying half-naked in Masters's arms. You're lucky I didn't shoot the scoundrel right then and there. And you didn't seem too reluctant to marry him, either, as I recall."

Minerva sniffed. "That isn't the point. I just think we should be careful about alarming Celia's suitors until we're sure of what has happened. I suppose she might actually wish to wed one of them."

A sigh escaped Oliver. "You may be right." He thought a moment, then said, "Very well, here is what we'll do. Gran will tell everyone that my wife is in early labor. Since Maria has been resting all afternoon, no one has seen her, so that should be believable. Gran will say that I think it best that everyone go into town for an evening at the theater and a late supper. That will keep them out of our way. Isaac and Gran can be in charge of entertaining them in town."

"But I want to be here!" Gran protested.

"There's nothing you can do here but fret. In fact, Minerva should go with you." Overriding Minerva's protests, he went on firmly, "Keep our guests busy while we do our searching, and bring them home late. They'll sleep until noon, and if by then we haven't heard or found anything, we'll send everyone home."

"Why don't we just send them home now?" Minerva asked.

"Because it will take them time to pack up, and we won't be able to search during that time without their noticing."

Gran sighed. "True."

Oliver began to pace. He was always in his element during emergencies. "I wish we knew where Pinter had headed."

"John might know," Gran said. "He spoke to Mr. Pinter at length last night."

After ringing the bell for John, Oliver turned his attention to Gillie. "Go search Celia's room for notes. You can start that now-no one will see it." As Gillie headed for the door, he said, "But first, explain to Maria why she mustn't leave her room. Then send Jarret and Gabe down here, will you?"

He went to the window to look out and scowled. "Gabe and Jarret can search the estate, although it's going to take some time by lantern light with no moon. If we're lucky, Gabe might know where Celia goes to shoot. We'll involve the servants only if we have to. We don't want them talking to our guests' servants about what's going on."

John entered just then. "My lord, you wanted to see me?"

"Do you know where Mr. Pinter was headed today?"

"No, sir. He requested a list of former servants and their addresses a few days ago, and I got him confirmed information last night. He didn't say which servant he planned on visiting, though."

"But he did say he was visiting one today?" Gran prodded.

"Actually, no. He just took the list and thanked me." John brightened. "But perhaps one of the stable boys will know."

"Even if he told them, he could have lied," Gran pointed out. "Especially if he had designs on..." She cast a furtive glance at John. "Especially if he wanted to hide his true purpose."

With a roll of his eyes, Oliver dismissed John, then turned to Hetty. "You credit Pinter with more deviousness than I. Let's a.s.sume, for the moment, that he told the truth. If we can't learn from the servants where he headed, Giles and I will go to town and talk to Pinter's clerk and his aunt. One of them might know. He might even have returned home by now."

"Wouldn't he have come here first?" Gran pointed out.

"Not if he was hot on the heels of a lead in the case," Oliver drawled. "But now you've got me curious-what exactly do you have against Pinter that makes you so dead set against him for Celia?"

The sudden s.h.i.+ft in subject took her off guard. "Nothing, I swear!" As Oliver continued to stare skeptically at her, she said, "I happen to know a bit about the man, that's all. And I've seen many of his kind through the years try to better themselves by-"

"Marrying above themselves?" Oliver said in a hard voice. "Like Mother?"

Hetty colored. "Your mother loved your father, no matter what else you might think about her. And though she was beneath him in rank, I made sure she was well-educated and had every advantage to make her a suitable wife to a marquess. While Mr. Pinter, until he was ten-"

"I know his history as well as you apparently do, Gran," Oliver broke in. "Did you think I hired the man without finding out everything about him first?"

She blinked. She had indeed thought that.

"No matter what his childhood," Oliver went on, "he has spent twenty-odd years making something of himself while we five sat on our a.r.s.es mourning our parents. He had more to mourn than any of us, yet he worked hard to get where he is today." He stared her down. "I admire that. And I think that Celia could do a great deal worse than to marry Jackson Pinter."

Gran sniffed. "Well then, I only hope you are right about his character."

Oliver gave her a pitying smile. "And I hope one day you can see it as clearly as I." He came over to pat her on the shoulder. "Truthfully, I'm more worried about Pinter right now than I am about Celia. If they did decide to elope, it was probably at her instigation. Knowing my sister, they're already halfway to Gretna Green, and the poor man is beginning to regret he ever saw her."

Though his words were joking, Gran could hear the worry underlying his light tone.

Well, at least he was taking this seriously. And if anyone could find two runaway lovers and stop them before they did anything drastic, it was her grandson.

JACKSON LAY NEXT to Celia, perfectly content. With his body wrapped about hers, he scarcely noticed the chill in the room. He scarcely noticed anything but the fact that she was in his arms, naked, and that he'd finally made her his.

She was dozing now, but he didn't mind. In repose she lowered her guard and truly became the sprite he sometimes imagined her to be-with a half smile on her lips and her hair pouring over her shoulders like night rivers of gossamer silk.

With a soft sigh, she cuddled against him, and his heart flipped over in his chest.

The visceral response alarmed him. She might have agreed to become his wife, but matters were by no means settled. People did and said things in the heat of desire that they regretted on the morn, especially people whose lives were tied to great fortunes and age-old family connections.

She doesn't care about any of that.

Perhaps not. And perhaps if he and Celia could stay here forever, just the two of them in this cottage alone, making love and lying in each other's arms, they could make the rest of the world disappear. But they couldn't stay here. Aside from the murderers lurking about, there was her family to consider. They must be frantic, wondering what had happened to her, not realizing she was with him.

Once they did, would they be grateful that he meant to marry her? Or would they refuse to allow it? He had no idea what to expect. If he'd learned anything from his mother's tragic life, it was that the aristocracy had its own rules.

He wanted to think that the Sharpes were different, that they would support a marriage between him and Celia, but how could he be sure? He hadn't thought Mrs. Plumtree would oppose it, yet she had.

He sighed. Should he tell Celia that she might be cut off if she married him? That she might have to give up her comfortable life entirely?

No, how could he? It might prove an idle threat, and he would have caused a rift between her and her grandmother for nothing. If Mrs. Plumtree meant to cut Celia off, let her tell Celia herself. Then it wouldn't be on his head to explain to Celia why she was about to lose her fortune by marrying him.

Still, he needed to make sure she understood what marrying so far beneath her station might mean, fortune or no fortune. Her friends might abandon her. Her family might do so.

Celia might not want to endure that simply because he hadn't been able to keep his p.r.i.c.k in his trousers for one night.

He gazed down at her. Ah, but he hoped she would. Marriage to Celia would be ...

But he mustn't let himself hope for it too much. Not yet. He'd spent his childhood hoping for his father to return to save Mother and him and to claim him as a son, and all he'd gained was a childhood of private pain.

He was never putting himself through that again. Better to protect his heart. There would be plenty of time to lay it open for her when-if-he and Celia were married and joined for life.

But no matter what happened on the morrow, he would never regret having had this night with her.

She s.h.i.+vered in her sleep, and he realized that he, too, was growing colder. He left the bed to fetch her cloak and his surtout. When he returned, she was awake and watching him with a sleepy gaze.

"Did I doze off?" she asked as he climbed back in the bed.

"Yes." He spread the warm garments over them. "I imagine you got about as little sleep as I did last night."

"Less, probably. You left the ball early. I stayed up late talking to Minerva."

As she turned over to face him, the surtout slipped a little. He pulled it back into place, and the brandy flask in his pocket b.u.mped his hand. After retrieving it, he offered her some.

She sipped the liquor, then smiled up at him and handed him the flask. "Do you know I've never had brandy before today?"

"I should hope not." He took a long swig. "Fine ladies do not drink brandy." Or share the beds of unrepentant b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.

"That's a pity, if you ask me," she said cheerily as she snagged the flask and swallowed more. "I'm finding it most warming." She gulped more still. "Invigorating, even."

Her eyes were brighter now, and her cheeks flushed. Uh oh. Bad enough that he'd ruined her. He was not going to get her drunk, too.

He took the flask from her. "That's enough brandy for you."

"Why?" She snuggled up close to him with a fetching pout. "No one will know."

"I will. And trust me, you'll regret it in the morning if you drink too much tonight."

She made a face at him. "I see that Proper Pinter has returned."

"Beg pardon?"

Mischief shone in her eyes. "That's how I thought of you whenever you lectured me. Proper Pinter, hoity-toity and high in the instep."

He lifted an eyebrow. "You can call me that after what we just did?"

"Why not?" She stretched and spread her arms in a wide arc above her head. "I feel quite delightful, and you're trying to spoil it."

With her b.r.e.a.s.t.s peeking out from beneath their improvised blanket, she looked like a G.o.ddess, inciting her subjects to riot in wild debauchery.

He shook his head ruefully. "I suppose I am."

Which is why he would save their serious discussion about marriage for the morrow. Besides, he didn't like being thought of as "Proper Pinter." He supported his head on one hand to gaze down into her lovely face. "Have you always called me 'Proper Pinter'? Or is this recent?"

"Ever since we met. Though not so much anymore." She flashed him a coquettish smile. "After you kissed me, I realized just how improper you could be."

"I can be downright scandalous when I want," he murmured, bending to give her a long, thorough kiss.