How To Beguile A Beauty Part 14

"Ah, yes, we're back to Flynn. You intrigue me with this notion that the man isn't who he purported himself to be. The question is, if he is not Captain Flynn, then who is he?"

"I wish I knew. I just know his appearance was too convenient. Face it, Justin, what are the odds of us meeting up with a man who had fought at Quatre Bras? An Irishman, and a captain to boot. And one thing more. Looking back at the entire incident, I think Jasmine recognized him."

Justin lowered his cheroot. "I beg your pardon?"

"I know. Ridiculous. There was just something suspicious about her reaction when he entered the room with Lydia. My cousin has never been adept at hiding her emotions, and I think she was...angry."

"With Lydia, yes."

Tanner shook his head. "Who's to say? She was looking across the table at the two of them. At any rate, while you and Wigglesworth were conversing after dinner about whatever it is the two of you converse about-"

"We were discussing my ensemble for tomorrow. It's a nightly ritual. I could probably forgo the exercise, except that Wigglesworth would be devastated. But do go on."

"Pardon me for allowing you to interrupt me with tales of the minutiae of your life."

Justin looked at him quizzically. "Oh, dear. You begin to sound like me. That isn't good, Tanner. I rely on you to be above such remarks."

"It turns out I'm not above much of anything if I think Lydia is being hurt. But I apologize. May I continue? While you were consulting with your keeper, I visited the other two inns here in the village. Flynn was at neither of them. I returned here and asked one of the ostlers if they'd seen him ride out. I was told he'd ordered his horse saddled and rode out of the village, toward Malvern, or at least in that direction. There's no moon tonight, Justin. Where the h.e.l.l would a stranger to this part of the country go on a moonless night?"

"Straight into a tree or a ditch, I'd imagine, at least eventually. Are you going to confront your cousin?"

"Not here, no. I'll wait until we reach Malvern. Although I don't think Jasmine is capable of any sort of intrigue."

"More hair than wit, I agree. Just the sort of woman who once appealed to me. Beautiful, and easily dazzled by bright s.h.i.+ny things, but not overstuffed in the brainbox."

"Too bad. I'd make you a gift of her, if I didn't like you so much. She really is quite wearing on the nerves, something I didn't fully realize until I brought her to town with me for the Season. But I'm thinking more of her father."

Justin deftly opened an ivory-topped snuffbox with one hand and took a pinch, raised it to his right nostril, and sniffed delicately. "Thank you, no. I don't want him, either."

Tanner smiled, which was what Justin had wanted him to do. "I think Thomas may have decided my interests lay with Lydia, and not Jasmine. Although why he'd want to hurt her..."

"Oh, don't stop now."

Tanner at last took a sip from the snifter, the brandy bitter on his tongue. "He's looking for ways to turn her away from me. Bringing up memories of Fitz could do that."

"Yes, all that business about you being the bearer of sad news and such. And why would he want to do that?"

"Why do I bother talking to you? You already know."

"Yes, I think we both do. He would have Lydia turn away from you so that you at last give in and marry his little babbling darling, make her a d.u.c.h.ess, and thereby fill his pockets. This much we could have deduced even before Captain Flynn's appearance tonight. And? Finish it, Tanner."

"The Malvern jewels. It would be in very bad taste for me to send my father-in-law to prison. Because only an idiot would believe I'd never discover the subst.i.tutions."

"I've been out of the country for a long time, I grant you, but I believe the punishment for theft on such a grand scale is to be hanged, or at the very least transported. Now, this is all conjecture, knowing that the jewels could have been sold years ago, but excuse me if I allow fancy to take me further into the realm of speculation."

"Don't bother. I'm already there," Tanner said, getting to his feet. "I marry her, give her a male heir, and then suffer a fatal accident. Her father serves as Jasmine's advisor and the child's guardian, and spends the remainder of his life swimming nicely in a nice deep gravy boat made up of my lands and fortune. At some point I'm certain there would be a terrible robbery at Malvern and the paste jewels would disappear."

"All the dark melodrama of a Pennypress novel," Justin said, nodding. "Unfortunately, also plausible. So, who was our Captain Flynn, this man we should probably be thanking for being so clumsy?"

Tanner shrugged. "A hireling? I'm just certain poor, transparent Jasmine recognized him, has probably seen him with her father, and knew him for a liar. I imagine her reunion with her father at Malvern isn't going to be pleasant. After all, she might not be the brightest person, but she has to know that she is being manipulated."

"And, it would appear, the thought that her father's plans are moving on to possible fruition-marriage to you-is enough to cast her into strong hysterics. I hadn't realized you were such a terrible catch."

At last, Tanner smiled. "Her reluctance is rather lowering, isn't it? Truthfully, that reluctance is her most appealing trait." He reached into his waistcoat pocket and withdrew a small, thick key. "If you don't mind, I'm hoping you'll ride ahead of us tomorrow, as I'm planning to show Lydia a bit of Malvern from horseback before we reach the house. The Malvern collection is in a locked box secreted in a cut-out behind the portrait of the first duke. In my study. Probably not the best hiding place."

"But changing it now might be rather like locking the stables after the horse thief has been," Justin agreed, pocketing the key. "I'd be happy to pa.s.s the time by examining the jewels. Then it's done, and we can move on to what seems to be more skullduggery in the making. You're such a fine host, Tanner, planning this amus.e.m.e.nt for your guest."

Tanner shot him a darkling look. "Thomas is probably already in residence, as he left for Malvern within hours of my telling him our plans. He says, to alert the staff to our arrival."

"And Lord knows what else," Justin said, nodding. "I'll be careful to avoid him."

"Thank you, Justin. At least that's off my mind. Now I need to go upstairs and speak with Lydia."

"Do you think that's wise? She said she knows Flynn was mistaken. She was hurt by his words, certainly. But how much more upsetting to think that she has unwittingly become part of a conspiracy?"

"I'm not going to tell any of that. After all, we may both be mistaken."

"Oh, now that wounds me. You could be mistaken. I, on the other hand, am almost always right. And as I concur with your conclusions, the chances are quite high that our Captain Flynn was sent here by Thomas Harburton expressly to undermine your budding romance with the fair Lydia."

"Because I was with Fitz, and never told her that he was spending the months before the battle amusing himself with half the ladies in Brussels? I watched her mourning him, suffering, and all while knowing he'd been unfaithful to her?"

"You cad," Justin said, shaking his head in mock horror. "Then again, just another example of the honorable Tanner, choosing not to besmirch her memories of the man, even as you hope to court her yourself. Although she wouldn't have believed you if you'd said any such thing, probably sent you away forever. My goodness, being honorable does open a person to recriminations no matter what one does. I must remember to never decide to become moral."

"I don't think any of us has to worry much about that," Tanner told him. "You enjoy your reprobate status entirely too much."

"Thank you. Did I forget to point out that, if the dear Lady Lydia were to take you in distaste, I remain available to comfort her? You could mention that as she tosses you out on your ear."

"I'll try to remember," Tanner said, aiming his unlit cheroot at the fire. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to be honorable."

"I know." Justin sighed. "What a waste of a perfectly good evening."

The clock in the vestibule of the inn chimed out the hour of ten as Tanner climbed the stairs to Lydia's chamber. He'd thought to give her time to weep, for he was certain that she would have needed to release her feelings at some point, but he couldn't allow her to spend the night wondering about Fitz's loyalty to her, his love for her.

As he turned down the hallway, a maid carrying a tray of dishes was just letting herself out of the chamber a.s.signed to Jasmine. "If I might?" he asked, lifting the cloth from the tray, and then he smiled at the sight of all the empty plates. Clearly Jasmine had gotten over her snit. "I see Miss Harburton retains her usual healthy appet.i.te, Mildred."

"Yes, Your Grace," the maid said, bobbing a curtsy. "She's tucked up proper and all but fast asleep. I asked if she wanted me to stay with her-seeing as how she's in a strange bed-but she said she was fine."

"Thank you, Mildred. I imagine you'd like to seek your own bed now. It was a long day on the road."

"Yes, Your Grace." The maid bobbed another curtsy and hastened toward the back stairs.

Tanner rapped lightly on Lydia's door, quietly announcing himself, and then wondered if she, like Jasmine, had already retired for the night. Had he left his visit too late?

The door opened quietly on a room dark save for the light of the fire and a few small candles, and Lydia appeared in the doorway. She was dressed in a virginal white dressing gown that ruffled prettily beneath her chin, and her lovely blond hair was down, floating over her shoulders. As his body attempted to betray him, he carefully kept his gaze at eye level. "I'm sorry. I wanted to talk to you about what happened earlier, but I see I've probably left it too late."

"Please don't go," she said, opening the door wider. "I...I've been waiting for you, actually, hoping you would come. But you're not going to apologize for kissing me, are you? Because I'd really rather you didn't."

He slipped inside and quietly shut the door. "That's good, Lydia, because I'd really rather I didn't, too. I will say that's it's probably a good thing Justin came along when he did. I didn't frighten you, did I? Oh, wait," he added, feeling fl.u.s.tered, and he was never fl.u.s.tered; if Justin could see him he'd be rolling on the floor, clutching his stomach in mirth. "I should prop the door open, shouldn't I?"

Her smile was very nearly indulgent. "I can always scream for help if it becomes necessary. Leave it closed."

She stood in the middle of the room, clearly unaware of how the firelight licked at her hair, making her appear almost an apparition rather than flesh and blood. The brandy had made no impact on him, but the sight of her made him feel nearly drunk with emotions he'd never experienced in his lifetime.

Had he even been alive until she'd come into his life? He couldn't be sure. He'd gone through the motions, yes. The good son, the good friend, the good soldier. Sane, conventional, reliable. Honorable. He'd done what was expected of him, always.

But now he wanted something for himself. And what he wanted was to hold Lydia Daughtry close against him for the rest of his days.

"Flynn left the village," he heard himself say as Lydia sat herself in one of the two shabby leather chairs flanking the fireplace. "I went searching for him, which he must have expected, so he left."

"That was probably wise of him. You looked ready to take a horsewhip to him, the way those men had planned to punish Justin. Violence solves nothing, Tanner. I thought we already agreed on that the day we discussed war."

Tanner gestured to the vacant chair and Lydia nodded her agreement, so he sat down. "I wasn't contemplating a war. It was more of an annihilation. The man was wrong. He didn't even know Fitz."

"Yes, I know. There were so many Irish in the Fourth Foot. Fitzgerald, Fitzpatrick, Fitzsimmons, Fitzhugh. On and on. I imagine at least half of them were addressed as Fitz by their a.s.sociates. Captain Flynn was mistaken."

It's more likely he was mistaken that he was Captain Flynn, Tanner thought, but did not say. "Still, it couldn't have been easy for you, hearing what he said."

Lydia fingered the long white ribbons that had been tied at her neck and fell to her lap. "For a moment, no, it wasn't. But then I was much more upset to think that you might go outside with the Captain. You...you could have been injured. And for nothing. If there is one thing I know, Tanner, it is that Fitz loved me."

Tanner tried not to smile. "You were worried about me? That's why you intervened?"

He could see her cheeks flus.h.i.+ng a becoming pink. "Now you're going to tell me I was being silly. But you do still have that bandage on your cheek, and if the wound were to open it could prove very painful."

"True," Tanner pointed out, "but Justin had already volunteered to beat the man into a jelly for me, remember?"

"Yes, I heard him. The two of you were all but strutting about like roosters in a barnyard, that's what you were doing. And there was Captain Flynn with only the one eye, and only one man against two. And all because of me. There was no way for it all to end well, Tanner. I didn't want to interfere, but you left me no choice."

Tanner was trying to understand. "So you are angry with me?"

She shook her head, sighing. "No. I'm angry with me, because if Captain Flynn had taken a single step in your direction I quite fear I was prepared to conk him on the head with one of Justin's silly silver dishes."

"Really," Tanner said, doing his best not to throw back his head and laugh out loud. "Pardon me, but didn't you say that only men are foolish enough to fight wars for the glory of someone else, and that women only fight to take care of their-"

He stopped, almost physically stunned as the meaning of her near-action became clear to him, and finished silently: take care of their own.

"Fitz gave me to you, or you to me-sometimes I'm not sure anymore," she said quietly, her voice so low he had to lean forward to be sure he heard her. "That letter you brought to us? The last one he'd written to me? He planned never to post it, not if he lived through the battle. He knew if he...if he died, that you would bring it to me."

She raised her head, her expressive blue eyes swimming in tears. "He imagined he might die. But not you, he seemed sure you'd survive. Don't you find that strange?"

Now this was a conversation he'd never really planned on having with her. "We all of us make arrangements with another soldier, a friend, to take our belongings home if something should happen. I'd given Fitz my own Will, just as he'd given me his. But, yes, Lydia, he did think he was going to die when the battle finally came. He said he'd had a premonition or some such thing. I teased him that he was just being Irish, and maudlin, but he'd come to believe he'd never return to England, that he could already feel a goose walking across his grave. There was no talking him out of it."

She bit her bottom lip, and a single tear ran down her cheek. "Tell me, please. Tell me all that he said."

"You don't need to hear this, Lydia."

"Oh, Tanner, but I do. Please."

Would he be exposing Fitz's darkest fears to her for no reason save curiosity? How could she understand the workings of a mind pa.s.sing time, waiting, waiting for the beat of the drums, the blare of the trumpets, the inevitable call to battle? A man's mind can play terrible tricks in the weeks and days and hours before he goes off to kill or be killed. G.o.d, one of their very best generals had only left home for Brussels after lying himself down in a fresh-dug grave, telling his servant, "Why, I think this will do for me." Poor Picton, he'd survived Quatre Bras only to have his brains blown out on the fields at Waterloo.

And yet, certain he would die, he'd answered Wellington's call, just as Fitz had done. Bravery or foolishness? Dedication or insanity? Was it fair to judge such things from a distance?

"All right," Tanner agreed at last. "Fitz told me he'd never thought about dying, all those years he and Rafe served together. Not seriously, anyway. That was obvious to anyone who ever saw him in a fight. Fitz would have drawn his sword and charged the Devil himself across a battlefield. It was only when he had so much to lose that the reality of his own mortality began to terrify him. You, Lydia. You were everything to him."

He was silent for a few moments, trying to find the right words, when there were no right words. "He never thought he could be so blessed, and was convinced the Fates would find a way to deny him such happiness."

Lydia nodded her head, wiped at her damp cheeks. "So it is what I thought. It's...it's almost as if he'd still be alive if he had never met me."

"Jesus," Tanner said softly, immediately realizing the importance of her words. "How long have you lived with the idea that you caused his death?"

She turned her head toward the fireplace, as if suddenly interested in the flames. She put a hand to her mouth and sat quietly for long moments, composing herself, while Tanner held his breath.

"I don't know," she said at last, turning to face him once more. "Months, I suppose. Then I decided it would be easier to be angry with him for going off to fight Bonaparte when he thought he wouldn't come back. But...but it still hurt." She wiped at her cheeks again with trembling hands, her voice breaking, "It still hurt so much. Love...love brings so much responsibility with it. I don't know how anyone survives it..."

When she lapsed into silence once more, Tanner knew he was left with no choice but to go to her, gather her up in his arms, and take her with him into his chair. She needed to be held. He needed to hold her. She offered no protest. Her arms went up and around him, her head burrowed into his shoulder.

His desire for her was always just beneath the surface, but his concern for her, his love for her, overpowered any thoughts other than wanting to comfort her in her pain.

Her body was warm and pliant against him, showing him how she trusted him, how she relied upon him, felt secure with him. But did he have any real answers for her?

No, he didn't. No mortal could.

"I lost so many of my dearest friends at Waterloo, men I loved as brothers. We all did. Rafe, Justin, everyone. It was h.e.l.l on earth to be left behind, with so many others gone, all with no rhyme, no reason. But it gets better, Lydia," he whispered against her hair. "With every day that pa.s.ses, it gets better. Slowly, we learn to live again. We forget the bad and remember the good. It's the only way to truly honor the love we knew and find the courage to open our hearts again."

"I want to do that," she said, and he had to hold his breath to hear her, as her whisper was so tentative and quiet. "But then, at the ball, and again tonight...when I thought you might be hurt, all I could do was feel the chance slipping away again. I don't know, Tanner. I don't know if I can dare to risk opening my heart again. That makes me a coward, doesn't it?"

Tanner closed his eyes, feeling tears burning in them. Did she realize what she'd just admitted?

His joy at hearing that she might love him, however, was nearly overshadowed by the realization of what that love meant.

Loving was all he'd thought of; loving Lydia. Being loved in return? That held responsibilities he'd never considered.

He kissed her hair. "I would never hurt you."

"You say that. You've said it before, and I know you mean it. But people can't help hurting each other, not if that person is...important to the other person."

They were silent for some moments, a burnt log splitting and dropping into the fire the only sound in the room. He'd taken her hand in his, lightly rubbing his thumb over her soft skin, and she kept her head against his shoulder.

There was no pa.s.sion. Just two people, comfortable together. Safe, together. Maybe even afraid...but together. And that was all right. He was willing to move at her pace, follow her lead. It was enough for now that he was holding her, trying to tell her, tell himself, that she was safe in his arms.

Tanner squeezed her fingers.

"You really would have conked Flynn on the head if he'd made a move toward me?"

"Now you're laughing at me."

"No. Well, not exactly. Mostly, I'm picturing the look of dismay on Justin's face if you'd dented one of his fine silver lids on Flynn's head."

Lydia's shoulders shook a time or two, and then she pushed herself slightly away, braced her hands on his shoulders, and smiled into his face. "He would have been aghast, wouldn't he?"