Captain Durant's Countess(8)

Reyn turned to his sister’s snug cottage and tossed an acorn up to her bedroom window as he’d done from the time they were children. In the old days it was the signal for her to slip out of bed and join him on an adventure. Now it just garnered him a puzzled look from Rufus.

“I know, boy. You want me to throw something for you.” Reyn cast around for a proper stick to throw and found one amidst the fallen leaves. He spent the next ten minutes running the dog from one end of the garden to the other until his arm ached. When he looked up, Ginny was standing at the window, her thin white hands pressed against the glass. He gave her a jaunty wave, as though the sight of her wasn’t a bit spectral.

“All right, Rufus. Fun’s over for us, I think. Time to return to town and face the Gorgon.” Not that Lady Kelby was Gorgonish at all. From what he’d seen when her hat fell off, her hair was not snakelike but molasses-brown. She was not exactly beautiful, but no single feature was objectionable. She was tall and well formed, her face a near-perfect oval with dark eyes and a wide mouth. He’d not seen her smile yet, but wanted to.

What in hell was the matter with him?

Oh, what wasn’t? He was beyond bored. Still. And in desperate need of an adventure. He must be desperate indeed, if he thought mounting grim Lady Kelby would be any sort of adventure. Where was Napoleon when one needed him?

Nothing might come from his trip in the country, and that suited him perfectly. It was rather repugnant to think of himself as that dancing circus bear. He might get some country air and shooting in though, if an antiquities expert was allowed to hold a modern gun.

Reyn rubbed his shoulder, wishing he could pluck out the ball inside. It was so inconveniently lodged that the army sawbones had been reluctant to go digging any further for it. After six years, it was a part of him, tangled in muscle and blood.

Everyone carried some sort of secret inside, didn’t they? Reyn wondered what Lady Kelby’s was. He supposed he’d soon find out.





Chapter 4


Maris sat on the divan in the hotel room, giving thought to the night before. Captain Durant had come to Mivart’s in person to tell her he had changed his mind. Again. And she’d had an additional request. It had been a tricky thing getting him to cooperate, and a horribly awkward conversation, but she had been adamant, insisting he see Henry’s London physician before he left the city.

She could see that Durant had been torn between humiliation and apoplexy. The muscle in his scarred cheek had jumped a mile. To his credit, the man did not lose his temper, although his black brows struggled to remain level. They really were quite terrifying things, like glossy, overfed caterpillars.

She’d been impressed with the control he’d exhibited, but then, he’d been a soldier. Soldiers were supposed to be stoic at orders they doubted, were they not? He’d opened his mouth and quickly shut it, nodded and held his hand out for the address she’d written on a piece of hotel stationery.

To her relief, he had said nothing about her meeting Mr. Ramsey, either. Perhaps it had been a bit underhanded of her to have enlisted the newspaper editor’s help, but Henry had depended upon the man’s discretion. Maris had asked him to continue to look for a suitable candidate, just in case, God forbid, Captain Durant didn’t come up to scratch after Ramsey’s little threat. Perhaps another gentleman could be found to perform in his place.

But that had not been necessary. Reynold Durant would join them within a few days if he were not afflicted with some gentleman’s gruesome complaint. The captain had been punctiliously correct at their meeting in her hotel suite last night, with nary a sign that he wanted to steal kisses or pursue “friendship” with her. Maris took that as a good sign. What was between them was no more than a business transaction—unusual business, to be sure—but there was nothing of a personal nature between them, nor could there ever be.

Maris stood. With the prospect of an heir for Kelby Hall looking somewhat brighter, she had delayed her own departure for home. Henry thought she was in town to do some shopping, so shopping she would go. There was no time to stand about in one’s underthings to get pinned and poked, but if she could find some ready-made garments, why not? She had not ordered new dresses in years.

It had not mattered what she wore lately—she was bound to drop ink on her skirts or trail a sleeve through fixative. She’d become adept piecing fragments of linen and stone together, her hands steady. Maris was proud of her hands. They were strong and her one true beauty, with long, slender fingers and smooth white skin. She kept them covered with white cotton gloves when she worked with her artifacts, and kid and silk when she did not. Maris decided she’d buy new gloves to go with her new dresses, too.

She called to her maid Betsy and they set out for Madame Millet’s, only to find the shop taken over by a wine merchant. It truly has been a long time, Maris thought ruefully. She was about to give up and go back to the hotel when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned at the audacity, but her sharp retort died upon her lips.

“Good afternoon, Lady Kelby. It’s a lovely day for shopping, is it not?” Captain Durant held up several parcels tied with string. Maris could only hope one of them contained a suitable waistcoat.

She was not prepared to see him again quite so soon. He was bare-headed, his black hair gleaming like a crow’s wing in the bright December sunshine. Soberly dressed, apart from the lack of a hat, he looked reasonably respectable, nothing like the wicked crop-wielding man she had first seen the day before yesterday.

“I-I w-wouldn’t know.” Damn, the man always made her stutter. It was a good thing they would have to do very little talking to each other. If she could insist he keep his eyes closed when they fornicated, she would ask him to do the same with his mouth. She didn’t need to hear flattering falsehoods from him.

Or be kissed. Really, there was no need for kissing at all.

“The d-dress shop I hoped to patronize seems to have d-disappeared,” she continued, feeling flustered. “And g-good afternoon, sir.” She sounded like her poor stepdaughter Jane, who had been unable to string a sentence together without tripping over her tongue. A vow of silence in Captain Durant’s presence was definitely in order.

“Madame Millet’s? She moved to a larger establishment about six months ago. But you don’t want to go there.”

“I don’t?”

“You don’t. She dresses nothing but dowds and is quite de trop amongst those in the know.”

“If she’s so awful, why did she have to expand the size of her shop?” Maris asked, swallowing the insult. Madame Millet had made the perfectly serviceable dress and matching spencer she was wearing. Six years ago, but still. The stitching had held fast and the trimmings looked fresh enough to her eyes.

“There are ever so many more dowds in England than there should be, I suppose. But you don’t have to be one of them, Lady Kelby. Allow me to escort you to a much better dressmaker. It’s not far.”

How on earth would he know? Patsy and the other women he’d dealt with at the Reining Monarch Society were not wearing any clothes at all as far as Maris could see.

“Do you consider yourself an expert on ladies’ attire as well as antiquities, Captain Durant?” It was best to convince Betsy that Durant was who they would say he was.

“Not especially. You know my first love is all that old historical rubbish, as some might say,” the captain replied, taking the hint. “But I had a few things made up for my sister from Madame Bernard. She was very sympathetic and not too expensive. Although I don’t suppose cost matters much to the Countess of Kelby. You seem willing to pay top dollar for what you want.”

“Not in front of my maid,” Maris murmured, taking the captain’s proffered arm and putting some distance between them and Betsy. “You cannot say such vulgar things when you come to Kelby Hall. You’ll arouse suspicion.”

“Well, I presume you’ll tell people you hired me to muck out your attics. No man works for free.”

“You know nothing of those who are obsessed with history. Some would pay us to get a chance to go through the Kelby Collection.” Henry had been turning away supplicants for years.

“You’re right. I know nothing. That might be a bit of a drawback.”

“I can give you some books. You can read up a little, drop a phrase or two, and the staff should be satisfied.” Maris was quite pleased that she had managed the conversation without stumbling over her words. She was always safe talking about the Kelby Collection.

Captain Durant said nothing for over half a block, but then rounded the corner and paused at a shop window. A collection of small silver objects glittered in an amazing display of craftsmanship. Even Maris, who, unlike generations of true-blood Kelbys, had no appreciable trace of magpie within her, was impressed. He pointed to a velvet-lined tray. “You should buy some hatpins here. I hear they come in handy to repel unwelcome advances from bad men. Speaking of which, what about the villain David? How am I to convince him of my scholarship?”