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‘And just what do you think you’re doing with my granddaughter? Eh? Young jackanapes.’
‘I was thanking her for taking pity on me last night and dancing with me.’
‘Taking pity on you? That’s a likely story.’
She wasn’t sure if she imagined it, but Captain Bretherton seemed to stiffen. His voice was certainly a bit cool when he said, ‘Miss Hutton, now that I have restored you to your grandfather, I shall bid you good day.’
Her spirits plunged as he disappeared into the throng. That was probably the last she’d see of him. He might say he wanted to get to know her better, but no man, at least none with any pride, would stand for being addressed as a jackanapes.
‘Didn’t take long to get him to take to his heels, did it?’ Grandfather was glaring in the direction of Captain Bretherton’s retreat. ‘Though I warned you about fellows of his stamp, yesterday. What do you mean by dancing with him, eh?’
‘Well, he asked. And I didn’t have any reason to refuse...’
‘That’s the trouble with places like this. Full of strangers. Anybody can pass themselves off as marquesses or dukes...’
She took a breath to object. Grandfather’s eyebrows lowered even further. ‘Or call themselves captains,’ he persisted. ‘Ten to one he never got nearer a regiment than walking past a parade in Hyde Park.’
‘Well, no, but then he is in the navy. He...’
‘Playing on your susceptibilities is he, because of Sam?’
Lizzie flinched. Firstly, the chances Captain Bretherton knew she’d even had a brother, let alone one who served in the navy, were so remote as to be laughable. And secondly, why would he play on her susceptibilities?
‘Just let him know you don’t have a dowry, next time he comes sniffing round. Then we’ll see what his motives really are.’ He rapped on the floor with his cane. Though he might as well have struck her with it again.
‘Very well, Grandfather,’ she said, with as much meekness in her voice as she could muster. ‘Next time I see him, the first thing I shall do is tell him I am penniless.’
She hadn’t thought it was possible for his eyebrows to get any lower, but they did. And he thrust out his jaw, as though he was trying to decide whether she was being sincere. But, after a moment or two, he leaned back in his chair, with a ‘hmmph’, and then turned his shoulder to carry on the conversation in which he’d been engaged before.
Lizzie took up her station behind his chair, her chin up, her gaze fixed straight ahead. She wasn’t trembling, although the entire episode would have humiliated any girl who hadn’t grown inured to such scenes over the years. She told herself that Grandfather probably meant well. That he was trying to protect her, in his own, inimitable fashion. That Bath was the kind of place that did attract men on the lookout for gullible heiresses, or so Lady Buntingford had told her. And that it didn’t matter what they looked like. A practised seducer would make his intended victim feel as though there was something special about her. Something that only he, out of the whole world, could appreciate. Make her believe he truly loved her. So that he could get his hands on her money.
So, the sooner she informed Captain Bretherton that she had none, the sooner she would know whether his interest in her was genuine.
Or not.
Chapter Six (#ufb3213a9-d763-5190-9357-c30d2bea89af)
He strode from the Pump Room, his fists clenched. No wonder Lady Rawcliffe had said Miss Hutton would jump at the chance to escape her grandfather, if that was an example of the way he treated her. The old man should have taken an interest in the stranger who’d escorted her back to his side, not driven him away. After insulting her, in front of all the other Bath quizzes, by insinuating that no man could possibly have asked her to dance for any reason except from pity.
He’d had to walk away before retaliating in kind. Which wouldn’t do his prospects any good. You couldn’t get into a stand-up row with a man, then ask for permission to court his granddaughter. Or a sit-down row, anyway, since the old man hadn’t stirred from his chair.
He whipped off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. Since today was Tuesday, he wasn’t going to be able to see Miss Hutton tonight and attempt to offer her any comfort. Because it would be cards in the Assembly Rooms. Still, since he’d already told her his aversion for games of chance, she wouldn’t expect to see him. She wouldn’t think her grandfather had scared him off.
Would she?
* * *
It felt as if a month went past, rather than just a day and a half, before he was entering the Assembly Rooms again. For on his return from his daily swim, he’d found a muscular young man waiting for him outside the door of his hotel room, bearing a message from Rawcliffe and Becconsall. They’d decided he needed a bodyguard, apparently, and had sent Dawkins to perform that duty, under cover of being his valet. It had taken some time for them to discuss strategy. By the time they’d reached an understanding it had been too late to attend the Pump Room. So he was chafing at the bit by the time he entered the room where he hoped he might find her attending the Wednesday night concert.
And it wasn’t all to do with furthering his quest to find Archie’s killer, either. Even if he never got any further with Miss Hutton, he simply had to convince her that he hadn’t danced with her out of pity. Although he did feel a bit sorry for her, in some respects. She really needed someone to give her a bit of confidence, so that she could blossom into the kind of woman any man would be proud to call his wife.
Any man but him, that was. He might have agreed to pose as an eligible bachelor, but he didn’t really have anything to offer any woman. He’d returned from France a hollow shell of the man he’d once been. And even that man hadn’t been in any position to take a wife. He had to live on his pay. Which meant that not only would his wife have to struggle just to get by, but she’d be doing it alone, because he’d be away at sea.
He scanned the room for a glimpse of her. She should be easy enough to spot. She stood head and shoulders above every other female, and most men, in any room. And her silvery hair was very distinctive, too. He’d certainly had no trouble picking her out from the crowds in the Pump Room, that first time.
A smile tugged at his lips as he recalled the moment she’d backed into him, with such force she’d knocked the cup of water from his hand. And the sudden, surprising flare of attraction that contact with her body had provoked. Surprising, because he hadn’t felt any such stirrings since the day he’d fallen into the hands of the French.
But not unwelcome. For one thing it was proof that he was recovering, physically at least. For another, it meant that in one respect he would not be deceiving Miss Hutton at all. He was genuinely attracted to her.
Ah, there she was. His heart lifted. And not just at what she might represent in terms of vengeance for Archie. She looked stunning with the candlelight gleaming on her silvery hair. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Indeed, it wasn’t until he was within a few feet of her that he noticed the older woman standing with her. The same one who’d been with her the night he’d asked her to dance.
He bowed to them both, wondering how he was going to be able to detach her from her chaperon. ‘Miss Hutton, it is a pleasure to find you here tonight.’ And it was. He didn’t have to feign delight. He was delighted to see her again.
Though she didn’t appear to feel the same. On the contrary, she was looking at him as though he was an unexploded shell that had landed at her feet. Until the lady at her side nudged at her with her bony elbow.
‘Oh. Yes,’ said Miss Hutton with one of her frequent blushes. ‘Lady Mainwaring, this is... Well, he says his name is Captain Bretherton.’
‘My name is Captain Bretherton.’ Or at least, that was part of it. He never used the part of his title that referred to his earldom, since the title had never been of any use to him whatever. What use was insisting on being addressed correctly when the title denoted nothing but shame? When it was hollow? Since his father, the previous earl, had left things in such a shambles that his trustees had not even had the money to keep him in school.
‘Lady Mainwaring, charmed to make your acquaintance,’ he said, a touch untruthfully, since he heartily wished she’d take herself off so he could have Miss Hutton to himself.
‘Well, it’s equally charming to meet you, too,’ simpered Lady Mainwaring. ‘But you will have to excuse me. I see somebody just over there to whom I simply must speak.’ And just like that, his view of her capsized. Instead of being pleased he’d dispensed with her so easily, he was indignant that she’d abandon her charge with such alacrity. Leaving her at the mercy of a man she didn’t know. He could be a cold-hearted seducer for all Lady Mainwaring knew.
In fact, his conscience muttered, he wasn’t that much better.
‘Miss Hutton,’ he said. And then foundered. He gritted his teeth. Captain Hambleton wouldn’t have been at a loss right now. Even if he had been three sheets to the wind. And as for Lieutenant Nateby...
‘I think I had better inform you,’ said Miss Hutton, flinging up her chin, ‘that I have not a penny to my name.’
That was her grandfather’s doing, he supposed. ‘Your financial status,’ he said with a touch of indignation, ‘has no bearing on my interest in you.’ Perversely, the moment the wariness started to fade from her eyes, guilt started twisting at his vitals. He might not have any intention of robbing her, but he did have an ulterior motive for pursuing her. And her grandfather must have detected that something was not completely genuine about his interest.
For some time there had been a discordant noise forming a background to the general hubbub, but now the strains of a recognisable tune began to dominate.
‘Would you care to sit and listen to the music?’ he asked her, grasping at the opportunity to turn their conversation away from the murky subject of his motives. ‘Or would you prefer to take a turn about the room?’
Miss Hutton shifted from one foot to the other, her eyes troubled. He could almost see her slipping from his grasp.
‘Please, Miss Hutton,’ he said, taking a step nearer, obliging her to raise her head a fraction to look him in the eye. ‘Please believe that I am no fortune hunter.’ He could swear his complete innocence of that crime, even if he was guilty of others in relation to her. ‘I told you that you and I match, did I not? Like...’ He searched desperately for inspiration. And came up with, ‘Atlas and Phoebe. Do you know anything of Greek legend?’
‘A little,’ she said, warily.
‘They were Titans,’ he explained. ‘Titans all governed heavenly bodies. In the case of Atlas and Phoebe, it was the moon. And with your silvery hair, I just thought...’
She tilted her head to one side. ‘What does Atlas have to do with anything?’
‘Oh,’ he said, taking her elbow and scanning the seating area for a couple of vacant chairs, since, as he’d got her engaged in conversation, he might as well take steps to ensure she couldn’t escape with any ease. ‘Atlas is a nickname some school friends gave me. On account of me being so much bigger than the rest of them.’
Her eyes ranged over his frame. But then a little pucker appeared between her brows. ‘Why not Hercules?’
‘Well,’ he said, steering her in the direction of the back row of chairs, ‘we were only schoolboys, after all. And they seemed to think I was trying to take the weight of the world on my shoulders. On account of me being averse to seeing bigger boys bullying the smaller, weaker ones.’
‘Oh,’ she said again, only this time her expression definitely softened. He’d finally hooked her interest. Now all he had to do was reel her in.
‘And then it stuck, you see, after I went into the navy, since Atlas had a whole ocean named after him.’
‘The Atlantic!’
‘That’s it. Excuse me,’ he said to a lady occupying the end chair of the row in which he wished to sit. ‘Are those seats taken?’ He indicated the ones in the rest of the row. She frowned. Jerked her eyes to the two rows in front of her which were completely empty.
He smiled at her. ‘It would be most remiss of me to sit in front of you, since my partner and I would no doubt block your view of the orchestra.’
She eyed their combined height, and bulk, speculatively, then, with a waspish expression, got to her feet and stalked away. Leaving the entire back row free for him and Phoebe.
That was, Miss Hutton.
‘She may not have been all that interested in seeing the orchestra,’ Miss Hutton pointed out, as he ushered her into a chair. ‘Not many people do pay all that much attention to them, after all. She was probably just resting her feet for a moment.’
‘Well, now she can rest them elsewhere,’ he said, settling himself beside her. ‘Do you have a programme upon you?’ He glanced down at her lap, on which she’d placed her large and rather lumpy-looking reticule. She shook her head as she clutched at it. And then she averted her head and gazed in the general direction of the orchestra, a tide of pink creeping up her cheeks.
And damn it if he had any idea what to say to her, now he had her all to himself. With nobody to overhear.
Rawcliffe had been right. He wasn’t cut out for this type of work. He was a man of action, not words. Were he standing on the deck of a ship, preparing to go into battle, he’d know what to do. His mind would be assessing the enemy’s capabilities, with one eye to the wind and the tide. Weighing up the strengths and weaknesses of his men, his supplies.
But here, on a spindly chair, in a stuffy room, with an orchestra plunking out a backdrop to the conversations of the other, mostly elderly concert-goers, he was at a bit of a loss.
And what did that say about him? That he was better at orchestrating acts of violence, in order to smash his enemies to a pulp, as part of man’s endless quest for conquest, that was what.
And once this interlude with Miss Hutton was over, once he’d brought Archie’s killers to justice, that was the world he’d have to go back to. A world in which he’d had to treat men like so much cannon fodder, rather than as human beings with any intrinsic worth. He was a warrior, not a lover. A man of action, not of sentiment.
So, rather than trying to find words, he reached for Miss Hutton’s hand, where it lay tangled with the strings of her reticule. And let that action speak for him.
She blushed, but did not pull it away. On the contrary, as the music swelled and throbbed, she tucked it under the folds of her skirts. Taking his hand with it.
And his own heart swelled and throbbed along with the violins as they sat, secretly holding hands.
The tide was turning in his favour.
Chapter Seven (#ufb3213a9-d763-5190-9357-c30d2bea89af)
Whatever could have put that grim expression on his face? Sitting this close, she could see him much better than when they were standing up and they had to preserve a decorous distance from one another. She could see the muscles clenching in his jaw, the grim line flattening his mouth and even the bleakness in his eyes. And just as at the first time they’d met, she wished she could do something about it.
When he reached for her hand, therefore, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to grasp it and offer him what small comfort she could. Even though it was not at all the thing.
Though what did it matter, as long as nobody found out?
Her heart tripped over itself as she not only formed such a rebellious thought, but also took action to ensure that it bore fruit. Concealing their linked hands took but a second, as she rearranged the folds of her unfashionably voluminous skirts.
His own breath hitched. Though he made no sign that anyone else could detect, she was sure he gave her hand a little squeeze.
Golly, but she’d never felt so wicked in her life! Was this really stumbling, stammering Lizzie Hutton? Sitting holding hands with a man? Practically in full sight of a room full of people?
If she’d been the kind of girl who giggled, she’d be giggling right now. Never had she felt so...giddy. Or so in tune with a piece of music. Whenever the violins soared, so did her heart, as she revelled in the feel of his hand clasping hers, his response when she’d told him she wasn’t an heiress.
When the instruments groaned and wept, she found herself biting her lower lip and wondering when it was all going to end. And if people would carry the tale back to Grandfather about the way they were sitting so close together. If such talk would send him into retreat. After all, he surely wouldn’t want his name linked too closely with a girl he’d only known a matter of days.
The musicians did not finish their piece until Lizzie was so wrung out she could understand why some people actually wept during certain performances. And though it was not because of their skill, but because of the man next to whom she was sitting, she knew she ought to join in the applause that was breaking out, politely, all round the room. Only, that would mean she’d have to let go of his hand.
While she was still hesitating, he gave her hand one last squeeze and then released it. Which meant she had to let go. She couldn’t very well keep clinging to his hand, not once he’d started clapping, could she? Even though it felt as though his action had cast her adrift.
She forced her eyes to look in the direction of the musicians and lifted her own hands to clap, which she did with considerably more energy than anyone else. Hopefully, then people would think she’d been moved by the power of the music, if they noticed she was upset. Especially since she had no reason to be sad. She’d never been completely alone in the world. She’d always had some member of family to take her in. It was ridiculous to feel as though she’d never been more alone, in all her life, when she was sitting in a room full of people.
The applause soon died away. Long before she’d pulled herself together. So when Captain Bretherton turned to her and asked if she’d like to go to the tea room and take supper, she had to bite her tongue.
Supper? How could he sit there talking about tea, and supper, in that reasonable, casual tone, as though holding hands with her had meant nothing?
Though perhaps it had meant nothing. Perhaps he was the kind of man who held hands with females, clandestinely, all the time. What did she know of him, really? What kind of man he was?
And he was a man, not a demi-god, even if some people did call him Atlas.
‘I had better go and see if Grandfather wants anything first,’ she said. Even though what she wanted was to spend the rest of the evening with him. Holding hands again. Or even more...
She looked at his mouth. What would it feel like to kiss him? To have him kiss her?
The longing that tore at her insides was so fierce she could see herself flinging herself at him, right there in the concert room, and scandalising the rest of the concert-goers. Panicked, and confused by the strength of her reactions to a man who was virtually a stranger, she leapt to her feet, with the result that the chair upon which she’d been sitting overturned with a crash. Everyone turned to stare, of course. And then a wave of laughter rippled round the room. Closely followed by a chorus of comments. She couldn’t hear the actual words, but she knew the kinds of things they’d all be saying.
That Miss Hutton. Always so clumsy. So awkward. I wonder why that handsome officer is paying her so much attention?
The handsome officer in question bent forward to right her chair at the exact moment she did the same. With the result that they clashed heads. To the increased amusement of everyone else in the room.
‘Please, Miss Hutton, allow me,’ he said, placing one hand on her arm and pushing her firmly, but gently, aside.
‘I... I...’ She raised both hands to her cheeks, which were flaming hot. ‘Th-thank you, but I really do need to return to my grandfather.’ With that, she turned and fled.
* * *
He’d pushed her too far, too fast, holding hands like that. He hadn’t thought she’d minded. He hadn’t been holding on to her all that hard. She could have pulled her hand free at any time. But she hadn’t.
Perhaps it had only hit her, what she’d done, when the music had finished. It had been a rather powerful piece, one that tugged at the emotions. Perhaps she’d been carried away with it and not realised how—what was it girls said of such behaviour?—fast she’d been, until it came to an end?
Damn, but he hoped he hadn’t ruined everything.
He couldn’t pursue her into the card room. The old Colonel would simply send him packing, again.
He’d have to hope he could catch her at the Pump Room again. And reassure her that his intentions were honourable.
Only, it felt a bit too soon to start speaking of marriage. She was bound to become suspicious of him, if he appeared to have come to such a momentous decision after knowing her only a few days.
He had to be more patient with her. Allow her to get used to him. Reassure her that nothing she did was going to put him off her. Make her believe that everything she did fascinated him.
