Sin and the Soldier, page 2
It had been a strange, silent intimacy that she might well have imagined. And now he asked, “What is the most important thing I can do for you?”
“He will steal my music,” she blurted. “I need to get it and hide it.”
“Where is it?”
He didn’t even ask what sort of music or why it was important. Her heart warmed. Perhaps it was the brandy.
“You are very kind,” she said with difficulty. “I have not even thanked you. In truth, you have already done the most vital thing possible by hiding me for now. The staff here will be able to help me escape unseen, even if he is staying at the hotel.” And if he could afford the prices at the hotel then he was doing well for himself, so why should he bother with her?
“There are cheaper rooms in the other wing,” the soldier observed as if he read her thoughts.
She met his gaze. “I don’t even know your name,” she blurted.
“Richard Gorse.” He sounded distracted, his thoughts elsewhere.
“Captain?” she guessed.
He shrugged, a sardonic smile twisting his long, expressive lips. “Sort of. I haven’t sold out. I’m still on half-pay, though I can’t imagine what use I’d be. And you? Your… betrothed called you Natalie.”
“Natalie Derwent.”
“You kept your name private, unadvertised in order to avoid your betrothed?”
“Don’t call him that,” she said quickly, and entirely unreasonably, but he didn’t quarrel, let alone point out that it was she who had said they were engaged. She took one last sip of her brandy for strength and set it back down on the table with determination. “Thank you for rescuing me, Captain. I shall be safe to slip away now.”
He rose when she did, using the stick to lever himself up as she had seen him do so many times before.
He was frowning. “I would be happier escorting you to wherever it is you live.”
The habit of secrecy had become so ingrained that she hesitated. But Gerald had been the reason for her secrecy, and he had already found her. The soldier—Captain Gorse—had already proved he was her ally.
“I live in a cottage outside the gardens,” she said, “but I would not give you the trouble of walking so far.”
“It will be less trouble than the alternative,” he murmured. “Have you no wrap against the evening chill?”
When was the last time anyone had worried about her being cold? Almost three years ago, before her mother died. After two and a half years of fierce independence, it felt curiously sweet to be cared for, even in such a mundane matter.
“I left a cloak at the desk downstairs,” she said.
“Come, then. We’ll use the staff stairs again for discretion.”
This time, he preceded her down the stairs and did not offer his arm, leaving it free, perhaps, to make use of his stick.
The foyer was quiet, save for a family who had clearly just arrived, their trunks still being unloaded from the carriage on the front drive.
“I’ll be but a moment,” Natalie murmured and hurried up to the reception desk, where she helped herself to her folded cloak from the shelf beside the distracted clerk. When she turned back, Captain Gorse remained where she had left him, though he had clearly been scanning the hall and the staircase for Gerald.
They left by the back door, through the formal hotel garden. If she didn’t walk through the pleasure gardens on the other side, she usually took a shortcut over the meadow. In consideration of the captain’s lame leg, to say nothing of her own best “performance” gown, she led him to the road, and they walked up the hill.
“Does your leg pain you?” she asked abruptly.
“When it rains. Less when I exercise it more.”
She smiled in the darkness. “Then I am doing you a favor?”
“Exactly.”
They walked in silence for a little, and she was reminded that when she had seen him among the audience tonight, in his usual place, her nerves had quieted, and she played well. Very well, she suspected, for it had been one of those moving, only-the-music experiences that happened only rarely for her. She had been elated. Until she had seen Gerald there, smiling like Lucifer come upon a new temptation.
“Where did you study music?” he asked.
She smiled. “Everywhere. I had an excellent governess, and a neighbor’s tutor helped me further. I traveled a little in the west of Scotland and Ireland and Wales, learning more about the harp and traditional harp music. And I had some training in an unofficial way from maestros in Paris and Vienna.”
“You traveled alone?” he asked with more curiosity than judgment.
“No, usually with my mother or my governess. Both of them after my brother died and we went to Paris in 1814, when the war ended. We managed to flee to Vienna when Bonaparte came back, and then went south to Italy. We met Gerald in Italy. Probably around the time you were fighting the Battle of Waterloo… Were you at Waterloo?”
“It’s where I lost my arm. What happened to your mother? And the governess?”
“Gerald persuaded my mother to dismiss Amelia—Miss Dart—which I didn’t discover until we had left her far behind. I was ill at the time. She must have thought I—we—had abandoned her. I suppose we did. I never found out what happened to her.”
“And your mother?”
Natalie swallowed. “She died. Some fever, perhaps bad water. I was filling quite large concert halls by then.” Perhaps she hadn’t kept the bitterness from her voice, for he glanced at her as if he could see her expression in the pale, erratic lantern light. She couldn’t make out his, although the scar down one side of his face seemed to shine. “The cottage is just a few hundred yards down this track. You don’t have to—”
“Lay on, Macduff,” he interrupted with flippancy, and indeed the track seemed to give him little more trouble than the road. She worried about him walking back alone.
There was no light in her cottage. She thought that was a good sign.
“Do you live alone?” he asked. “No maid?”
“No.”
“Then, if you please, I will go in first and make sure everything is secure.”
Her stomach twisted in alarm at his words, and yet they were only sensible. It was only later, when he had unlocked the door, lit the candle, and walked round the tiny dwelling, that she wondered how much good a lame, one-armed soldier would be against Gerald or however many ruffians he might hire to intimidate her or steal from her.
Chapter Two
She was uneasy about him being in her house. He couldn’t tell if she hated the invasion of her privacy, was ashamed of the tiny, basic dwelling, or feared he would be hard to get rid of again. Thrusting her anxieties to the back of his mind, he concentrated on making sure she was as safe as she could be.
There was no one skulking in the cottage, and her three windows were all closed and locked. Only when he had assured himself of this did he allow himself to see more, as he lit several candles, with which she seemed to be liberally supplied. The cottage, he suspected had once been a single room. But partition walls had been installed to make a small bedchamber and a tiny kitchen. Everything was neat and clean, except the dining table which was covered with pages and pages of musical notation, with pen and inkstand half-covered. A small square pianoforte sat open under the window, a hard chair in front of the keyboard. By the empty fireplace was a single, worn but well-upholstered armchair.
A chipped vase containing a mix of bright, colorful flowers adorned the windowsill, but that seemed to be the only ornamentation in the sitting room. Without warning, he ached for her, for her loneliness.
She was gathering up pages from the table, sorting them into a neat pile. These were what she feared Gerald Monck would take from her?
“Would you like a cup of tea before you face the walk back?” she asked, perhaps to make sure he knew she expected him to leave.
“No, thank you. I don’t care for the stuff, to be honest.”
“At least sit,” she offered, indicating the armchair as she brushed past him with her handful of music. She took it into the bedchamber, and he saw her placing it in a chest of drawers, adding it to other piles of paper.
Propping his cane against the table, he picked up the wooden chair and placed it opposite the armchair, before fetching the walking stick and sitting. He probably didn’t need the cane anymore to aid his rise from a chair, but too many undignified moments made him reluctant to risk it in front of her.
“You came to speak to me,” she said in a rush, walking back into the sitting room and closing the door.
“I did?”
“After the concert, you came to find me. You’ve never done that before.”
He wondered if he was actually blushing and laughed at himself, which at least enabled him to carry the moment with a touch of sardonic humor. “True, but then I have had little enough to say before except what you already know.”
“What I already know?” she repeated, confused. She glanced at the armchair, where she had clearly expected him to sit, then sat in it herself, her movements as quick and graceful as on the stage.
“That I enjoy your playing. You knew it already and must hear it from everyone all the time, so there seemed little point in disturbing you with mundanities.”
She blinked, a smile flickering across her face. “You have an odd idea of mundanities. I assure you that musicians never tire of praise. Be that as it may, am I to understand you had something else to say to me?”
As if suddenly realizing what that something might be, she tensed. Her fingers grasped each other hard in her lap and in the soft glow of the candlelight, he saw the pink tinge to her skin. She was a kind young woman. It would hurt her to turn him down. Had he ever intended to make the request she so clearly feared?
He said, “My sister-in-law is planning to entertain a few friends in the autumn. It would not be a large gathering by town standards, but she would like to provide something a little different for her guests in terms of music. I told her I would ask you to call upon her.”
Her eyebrows flew up in astonishment.
“It will be a smaller audience than tonight’s,” he said, “but those present could be a significant help to your career.”
For a moment, an excitement that was almost hunger flared in her eyes, and then she tore her gaze free. “How kind you were to think of me, to recommend me. Thank you! But I…I cannot stay here any longer.”
“You will let this Monck drive you away?”
She nodded tiredly. “There is no alternative.”
“There is,” he snapped. He probably sounded angry, for her gaze flew back to his.
“You don’t understand. He has no scruples, no…honor. He will take everything, compel me—” She broke off with an impatient gesture of one hand. “It doesn’t matter. I won’t give him anything, but that means I cannot stay here.”
He searched her face. “No one should be compelled. And you must know you have friends to protect you. Your fellow musicians jumped to help instantly. So did Bill Renwick, and he is not a negligible ally. Neither am I, surprisingly enough.”
The intense focus that she brought to her harp seemed now to be on him. Curious, wary, baffled, and yet, surely, with a hint of something very like hope. Her eyes were beautiful in the candlelight, soft yet gleaming with intelligence. “You think me a poor creature,” she said sadly.
“No.”
“You don’t know me at all,” she said with a spurt of impatience.
“No. But I would like to.”
Not fear, but challenge glared at him now. “Why?”
Now, he wished he wasn’t looking at her. He could stand up and walk away and keep his privacy intact. Or he could try for the connection he secretly wanted.
“Because I am a troubled man and you have brought me a modicum of peace.” His lips twisted. “So, you see, there is a debt.”
He rose before she could deny it or pity him. The peace she brought had never been about pity, and he was damned if he would allow it to be contaminated now.
“You’re wrong,” she said unexpectedly. “Of course, there is no debt. I play and the audience listens, takes from the music what they will. That has always been the unwritten contract between musician and audience.”
“I will not argue debts with you, Miss Derwent. It is far too late to argue anything at all. But think about what I have said. You cannot want to be running all your life. Retreating. Sometimes, when you have the necessary troops and defenses, you have to stand.”
“Are you standing?” she retorted.
He raised his arm, walking stick in the air. “Just.”
She smiled, directly at him, not at some amorphous, applauding audience. And in that delicious, gut-wrenching moment, he would have died for her.
*
When he returned to the hotel, Richard was not entirely surprised to find Bill Renwick approaching him across the dim foyer.
“Can your lordship spare me a moment?” Renwick inquired.
“Several,” Richard said at once. “I was hoping to speak to you.”
“This way.” Renwick led him through an office behind the reception desk and then through a semi-hidden door, which he closed as soon as they were both inside.
It was a small office, with little more than a desk, two hard chairs, and a tall cabinet, but it was sensibly lit, even at this hour, and there was a carpet on the floor.
“Natalie Derwent,” Renwick said without preamble, “is not without friends.”
“Good. Because I think she will need them. Do you know that miscreant who approached her after the concert?”
Renwick blinked. “No. That is, he does seem familiar but I’m damned if I know why. However, my main concern with your lordship is to ensure Miss Derwent doesn’t fall from the frying pan into the fire. If you catch my meaning.”
“Perfectly. And it is not my intention to harm Miss Derwent. On the contrary, I admire her talent and would like to see it better known.”
“Would you?”
“It’s Gerald Monck who is the threat to her,” Richard said bluntly. “Is he staying at the hotel?”
“No. He came by hackney and left the same way. Asked to be dropped in Piccadilly.”
Richard’s lips twitched. “I knew you were an observant man. She’s afraid of him. Thinks he’ll spoil things for her here. Steal from her.”
“Not under my nose,” Renwick said with a hint of heartening grimness. “Did you leave her at the cottage?”
“Unharmed,” Richard drawled. “When do you expect her tomorrow?”
“Around midday. There is a concert in the rose garden.”
“She does not come earlier?”
“Not usually. She works in her cottage.”
“And walks to the gardens? Alone?”
“As a rule.”
Richard stirred. “I would escort the lady, but I fear for her reputation should she be seen too much in my company.”
“And should she send you away with a flea in your ear,” Renwick mocked.
“That, too.”
“One of my sons will bring her in the pony and trap. He has things to collect from the farm first.”
Richard nodded. “Are you her landlord?”
“No. I offered her lodging, like most of my people, but she’s wary of her employer controlling the roof over her head. She’s wary of a lot of things.”
“I would put that largely down to Monck.”
“I’ll find out what I can,” Renwick promised.
“So will I. I have a friend who specializes in such matters.”
Renwick regarded him uneasily. “Not Mr. Dunne?”
Richard smiled.
Renwick groaned. “Gorse. Of course. You’re related to that cove who got off the murder charge.”
“My little brother.”
“God save us.”
Richard leaned on his cane and rose to his feet. “We might at least hope for the Almighty’s benevolent indifference. I’ll bid you good night, Mr. Renwick.”
“You’re only staying the one night,” Renwick remarked as he opened the door.
“Are the rooms bespoken elsewhere?”
“Not yet.”
“Then I shall stay on for a day or so. If you have no objection?”
“None yet,” Renwick said, and they parted in perfect understanding.
*
Natalie woke with several things clear in her head.
If she was going to stand and fight, she needed Captain Gorse to help her plan the campaign. And she would need the support of Bill Renwick and his staff.
The question was, could she risk them? Gerald was pitiless, but she doubted he would risk hurting anyone but her. Bill was only just on the right side of the law—mostly—but his reach was long, by all accounts, and only a fool would make an enemy of him. Gerald had never been a fool.
Captain Gorse, on the other hand, was wounded in mind and body. She had always known that, even before he had said a word to her. And yet there was a relentless, steely strength in him, too. He never gave up. Even when he had left last night, he had said, “Think about my sister-in-law’s proposal. I am happy to escort you to her whenever you wish.”
Well, maybe that would be possible, too. She had no reason to hide when Gerald had already found her. Of course, it would be one more fee for him to take away from her if he could.
If he could.
She rose, washed, and dressed before, with something like dread, she drew back the curtains. She half expected Gerald to be camped outside or peering in. But she saw no one. Forcing herself, she went about her morning routine, making tea, toasting some of yesterday’s bread, which she slathered with butter and enjoyed while sitting on the front step in the morning sunshine.
