A Regency Gentleman's Passion: Valiant Soldier, Beautiful Enemy / A Not So Respectable Gentleman?
“Gabriel?” she asked anxiously.
He could at least force her to explain. “I thought you did not want to marry a man your son would despise.”
Panic flickered in her eyes. She glanced away. “I never despised you, though. We—we were good friends, were we not?”
Good friends. Such a far cry from being her life’s breath.
She went on, “It will be enough to know Claude is alive. I … I will even—how did you say it?—follow the drum with you when you return to the army.”
“You will marry me and travel with me as a soldier’s wife?” She’d hated such a life when her husband had demanded it of her. More sacrifice she was willing to make, for the sake of her son.
She blinked. “If you are able to prevent Claude from murdering, yes, then I will marry you.” She looked up again. “I will gladly marry you.”
“What a compliment to me,” he murmured.
“Qu’est-ce que tu as dit?” She shook her head. “I mean, what did you say?”
“It is of no consequence.” He gestured to the path. “Shall we be on our way?”
She rose and clutched his arm. “You did not answer me.”
There was no more than an inch separating them. The sun lit her anxious face and the lavender scent he’d imagined became real. At the Parc de Brussels they’d stood together just like this, sheltered from view by a large allegorical statue. He’d leaned down and tasted her lips that day and held her in his arms.
The urge to kiss her and hold her again was unabated even though he was the sacrifice she would make to save her son from a hanging. He leaned closer and she rose on tiptoe, so close their breath mingled.
“Your answer?” she whispered.
He stepped back. He ought to let her think he’d go along with making her choose him over her son. It would serve her right for thinking so little of him.
He was no card player, but he could bluff like one.
“Very well, Emmaline. I will hold you to your promise. I will prevent Claude from murdering Edwin Tranville and you will marry me.”
Her lips trembled again, but she nodded, her hand pressed against her chest.
He started to walk and she skipped to catch up to him. “Where are you going?”
“I am headed to the Home Office,” he said.
“The Home Office?”
He set a fast pace. “The place where Edwin Tranville is employed.”
She strained to keep up with him. “You know where he is?”
“I always knew where he was.”
She sounded angry. “You were going to warn him? Even before I spoke today?”
He stopped and faced her. “That is correct, Emmaline. I was planning to do that much for you, but you made a new bargain. After I speak to Edwin today, I’ll proceed to where I might obtain a special licence so you and I can be married right away.”
She gazed straight ahead. “Do not forget you must ensure that Claude does not kill this man. Then I will marry you.”
He gave her a sardonic smile. “That is our bargain.”
They did not speak until the buildings on Whitehall came into view.
“We are near,” Gabe said.
When they approached the Home Office building, Emmaline shrank back. “Must I see him?”
“See who?”
“Edwin Tranville.” Her voice turned low and shaky.
He’d forgotten. She did not know Edwin as a drunken coward, but as a dangerous man who’d tried to rape her and kill her son.
He put his hand over hers. “Do not fear,” he murmured. “He cannot hurt you.”
She looked up into his eyes and he could almost think that the connection he’d believed they had in Brussels had returned and was real.
He led her through the hallways to the rooms housing the Home Office. She shrank back as he opened the door.
A clerk sat behind a desk, looking very much like the clerk who sat behind the desk in the War Office. The man raised his eyes. “Yes?”
Emmaline stood behind Gabe. He could feel the stiffening of her muscles. She was bracing herself to see Edwin again.
Gabe inclined his head. “Edwin Tranville, please.”
The clerk glanced down again. “Edwin Tranville is not here.”
“When might we expect him?” Gabe asked.
“Never,” the clerk said. “He will not be back.”
Emmaline moved forwards. “Did something happen to him?”
“No.” The man regarded her with a puzzled but admiring expression. He glanced down again and restacked the papers in front of him. “Lord Sidmouth gave him the sack.”
Emmaline looked at Gabe. “What does this mean, ‘gave him the sack’?”
“Terminated his employment,” the clerk answered. “Mr Tranville failed to fulfil his responsibilities.”
Somehow this was not a surprise. It was more bewildering that Sidmouth had hired Edwin in the first place.
“Is Mr Landon here, then?” Perhaps Allan would know where to find Edwin.
The clerk laughed drily. “Not since he married an heiress and no longer needs to work.”
Allan married? And to an heiress? Lucky woman. He was the best of men and would make the best of husbands.
“Do you know where I might find Tranville?” Gabe asked. “Does he reside with his father, Lord Tranville?”
The man shrugged. “He lives at the Albany.”
“Thank you.” Gabe nodded to the man.
When they walked out the door, Emmaline seized his arm. “Gabriel, is Edwin Tranville’s father a lord?”
“He is.”
She whispered, “This makes it worse for Claude.”
Always Claude. Anger twisted inside Gabe and he hated feeling it. He did not wish to feel a rivalry with her son.
“Will we go to this Albany?” she asked.
He shrugged. “It is a logical next step.” And not too much more exertion on Gabe’s part, before he could end this charade.
Their walk to the Albany on Piccadilly reminded Gabe of their strolls through Brussels’ streets, but only in contrast. Gone was the ease between them, the pleasure of merely walking at her side. Still, he was struck with the odd feeling of how right it seemed that they walked together again.
He must take care. It was startling how easily his fantasies about her grew. He must not forget that her sole purpose was to save her son and she would do anything to rescue him from his folly.
Even marry.
Gabe tried to keep that thought in his head. It helped ward off fanciful musings.
The Albany was a popular bachelor residence for the aristocracy, so it stood to reason top-lofty Edwin would live there.
When they reached Piccadilly, Emmaline remarked, “There are many shops here.”
Gabe made a sarcastic smile. “Did not your Napoleon call En gland a nation of shopkeepers?”
“He is not my Napoleon,” she snapped. Her voice turned low. “Never my Napoleon.”
The Albany was set back from the street, a three-storey house flanked on two sides of a courtyard by wings two storeys high. They crossed the courtyard, Emmaline receiving curious and appreciative glances from the young gentlemen they passed. Gabe disliked their open admiration.
He led her through the main doorway and found a servant attending the hall.
“Is Edwin Tranville here?” Gabe asked the man.
“Cannot say,” he answered. “I do not know of all the comings and goings. Shall I send someone to his room?”
“Please,” Gabe answered.
The man made a vague gesture towards the wall. “You may wait here.”
Gabe endured Emmaline receiving more leering glances by men who passed by. She nervously fingered the front of her dress, which did nothing to keep him from thinking about how pleasurable it had once been to undress her.
“I do not wish to see him,” she murmured.
Gabe’s compassion was sparked again. “If you like, I can escort you back to your hotel and return here later.”
She shook her head. “I do not wish to delay.”
Two men crossed the hall and this time their glances at Emmaline were plainly lascivious. Gabe nearly stepped forwards to defend her.
He controlled the impulse. It would help nothing to engage impertinent young men in fisticuffs.
Finally the servant returned, another man accompanying him.
This man approached them. “You asked for Mr Tranville?”
Gabe nodded. “We did.”
“Mr Tranville is not here. I am his man. May I ask the reason you are calling upon him?”
Gabe responded, “I served with him in the Royal Scots.”
The valet looked at Emmaline and raised his brows.
Good God. Even a valet was being insulting. Gabe glared at him. “My betrothed accompanies me at my request. Do you have some objection?”
The valet’s cheeks turned bright red. “I beg your pardon, Captain.”
“When will Mr Tranville return?” Gabe demanded.
The valet pulled on his collar. “I do not know precisely.
He has travelled out of town. I am awaiting instructions from him whether he wishes me to follow him.”
Gabe frowned. He should have known Edwin would make this complicated. “Where is he?”
“I do not know precisely,” the valet answered. “I am awaiting his direction.”
“Non!” Emmaline exclaimed.
Gabe spoke quickly. “Someone must know where Tranville went. Is there anyone here who might know?”
The valet shook his head. “I do not know if he is acquainted with anyone here.”
“But we must find him!” cried Emmaline.
Gabe put a stilling hand on her arm. “Is his father in London at present?”
“I do not believe so,” the valet answered. “I believe he is at his estate.”
Gabe turned to Emmaline. “It is no use.”
She looked stricken, but there was nothing more they could do here now. She held back, but finally nodded. She took his arm and they started to walk towards the door.
The valet called after them, “Mr Tranville’s cousin resides in London. Perhaps she knows where he is.”
Emmaline’s fingers squeezed Gabe’s arm. Her expression turned hopeful.
“Where may we find her?”
The valet gave them her direction on Bryanston Street. “Her name is Miss Pallant.”
Gabe and Emmaline walked out of the Albany and back to Piccadilly Street.
“May we call upon this Miss Pallant?” Emmaline asked him.
He felt as if in a snare, but one he’d chosen to walk into. “We may go there as soon as you wish.” “Now, Gabriel?” Her eyes pleaded. “Now, Emmaline.”
Chapter Nine
Emmaline leaned back against the worn leather of the hackney coach, grateful to Gabriel for hiring it. Her feet hurt from trying to keep pace with him when they walked. When they’d strolled through Brussels he’d never walked so fast.
She supposed she ought not to repine too much about Brussels and how rapturous her time with him had been. Matters were so altered between them now.
His reaction to her bargain to become his wife had not been at all what she had expected. She thought she was offering him what he desired, but it only seemed to make him angrier at her. Did he not know that if it were not for Claude, she would have married him long ago?
She touched the ring she wore beneath her dress, the one that reminded her daily of how important to her he had been.
And still was.
Sitting next to him in the carriage was difficult. She could feel the heat of his body, inhale his scent, feel every breath he took, every flexing of muscle. Being so close reminded her of tangled sheets and naked skin and the glorious nights she’d spent enfolded in his arms.
Now he avoided touching her and the space between them on the carriage seat seemed to crackle with unpleasant emotions.
The coach stopped and he glanced out the window. “We are here.”
He opened the door and climbed out, turning to offer her his hand. She felt a shock of awareness when his glove touched hers. Her senses came alive to him and she wished they were still in Brussels, closing the lace shop, crossing the yard to her little house and climbing the steps to her bed chamber.
Instead, he led her to the door of a townhouse, the residence of this Miss Pallant who was Edwin Tranville’s cousine. The town house was built of dark-grey brick with a red-brick fan design above windows with white sashes. What would an English house look like inside? What would the mistress of such a house think of a Frenchwoman whose son planned to kill her cousin?
She shuddered.
Gabriel sounded the knocker and after a few minutes it was opened by a large man who looked more like a soldier than a servant.
Before the man could speak Gabriel cried, “Good God. Reilly?”
A wide smile lit the man’s face. “Captain Deane!”
The two men shook hands like long-lost brothers.
“Come in. Come in.” Reilly stepped aside. “It is a pleasure to see you, sir.”
“What the devil are you doing here?” Gabriel ushered her inside.
Reilly laughed. “I’m the butler here, if you can believe that.”
“The butler?” Gabriel shook his head.
“My lady found me when I was as low as a man can get. No job. No food. Thinking of turning to thievery, I was.” He paused. “But never mind that. I expect you are here to see—”
At that moment another man, more finely dressed, entered the hall. “Who’s come, Reilly? I heard voices.”
“Allan?” Gabriel sounded shocked.
“Gabe!” This man rushed forwards and embraced Gabriel. “Thought I’d lost track of you. But you found me. I’m so pleased.”
“Indeed.”
This appeared to be a joyful reunion, so Emmaline was happy for Gabriel. She just hoped it would also mean they would find the cousin who could lead them to Edwin Tranville.
Gabriel’s friend glanced at her with a curious expression and Gabriel seemed to belatedly remember her presence.
He took her arm and presented her. “Allan, this is Madame Mableau.”
Allan looked even more curious. “Madame.” He bowed.
“Do you not recognise her?” Gabriel asked.
Emmaline’s brows rose. Was she supposed to know this man?
Allan shook his head.
Gabriel darted a glance towards the butler before turning back to his friend and speaking in a low voice. “She is the woman from Badajoz.” He turned to her. “Emmaline, this is Captain Allan Landon. He was there.”
She gasped. In Badajoz. He must have been the one who carried Edwin Tranville away. “Captain Landon.”
The Captain’s eyes widened. “Madame! My God. I hope you are well—” He examined her again. “But you must be well. You look so lovely. Why are you here?”
“I fear we are in the wrong house.” She wanted to find Edwin Tranville’s cousin, but Gabriel was so happy to see his friend. If she knew the correct house, she would call upon the cousin alone.
Gabriel explained. “We thought this the residence of Miss Marian Pallant.”
Landon looked even more puzzled. “It is, but—” He tapped his forehead. “Forgive me. Let us sit. Have refreshment.”
“I’ll tend to it, Captain,” Reilly said.
Landon offered Emmaline his arm and led them to a drawing room, a comfortable room, with upholstered sofas and chairs of the best brocade. Porcelain figurines, a matched set of a shepherd and shepherdess, decorated the mantelpiece. They might have come from the finest china shop in Brussels.
“Please sit,” Landon said, leading her to a sofa. Gabriel remained standing.
She did not want to sit or have refreshment. “Please. Is Miss Pallant here? It is urgent that we speak to her.”
“Urgent?” Landon frowned. “What is this about?”
She turned to Gabriel. “How much may we tell him?”
Landon stiffened. “By God, you will tell me all of it if it involves my wife.”
“Your wife?” Gabriel blinked.
Landon fixed his gaze on him. “I am married to Marian Pallant.”
“The heiress.” Gabriel nodded. “Yes. They said at the Home Office you had married an heiress.”
Landon folded his arms across his chest. “Why were you at the Home Office and why was my wife being discussed there?”
“Do not tell him.” Emmaline rose. “Perhaps we cannot trust him.”
Gabriel put his hand on her arm. “Allan, we are looking for Edwin. His valet sent us here.”
Landon’s eyes narrowed, his expression angry. “Edwin.” He looked at Emmaline. “Why do you wish to see Edwin? After what he did—”
Gabriel answered, “We are attempting to prevent a wrong. Emmaline’s son has vowed to revenge himself on Edwin and we are trying to intervene.”
Emmaline held her breath, carefully examining Landon’s expression to see if he would act as friend or foe.
“God knows Edwin deserves it.” Allan expelled a breath. “I presume you spoke to his valet at the Albany. Edwin was not there?”
“Out of town, apparently,” Gabriel responded. “We were hoping his cousin—” he smiled “—your wife would know where he had gone.”
“Is she here?” Emmaline broke in. “May we speak to her?”
Landon looked at her with kindness. “She is not here.”
Emmaline averted her gaze, disappointed tears stinging her eyes.
“Madame.” Landon’s voice was soothing. “She will return later this day.”
There was a knock on the parlour door and the butler entered with a tray with a carafe, glasses and tea things. “Brought both, Captain,” Reilly said. He bowed out.
“Sit, now,” Landon said. “Gabe, I suspect you would rather have the brandy.”
“Indeed.”
Landon told them about meeting his wife during the battle of Waterloo and again when the war was over. They’d been married only a few weeks. “I cannot say if Marian knows Edwin’s whereabouts or not.”
They all fell into silence; Emmaline sipped her tea while the men drank brandy.
Alan drained his glass and set it on the table. “I have an idea, but I need time to work on it. You both must come for dinner tonight at eight.”
“Your wife will not mind?” Emmaline asked.
“Not at all.” His expression turned proud. “She is an exceptional woman. She will assist you if she can.” He smiled. “And she will enjoy having you as our guests for dinner.”
Enjoy it? Emmaline could not imagine that a lord’s niece who owned such grand things would enjoy dining with a shop girl. There was no égalité in England, it was said. But, then, the English did not use the guillotine; that was to their credit.
The rope, however, could be equally as lethal.
When she and Gabriel left and were seated in another hackney coach, she asked him, “Are you certain I should attend the dinner?”
He looked puzzled. “Why would you not?”
“I work in a lace shop.”
He shrugged. “What does that matter? This is about locating Edwin’s whereabouts.”
She sighed. He did not understand.
He walked her to the door of her hotel. “I will have a coach here at seven-thirty.” He bowed and walked away.
Emmaline descended the stairs and entered the hall of her hotel just as the clock sounded quarter past seven. If she had stayed one more minute in her room, she’d have perished from nerves. Once more she looked down at her dress and smoothed the skirt. Ladies dressed formally for dinner, she’d heard, but she had nothing like that to wear. Except for the dress she’d worn while travelling, Emmaline only had one more dress that Gabriel had not seen, a rather plain walking dress, but it was a pretty deep-rose colour. She’d quickly embellished the neckline with a lace ruff and added a peek of lace at the cuffs. She hoped it would be enough.
Gabriel was already waiting and stared at her as she crossed the hall to meet him at the door.
“Is my dress acceptable?” she asked him.
“Yes.” His gaze flicked over her again. “It is acceptable.” His voice was rough.
His reaction did not much relieve her mind.
A hackney coach waited on the street and Gabriel escorted her to it. The sky was still light and the evening as fine as ones they had shared in Brussels, but his company, much as she desired it, lowered her spirits.
As he assisted her into the coach, she set her chin. She must accept these difficult and confusing feelings about Gabriel for Claude’s sake. And she must remain hopeful. This night she would meet Edwin Tranville’s cousin and they would discover where to find him. Once Tranville was warned, they could work on finding Claude.
Claude would give up this foolish plan of vengeance for her. He must!
Her thoughts filled the time it took the coach to take them back to Bryanston Street, which was a good thing, because Gabriel did not speak to her.
He looked very handsome in his uniform, with dress trousers and shoes instead of boots. He was freshly shaved and, sitting so close, she could see some pink scrapes on his cheek. She wished she could soothe them with her fingers.
She sighed.
“What is it?” Gabriel asked her.
She nearly jumped. “I did not speak.”
“You sighed.” His voice was low. “Were you thinking of Claude?”
“No.”
He gave her answer no heed. “I suspect Mrs Landon will know how to locate Edwin, if that is what concerns you.”
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