From London With Love: Disgrace and Desire / The Captain and the Wallflower

Chapter Four

Anger, revulsion and disappointment churned in her stomach. The major might be an odious man but she had not wanted him proved a scoundrel.

‘Check his pockets,’ she said crisply.

‘What exactly is you looking for, m’lady?’

‘A book—a small, leather-bound journal.’

‘Nope,’ muttered Perkins, ‘Nothin’ like that. But there is this!’

He pulled out a pistol and held it up so that the moonlight glinted wickedly on the barrel.

‘Heavens,’ exclaimed Eloise, eyeing the weapon nervously. She straightened her shoulders. ‘We must tie his hands,’ she declared. ‘I’ll not risk him getting away.’

Perkins nudged the still body with the toe of his boot.

‘He’s not going anywhere, m’lady.’

‘Well, we cannot remain out here all night,’ she retorted. ‘We must take him back to town with us.’

Perkins spat.

‘And just ’ow do you propose we do that? The carriage is a good half a mile hence.’

‘We will carry him,’ she announced. ‘And don’t you dare to argue with me, Perkins!’

Her groom scratched his head.

‘Well, I ain’t arguing, m’lady, but he’s no lightweight. I’d suggest you’d be best takin’ his legs but that ain’t seemly…’

‘Never mind seemly,’ she replied, gazing dubiously at the major’s unconscious form. Suddenly he seemed so much larger than she remembered. ‘You cannot carry him alone, so I must help you.’

Eloise had never carried a body before. She had never even considered how it should be done. When Perkins had lifted the shoulders she took a firm grip of Jack’s booted ankles and heaved. Half-carrying, half-dragging, they staggered back along the path with their burden, but they had not gone many yards before she was forced to call a halt.

‘We will never carry him all the way back to the carriage,’ she gasped.

‘Well, I could always run back and fetch Coachman Herries.’

A cold wind had sprung up and it tugged at her cloak.

‘I do not want to be standing out here any longer than necessary.’ She looked around. ‘There is a hut of some sort over there. Perhaps we could put him in there until he comes around.’ She sensed the groom’s hesitation and stamped her foot. ‘For heaven’s sake, Perkins, do you think we should let him perish out here?’

‘Aw, ’tedn’t that cold, madam, and besides I don’t see why you should worry, if he’s such a villain.’

‘He may be a villain but I am not,’ declared Eloise angrily. ‘Now take his shoulders again and help me get him into that shelter!’

It was a struggle but eventually they managed to get their unwieldy burden into the shepherd’s hut. Perkins spotted an oil lamp hanging from the roof and pulled out his tinder box to light it. Eloise, very warm after her exertions, threw off her cloak before picking up a piece of twine to bind the major’s hands behind his back. Not a moment too soon, for even as she finished tying the knot Jack groaned.

‘Quickly, now, help me to sit him up.’

‘If I was you I’d leave him on the floor, where ’e belongs,’ opined Perkins, but she overruled him: she did not like to think of any creature bound and helpless at her feet.

They propped him up against a pile of sacks in one corner and Eloise stood back, watching as the major slowly raised his head.

‘Where am I?’

‘There is no point in struggling,’ she said, trying to sound fierce. ‘You are my prisoner.’

‘The devil I am!’

‘You keep a civil tongue when speakin’ to my lady,’ growled the groom.

‘That is enough, Perkins.’ Eloise turned back to Jack. ‘Where is the journal?’

‘What journal?’

‘The diary. Where is it?’

‘I have no idea what you mean.’

Her eyes narrowed.

‘What were you doing on the heath?’

Jack looked up at her from under his black brows. The feeble lamplight threw dark shadows across his face and she could not see his eyes.

‘I was following you. What were you doing?’

‘That is nothing to do with you. I—’ She stopped, her eyes widening. She turned to her groom, saying urgently, ‘The package! Run back to the tree, quickly, and collect it.’

Perkins hesitated.

‘I don’t like to leave you alone with ’im, m’lady.’

‘His hands are bound, he cannot hurt me. But leave me the pistol, if you like, only go and collect that package!’

As the groom let himself out of the hut she weighed the pistol in her hand.

‘If that is mine I would advise you to keep your fingers away from the trigger, it is very light.’ She glanced up to find Jack watching her. ‘I would guess you had never used one of those.’

She shrugged.

‘It should not be difficult, at this range.’

‘Not at all, if you think you can kill a man.’

She glared at him.

‘I can and will, if you give me cause!’

A derisive smile curved his mouth and she looked away.

‘Who tied my hands?’

‘I did.’

‘And how did I get in here?’

‘We carried you.’

‘We?’

‘Yes.’ She flushed, saying angrily, ‘It is you who should be answering questions, not I.’

‘Then you had best ask me something.’

She was silent, and after a moment he said wearily, ‘I wish you would sit down. Since I cannot stand it is very impolite of you to put me at such a disadvantage.’

Eloise was suspicious, but she could read nothing from his countenance, save a certain irritation. She glanced around. There was a small stool in one corner and she pulled it forwards, dusted it off and sat down. He smiled.

‘Thank you. Now, what did you want to ask me?’

‘Why were you following me?’

He leaned back, wincing a little as his head touched the sacking piled behind him.

‘I saw you coming out of Coutts’s this morning. When you denied it so fiercely at the Renwicks’ party I became suspicious.’

‘Oh? And just what did you suspect?’

‘I don’t know: that you had run out of money, perhaps.’

‘I am not so irresponsible!’ she flashed, annoyed.

He ignored her interruption.

‘I followed you through Hampstead,’ he continued, watching her carefully. ‘It occurred to me that perhaps someone has a hold on you. This journal that you talked of: are you trying to buy it back?’

‘That is none of your business!’

‘I have a cracked skull that says it is my business,’ he retorted. ‘By the bye, is my head bleeding?’

She looked up, alarmed.

‘I don’t know—does it hurt you very much?’

‘Like the devil.’ He winced. ‘Perhaps you would take a look at it.’

Eloise slid off the stool to kneel beside him. Absently she brushed his hair out of his eyes before gently pulling his head towards her, eyes anxiously scanning the back of his head.

‘Oh heavens, yes, there is blood—oh!’

Even as she realised that he had somehow freed his hands he reached out and seized her. The next moment she was imprisoned in his powerful grasp and he had twisted her around so that it was she who was pinioned against the sacks, with Jack kneeling over her.

‘Some day I’ll teach you how to tie knots, my lady,’ he muttered, taking the pistol from her hand.

‘What are you going to do to me?’

She eyed him warily. Despite the shadows she felt his eyes burning into her.

‘What would you suggest? After all, you have done your best to murder me.’

‘That is quite your own fault!’ She struggled against him. ‘You had no right to be following me, dressed all in black like a common thief! Anyone might have mistaken you!’

She glared up at him, breathing heavily. She became aware of a subtle change in the atmosphere. Everything was still, but the air was charged with energy, like the calm before a thunderstorm. Her breathing was still ragged, but not through anger. He was straddling her, kneeling on her skirts and effectively pinning her down while his hands held her wrists. She stopped struggling and lay passively beneath him, staring at his shadowed face. He released one hand and drew a finger gently along her cheek.

‘I think we may have mistaken each other, Lady Allyngham.’

His voice deepened, the words wrapped about her like velvet. She did not move as he turned his hand and ran the back of his fingers over her throat. Eloise closed her eyes. His body was very close to her own and her nerves tingled. Her senses were heightened, she was aware of every movement, every noise in the small dark hut. She could smell him, a mixture of leather and wool and spices, she could feel his warm breath on her face. Eloise lifted her chin, but whether it was in defiance or whether she was inviting his lips to join hers she could not be sure. Her breasts tensed, her wayward body yearned for his touch.

It never came.

The spell was broken as the door burst open and Perkins’s aggrieved voice preceded him into the hut.

‘Dang me but I couldn’t find it, m’lady. Looked everywhere for that danged package but it’d gone, and nothing in its place! I think it—what the devil!’

The groom pulled up in the doorway, his eyes popping. As he looked around for some sort of weapon Jack eased himself away from Eloise and waved the pistol.

‘Perkins, isn’t it? I beg you will not try to overpower me again,’ he said pleasantly. ‘You would not succeed, you know.’

Eloise struggled to her feet.

‘I did not untie him,’ she said, feeling the groom’s accusing eyes upon her. ‘But he is not our villain. The fact that the package is gone confirms it.’

‘He might have an accomplice,’ said Perkins, unconvinced.

‘Believe me, I mean your mistress no harm,’ said Jack, standing up and dropping the pistol back into his pocket. ‘I want to help, but to do that I need to know just what is going on.’

He drew out his handkerchief and pressed it cautiously to the back of his head. Eloise saw the dark stain as he took it away again. She said quickly, ‘Yes, but not now. First we must clean up that wound.’

‘My man will do that for me when I get back to town.’

‘Then let us waste no more time.’

She clutched at his sleeve and led him outside, leaving Perkins to put out the lamp and shut the door.

‘Can you walk?’ she asked. ‘Do you need my groom to support you?’

‘No, I will manage very well with you beside me.’ She felt his weight on her arm. ‘I am not too heavy for you?’

‘I helped carry you,’ she retorted. ‘You were much heavier then.’

She heard him laugh and looked away so he would not see her own smile. She was not yet ready to admit to a truce. They continued in silence and soon the carriage lights were visible in the distance.

‘Did you ride here?’ asked Eloise.

‘Yes. My horse is tethered to a bush, close to your carriage.’

‘Give Perkins your direction and he will ride it back to the stable.’

‘And just how is he to get back?’ demanded the groom.

‘He will travel back with me in the carriage.’ Eloise bit her lip. ‘I think I owe Major Clifton an explanation.’

Jack followed Eloise into the carriage and settled himself into the corner, resting the undamaged side of his head against the thickly padded squabs. The coachman had orders to go carefully, but the carriage still rocked and jolted alarmingly as they made their way back towards town. He peered through the darkness at his fellow passenger.

‘Are you going to tell me the truth now, madam?’

There was silence. He thought he detected a faint sigh.

‘This morning I received a letter,’ she said at last, ‘asking me to put one hundred guineas under the roots of a fallen tree on Hampstead Heath. The instructions were quite explicit.’

‘And what did you expect to get for your money?’

‘The—the return of a diary. When I went into the Clevedons’ garden last night it was because I had received a note, instructing me to do so. At the base of Apollo I found a piece of paper. It was a page torn from a…a very personal diary.’ There was a pause. ‘I discovered it was missing last year, but with all the grief and confusion over Allyngham’s death, I thought it had been destroyed.’

‘I see. I take it you do not wish the contents of this journal to become public?’

‘That is correct.’ The words were barely audible.

‘And what is it you wish to keep secret, madam?’

There was an infinitesimal pause before she said coldly, ‘That you do not need to know.’

‘I do if I am to help you to recover the book.’

‘If you had not interfered tonight I might already have it back! Who knows but your untimely appearance frightened off the wretch?’

‘He was not too frightened to take your money,’ Jack retorted.

‘Well…mayhap he will return the book to me tomorrow.’

‘You are air-dreaming, Lady Allyngham. In my experience this type of rogue will keep on demanding money until he has bled you dry.’

‘No!’

‘Yes.’ He leaned forwards, saying urgently, ‘The only way to stop this man is to catch him.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘There is no perhaps about it.’ The carriage slowed and began to turn.

‘King Street,’ she said, peering out of the window. ‘We have arrived at your rooms, Major. Would you like my footman to accompany you to the door?’

‘No, thank you, I can manage that short distance.’ He stepped carefully down on to the flagway.

‘Major Clifton!’

Jack turned back to the darkened carriage. Eloise was leaning forwards, her face pale and beautiful in the dim light.

‘I am sorry you were injured,’ she said. ‘And I thank you, truly, for your concern.’

He grasped her outstretched hands, felt the slight pressure of her fingers against his own before she gently pulled free, the carriage door was closed and the carriage rolled off into the night.

Eloise stirred restlessly. Such dreams had disturbed her sleep: menacing letters, walking alone across a lonely heath, bags of guineas. An encounter with Major Jack Clifton. She sat up. That was no dream. As the reality crowded in upon her she put her hands to her head. She had left a packet containing a hundred guineas on Hampstead Heath. The money had gone, and the diary had not been returned. She gave a little shiver as she thought of the damage that could be done if ever its contents were made known. On top of all that she had been obliged to explain something of her plight to Jack Clifton. For a moment she forgot her own worries to wonder if his head was hurting him this morning—perhaps he had forgotten the night’s events. The thought occurred only to be dismissed. Jack Clifton had not been that badly injured; witness the way he had overpowered her.

Eloise allowed herself to dwell on that scene in the shepherd’s hut, Jack sitting on the floor, looking up at her with a devilish grin on his handsome face. And when she had knelt before him, fooled into concern for the cut on his head, he had not hesitated to seize her. She could still remember the sensation of being at his mercy, the shiver that had run through her when she looked up and saw the devils dancing in his eyes. It had not been fear, but excitement that had coursed through her veins, the thought of pitting herself against him, her wits against his strength. Angrily she gave herself a little shake.

‘Enough,’ she muttered, scrambling out of bed and tugging at the bell-pull. ‘He never thought highly of you, and after last night he thinks even less. You had best forget Major Clifton.’

But it seemed that was easier said than done. As she partook of her solitary breakfast she tried to put him out of her mind but it was almost as if she had conjured him up when Noyes came to announce that she had a visitor.

‘Major Clifton is here to see you, my lady. He is waiting for you in the morning room.’

For a single heartbeat she considered telling Noyes to deny her, but decided against it. After all, it was her servant who had attacked the major: the least she could do was to show a little concern.

‘Thank you, I will go to him directly.’ She rose, putting a hand up to her curls, and it took a conscious effort not to stop at the mirror to check her appearance before entering the morning room.

Major Clifton was standing by the window, staring out into the street. He seemed to fill the room, his tall figure and broad shoulders blocking the light, and when he turned she was disturbed to find she could not read the expression on his shadowed face. He bowed.

‘Lady Allyngham.’

She hovered by the door, wishing she had asked the butler to leave it open.

‘Good morning, Major. How is your head?’

‘Sore, but no lasting damage, I hope.’

‘I hope so, too.’ She gave him a tentative smile. ‘Won’t you sit down, sir?’

She indicated a chair and chose for herself a sofa on the far side of the room. To her consternation the major followed and sat down beside her. Heavens, would the man never do as he was bid? She sat bolt upright and stared straight ahead of her, intensely aware of him beside her, his thigh only inches away from her own. Her heightened senses detected the scent of citrus and spice: a scent she was beginning to associate with this man. She made a conscious effort to keep still: she thought wildly it would have been more comfortable sitting next to a wolf!

‘M-may I ask why you are here?’ she enquired, amazed that her voice sounded quite so normal.

‘I want to help you catch whoever is persecuting you.’

Her head came round at that.

‘Thank you, sir, but I do not need your help.’

‘Oh, I think you do. Who else is there to assist you? I presume the journal is your property, so perhaps you intend to enlist the services of a Bow Street Runner to retrieve it?’

‘That is impossible.’ She glared at him. ‘If you had not interfered last night the matter might well have been concluded.’

‘I doubt it. However, I do acknowledge that I am in some small way embroiled in this affair now…’

‘Nonsense! This is nothing to do with you.’

‘I would not call having my head split open nothing.’

‘I should have thought that would be a warning to you to stay away!’

His slow smile appeared, curving his lips and warming his eyes, so that she was obliged to stand up and move away or risk falling under the spell of his charm.

‘My friends would tell you that I can never resist a challenge, madam.’

‘And my friends would tell you that I am perfectly capable of looking after myself.’

‘Quite clearly that is not true, for you are in serious trouble now, are you not?’ When she did not reply he said softly, ‘Perhaps you intend to enlist the help of Alex Mortimer—’

‘No! Mr Mortimer must know nothing of this.’

‘And why not? I thought he was a close friend of yours. A very close friend.’

His meaning unmistakable, Eloise turned away, flushing. She said in a low voice, ‘You know nothing about this. You do not understand.’

‘Oh, I understand only too well, madam,’ he said coldly. ‘This—journal you are so concerned about: I have no doubt it contains details of your affairs. Details that you do not wish even Mortimer to know.’

She gave a brittle laugh.

‘You are very wide of the mark, Major.’

‘Am I? Tell me, then, what it is in this book that is so terrible?’ She looked at him. There was no smile in his eyes now, only a stony determination. As if sensing her inner turmoil the hard look left his eyes. He said gently, ‘Will you not trust me?’

Eloise bit her lip. She wanted to trust him. She thought at that moment she would trust him with her life, but the secrets in the journal involved others, and she could not betray them. And if he should discover the truth, she thought miserably that he would look upon her with nothing but disgust. Unconsciously her fingers toyed with Tony’s heavy signet ring that she had taken to wearing on her right hand.

‘I cannot,’ she whispered. ‘Please do not ask it of me.’

She met his gaze, her heart sinking when she saw the stony look again on his face. It was no more than she expected, but it hurt her all the same.

Jack watched her in silence. The distress he saw in her every movement tore at him. He wanted to comfort her, but she was no innocent maid: she had told him quite plainly she did not need his protection. So why did he find it so difficult to leave her to her fate? He rose, disappointed, angry with himself for being so foolish. He had wanted her to confide in him, to tell him she was an innocent victim, but it was clear now that she could not do so. Better then to go now, to walk away and forget all about the woman.

‘Very well, madam. If that is all…’

‘I am very sorry,’ she murmured.

‘So, too, am I.’

A soft knock sounded upon the door and Noyes entered.

‘I beg your pardon, madam, but you asked me to bring any messages to you.’

He held out the tray bearing a single letter: she reached for it, hesitating as she recognised the untidy black scrawl.

Jack made no move to leave the room. Eloise had grown very pale and she picked up the letter as if it might burn her fingers.

‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘That will be all.’

‘Well?’ Jack waited until the butler had withdrawn before speaking. ‘Is it another demand? What does he say?’