Indiscretions. Gail Ranstrom

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      He felt her resistance to his questions in the stiffening of her spine and her unwillingness to meet his gaze. Mrs. Hobbs was hiding something. He’d seen the signs too many times to be fooled by it now. He shouldn’t be surprised. After all, most of the English occupants of the West Indies were hiding from something or looking for a fresh start. Had she just wanted to find a life away from painful memories after her husband died?

      He glanced sideways at her hand on his shoulder. Her wedding ring was gone. That was interesting, as was her pretty blush when she noticed the direction of his gaze.

      The music ended and he released her with a reluctant sigh, remembering his promise to deliver her to the governor. He offered his arm and led her toward the reception line, which had halted in his absence.

      “Ah, here you are,” Bascombe said as they approached. “We’ve been waiting for you, Lockwood. But now that I see what has delayed you, I completely understand.”

      “Lockwood?” Mrs. Hobbs looked up at him in surprise.

      “Oh? I thought you’d been introduced.” Bascombe looked between them with a touch of reproach, as if to say that they shouldn’t have danced without a proper introduction. “Lord Lockwood, may I present Mrs. Daphne Hobbs? Mrs. Hobbs, please meet Reginald Hunter, Lord Lockwood.”

      Unbelievably, Hunt saw a veil drop over her features, as if she had just shut herself off from him. She performed a graceful curtsy and bowed her head. “Lord Lockwood. So pleased to meet you.”

      If they had not been surrounded by people, he might have told her to call him Reginald, Hunt or Lockwood, but not Lord Lockwood, or my lord, or sir, or any of the other words that would put distance between them. He bowed, lifting her hand to his lips. She met his gaze over her hand and her expression was guarded. When he released her, she moved away, as if she’d been just another guest waiting in line to meet him.

      Oh, no. There was nothing he could do about it at the moment, but he was not about to let her close him out so easily.

      Daphne sipped a glass of wine as she stood in the shadows and watched the reception line dwindle. Whatever tryst or liaison she’d fantasized about with Mr. Hunt was now an impossibility. As Lord Lockwood, he would mix with the same society she had fled. He would have heard the scandal concerning her. She was not naive enough to think such a delicious bit of gossip would have been hushed up. She would wager everything she owned that Lord Lockwood would know the name Lady Barrett. It was not every day a peer’s wife murdered him and escaped the country with his family’s jewels and the heir to the title.

      As soon as she could make her plea to Governor Bascombe, she would excuse herself and leave. Furthermore, she would ask Hannah to wait on Lockwood if he came to Pâtisserie again. She would immediately remove herself as far as she could from his notice. She’d only been successful in remaining undiscovered all these years by avoiding encounters such as this.

      Finally, Governor Bascombe exchanged a few words with Lord Lockwood and moved away, leaving Lockwood with the chargé. She seized the opportunity and went forward to take the governor’s arm.

      “Thank you for inviting me,” she said as she led him toward a balcony overlooking the bay.

      “Not at all, m’dear. Thank you for coming. You’ve always refused, and that’s what I told Lockwood.”

      “The invitation was his idea?”

      “Imagine my astonishment to learn that you’d never been formally introduced. Ah, well, that’s fixed now. A very clever way for him to arrange a proper introduction. I think it’s plain that you can expect even more attention from Lockwood.”

      Daphne looked over her shoulder to see Lockwood deep in conversation with a local planter. How extraordinary that he would request an invitation for her.

      But she could not think of that at the moment. A quick glance right and left assured her that they were quite alone on the balcony. “Actually, I wanted to speak with you, Governor Bascombe. I have a favor to ask.”

      “Well, now. I hope it is within my power to grant.”

      “The favor is for a friend of mine. Captain Gilbert. He makes the run from London to Washington and St. Claire, and then back to London. He is here at least three times a year.”

      “Yes. I’ve met the man. Quite competent.”

      “I’m glad you think so, sir. You see, I thought it might make good business sense to offer him a patent to carry official government documents.”

      The governor just stared at her, speechless. No doubt he was not accustomed to women meddling in state affairs. This was going to take a little finessing.

      “I am concerned, sir, that Captain Gilbert may discontinue the run if it is not more profitable. As he is one of the most reliable shippers to make port in St. Claire, I think it would be expedient to make him the offer. I must say that I depend upon him for my supplies of untainted flour and a number of spices. He has even been known to take small orders for cloth and other items. I’m certain there are some items that you and Mrs. Bascombe have come to rely upon. Surely it would be a detriment if he should forego St. Claire in the future.”

      “Er, yes,” he replied. “Hmm. I suppose there would be no harm in it.”

      She gave him an admiring smile. “The only one who could say nay is the king, and I do not think he would have much interest in such a matter.”

      The governor rubbed his chin. “I will take the matter under advisement, Mrs. Hobbs.”

      “That is all I ask, sir. I trust your judgment and know you will make the right decision.”

      Governor Bascombe preened as she led him back into the glittering ballroom. The interview had gone marginally better than she had anticipated. She’d summon her gig and be home within an hour.

      Scarcely attending the conversation, Hunt watched the doors to the balcony until he saw the governor and Mrs. Hobbs reappear. He had a sudden twinge of jealousy that Mrs. Hobbs and the governor might be…no, impossible! The man was nearly twice her age, and his manner, when he introduced them, had been quite formal.

      “I say, Lockwood, I cannot blame you! Mrs. Hobbs is rather tempting, is she not?” his companion asked.

      Unaccountably annoyed by Doyle’s comment, he shrugged. “I’ve scarcely seen lovelier. Does she have…is she involved with anyone?”

      Doyle chuckled. “Not that anyone knows. She’s quite reclusive. Believe me, if I’d found an opening, I’d have tried. She has a Spanish housekeeper, and the rumor is that they are—” He paused and gave an eloquent shrug.

      “Impossible,” Hunt said.

      Doyle laughed again. “Ah, you’ve been struck by the thunderbolt. As delectable as she is, she really is not suitable, Lockwood. Well, for a discreet affair, perhaps, or to be your mistress. But how would you ever explain that Lady Lockwood had been a tradeswoman? She’d never fit in, you know.”

      Lockwood was well past worrying what was suitable and what was not. There was a world of difference between taking a mistress and getting married. He watched as she curtsied nicely to the governor and headed for the foyer. Ah, the innocent dove! Did she really think she’d escape СКАЧАТЬ