The Captain's Courtship. Regina Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ have the mirror to your shop later today,” she promised as she walked Mr. Devizes to the sitting room door and out into the parquet-tiled entryway. Jones was elsewhere, so she opened the front door and watched the dealer descend the short flight of stairs to the Mayfair street. Outside, life went on. Ladies in flowered and ribboned bonnets strolled past, attended by strapping footmen; gentlemen rode by on horses with lineages better than hers. Soon, if things went as planned, she would leave them all behind.

      But first she had to get rid of the past that had suddenly loomed up in front of her. She held the lacquered green door open and eyed Richard Everard where he stood in the doorway of the sitting room. That long, straight nose always made him look as if he were leaning forward, ready for anything. She didn’t feel nearly as ready.

      “Please don’t let me detain you, Captain Everard,” she said. “Surely you have something more important to do than to accost me.”

      He strolled toward her, and she stood taller. There—she’d succeeded in insulting him, and he’d leave as quickly as he’d arrived. She wouldn’t have to learn why he’d shown up at her door, what he thought he could say to her. She wouldn’t have to take the chance that her heart would break all over again. She could go back to dreaming of him and waking in the night wondering what might have been.

      He reached up over her head with one large hand, took hold of the door and pulled it easily from her grip. It shut with a click.

      “We must talk,” he said.

      * * *

      Richard watched as Claire’s blue eyes widened. Such a pale blue, as clear and bright as the sky on a winter’s morn. And just as cold, like the heart that beat in that silk-covered chest.

      “Fah, sir,” she said with an elegant wave of her long-fingered hand. “I cannot imagine what we have to say to each other.”

      Couldn’t she? He’d thought of little else on the long ride from Cumberland. What did you say to the woman who’d jilted you, now that you needed her help? He’d hoped to apply to her husband first, even if he had to clench his fists at his sides to keep from planting the fellow a facer. But the few discreet questions he’d asked to locate Claire had yielded surprising news.

      Lord Colton Winthrop was dead and in the ground nearly a year. And that fact made any conversation harder still.

      “I came here to seek your help,” he told her. “I’ve a cousin set to make her debut, and she needs a sponsor.”

      “I see.” She tilted her chin and gazed up at him. Time had been kind, but he thought she was one of those women who would only grow more beautiful with each passing year. Though how she’d tamed her soft curls into that stern bun was beyond him. The style narrowed her face, called out the line of cheekbone and chin. But her lips were as pink and appealing as they’d been when he’d first longed to steal a kiss.

      “You will forgive me, sir,” she said. “I’ve been in mourning, so I am not completely au courant on the social scene. But I don’t recall your having a cousin the proper age, and certainly not a female.”

      Trust her to know. She’d always been fascinated with the lineage of every one of the ten thousand individuals said to make up the bon ton. No doubt her late viscount had a title dating to the conquest. Richard’s family title was far more tenuous. He had to go carefully. His cousin Samantha could ill afford the gossip. “My uncle, Arthur, Lord Everard, has a daughter. She’s sixteen.”

      “Indeed,” she replied.

      He’d forgotten how she could stop conversation with a single word. If he’d had any doubts as to her feelings on the matter, the narrowing of her crystal gaze would have convinced him of her skepticism.

      “But I believe I heard your uncle passed on recently,” she continued. “Surely his daughter must be in mourning.”

      She would understand that as well. Her slender figure was swathed in black, from the high lace collar to the ruffled hem of her graceful skirts. And she hadn’t worn a single piece of jewelry, not even a wedding ring. He remembered a time when she’d refused to go out in anything less than pearls. She must have loved her husband a great deal to give up so much to mourn him. The thought brought less comfort than it should have.

      “My uncle instructed that she forgo mourning,” he explained. “He believed in living to the fullest.”

      “Yes, so I recall.” She refused to take her hand off the brass pull of the door, as if she’d throw it open and order him from the house at any moment.

      Her attitude grated on his nerves, already too high for his liking. In fact, his cravat seemed to have tightened since he’d arrived in the house, and he tugged at it now. “Perhaps we could sit down.”

      That oh-so-proper smile did not waver. “I fear I’ve nothing to offer you, Captain Everard, by way of seating or assistance. I’m sure you’ll find another lady far more suited to your purpose. You should go.”

      So she was throwing him out. Why had he even considered asking her for help? She was more high-handed now than she’d been as a girl. Nothing he’d said back then had mattered. Why should today be any different? If I needed a lesson in humility, Lord, this is it.

      “No doubt you’re right, Lady Winthrop,” he said with a bow. “As I recall, you had the annoying habit of always being right. I bid you good-day, madam.” He took the handle from her grip and swung open the door.

      She sighed. It was the smallest of sounds, hardly audible, because of her own good breeding and through the noise from the busy street. But the dejected breath cut through his frustration—awakened something inside him he’d thought long dead. His foot on the step, he turned to gaze back at her.

      “Are you all right, Claire?”

      An emotion flickered across her oval face. Was it because he’d used her given name, or was she truly in trouble? Still, that infuriating smile remained pleasant. “Certainly, Captain Everard. I have all I need. I am quite content.”

      Content? The Lady Claire he remembered had never been content. The latest fashion, the fastest carriage—she had to have them all and much sooner than half of London. She had ridden with more skill and danced with more enthusiasm than any other woman he’d ever met. He truly hadn’t been surprised when she’d chosen a wealthy, titled peer over a second son of a second son of a newly minted baron. Just crushed.

      She shifted as if eager to have him leave, and he caught a clear view into the entryway. For the first time, he noticed the darker rectangles on the papered walls where paintings must have been removed, the scuffs on the parquet floor where large pieces of furniture had no doubt been scraped as they’d been carried out. A house this size ought to boast a half dozen servants at least, but no maid had attended her during her conversation with the tradesman, and no butler came hurrying to see him out now.

      “You don’t have a sofa to sit on, do you?” he asked.

      Her smile slipped at last. “That, sir, is none of your concern.”

      He put a hand flat on the door, shoved it wide and strode back into the house. “It may not be my concern, madam, but it is to my advantage. I have a proposal for you, and I advise you to listen.”

      Chapter Two

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