Regency High Society Vol 2: Sparhawk's Lady / The Earl's Intended Wife / Lord Calthorpe's Promise / The Society Catch. Miranda JarrettЧитать онлайн книгу.
to remember how his smile lit his blue eyes with pleasure when she played the pianoforte for him, no matter how many wrong notes she struck, to recall the faint fragrance of his tobacco on his coat and the contented sigh he made when he sat in the bargello armchair at the end of the day. She tried to imagine what he’d say to her now, if she could once again kneel on the floor beside him with her head resting on his knees, how gently he would stroke the back of her head and tell her not to fuss and worry, that life was too dear to waste it on ill feelings.
Why, then, was such hatred and greed destroying everything that Frederick had valued most? Why, why had he left her when she needed him so?
With a little sob of loneliness she curled deeper into herself, striving for the elusive comfort that her husband’s memory might bring. And then, strangely, the memory shifted. It wasn’t Frederick’s voice she heard in her head, but a deeper one, rumbling thick with an American accent.
“I’ll set it all to rights, sweetheart,” Jeremiah Sparhawk was saying as he held her against the hard muscles of his chest. His large hands along her body were warm and sure, a caress that fired her blood and made her heart race. “I won’t let that thieving bastard hurt you.”
She gasped and sat bolt upright. What had come over her? It must have been whatever drug George had used to rob her of her senses, returning again to steal her wits. Only once had she let the man kiss her, and here she was daydreaming of him like some moonstruck serving girl! She certainly had no business looking to Captain Sparhawk to rescue her, any more than she had the right to turn to him for comfort. He’d been furious when she’d left him at Blackstone House. What must his temper have been when she didn’t return as she’d promised?
She sighed deeply, rubbing her fingertips across her forehead. The American had been her last hope for finding Frederick, and even then Jack had told her she’d only have two weeks to convince Captain Sparhawk before he sailed for home. Now most likely he wouldn’t even speak to her, let alone risk his life to help find her husband.
Slowly she pushed herself up from the floor, drawing the coverlet around her shoulders like a shawl as she went to the window. From the houses across the street, she realized George had brought her to the attic of his own lodgings. She was surprised that he’d be so obvious, but then why should he bother to take her to a more secretive spot? No one would suspect him because no one was looking for her.
She stared down at the paving stones in the courtyard four stories below and groaned with frustration. She’d never be able to help Frederick as long as she was locked away up here. Somehow, she must find a way to escape.
Somehow she must, and soon.
Chapter Five
“Oh, aye, sir, that be Mr. Stanhope’s house,” said the scullery maid, swinging the market basket before her as she smiled winningly up at Jeremiah. “Or leastways it be where he lives for now. Grand prospects, sir, that be what Mr. Stanhope has, on account o’ him bein’ heir to a great title. The Earl o’ Byfield, that’s what he’ll be.”
“Too grand he’ll be for the likes of us, eh, lass?” said Jeremiah as he returned the girl’s smile. He’d waited all morning for someone to come from the house, and finally luck had sent him this guileless little red-haired girl, fresh from the country. “But tell me: does he have a lady staying with him now?”
“Eh, sir, when don’t Mr. Stanhope have a lady there, that be the more proper question!” The girl giggled and glanced nervously over her shoulder, hoping that neither the cook nor the butler would catch her talking to the stranger. Of course she’d been warned against dawdling with men on the street, but this one wasn’t some randy, pigtailed jack-tar from the fleet. No, this one was a gentleman, and handsome, too, with his green eyes and shoulders as wide as a house. Where could be the harm? “As Mrs. Warren’s always sayin’, sir, Mr. Stanhope likes his ladies, an’ the ladies like him.”
“Then you’d best look after yourself, sweetheart, once he finds what a little beauty he’s harboring under his own roof.” The girl blushed and giggled more just the way Jeremiah knew she would, the same way women always did. Or almost always: it certainly hadn’t been as easy with Lady Byfield. “But I’ve a reason for asking about this particular lady. I’m asking for a friend whose sister’s run off with a gentleman, and I’m afraid it may be your Mr. Stanhope.”
“Oh, lud!” The girl’s eyes widened, delighted as she was to be party to a possible scandal. “Now Mrs. Warren did say there was a new lady come yesterday, an’ grumblin’ she was because Mr. Stanhope ordered her t’ take the trays up t’ her special herself. Mrs. Warren don’t gossip overmuch, an’ course she wouldn’t tell me the lady’s name, but she did say this one be prettier than most, with silver hair an’ blue eyes turned up like a fairy’s, even if she do be vexin’ the master with her chatterin’.”
The girl leaned closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Mrs. Warren says the master had t’ take away her clothes t’ keep her quiet an’ lock her up in the room under the eaves! Can you fancy that, sir? Takin’ away a lady’s clothes on account o’ her speakin’ out!”
Indeed, he could fancy it, and a good deal more graphically than this little country girl would ever guess. Of course the woman was Caro. With upturned blue eyes and too much chatter, it couldn’t be anyone else.
For a moment doubt flickered through his conscience. Desire had said the battles between Lady Byfield and George Stanhope were well-known. What if they really were lovers? He’d judged it so himself at first, and he’d seen stranger relationships between men and women, particularly when one of them was married to another. What if he went blundering in to save a lady who didn’t want saving?
Then he remembered how she’d wept with such genuine emotion when she’d spoken of her husband, and how roughly George Stanhope had treated her beside her carriage. No, that hadn’t been lovers’ play. Jeremiah’s frown deepened when he thought of what the man would do to her when he had her under his own roof.
“How the devil can he expect to get away with that?” he demanded, as much to himself as to the girl. “This is supposed to be a civilized country, isn’t it? A man can’t haul off and make some woman his prize just because he wants her!”
The girl looked at him pityingly, the ruffles on her cap fluttering in the breeze. “I didn’t think you was an Englishman, sir, on account of how you talk. Do you be Irish, then?”
“Nay, lass, American, and where I come from a lady’s safe from rascals like your Mr. Stanhope.”
“American! La, no wonder you don’t understand our ways!” She spoke firmly, almost lecturing him, as if he were some half-wit savage—the opinion most English held of Americans.
“In England we all know our place,” she explained. “Them that’s our betters can do things different than me or you. Because Mr. Stanhope’s bound to be an earl, he can do what he pleases with his new sweetheart, an’ none will judge him the worse for it. There be no law against what they do with themselves, leastways for gentry like him. Can you fancy a constable knockin’ on his door wit’ a warrant for hidin’ a lady’s gown? That constable’d be lookin’ for work for certain if’n he tried that!”
She giggled again, her red-knuckled fingers over her mouth, and Jeremiah forced himself to smile in return. As foolish as the little creature was, what she said was all too true, and it echoed Desire’s warnings, too. No matter how convinced he was that Lady Byfield was being held against her will, he’d never be able to find an English judge to agree with him against George Stanhope. If he wanted to free her, he’d have to do it himself.
“Don’t judge me bold for askin’, sir,” the girl was saying, swaying her hips suggestively beneath her apron as she looked up at him from under her stubby lashes, “but do all American men be so tall an’ comely?”
“Nay,