A Scandalous Proposition Page 2

  Adam tried not to laugh. “Then I bow to your superior knowledge.”

  “Not that I blame them, mind. The pigeons, that is. They obviously knew they were destined for some gentleman’s table. I felt like squawking protests of my own on their behalf.”

  Adam smiled. “The man would have paid the driver a few extra pence to keep the birds from being strapped to the roof, from which they might easily have fallen.”

  “Well, I would have paid him more still to persuade him to release them.” She tossed her head. “Wild creatures ought not to be caged.”

  Adam wondered about her passionate defence of a few insignificant birds, suspecting there was a great deal more behind her protestations than mere sympathy. “You travelled from London, presumably.” She nodded. “And your brother, did he accompany you?”

  “No, indeed not.” She shuddered. “I believe he followed me on horseback.”

  “And now he’s ridden off in pursuit of the stagecoach in the expectation of finding you aboard it.”

  “Yes.” She spoke the one word with considerable satisfaction. “And, if there’s any justice in this world, the heavens will open and he’ll be drenched to the skin.”

  “We can but hope.” Adam contemplated her for a moment before speaking again. “And when your brother discovers that you’re not a passenger on that conveyance, what do you imagine he’ll do then?” He observed the fear creeping back into her expression when the answer struck home. “I don’t anticipate it will take him long to overtake the public coach if he’s equipped with a fast horse.”

  “No, probably not.” Her lovely eyes were once again full of apprehension. “And then, I suppose, he’ll realise he’s been misled and immediately return here to seek me out.”

  “Then we’d best ensure that you’re not here for him to find. Where were you intending to go, once you reached Portsmouth?”

  “To Oakley Common.”

  The bustling market town on the outskirts of Portsmouth, not three miles from Southsea Court, was the very town where Adam intended to spend the night.

  “Then if you don’t mind riding behind me, I’ll be glad to take you there myself.”

  Adam expected her to put up objections to such an unorthodox suggestion but once again she surprised him. With a riotous smile that caused havoc with his equilibrium, she thanked him and immediately agreed.

  “I’ve caused you a vast amount of trouble, Major,” she said, enchanting him with her lilting accent. “I’m indebted to you for your kindness.”

  “Not at all.” Adam, still unbalanced by his reaction to her lovely smile, waved her thanks aside. “But, in all this confusion, my manners have been amiss and I’ve forgotten to introduce myself. Allow me to put that matter right.” He sketched an elegant bow. “Major Adam Fitzroy at your service, ma’am.”

  “Fitzroy?” She started violently, as though the name meant something to her, even though he hadn’t added the title that would be familiar to any native of these parts.

  “Now, if you’re ready to leave, it remains only for us to devise a means of getting you out of here undetected.”

  Florentina Grantley clung tightly to Adam Fitzroy’s waist as his stallion covered the ground at breakneck speed, aware that she’d merely replaced one awkward situation with another. Major Fitzroy had rescued her from Reynolds’s ubiquitous clutches, that was undeniable, but what was she now supposed to do about the major? If she’d known who he was from the outset, it would have been a different matter and she wouldn’t have hesitated to give him her real name. But by the time she found out who he actually was, he was intent upon spiriting her away from the inn and there was no time for her to think the matter through. Or to hit upon a plausible reason for giving a false name in the first place.

  Damnation, this was the sort of complication she could well do without.

  She knew Fitzroy’s stallion well and had only just stopped herself from blurting out his name when the major collected her from the thicket where she’d concealed herself. The stallion was often turned out to pasture on his own, and she was touched by the way he seemed to look off into the distance, as though waiting for someone. The grooms deemed Rochester an irascible beast whom only his master could handle, but she’d built up quite a rapport with him over the months. She often visited him in his paddock, taking him apples and sharing her innermost thoughts with him in one-sided conversations the horse appeared to understand.

  She clung a little more tightly, daring to rest her head against the major’s broad back to protect her face from the sharp wind that assailed it. Briefly she wondered how it would feel to have such a man permanently acting as her champion. She’d not felt safe since coming to this country, and the burden of responsibility she bore for the welfare of others frequently wore her down. Major Fitzroy would be able to assuage her fears, of that she felt assured. He was the sort of gentleman who could achieve anything he set his mind to. She wasn’t sure how she could be so certain.

  Somehow she just was.

  Florentina sternly adjured herself to stop daydreaming and face up to reality. No one could help her. She’d trusted a gentleman once before and look where that had landed her.

  “Oh, Rochester, why did you have to let me down now, of all times?” The words were whipped away by the wind the moment they left her lips. The major couldn’t possibly overhear them. “I thought I was your friend. If you hadn’t cast a shoe then Major Fitzroy wouldn’t have stopped at the Feathers and I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  But then again, if he hadn’t been there, how would she have evaded Reynolds? What to do? Dare she trust Major Fitzroy with her secret? He had a reputation locally for integrity and a deep sense of honour. She’d made such a mull of things, and the temptation to lean upon him was compelling. Just for a moment, she gave way to it.

  But then the consequences of such a foolhardy course of action struck home. She was riding astride, despite wearing a lady’s travelling attire. She lifted one hand from Major Fitzroy’s waist to cover her mouth, horrified at her momentary weakness. Her balance wasn’t all that it could be, what with the slippery mass of petticoats bunched beneath her derrière and her unfamiliarity with riding astride. Just as she felt herself slipping, a strong arm reached back and pulled her to safety before she got anywhere near Rochester’s flying hooves.

  “Hold on with both hands.” He called the words over his shoulder, not slowing Rochester from a flat-out gallop. “Then you’ll be perfectly safe.”

  “Thank you, I’ll do that.”

  Florentina’s breathing gradually returned to a more normal rate. She disciplined herself to direct her thoughts away from the feel of the major’s hand on her thigh and the very strange way it had affected her. Instead she concentrated on the matter that had almost caused her to come to grief in the first place.

  She bit her lip, no nearer to deciding what to do about her situation when she became aware of Rochester’s pace slowing. Major Fitzroy walked his mount sedately down the main street in Oakley Common. Florentina felt secure enough to remove her arms from around his waist and reached a hand back to run it gently across Rochester’s sweaty quarters.

  “Well done, Rochester. You carried us both with ease.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at her. “How did you know my horse’s name?”

  “Oh, I must have heard you say it a while back.”

  “Did you?” Florentina could hear the surprise in Major Fitzroy’s voice and knew he didn’t believe her. “I don’t recall doing so.”

  “Nevertheless you must have, otherwise how would I know it?”

  “Yes, you’re right.” He halted Rochester in the centre of town. “Now then, Mrs. Smith, where would you like me to take you?”

  “To the vicarage, if it’s no trouble.”

  “None whatsoever.” He encouraged Rochester forward with the gentle application of his legs on the stallion’s flanks.

  Florentina’s destination actually lay in a very different direction
but she didn’t intend to land herself in even more trouble by revealing her true port of call. She would attend to her business here as soon as she felt confident that Major Fitzroy was well clear of the town. She had a report to make. Then she’d worry about the major.

  He brought Rochester to a halt at the gates to the vicarage. With athletic grace he swung his right leg forward over the horse’s neck and slid to the ground. He then reached up, placed both hands on Florentina’s waist and lifted her down. She was acutely aware of the searing warmth of his gloved hands through the fabric of her gown. Her face was briefly at the same level as his as he gently lowered her. She boldly met his gaze and held it, a strange sensation surging through her as he took far too long to place her on her feet and remove his hands from her waist.

  It was twilight but she could see his features clearly enough to notice the intelligence in grey eyes that appeared to soften as he regarded her. There was a recent-looking scar above his left eyebrow but somehow it only added to his rugged allure. It filled Florentina with an impulsive desire to trace its length with her finger and make the hurt go away. She felt truly wretched for having lied to him, if only by omission. Her heart was fit to burst with the trouble she was causing.

  “Thank you, Major.” She moved away when his hands finally released her. “I am much in your debt.”

  “You owe me nothing, ma’am.” He raised the shako from his head. “It was a pleasure to be of service to you. I hope we shall meet again.”

  Oh, Major Fitzroy, beware what you wish for. “I hope so, too, sir, but I think it unlikely.” She turned toward the vicarage as though she had every intention of entering that building. “I bid you good evening, sir.”

  She concealed herself behind a stand of trees in the garden and waited. After five minutes, when the sound of Rochester’s hooves had long since faded, she swiftly headed back the way she’d just come. Her destination was Chamberleigh, a large establishment on the fringes of the town. Outwardly it appeared perfectly respectable but in actuality it was a bawdy house that catered for the needs of the well-heeled gentry in the area. The last place where one would expect to find a respectable widow of Florentina’s ilk.

  She entered the house through a rear door and slipped unnoticed up the stairs. Mrs. Christine Seymour, keeper of this establishment, had her own suite of rooms on the top floor and would be anxious to know how things had gone in London.

  “Ah, Christine,” she said, opening the door to her sitting room and being confronted by the back of her friend’s beautifully coiffured head. “I’m so glad you’re here. You’ve no idea how much trouble I—”

  Only when it was too late did Florentina realise that Christine was holding a warning finger to her lips. Her gaze skimmed past her friend, and a small exclamation of terror escaped her as it came to rest upon the man seated in the chair opposite. His military tunic was half-unbuttoned, he had a large snifter of brandy in his hand, and his head was tilted to one side, as though he and Christine had just been laughing at some private joke.

  Florentina felt the colour drain from her face and seriously doubted if her legs would be able to sustain her weight for very much longer. But she seemed incapable of doing anything other than stare at Major Fitzroy. A leaden weight kept her frozen to the spot, and all she could do was watch as his relaxed expression closed down and the amusement in his eyes was replaced by a cynical light.

  “Well, well, Mrs. Smith.” He didn’t bother to stand up. “So you were wrong, it would appear. We were destined to meet again after all, but I hadn’t imagined that it would be under circumstances such as these.”

  Chapter Two

  A penetrating silence hung heavily between them. Adam allowed his expression to undergo only the most fractional of alterations, sufficient to disguise his fulminating anger at being played for a clunch by such a conniving little impure. Christine’s face was frozen with shock. Mrs. Smith stood stock-still, staring back at him in bald stupefaction as the silence intensified. Adam felt no compulsion to break it by demanding explanations since the facts spoke for themselves. Mrs. Smith was one of Christine’s highly skilled courtesans, and she’d been returning from an assignation in the capital when she met with difficulty at that inn.

  Quite why that knowledge should cause him so much disappointment, Adam couldn’t have said. She’d not chosen to reveal her reason for being at the Feathers but, even so, the possibility of her being a doxy hadn’t once occurred to him. Somehow she didn’t seem to be the type. However, he of all people had good reason to know that appearances could be deceptive. Mrs. Smith was obviously as capable as the next woman of using her feminine wiles to turn difficult situations to her advantage. Adam had observed for himself that she could appear frightened and vulnerable when it suited her purpose, which was what had persuaded him to save her from her pursuer.

  Damn it all, he knew all about the perfidious tendencies of the female of the species. How skilled they were at manipulation in order to achieve their ambitions. He had no reason to suppose this one was any different and told himself it was of no consequence anyway. But his disillusionment was obviously more deeply embedded than he’d appreciated, filling him with an ungentlemanly urge to make her suffer.

  “Florentina, Adam.” Christine’s expression was quizzical as she glanced speculatively at first one and then the other. “You two are already acquainted?”

  The sound of Christine’s voice, the arch of her brow as her eyes lingered questioningly upon the woman whose name was apparently Florentina, jolted Adam out of his reverie.

  “I’ve had that honour.” He enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing Florentina blush scarlet when he didn’t trouble to inject even a semblance of courtesy into his tone.

  “The major was kind enough to escort me back to Oakley Common when I was unable to complete my journey on the stage.” Her eyes rested everywhere except on Adam’s face.

  “Oh, I see.” But it was evident that Christine didn’t see at all and was bursting to ask more questions.

  “Indeed, and had Mrs. Smith made me aware that she was heading for Chamberleigh, I could have saved her a long walk across town.”

  “Well, never mind about that. I dare say she had her reasons.” Christine looked uncharacteristically flustered and seemed most anxious to change the subject. “You’re here now, Florentina, and that’s all that signifies. But you look all done in, my dear. Why not take the opportunity to rest after your journey? I shall be with you directly.”

  “No, don’t go.” The command in Adam’s voice stayed Florentina, whose hand was on the door handle. She turned to look at him, an expression of enquiry on her lovely features that didn’t quite disguise the underlying fear in her eyes. “We were just now discussing my requirements for this evening, were we not, Christine.” Adam’s eyes raked Florentina’s body with deliberate insolence and came to rest upon her breasts. “Perhaps…”

  “No!” Florentina cried.

  “No?” Adam quirked a brow. “So you allow your lady-birds to select their own company now, do you, Christine? You astonish me. Isn’t it the paying customer who normally enjoys the right of selection?” He addressed his comment to his hostess but his eyes hadn’t once left Florentina, whose face was burning with what appeared to be a combination of embarrassment and fiery anger.

  “But, Adam, had we not just agreed that I would entertain you tonight?”

  Florentina’s expression, at first almost scandalized by a suggestion she must be accustomed to hearing on a daily basis, turned to one of abject surprise when Christine spoke. Presumably she was aware that her abbess almost never entertained a gentleman herself nowadays. Adam was a rare exception to that rule. They’d been acquaintances since his late father introduced him to this establishment when he’d just turned sixteen. He’d been a gaunt youth, unsure what he was doing in a house he’d heard spoken of by his mother’s friends in guarded whispers as being quite beyond the pale. Christine, newly arrived and not much older than Adam himself but inf
initely wiser in the ways of the world, recognised his difficulty and took it upon herself to educate him. It was a skilled introduction into the amatory world for which he’d remained eternally grateful.

  An unlikely friendship—more an infatuation on Adam’s part in the early days—had sprung up between them. Adam confided in Christine, revealing all the particulars of the Fitzroy familial differences and the awkwardness he felt at being stuck in the middle of his father’s constant spats with his brother. He found relief, pouring his heart out to someone upon whose discretion he instinctively knew he could depend. She’d never disappointed him in that respect, and as a result of their long association he was one of the few men whose needs she still catered to personally.

  “Surely you’ll not insult me by having a change of heart just because a younger and prettier lady has taken your fancy? Shame on you, Adam.” Christine wagged an elegant finger beneath his nose. “I had thought you in possession of a greater degree of chivalry than that, especially in view of our long friendship.”

  “You’re right, of course.” Adam inclined his head, aware he deserved the chastisement. But he couldn’t bring himself to be polite to Florentina and pointedly ignored her as he picked up the brandy decanter and his empty glass and headed for the door that connected with Christine’s private boudoir. “But it’s apparent that Mrs. Smith has matters she’s impatient to discuss with you in private. That being the case, I shall wait upon your pleasure next door.”

  Without giving Christine the opportunity to respond—or acknowledging Florentina’s presence—Adam slipped through the door and closed it firmly behind him. The pleasure he’d anticipated from his forthcoming tryst with the accomplished Christine had evaporated and he was now in a filthy temper. At a loss to understand why, he took up residence on the window seat, stared moodily out into the inky darkness and poured himself a substantial measure of brandy.

  Christine joined him after a very short delay and it was a measure of her skill as a courtesan that she was able to coax him into a more congenial frame of mind almost immediately. He remained the night in her bed but neither of them alluded to the subject of Florentina. Adam was tempted to do so but something held him back. He would dearly love to know why one of Christine’s ladies had been travelling from London unescorted. The services of her courtesans were much in demand in Portsmouth, where they often made house calls by appointment. But Christine wouldn’t dream of sending them out alone. One of her male servants always accompanied them. And, as far as he was aware, they never travelled as far as London in order to ply their trade. There were adequate establishments in the capital to deal with its denizens’ every need, and competition from the provinces would be aggressively discouraged.