My Lady Notorious (8 page)

She swallowed the mouthful in a lump, looked helplessly at the
remaining biscuit, and dropped it in the dirt. Then she marched into
the inn.

Cyn watched her go, dismayed but not daunted. For a moment he’d
glimpsed the fire he knew was in her. She would be a wonderful woman to
take to bed, but for some reason she feared men. Perhaps a lover had
betrayed her.

Skill and patience would bring her to hand; he had both, and three days in which to use them.

As he followed her. he admitted that the game might be simpler if he
put an end to this masquerade, but that would erect new barriers of
propriety between them. The opportunities would be greater and more
amusing as things were.

As they prepared to leave, he contemplated making inquiries about an
estate five miles out of Shaftesbury, set to the north of the road. He
could have the family name in minutes. He desisted.

Part of it was caution. If questions were ever asked, he didn’t want
anyone remembering he had been interested in his damsel’s family.

Part of it was quixotic. He wanted Charles to tell him the whole truth herself one day.

Preferably in bed.

Chastity, Cyn, and Hoskins arrived back at the cottage to find
Verity in a fret, sure they had been caught, or at least seen, by Henry
Vernham. Chastity set to soothing her sister, and Cyn took Hoskins down
to the coach and horses.

The four horses were doing well enough on grass and water, though
the coachman muttered a bit about it. He was dumbfounded when he saw
the damage to his coach.

“Who the ‘ell did this?” he asked, running a pained hand over the gouges.

“I’m not sure,” Cyn lied. “If I explain what’s going on, it may help.”

Hoskins listened, unappeased. “If that young ‘ellion did this to me coach, I’ll take me whip to ’im.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll leave him to me.”

The man shook his head. “And what’re you goin‘ to tell the marquess? You can’t just up and disappear.”

“Yes, I can. I’m not a child, Hoskins. If my orders were obeyed, my brother will think I’m off on an adventure. As I am.”

“An adventure that stinks of trouble. Who is this young woman who needs to get to Maidenhead, so urgent, and all underhand?”

“I’m not sure,” Cyn admitted, “but she’s a lady and I feel
chivalrous. Now listen carefully, Hoskins. I don’t know whether the
pursuit will be serious or not, but I intend to take it seriously. I
don’t want any careless words of yours spilling anything.”

“I can keep me peace, Master Cynric, as well you know.”

Cyn knew he was in Hoskins’ bad books when he called him Master
Cynric. “I know you can,” he soothed. “Now, for the journey, I’m going
to pass as a woman, the mother of Verity’s child. Verity will be the
wetnurse. Charles will be the groom.”

Cyn had expected an objection to him playing the woman, but the
coachman’s mind was on other matters. “That rascal’s not comin‘ near me
rig.” said Hoskins truculently.

“Plague take it, man! He won’t do any more damage, I promise you.”

“I don’t want him near me rig, or me cattle,” Hoskins repeated, and again ran his hand over the scars on the glossy coach.

Cyn sighed. He could force his will, but he feared Hoskins would
take out his anger on Charles. After all, the man didn’t know she was a
girl. “Very well,” he said. “He can travel as my brother. But it’ll
leave you hard-pressed.”

“I’ll manage,” grunted Hoskins. “Where’s that paint?”

Cyn left the coachman doing his best to repair the damage. When he
entered the cottage and found the three ladies in the kitchen, he said,
“I’d keep out of Hoskins’ way, young Charles, if I were you. He’s after
your gizzard.”

She colored. “We could hardly traipse around the country with the Rothgar arms emblazoned on the side.”

“Why not? I’m along willingly, and no one connects me to you.”

She had the look of one determined not to admit to a mistake. “How can I stay out of his way if I’m to be the groom?”

“You’re not anymore. You’re my young brother. You’d better hunt up more good-quality clothes.”

She shot to her feet. “Need I remind you, my lord, that you are our
prisoner
? Will you kindly stop giving us orders?”

Cyn sat. “Very well. I leave it all in your hands.”

She glared at him. “I will travel as the groom.”

“As you will. As the groom, however, you will be under the authority
of the coachman, and Hoskins is not known as a tender man at the best
of times. He’s always been remarkably proud of the perfect finish on
his coach.”

She swallowed but kept to her guns. “You will give him orders not to touch me.”

“Will I?”

“Yes.”

He shrugged. “Very well, but he’s my brother’s coachman, not mine.
He taught us all to handle the ribbons. He cuffed us if he thought we
needed it, and he’ll do at least as much for you. I suppose it doesn’t
matter really,” he added carelessly. “You’ll have had many a beating at
school, and I don’t suppose Hoskins will do any worse.”

Verity quickly said, “Charles dear, please reconsider. It would serve no purpose to upset the poor man more.”

Charles threw herself in her chair. “Oh, very well.” She impaled Cyn with stormy eyes. “But I give the orders on this journey.”

Cyn bit back a sharp retort. Where was the charmer who had glowed
over a warm biscuit? Then he reminded himself she was wounded, and
probably afraid. He must control this lamentable tendency to tease her.

“As you will,” he said as moderately as he could. “But I have a
great deal more experience of the world than you, and Hoskins, I’m
afraid, will only take orders from me. I would have thought Verity too
should be consulted, as this is her affair, and she is surely some
years your senior.”

“Of course I will consult Verity. How would you think otherwise?”

“Young men often disregard sisters,” he teased, then winced. So much, he thought, for good intentions.

“I do not,” she responded, and stood. “I will acquire a few other
items of clothing.” At the door she stopped and grudgingly asked, “Can
you think of anything else we might need? Weapons, or something like
that?”

He gave her credit for swallowing her pride. “I can think of
nothing. We have the coach pistol, and my rapier. That should be
sufficient. We are not, after all, going to war.” Then he added, “Wait!
One thing I don’t have for my disguise is feminine trinkets. Can you
acquire any?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

She returned in an hour with extra shirts and a pair of top boots.
She also had a leather-bound jewel box. It was a handsome piece with a
solid lock, clearly intended for expensive ornaments. When opened, it
proved to contain only a sparse selection of cheap trinkets.

The obvious explanation was that they were destitute, and had sold
anything of value. It did not satisfy him, for it left unexplained the
men’s clothing of fine quality, two thoroughbred horses, and a pair of
silver-mounted pistols. Cyn’s curiosity itched him like a bed full of
fleas.

Early the next morning they prepared for departure. Hoskins went off
to ready the horses. Cyn began to struggle with his female garments.
Charles dressed in her good-quality clothing and assisted her sister
until Cyn slyly questioned the propriety of this. Then she came
reluctantly to assist him.

He took care not to offend her modesty, and when she came into the
kitchen he was wearing his drawers. He also wore the striped stockings
and lacy garters. She took one look and burst out laughing. It was very
feminine laughter, but he did not remark on it, merely enjoyed it.

She looked delicious, flushed with humor. Despite the clothes and
the hair, he could no longer see her as anything but supremely female.
Which was very dangerous. He turned his attention to his shift.

When he looked up again, she was no longer laughing, but was staring
in horror at his scar. “What on earth caused that?” she asked.

“A saber,” he said casually, interested to see what her reaction
would be. The livid scar ran across his chest like a bandolier. All the
women who had been favored with a glimpse of it had been impelled to
touch it. Most had traced it, some with a finger, some with their
mouths. “Fortunately it was only a glancing blow, and the cut was
shallow.”

He saw her hand twitch upward and be controlled.

“So you really are a soldier,” she said.

“Did you doubt me?”

“You don’t look like one.”

He sighed humorously. “I can’t help my beguiling charms.”

She was still fascinated by the scar. She took a step closer. “It must have bled a lot.”

“Like a slashed wineskin. Made the devil of a mess of my best uniform.”

Since she seemed stuck, he closed the gap between them with a casual
step. After a moment he had to acknowledge with regret that she wasn’t
going to give in to temptation and trace the scar’s path from left
shoulder to right hip.

He dropped the lawn shift over his head and tied the laces at the
low neck, then struggled into the Brunswick gown. Designed for comfort
and simplicity when traveling, it was made all in one piece. When
fastened, it would have the look of a loose sacque gown over a braided
corset, but in fact the stomacher was part of the bodice, kept snug
around the body by laces beneath the loose back. It was appropriate
traveling wear, but its chief charm for Cyn was the lack of whalebone.

He tried to tie the laces himself but couldn’t find them under the
heavy, wide skirts. “The laces elude me. Your assistance, please,
Charles.”

Her reluctance was visible, but she came over to stand behind him.
She pulled up the back of his skirt. “I can’t see them. They must have
fallen to the front.”

She fished around the sides of his torso, and the fleeting touches
sent shivers through him. “Got them,” she said, “but they’re knotted at
the front, I think.”

Her hands followed the laces to the front. She suddenly jerked back.
“I can’t untie them,” she said in a strangled voice. “You’ll have to
take the gown off.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can,” Cyn said casually. “Far easier than
struggling out of all this.” His voice was strained too, but with the
urge to laugh. Did she know just where her hands had been? He suspected
she did.

A silence made him think she would refuse, but then her arms
encircled him again. They met in front, took hold of the knotted laces,
and began to work at them. She made no attempt at all to guard where
her hands touched.

Cyn took a deep breath. Hoisted with his own petard, by gad! The minx knew exactly what she was doing.

She’d pulled his skirts up all the way at the back and her belly
pressed against his buttocks. Her arms encircled his waist and her
hands brushed against him again and again as she worked at the knots…

The first wisps of lust fevered his brain. He could imagine turning
slowly within her arms and kissing her; sinking to the ground to
explore her mouth, her breasts, the warmth between her thighs; the dark
intensity of her eyes when he slid into her…

His own shudder warned him he had almost gone too far. His erect
penis struggled against his drawers as if seeking the comfort of her
hands. Those hands froze, loosely cradling him. He could feel her rigid
panic.

Unless, he thought in desperate optimism, it had been a deliberate seduction, and her tension came of desire?

He pulled out of her arms and turned. No. She was scarlet. Horrified. Frightened.

Cyn forced himself to relax, struggled to control his breathing.
“Don’t look so aghast, my boy. Perfectly natural reaction to all that
fumbling about. Nothing personal.”

He turned away and raised the front of his skirts to finish the job.
“We should have realized I could do this at the front myself.” He
pushed the laces toward the back. “There. If you can just knot them,
we’re done.”

She looked as enthusiastic as someone putting her head into the
mouth of a hungry tiger, but she came back behind him, raised his
skirts again, and took the laces. In a moment they were tied and she
had retreated. He just wished the feelings she’d roused would retreat
as quickly.

What was he to make of her, bold at one moment, prudish the next?

“Tell me,” he asked lightly, “are you a virgin, young Charles?”

“Yes!” Her color flared again, even deepened. “Not that it’s any business of yours!”

“Of course not,” he soothed. “I merely thought to offer my services to amend the matter.”

She gaped. He knew she had temporarily forgotten her disguise, but
was all too aware of the state of his body. “What on earth can you
mean?”

He smiled kindly. “Just that an older man often takes a younger
under his wings and shows him how to go on. Introduces him to the right
kind of female. If we’re going adventuring…”

He watched her come back to reality with a bump and, he hoped, a
soupcon
of disappointment. A layer of frost settled. “We are engaged in a very
serious business, my lord. It will not allow time for visits to
brothels.”

“But if it does?”

He saw the mischievous gleam before she hid it. “I might be interested. But for now, we are supposed to be readying you.”

Cyn loved the touch of naughtiness. She was too sober, and he knew
it wasn’t her true nature. She was surely a wild creature at heart, kin
to himself, but for some reason afraid. He really must stop tormenting
her.

“How do I look?” he asked, twirling before her.

She grimaced. “Flat, top and bottom.”

Cyn looked down. The skirts hung limp, and the bodice sagged away
from his flat chest. It had clearly been made for a lady of generous
endowments. No one would ever think this gown had been made for him.

“The gray petticoat will serve to fill out the skirts,” he said,
“but I don’t know what to do about the bodice. Could it be altered?”

“Undoubtedly, but not in an hour. Wait a moment.”