On a Long Ago Night (28 page)

a single ounce of her foolishly passionate nature.

Maggie Huseby did not sound like a servant, but a friend,

when she said, "You've been confused for years, Honoria. It's the

Spaniard's fault."

Honoria tilted her head back to look at Huseby. "That it is,

Maggie."

"The nerve of him, courting you after all these years. Not that

it's all that long," Huseby added swiftly as Honoria spun around on

the bench to face her. She dropped the brush in her hand, and

hairpins scattered as the maid backed across the room. "You're still

a young woman, after all."

Honoria couldn't help but laugh. "Good lord, woman. Do I

look that angry?"

"It's only been eight years," Huseby answered. "You are

young. You just act old most of the time. Makes me forget that

you're but six-and-twenty. That gives you plenty of time to wed

and make babes. To please your father, and yourself," Huseby

added, taking a brave step forward. She eyed Honoria cautiously.

"You going to let that temper of yours loose for what I've said?"

Honoria crossed her arms beneath her bosom. She was

dressed in green and black plaid taffeta, trimmed in black piping

and a bit of lace at the sleeves and on her collar, with a cameo

brooch of her great grandmother pinned at her throat. She was

dressed in the armor of fashionable propriety, but felt like talking

about harems and—sex.

She meant to ask Huseby—who knew almost everything

about nearly everyone—whom the maid thought was weak-willed

and biddable enough to make Honoria the sort of husband she

wanted. Instead she clasped her hands nervously together in her lap

and leaned forward, as though afraid they'd be overheard. She was

a cautious, private woman who'd held her silence for eight years.

Huseby had loyally done the same. She was not sure how to start

now.

"I—in Algiers. Do you remember the house you were

brought to from the fortress?"

"Certainly, my lady. It was a lovely, peaceful place. For a

heathen's house," she added, with stout British superiority. "Very

nice garden it had." She tilted her head to one side, recalling. "Very

peaceful until the old pirate and his men showed up, that is. You

recall the old pirate, my lady? Ibrahim Rais?"

"The man held a dagger to my throat. I'm not likely to forget

him anytime soon." She twisted her hands together as Huseby's

eyes widened. "That's right, you weren't there for most of the

altercation between the old man and—the Spaniard." She gave a

slight shrug. "Suffice it to say that we both survived the event.

Just."

"Well, that's a mercy, isn't it?" Huseby echoed Honoria's dry

tone.

Honoria chuckled, and rose to pace back and forth across the

dressing room. Huseby stood with her back firmly against the small

room's door, assuring that they could not be interrupted. There was

not much space in the windowless room. It contained the mirrored

table, a full-length mirror, a hip bath behind a painted screen, a

dress form, a chair, and several chests. The walls were lined with

shelves and clothes racks. It was an altogether feminine place,

perfectly suited for intimate conversation. The thick Turkey carpet

on the floor muffled Honoria's footsteps, but she suspected Huseby

could hear the loud pounding of her heart.

Finally, she stopped in front of her friend, and said, "We were

lovers, the Spaniard and I. Even while you and Derrick—my own

betrothed—were in the house. I don't know when he sent for you,

how he got you out of the fortress, or how long you were in the

house before the night of the attack. I asked for his help in getting

you out of the prison; then… I… simply… forgot everything

but…" The heat of her shamed blush burned her face. She turned

her head away as she finished, "Him." After a long moment of

silence, she added, "Everything Captain Russell accused me of

back on the
Manticore
was quite true. I was the Spaniard's whore.

And"—the final words came out in the faintest of whispers—"I'm

desperately afraid that it could happen all over again."

Huseby folded her arms beneath her bosom. "Am I supposed

to react with horrified shock, Honoria? After yesterday?"

Honoria frowned, then shrugged. Dear, circumspect Maggie

Huseby. "I suppose you've known all along. You've done a very

good job of pretending you believed I was still a maiden."

"All I know is that Captain Russell had no right to treat you

the way he did. Whatever you did, you did for him. I thought you

were very brave."

What nonsense! What she'd been was reckless and wanton.

She'd let her emotions run away with her sense. "I think I was very

foolish. I've tried to make up for my sins since, but they seem to be

catching up with me fast and hard at the moment."

"Both of those men at once. You deserve better than either of

them, though I must say the Spaniard cleans up better than most

men I've seen." Huseby nodded. "It would serve them both right if

you went off with some nice man and left the two of them rot."

Honoria smiled. "That's my plan, exactly. That's what I

wanted to talk to you about."

There was a tentative knock on the door behind her before

Huseby could answer. "My lady," her secretary called. "You said

that you would meet with Mrs. Oglethorpe at two."

Honoria glanced at the clock on the dressing table. It was

indeed nearly two, and she was well-known for her punctuality.

She possessed too few virtues to slack off on any of them, even

once. "We'll continue this conversation later," she told Huseby,

who stepped aside as Honoria moved toward the door. "After I've

given away a substantial amount of money to the poor and

downtrodden."

The Reverend Joshua Menzies almost chortled with glee as he

walked boldly into the home of his quarry. The quest to find

Honoria Pyne had proved so easy he might have put his luck down

to divine guidance, if he believed in such a spineless thing as a

loving creator. He'd relied on his own native wit and trained

intelligence once he'd sobered up enough. It had been no

complicated matter to find the meticulously kept records of one

particular voyage of a merchant ship called the
Manticore
. He'd

only had to seek out the offices of three different shipping

companies before finding the one that owned the ship. Then, using

the story that he was trying to find information on a sick

parishioner's missing son, he'd talked a sympathetic clerk into

giving him access to all the
Manticore's
records.

Soon he found out something his wily father had not known:

that the young woman who went by the name Honoria Pyne was

the heiress of the Duke of Pyneham. How he'd laughed, knowing

that his father would have considered the duke's daughter a far

more valuable prize than the treasure he'd so carefully hidden. Even

more amusing and ironic was the fact that Joshua Menzies was

already well acquainted with the worthy Lady Alexandra, though

only through her reputation for good works. She was quite the

famous philanthropist, known for receiving petitions from needy

clerics and charity representatives wherever she happened to be in

residence. Her
noblesse oblige
was quite touching, most worthy,

and thoroughly convenient for the Reverend Menzies, since the

lady was naturally in London for the coronation, along with every

other member of the peerage. A few more inquiries had brought

him to the door of Mrs. Oglethorpe, and a story about hoping to

found a home for wayward young women had Mrs. Oglethorpe

inviting him along with her to plead his case to the generous Lady

Alexandra. Menzies touched the newly cleaned and starched white

collar at his throat, thinking how a divinity degree had come in

handy at last, as he waited on a chair set up in a hallway outside a

wide, dark door. He was but one of a half dozen waiting men and

women left to cool their heels. He was the only one not perched on

the edge of their comfortably upholstered seats. He was quite

relaxed and happy to be the last in line, though he wished the

rabble would get their begging over with so he could have the

duke's daughter to himself. Time passed slowly. The only diversion

came whenever a footman appeared from within the inner sanctum

of the library to see someone out and then announce another name.

Mrs. Oglethorpe had been shown immediately into the generous

lady's domain, and had left some time ago, with a beaming smile

on her fat face and a kindly nod to him. That had been three or four

supplicants ago. There was only one person left in line before him

now. Menzies sighed, and tilted his head back. He closed his eyes

and tried to nap while waiting his turn. The attempt must have been

successful, since he did not know how much time passed before the

footman shook his shoulder, and told him, "My lady will see you

now, Reverend Menzies."

Menzies sprang to his feet. He felt more alert and alive than

he had in years. He had no fixed plan for confronting Honoria

Pyne, but he knew he could outthink any fool chit of a female. He

was his father's son, born to be a pirate, to take bold, ruthless action

and to think on his feet. The woman in the library held not only the

key to a lost treasure, she was a treasure in her own right. He would

have his father's fortune from her, and another from her private

coffers as well—interest for the years he'd been forced to wait for

what was rightfully his. He would enter the lady's presence an

impoverished minister, but he would leave a king!

A large clock beside the door chimed melodiously as

Menzies came into the library, announcing that the hour was five

o'clock. There were several people in the large, book-lined room,

but Menzies paid no one any mind but the young woman seated

regally behind a desk in the middle of the room. Even sitting down

she was tall, a stately, striking woman with copper red hair and

large blue eyes. He noticed the intelligence in those eyes as he

drew near, but he was quick to discern something else as well.

Lady Alexandra gave every outward impression of having a serene,

dignified nature, but Joshua Menzies was a man used to hiding his

own true nature, and he recognized a similar talent in the young

woman seated before him. He could tell that serenity sat like a thin

veil on her, barely covering a core of temper and passion. He

instantly decided to find out what she was like in bed. Unwilling

would be best, he thought. Yes, how delightful it would be to have

her under him, clawing and screaming while he did exactly as he

pleased.

His smile was one of genuine pleasure as he bowed before

her, and rose to say, "My dear, I have waited a long time for this

day."

"Indeed? And how is that?" Honoria replied tartly, as she

stiffened at the most inappropriate greeting from the last man on

today's appointment list.

The notes given her by her secretary said that he was the

rector of a poor London parish, St Ambrose's, come to seek aid for

wayward girls. Having firsthand knowledge of being a wayward

female, she was happy to hear his case. She was not happy at his

overly familiar attitude, so her tone was stern. His smile only grew

wider. There was something chilling about it He was a tall man,

lean and long-faced. There was something about him that reminded

her of a feral tomcat. And something disturbingly familiar about

him as well.

"Have we met?" she asked before he could answer her first

annoyed question.

"We should have met years ago," was his enigmatic answer.

"Forgive me, my lady." He put a hand over his heart, and attempted

to look contrite. "Let us begin again." He bowed once more, and

rose to say, "I am your humble servant."

"I thought you were a servant of God."

He folded his hands over his flat stomach and lowered his

eyes. "Indeed. But it is to the house of Pyneham that I come

seeking favor."

He did not have much talent for humility, she concluded, nor