Godfrey frowned. “If there’s one thing I detest, it’s a prating woman scholar.”
“This one is very rich, and quite tasty too, as I recall.” Brian’s thin lips flickered in a reminiscent smile. “Her nose is somewhat long-the Granville nose always is-and she has the devil’s own stammer. But a man can get used to anything with the right incentives.”
Godfrey regarded him sardonically in the candlelight. “And of course, once I’m wed to the heiress, I’ll be keeping you too in high style.”
“Well, you wouldn’t expect me to offer my help for nothing,” Brian said, clicking his tongue reprovingly. “This will suit me very well. I’m in need of a modest income, and in addition I have a private score to settle. Seeing Cato’s daughter married to a man of your… your unformed morality, shall we call it, will do just that.”
Brian got to his feet, pushing himself up against the edge of the table. He reached for his cane. “Read the letter, make changes if you wish, but keep to my gist. Believe me, I know the Granvilles very well. Write it in your hand and have it delivered.”
Godfrey said sharply, “My family, my lineage, are all worthy of a Granville.”
“Oh, yes, dear boy, no doubt about it. But you, my friend, are not.” Brian laughed and limped to the door. “I’ll see myself out. I’ll not show my face in the castle again. I’d hate to run into my adopted father. He thinks me dead and buried in Rotterdam. You’ll find me in Ventnor, putting up at the Gull. I’ll plot your campaign from there.”
Godfrey was too angry to bid his guest farewell. For two pins he would have told Brian Morse to go to the devil. But the man had offered a seductive pact, and one couldn’t always choose one’s partners.
Adam took one look at Anthony’s face as the master climbed from the dinghy onto the deck of Wind Dancer and decided to hold his tongue. Anthony was in a foul mood. It was not his habit to take his moods out on his men, but they all recognized the wisdom of steering clear of the master when his eyes were as cold and distant as they were this evening.
“Brandy, Adam,” he said shortly as he brushed past him on his way to the companionway.
“You want food?”
“No.”
Adam shrugged and went to find the bottle.
Anthony entered his cabin and stood for a minute in the pale wash of moonlight from the open window. He drew in a breath and thought he could scent Olivia.
Stupid! Sentimental nonsense! He snatched off the knit cap and threw it onto the window seat.
He went to the mirror and with a grimace peeled off the mustache. The pain made his eyes water but banished sentimentality. He dipped a cloth in water and then in the saucer of salt Adam had laid ready and cleaned the black off his teeth. He was starting to look like himself again. Soap and water took off the rouge.
He was throwing off his unsavory garments when Adam came in with a flask of brandy. “Sam says ye’ve a meetin‘ fixed fer tomorrow, then?”
“Aye. I’ll be taking Sam and one other to watch my back. Although I don’t think the bastard will try anything tomorrow; he needs me too much. He’s desperate as a starving rat, for all he tried to hide it.” He poured cognac into a glass and drained it, then refilled the glass.
“Left a bad taste in yer mouth, did ‘e?”
“Foul as a cesspit. I need to know who he is.”
“Reckon George at the Anchor’ll know?”
“I doubt it. The man’s desperate and a villain but not, I think, stupid.” Anthony paused, his eyes narrowing. “Dangerous yes, stupid no,” he mused. “He’d not broadcast his identity across the island. I’d lay odds he’s something to do with the castle. There was something of the courtier about him.” Anthony’s lip curled.
“Then ye’ll run into him,” Adam said matter-of-factly, picking up the discarded clothing, “when you go off to play courtier yerself.”
“Even more inducement to show myself in the king’s presence chamber at tomorrow’s little soiree,” Anthony declared. “Leave me now, Adam. I’m in a vile humor.”
Adam made no reply, but left immediately.
Anthony sat on the window seat and looked out at the sliver of moon on the narrow black water of the chine. Damn the woman!
Chapter Seven
“It’s so neat,” Phoebe said with undisguised admiration, looking up from her minute inspection of Anthony’s handiwork. “Just three stitches and the wound’s closed to the thinnest line. You’ll have a scar, but only a faint one. I wonder what thread he used. Did he say?” Her herbalist’s curiosity was aroused.
“No, and I didn’t ask either.” Olivia rolled away from Phoebe, turning onto her back. She lay with her arm over her eyes, struggling to control the surge of emotion as memory, rich, lushly sensual, flooded every pore and cell of her body.
Phoebe regarded her with a worried frown. “You said you didn’t want to see him again.”
“I don’t. It was a magic interlude, Phoebe. It was only supposed to last until I had to come home. The spell is broken.”
“Somehow I don’t think so,” Phoebe observed dryly.
Olivia sat up, her dark eyes burning. “I’m confused, Phoebe. I don’t know how or why it happened, but I do know that it will never happen again. C-could we not talk about it anymore?”
The slam of the front door, violent and hasty, reverberated through the house. Olivia said, “My father.”
“Yes.” Phoebe was already halfway to the bedchamber door.
“I need time, Phoebe,” Olivia said urgently. “Don’t let him come up. Tell him… tell him I’m getting dressed and I’ll c-come down to him.”
“I’ll get him to see the children first.” Phoebe hurried out. She ran down the stairs, lifting her skirts clear of her feet. Cato’s imperative voice seemed to fill the house.
“Cato… my lord.” Phoebe tripped on the last step in her haste and tumbled into her husband’s waiting arms. He’d anticipated a misstep the moment he’d seen the speed of her arrival.
“Olivia is safe and well,” she said when she could regain her breath.
“So Giles tells me.” He gestured to the burly figure of the sergeant standing behind him. “I’ll go to her at once. Is she abovestairs?”
“She’s getting dressed to come down to you. I believe she’s bathing; you can’t see her immediately,” Phoebe prevaricated. “She really is all right, Cato,” she said when he looked dismayed.
“I suppose I must wait, then,” he said. Some of the worry was smoothed from his face as he looked at his wife. He tilted her face and kissed her mouth.
“And you, my ragged robin. Are you well?” he asked, drawing back from her but still holding her face.
“All the better for seeing you, sir,” she responded, her eyes aglow. “And Charles is grown so big since you left, you won’t recognize him.”
“I’ve been gone but two weeks,” Cato protested.
“Oh, but he eats so much!”
Cato’s mind returned to what was uppermost. “Do you think Olivia will be well enough to accompany me on a visit to these Barkers? Giles has discovered their whereabouts.”
“If she doesn’t ride,” Phoebe said, thinking of the wound in Olivia’s thigh. “I expect it would be all right.”
Cato frowned. “It seems strange to me that Olivia could not remember where they lived.”
“A blow to the head can cause much confusion,” Phoebe said. “When she remembered who she was, I don’t believe anything else mattered, except to get home. She could only think of one thing at a time. It’s quite common with such injuries.”
Cato considered this, noticing absently that Phoebe’s hair was springing loose from its pins as usual and the lace collar of her gown was tucked into the neck. He straightened the collar without conscious thought. “Has she been seen by the physician?”