The colonel made a sound between a snort and an oath and exchanged a comprehending glance with the duke. Some difficulties. This girl clearly didn't know the first thing about English society, how closed and prideful it was.
“And supposing you do identify them, just how do you intend to introduce yourself?” Julian demanded scornfully. “Are you going to walk up to them and say, 'I'm your long-lost cousin,' or whatever relationship you are?”
“No, I can quite see that that wouldn't do,” she said in a doleful tone that caused the duke to look reproachfully at the colonel. “I don't think they'd be prepared to accept me as I am. I don't know how to go on in such society… indeed, I know nothing of England but what Cecile told me. And besides”-a delicate flush mantled the sun-browned cheeks-”there is one other awkwardness… “
“Do go on, my dear.” Wellington had quite lost his earlier harshness.
“It's somewhat embarrassing… but, you see, I'm not entirely sure that Cecile and the baron were ever properly married… in the eyes of the Church,” she said in a rush, twisting her fingers into impossible knots.
“Oh,” said the duke.
“Well, my mother's family might consider that I didn't have a claim on them if they knew that, don't you think?” she said anxiously, fixing her great purple eyes on his face.
He cleared his throat. “It is possible, yes.”
“Why on earth wouldn't they formalize their relationship?” Julian demanded “If they were inseparable, as you implied last night, and· they had a child.”
“I don't believe they considered it in the least important,” Tamsyn said truthfully. “And as for me, well, I know I was an accident-”
“Sweet heaven, what a euphemism!” Julian broke in with a harsh laugh. “Would to God the world had been spared such an accident”
“That is unkind,” Tamsyn protested, looking tremulously at Wellington.
He scratched his nose. What did Julian have against the girl? She seemed a plucky little creature. “I'm at a loss to know what this is leading to, senorita. How can Lord St. Simon assist you?”
“Oh, that's simple,” Tamsyn said, cheering up immediately. “I don't think it should take me more than six months to learn to be an English lady. My plan is that the colonel will accompany me to England… to Cornwall… and teach me what I need to know; then I can try to discover my mother's family. Someone must have heard the story of a daughter vanishing twenty years ago on a visit to Spain. And I hope, when I'm presentable, I can effect an introduction. We could say that my mother married a Spanish grandee of true hidalgo blood and I was told of my English heritage only at her deathbed. I thought we could say that the colonel met my father in some circumstances and because of an obligation to him agreed to take me under his protection when I was orphaned.
“And perhaps,” she added with a winsome smile at the duke, “perhaps it would help if we could say that your grace lent me your protection also.”
“You thought we could say what?” exclaimed the colonel when this succinct speech had sunk in.
“That you took me-”
“All right, I heard!” he interrupted with an abrupt motion of his hand. “I've never heard such a preposterous jumble of invention in my life.”
“But it will serve,” Tamsyn insisted stubbornly. “I know it will. All I want is six months of your time, milord colonel. I have plenty of funds of my own, so I'll not be a charge on you in any way. I'm asking only for your attention for a limited time. You see, I don't know anyone else to ask,” she added, turning once more in appeal to the duke. “And it's so convenient that you should be Cornish.”
“Preposterous!” Julian repeated in disgust. “I've wasted enough of my time on you.”
“Then there's nothing more to be said,” Tamsyn said, and there was no sign now of the forlorn orphan in the obstinate set of her chin and the briskness of her tone. “Forgive me for wasting your time, sir.” She rose and bowed to Wellington, then, without casting so much as a glance in the colonel's direction, stalked out of the room.
“Consider for a minute, Julian,” Wellington said slowly. “Six months, it's not so very great a commitment.”
“What?” Julian stared at the duke in disbelief “You'd have me play schoolmaster and mentor to that… that… misbegotten devil's spawn… leave the Peninsula. Good God, sir, how could you consider such a thing?”
“You could do me an immeasurably valuable service while you were in England,” Wellington said, sounding pensive. “I've been wondering whom to send. And six months is not so very great a time. You know how slowly things move out here. You'll be back in no time.”
Julian could find no words as the incredible realization dawned that his commander in chief wanted him to take on this unbelievable assignment.
He stared in disbelief for a second, then said, “Excuse me.” With a curt bow he turned on his heel and left the room. Disbelief warred with wild fury in a bewildering maelstrom of emotion that chased away all clarity of mind and purpose.
He ran down the stairs and out into the street, brushing past an orderly, his face hidden by the towering pile of the commander's freshly laundered shirts in his arms. The mountain shook and toppled to the street. The colonel didn't even notice, simply continued at a near run, leaving the orderly cursing and muttering as he picked up the laundry from the dusty cobbles.
Julian saw Tamsyn outside Senhora Braganza's cottage as he rounded the corner. She was leaning against the wall idly chatting with the senhora, who was working in her garden.
“Ah, milord colonel.” Tamsyn greeted his arrival with a raised eyebrow. “I thought you'd said your piece.”
“Oh, believe me, I haven't even begun,” he declared, and despite her bravado, Tamsyn quailed before the livid countenance. She opened her mouth to say something she hoped was defusing, but the colonel swept an arm around her waist and bundled her ahead of him into the cottage.
On her knees before a row of cabbages, Senhora Braganza stared after them, then shook her head, muttering to herself as she dragged a weed by its roots from the thin soil.
Tamsyn reached her small room under the eaves as breathless as if she'd run up the stairs herself, although she was fairly certain her feet hadn't touched ground from the moment Julian's arm had come around her waist. The door crashed shut as she was thrust into the room, still imprisoned in the colonel’s arm.
“By God!” he said in a whisper so contained it had the power of a shout. “By God, girl, you're not going to do this to me!” His free hand was at her eat, forcing her chin up so she was looking up at him, end every distinct word he spoke fell on her face almost like a slap. “I am not going to allow you to force this on me. You are a manipulative, lying little thief and your presence in my life ends right here… in this room at this minute! Have you taken that into your devious head, girl?”
Tamsyn's mind raced. What she heard in his voice was akin to desperation beneath the savagery of his manner. He was afraid that somehow he'd find himself doing what she wanted against every ounce of will he possessed. What was he afraid of? Exactly what pressure could force him to help her? Wellington’s orders, of course. And she was counting on the duke’s pressing need for her information. But she didn't think Wellington would go beyond persuasion. It was quite another matter to compel one of his officers to do something so out of the line of duty. Which left her… The colonel was afraid of her, of what she on her own could persuade him to do.
He was still holding her roughly against him, his hand ungentle against her throat, forcing up her chin. But her own hands were free, and deliberately she slipped her arms around his body, turning herself slightly in his hold so now It would look to anyone who didn't know otherwise as if they were locked in a passionate embrace.