Elizabeth Powell (14 page)

He nodded warily. “Done.”

She extended her hand. “Then let us shake on the bargain.”

Everly took her hand in his. Her skin was warm, her grip firm. A question popped into his head and out of his mouth before he could stop it. “Where did you learn to throw a punch like that?”

She flashed a fleeting, impish smile. “I suppose my upbringing was rather unorthodox. My father taught me. I had difficulties with a bully when I was seven.”

“Did you have no brothers to protect you?”

“No. I was an only child.” Her smile faded. “Harry tried to defend me, but Throckmorton was twice his size.”

“Who is Harry?” He dimly remembered that he still had hold of her hand, and released it.

“The lieutenant who accompanied me yesterday. Harry Morgan. We grew up together. In Dorset.”

That explained the fellow’s protective nature, thought Everly, if not his belligerence. “I will come for you at half past ten. We can discuss our strategy on the way.”

“I shall be ready, Captain,” she replied softly, then opened the carriage door. The rainfall had increased; raindrops drummed a tattoo against the roof of the carriage.

He couldn’t let her go out into such inclement weather. She would be soaking wet in no time. “A moment, Miss Tremayne—may I give you a ride back to your shop?”

She started, and he could see reticence in her face. “No thank you, Captain. I am used to rain. Until Saturday, then.” She exited the coach, then bounded off like a hare and disappeared down an alleyway, her cloak wrapped around her. She did not look back.

Everly watched her, unable to shake his uneasiness. Did she know the feminine power she wielded? Had he allowed her beauty to blind him to common sense, allowed
her to manipulate him? He couldn’t answer those questions with any certainty, and he wondered if, in dealing with Miss Tremayne, he had gotten more than he bargained for.

He signaled the coachman to head for home, then propped his aching leg on the opposite seat and relaxed back against the squabs. As cease-fires went, this one was shaky at best. He sighed. What on earth possessed him to agree to this scheme? For all the hardship she had endured, Miss Tremayne was still a gently reared young lady. She was bound to be shocked, if not traumatized, by the events at Locke’s bacchanal.

Everly recalled the drab frocks that comprised her wardrobe, serviceable creations appropriate to her lowered circumstances. She’d worn green silk to Locke’s party—where had she gotten it? He drummed his fingers against the leather seat, thoughtful. She said she worked for a dressmaker, and she was certainly reckless enough to have borrowed a gown for her own use. Hmmm. She might not be able to do so again. Could she dress the part for Saturday evening?

Everly’s lips quirked into a grin as an idea took shape. He would provide her with a dress, one so scandalously indecent that she would refuse to wear it. Or her grandmother would refuse to let her out of the house. He’d wager that the rest of her wardrobe could not provide a suitable alternative, so she’d have to renege on their agreement. He chuckled and told his coachman to alter course. Once, long ago, he had kept a mistress with excellent—and very expensive—taste in clothing. Time to see if he could teach Miss Tremayne to look before she leaped.

T
he box arrived early Thursday evening, addressed to Amanda.

“Who could it be from?” Mrs. Tremayne wondered aloud. She set the last of the supper dishes out to dry, then wiped her hands on a towel and joined Amanda at the kitchen table.

“I don’t know,” answered Amanda faintly. “There was no card.”

Something about this mysterious package generated sensations of dread in the pit of her stomach. Who would send her a box from a dressmaker’s shop? Had Madame learned about the green silk, after all? Amanda chastised herself for being such a goose. She was letting her imagination get the better of her.

“Well, aren’t you going to open it, dearest?” Mrs. Tremayne’s dark eyes shone with excitement.

Amanda managed a nervous smile. With her sewing scissors she snipped the cords that bound the box. Then she lifted the lid. A cloud of fine white India muslin decorated with tiny gilt spangles greeted her startled gaze.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, running a hand across the diaphanous material. A note lay atop this confection, written in a bold, masculine hand:

Damp her …? Heat bloomed in Amanda’s cheeks as her mood swung wildly from surprise to pleasure to
embarrassment. Her hands curled into fists. If this was Captain Everly’s idea of a joke—

“How strange,” murmured Mrs. Tremayne. She took the note from the box and frowned at it. “Who is this mysterious ‘E,’ Amanda? And why is he sending you gowns and advising you to damp your petticoats?”

Amanda’s mortification grew to the point where she wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole. This was no joke, after all. Everly must have known that her grandmother would ask questions when this package arrived. He’d put her in a very compromising position. Intentionally. Damn him! He wanted to maneuver her into crying off. Of all the underhanded, devious, despicable …

“Amanda?” prompted the older woman.

“I need to tell you something, Grandmama,” Amanda replied quietly, her eyes still focused on the dress. She unclenched her fingers and massaged her palms. She had never intended to deceive her grandmother about this latest development; she just hadn’t gotten around to telling her.

Mrs. Tremayne fixed Amanda with a knowing look. “I thought you might. You’ve been on edge for the past two days. You needn’t look so surprised, dearest. I know you far too well.”

Guilt added another element of turmoil to the emotions churning in Amanda’s breast. “Remember Captain Everly, Grandmama?”

The older woman nodded. “Yes, the gentleman you said was going to help us.”

“Well …” Amanda hesitated. How was she supposed to tell her grandmother that a virtual stranger was going to escort her into unsavory, if not dangerous, circumstances?

Mrs. Tremayne scanned the note again. “Everly. Is he the ‘E’ who sent you this dress?”

Amanda winced. Age had not dulled her grandmother’s faculties a whit. “Yes, Grandmama.”

“And might I assume you’re going to explain why?”

Nor had it dulled her tongue. Amanda’s eyes slid to
the dress, to the sequins glittering in the candlelight. “Captain Everly is working for the Crown, searching for a traitor in the Admiralty,” she said.

“Yes, you mentioned that as well.” Mrs. Tremayne’s impatience hovered around her.

“He suspects Admiral Locke is a member of this spy ring, and that the admiral holds the key to the ringleader’s identity.”

“What does that have to do with the dress?”

Amanda took a deep breath. “He has been invited to a small soiree at Admiral Locke’s house tomorrow night, and I am going to accompany him.”

Mrs. Tremayne put a hand to her throat. “Oh, dearest—you cannot possibly …!”

“It will be all right, Grandmama,” Amanda soothed. “Captain Everly needs me. This is the perfect opportunity to explore that secret drawer in Locke’s desk, and only I know where it is.”

“You could tell the captain where to find it,” argued Mrs. Tremayne. Now her dark eyes snapped fire. “You do not need to put yourself in any further danger.”

Amanda shook her head. “Captain Everly recently sustained a wound in his leg, and he is not as quick or nimble as I am. Nor would he be able to slip away unnoticed from the rest of the guests to search Locke’s study. He needs my help.”

“Whether he wants it or not.”

Amanda recognized the accusatory expression on her grandmother’s face. Oh, heavens. Now she was in the suds. “Well … perhaps.”

“I’m sure Captain Everly is perfectly capable of completing this mission on his own. You do not need to be involved. I will not allow you to risk either your well-being or your life.” Mrs. Tremayne tossed the note back into the box, her hands trembling.

“But I’ll be fine, Grandmama. Captain Everly will ensure my safety.” A tinge of desperation colored Amanda’s voice. “Nothing will happen to me.”

Tears shimmered in the older woman’s eyes. “Why do you insist on pursuing this folly, Amanda? You are risking
everything you hold dear to search for something that may not exist.”

“I do it because I still have hope, Grandmama.” Answering tears seeped onto Amanda’s lashes. “As long as there is hope, I must do whatever I can.”

“The only thing we
must
do is accept our circumstances with dignity.”

“If my Fate lies in resignation and regret,” Amanda murmured, “I will not accept it. I will not stand by and wring my hands because that is what is expected of me. I have to do this.”

Mrs. Tremayne drew herself up and leveled her gaze at Amanda. “Then you must decide for yourself if the ends justify the means. I want you to know that I do not approve. I cannot. It is dangerous, undignified, and unladylike, but there is little I can do to stop you. I can only pray that you do not pay too great a price for this madness.” The elderly woman marched into their bedchamber and closed the door.

Amanda sank into one of the kitchen chairs, her grandmother’s words ringing in her ears. Did the ends justify the means? She rested her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands. When she’d first come to London, consumed with grief and pain and rage, she would have answered that question with an unqualified yes. Now she wasn’t so sure. She’d managed to anger both Harry and her grandmother, the two people she cared for most in the world. She’d put herself in peril of arrest, transportation, and bodily harm. And still she felt she had not done enough. Amanda sighed. Perhaps her grandmother was right—perhaps this was madness.

Her gaze strayed to the dress, which rested innocuously in its box. Amanda made a ferocious face. And then there was the matter of Captain Everly and his ill-timed gift. Well, perhaps ill-timed was the wrong word; she had spent the last two days wracking her brain, wondering where she would get a gown. She had not thought of that particular detail when she demanded to accompany the captain to this party. Now it seemed she had a dress.

What had prompted this show of generosity? Amanda lifted the dress from the box and held it against her body. Her eyes widened. Oh, heavens. He expected her to wear
this
? The neckline plunged to indecent depths, and the material itself was so sheer that she would have to wear several petticoats beneath it to avoid putting her body on public display.

A slow flush crept over Amanda’s face. Of course. That was his ploy all along. Captain Everly thought he could humiliate her, shame her into crying off from this party. He was probably laughing at her even now, congratulating himself for being rid of her. Amanda’s jaw tightened. Well, she would just have to call the captain’s bluff.

Amanda reexamined the dress with a professional eye. For all its overabundant
décolletage
, the gown was beautifully made; the material was some of the finest she’d ever seen, and the sequins and embroidery at the hem were the product of hours of handwork. She’d wager that Captain Everly had paid a princely sum for it. An expensive joke.

Amanda considered her options. The gown was a little too big, so she would take in the sides. The hem was too long, but she could take up the excess material from the waist and use it to fill in the neckline, make it a trifle more modest. She smiled. Her labors at Madame’s shop had not been in vain, after all. She may have to play the role of a courtesan, but she did not have to flaunt herself like one.

Her course of action determined, Amanda set the dress aside and began to clear the table. She had work to do, and very little time to do it. She glanced at the closed bedroom door, and hoped her grandmother would understand.

She hoped in vain. Her grandmother said very little to her for the rest of the evening, and even less the next day. They shared a silent supper. Amanda ate just enough to insure she wouldn’t faint later on. Sandwiched
between nerves and unhappiness, her appetite had evaporated.

Her grandmother, accustomed to country hours, retired early; Amanda completed her toilette as quietly as she could to avoid waking the older woman. By the light of a single candle she dressed her hair in ringlets and confined them with a bandeau of leftover spangled muslin, which she knotted below her right ear. She’d trimmed the finished ends of the muslin with gold beads, so that they lay enticingly against the curve of her neck.

She surveyed her appearance in the old, mottled mirror with a critical eye. Well, she had no rouge and very little powder, so she would have to make do. Amanda frowned at her pale reflection and pinched her cheeks. That was as much color as she could manage. She reached for the bottle of jasmine perfume. Her hand hesitated on the stopper. The last time she’d worn this scent, Captain Everly had used it to discover her hiding place. She could not take such a risk again. She sighed and withdrew her hand. Time for the dress.

Amanda slipped into the muslin gown, sighing as the soft fabric caressed her skin. This creation could only be described as … well … decadent. A shiver that was half delight, half trepidation skittered up her back. She moved in front of the looking glass to survey the full effect. A worldly, sophisticated woman stared back at her. Had she raised the neckline too far? Amanda’s heart sank. In this case, sophistication did not equal seduction. She did not look nearly provocative enough to be a courtesan. Botheration. She’d have to damp her petticoats, after all.

The damping was easily done, but not so easily borne. Amanda shivered again, this time from the chill muslin skirts that clung to her legs like seaweed and outlined every curve of her legs and hips. Hmmm. Still not enough. Oh, heavens—she had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. Amanda closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and ripped away the filmy fichu she’d tacked into the neckline. She peeked at her reflection—and gaped. Her breasts, barely contained by the material, looked as
though they might spill from the bodice at any moment. One good sneeze would undo her altogether. Amanda put her hands to her feverish cheeks. Well, at least she now looked the part.