“I am not in the least bit anxious to help you,” Alex said with brutal candor. He sounded exasperated and angry. “The friendship I had for Ware means that I feel an obligation to the child, that is all. If I had known that he had left a daughter orphaned and in such dire straits—” He broke off. “Ware appointed me her guardian alongside you,” he added. “I wish he had not, but I take that duty seriously and as such will do what I can to help her. If that means assisting you, then, against my will, I shall try.”
“How very handsome of you!” Now Joanna felt exasperated, too. “Well, I do not require your unwilling assistance, Lord Grant! I am perfectly capable of traveling to Bellsund on my own.”
She tried to sound confident but was aware of feeling woefully inadequate. She shivered at the thought of everything she had to accomplish. She was no explorer, fearlessly seeking out new lands and new adventures. David had never wanted her to travel with him and she had heard the most terrible stories of hardship and sickness and shipwreck. If she had her way she would go no farther than the shops in Bond Street, but that was not an option…
Alex was watching her and she thought she could see pity as well as irritation in his gaze. It stiffened her backbone.
“If you have nothing pertinent to add to our conversation,” she said, “then I shall bid you good day. I have arrangements to make. I will contact you again when I return from Spitsbergen with Nina, so that we may make the financial arrangements for her upbringing. Though
by then—” she allowed her gaze to travel over him “—I imagine that you will be long gone from London on your next adventure.”
Alex’s black gaze snapped at her. He ignored the jibe. “You are a complete fool even to think of doing this journey, Lady Joanna.”
“Thank you,” Joanna said. “I am aware of your opinion of me. And you are a boor.”
She made to rise, but his hand snaked out and caught her wrist. “Are you really prepared to go all that way into the unknown, Lady Joanna?” His gaze burned into her. “I do not think you have the courage to be so foolhardy.”
Joanna shook him off, incensed by both his taunts and even more by the incendiary power of his touch.
“You mistake, Lord Grant,” she said icily. “I know you think me shallow and silly, but I will go to Spitsbergen and prove you wrong. I have no intention of succumbing to seasickness, or fever, like David did, or…or scurvy, or whatever it is your sailors suffer from! I will take fruit with me to eat and I have plenty of warm clothes to protect against the cold climate—”
She broke off as Alex gave a crack of laughter. “Fruit will perish within a few days, and I doubt very much that your London fashions are designed to withstand a polar winter, Lady Joanna.”
“That is why I plan to set out at once,” Jo said. “How bad can it be? People travel every week to far-flung destinations like India and the Americas!”
“You have no idea what you are talking about,” Alex said brusquely, demolishing her optimism in one blow. “I’ll wager you have never even been abroad in your life!”
“I have been to Paris,” Joanna said defiantly. “I went after the Treaty of Amiens.”
“Paris is scarcely comparable with the Arctic!” Alex expelled his breath in an exasperated sigh. “I might have known you would have followed the fashionable crowds to France.”
“I did not follow,” Joanna said. “I led.”
Alex sighed again. He was rubbing his thigh in absentminded fashion, as though his leg was paining him.
“Lady Joanna, please…” He sounded frustrated, angry even. “You have absolutely no concept of the utter discomfort of such a trip.” His gaze considered her from saucy hat to stylish shoes, his disapproval, his utter contempt, quite plain. Joanna’s face burned under his scrutiny. “You would hate it,” he said. “You would not be able to maintain even a quarter of your style without hot water and clean clothes and servants to wait on you.”
Joanna’s face burned even hotter. “Do you really think such things weigh with me?” she demanded.
“Yes,” Alex said. “I do.” His shoulder lifted in half a shrug. “Oh, I do not blame you for it—”
“How magnanimous of you!”
“But a woman who has had nothing important to do with her life, whose whole existence centers upon frivolity and idleness, will never be able to survive in so inhospitable a climate…”
Joanna did not hear the rest of his words. She was too angry. Idle, superficial? She supposed she had never been a bluestocking, writing intellectual tracts or holding philosophical salons. That was Merryn’s interest. And it was also true that her existence in ton society was
amusing and lighthearted for the most part. But that did not mean that she could be dismissed as no more than a giddy social butterfly, a woman with the emotional depth of a small puddle. How dare Alex Grant, with his juvenile bravado and high-handed manner, dismiss her as having no backbone? She felt a sheer, bloody-minded determination to prove him wrong.
“No,” she interrupted. “You may save your breath, Lord Grant. I am going.”
Alex got to his feet and took a few furious paces away from the bench. He was moving stiffly, as though once again his old injury was hurting. He turned back so sharply that Joanna almost flinched. He rested a hand on the arm of the seat, leaning in, trapping her against the hard wooden back. Once again, his physical presence engulfed her. She felt a tide of heat race through her body and retreat again to leave her shaking with a mixture of awareness and fear.
“You do not understand, Lady Joanna,” he said between his teeth. His eyes were blazing. Joanna could feel his anger like a living force. “Women have died on less demanding journeys.”
“And women have died at home,” Joanna argued hotly, “from sickness or in child bed or even from their clothes catching alight from a candle.” She spread her hands wide. “Men, too. Lord Rugby died of a chill he caught in Brighton. One cannot protect against every accident, Lord Grant.”
“One can avoid actively seeking them out,” Alex said. He looked as though he wanted to shake her. “Must you be so willfully foolish, Lady Joanna? If you insist on going then I shall do everything in my power to oppose you.” He straightened. “No one will give you passage.
I will make it my business to see that you fail in this venture before you even begin.”
His hands were on her upper arms. The sensation of his touch whipped through her, making her shiver. He pulled her to her feet. Suddenly they were very close together, so close that she could hear how hard he was breathing and smell the scent of his citrus cologne mingled with the fresh morning air. She looked up into his face and saw the anger there; saw also the moment it transmuted into something else, hot and primitive, stealing her breath. He bent his head. She knew he was going to kiss her.
Not like this. Not in anger.
She did not say the words aloud, but her feelings must have shown in her eyes, for his brows snapped together in another intimidating frown as though he, too, had realized how close they had come to a shocking—and very public—kiss. He lifted his hands from her shoulders with such care that it seemed he could no longer bear to touch her. Joanna’s heart plummeted and she felt a little sick.
“Lady Joanna—” Now it sounded as though he could not bear to speak to her, let alone touch her.
“Lord Grant.” She was sure she could outdo him in hauteur if she tried.
He smiled a little grimly. “We have an audience,” he murmured. “Though if yesterday is anything to go by, that should encourage you to throw yourself into my arms.”
“I shall try to restrain myself, difficult as it may be,” Joanna said coldly. Inside she felt shaken. She had come so close to casting herself into his arms. The burn of his touch was still in her blood.
Turning away with deliberation, she saw that several ladies were scurrying across the grass toward them.
“Why are they dressed exactly like you?” Alex inquired.
“Because they wish to imitate my style.” Joanna sighed. “I shall have to introduce a new fashion now. It does not do to look like everyone else.”
“How demanding your life must be,” Alex murmured. “I am surprised that you have the energy to contemplate a trip to the Arctic when there is so much to be done here.”
“So many baubles and trifles to sell,” Joanna said sweetly. “Excuse me, Lord Grant. I must take full advantage of the demand for my services. There are ships to be chartered. I am sure that you understand.”
She had the satisfaction of seeing his black frown return. “We shall see,” he said. With a muttered curse he turned on his heel and walked away.
“O
F COURSE
L
ORD
G
RANT
would not wish you to venture to the Arctic, Jo darling,” Lottie Cummings said comfortably. “He has the most frightful prejudice against women traveling, and it is all to do with the death of his wife, poor creature.” She poured tea into the Sevres porcelain cups that Joanna adored. They were sitting in Lottie’s morning room, a room Joanna had decorated and furnished. It was as light and airy as Lottie herself.
“She died in some hideous accident,” Lottie added, passing the plate of petits fours, “or from scarlet fever or smallpox, or from some other ghastly illness. I forget exactly, but apparently Lord Grant blamed himself because he had insisted on her accompanying him abroad.”
“Poor man,” Joanna said, surprised by an unexpected pang of compassion for Alex Grant losing his wife so horribly. “How dreadful for him.” The loss must have hurt him deeply, she thought. For all his brusqueness and his almost brutal directness, Alex was a man of intense passions. She had felt that earlier, the volcanic emotion within him. She shivered, remembering.
“Well…” Lottie waved a vague hand and the pastries slid dangerously in the direction of Max’s expectantly open mouth. “It is most generous of you to sympathize with him, Jo darling, when he has been so unhelpful
to you. I always said that you are a nicer person than I by far. I will ask Julia Manbury what happened,” she added. “She remembers all the old scandals.”
Joanna stirred milk into her tea slowly. “Did you ever meet Lady Grant?” She was aware that her interest was not entirely objective. She felt an odd stirring of something that was remarkably like jealousy.
Lottie wrinkled up her nose. “I think I remember her vaguely. She was a winsome little chit as I recall. Not very clever, but pretty and biddable.”
“Just the way Lord Grant likes his women to be,” Joanna said dryly. “Obedient and quiet. David was the same,” she added bitterly. “These adventurers are all cut from the same cloth when it comes to wanting a submissive wife.”
“Oh, dear.” Lottie’s berry-dark eyes sparkled with malice. “You really are at daggers drawn with Lord Grant if you compare him to David.”
“How could we not be opposed?” Joanna demanded. “Lord Grant promises to make sure that no one will offer me passage to Spitsbergen, though I hope I can still persuade someone to take me.” She sighed. “I have a feeling it will be most expensive.”
“Well, I know the very ship for you!” Lottie popped a sugared almond into her mouth and crunched it hard. “I am afraid that dear Mr. Cummings has refused to sponsor Lord Grant’s delightful young cousin in his harebrained scheme to find lost gold in Mexico, which means that poor Devlin is knee-deep in debt. You know that he co-owns a cutter with the most gorgeous American captain called Owen Purchase who apparently fought at Trafalgar? Captain Purchase has the most delectable voice,” Lottie said, diverted. “It is smooth and
rich and I swear I could melt into a puddle just listening to him. But Cummings is not so susceptible as I am and turned them down flat, so now they are both in danger of the Fleet if they do not find someone to charter their ship!”
Joanna felt winded at the speed with which Lottie’s mind jumped ahead. “I have met Captain Purchase,” she said. “He sailed on one expedition with David. You say he has a cutter to charter? How big a ship is that?”
“Oh, medium size!” Lottie waved an airy hand. “With guns! Isn’t that terribly exciting?” She patted Joanna’s knee. “Leave it with me, darling. You know that I am a managing female! I should love to arrange your trip. We shall need lots of warm clothing. You must come with me to Oxford Street—I have seen the most darling little fur mantles in Sneider’s. We shall take Max with us to the Pole, and Hanson, my butler, and my maid, Lester, for I shall be lost without her, and…”
“Wait!” Joanna put a hand to her spinning head. “You are coming, too?”
Lottie looked pained. “Well, of course I am, darling! I am hardly going to arrange all this for you and then stay behind, am I?”
“And you are suggesting that we take Max on a voyage to the North Pole?” Jo said faintly. “And your butler and maid?”
“We shall need servants,” Lottie said calmly, “or how shall we manage? And Max would pine if you left him behind in London and anyway, he already has a fur coat of his own, though perhaps we could get him bootees in case his paws stick to the ice.”
“But why on earth would you wish to go to Spitsbergen?” Joanna asked. “I am told,” she added dryly,
“that it is the most vastly uncomfortable place in the world.”
“Oh, utterly disagreeable, I am sure,” Lottie said, “but what a marvelous adventure, Jo darling! I have always wanted to travel but did not have the excuse before. We shall set a new fashion!”
Joanna looked at her suspiciously. There had to be more than mere boredom to prompt Lottie into leaving behind her home comforts—although it did seem she was intent on taking most of them with her. Could James Devlin be the draw? Lottie did seem surprisingly deep in his confidence.
“What on earth will Mr. Cummings think?” Joanna asked. “I cannot believe he would be happy to see his wife vanish off to the Arctic for months on end.”
“Oh, Mr. Cummings will give me no trouble,” Lottie said airily. “He has no use for me here other than to spend his money and I might as well do that in a good cause. I will not let luscious Lord Grant best you, Jo darling. He needs to be taught a lesson.” She selected another bonbon from the silver dish. “Not that I understand this frightful desire of yours to claim David’s little bastard for your own and lumber yourself with a child, of all things! It seems extraordinary to me.”
“Please, Lottie,” Joanna said. “It is hardly Nina’s fault that David fathered her out of wedlock and please don’t refer to her as though she were some sort of freakish pet I am adopting.”
Lottie was completely uncrushed. It was one of the odd but endearing things about her friend, Joanna thought, that she was utterly irrepressible. “Oh, very well,” Lottie said, shrugging. “I will not call her David’s
by-blow if you do not like it, but you must allow that it is most odd in you to wish to take her up.”
Her bright, inquisitive gaze was resting on Joanna’s face and for a moment Joanna hesitated on the edge of disclosure. Then she drew back. With Merryn she might have confided her dreams and desires of motherhood and how the need for a child had devoured her with a sudden and unexpected passion. But Lottie… She and Lottie had never had a friendship of any depth. Lottie was kind and generous, but she was also staggeringly indiscreet and utterly incapable of faithfulness, let alone keeping a secret. Joanna knew that there would be enough gossip about David’s scandalous legacy without Lottie contributing to the
on dit.
“David asked me to take care of Nina,” she temporized a little awkwardly, knowing that whilst it was true it was not the reason.
“Well, I know, darling,” Lottie said, insensitive as always to any undercurrents, “but David is dead. He could ask all manner of things of you and you need not comply. You could just leave the brat in Spitsbergen and forget about her. I would. Think of the whispers of scandal when everyone hears what is afoot.” She frowned. “You are the darling of society, but I wonder if even you can carry this off, my love. Your cousin John Hagan will not care for it—”
Joanna made an impatient gesture. “I cannot bear that man! Do you think I shall be swayed by his opinion?”
“Maybe not,” Lottie said shrewdly, “but he has influence. And sometimes I think you forget that he owns the house in Half Moon Street. If he chose, he could make
matters very difficult for you, Jo darling. And you are alone and unprotected, with very little money.”
“I earn several thousand pounds a year!” Joanna protested, “and there is my jointure and the legacy…”
“I know,” Lottie said, munching. “As I said, very little money. Not enough to keep me in hats!” She looked her friend over with a critical eye. “It is a wonder you are so stylish on such a pittance.”
Joanna was silent. She knew there was a grain of truth in what Lottie was saying. Sometimes she forgot just how precarious her place in society was. The ton had embraced her, but it could break her, too.
When she had first heard of Nina Ware’s existence she had not for a moment considered leaving the child to her fate. Both her head and her heart recoiled at the thought. It was impossible. Alex might embrace his guardianship of Nina only out of a sense of responsibility but she was acting out of both integrity and love. Yet she also knew that David was asking far more of her than that she should simply take on his illegitimate child. He was exacting a high price from her. He was asking her to defend his child against the prejudice and cruelty of a society that would brand Nina a bastard without a place in the world. If Joanna took on that challenge she knew she might be condemned and cast out. The ton loved its favorites but it was a fickle mistress and could tear down as easily as it made. And her position was already insecure. She had no home other than the house in Half Moon Street, which she had almost forgotten belonged to John Hagan since David’s death. Hagan had graciously allowed her to stay in it, but now that she had rejected his marriage proposal, would he be so generous in the future? And then there was fact
that she had no income other than her legacy and the money she earned from her commissions. If no one chose to employ her on her return, if society froze her out, she would be ruined.
She shivered at the prospect and tried to push it from her mind, concentrating instead on the little girl, orphaned and alone in a monastery far away. Once again her heart cried out for someone to love and she felt her resolve stiffen to rescue Nina Ware and bring her home, no matter the odds against her.
“I shall be with you on our trip to chaperone you and give you my consequence,” Lottie said comfortingly, ignoring the fact that she was at best flighty and at worst utterly unreliable. She did not wait for Joanna’s response. Her butterfly mind had already skipped ahead. “I wonder if Merryn would like to accompany us on our journey. It might be good for her. We could bring her out of herself and introduce her to some young officers. She spends far too much time moping about.”
“She is quiet,” Joanna said. “I realize that you do not understand the concept, Lottie, but truly, Merryn is happy as she is.”
“But she cannot stay here!” Lottie said, rather as though Merryn was a waif and stray. “She has no friends and nowhere to live. And we must be gone soon if we are to make the expedition this summer.”
“I will ask Merryn what she wishes to do,” Joanna said. “In the meantime there is the practical problem of chartering the ship.”
“And the question of clothes,” Lottie reminded her.
“Of course. But the ship is probably more important.”
“Darling, how can anything be more important than
what to wear?” Lottie lay back on the sofa, raised her feet in the air and admired the scarlet slippers peeping out from beneath the hem of her gown. “I wonder whether Mr. Jackman could design me a fashionable overshoe for use in the snow.”
“You will have to wear boots,” Joanna said.
“Darling, only if they look elegant! I want none of those great clumping creations that the poor people wear!” Lottie reached again for the bonbon dish and smiled, a smile like a contented cat. “Anyway, you need not worry about the ship. Captain Purchase will be thrilled that you wish to charter the
Sea Witch
and keep him out of jail! And even better, he and Devlin may sail us there, or whatever the correct terminology is! I will send a message to Dev directly.”
Alex Grant, Joanna reflected, was going to be mad as fire that she had not only disregarded his warnings about traveling to Spitsbergen but was actually recruiting both a friend of his and, even worse, his cousin, to convey them there. He could not stop her, she reassured herself. Even so, a traitorous feeling ran through her blood; the wish that Alex was on her side rather than against her.
“D
ID WE HAVE TO MEET
here, Purchase?” Alex looked around the inn with a certain degree of disfavor. The small room was dark, hot and smoky, loud with voices and laughter, and thick with the scent of ale and cheap perfume. They were in the backstreets of Holborn and it was clear that the alehouse offered far more refreshment than mere drink. The exceptionally pretty light skirt who had greeted Alex on arrival had seemed disappointed when he had turned down her offer of
companionship and had flounced off to find a more congenial and generous patron, muttering that it was not a coffeehouse, in and out with no deposit made. Alex appreciated the wit and ordered and paid for a pint of ale, but he was still disinclined to accept whatever extras were on offer. He did not want a quick tumble with a whore. That would bring no more than relief of the most fundamental kind and possibly a dose of clap into the bargain. He was too jaded to find the prospect even remotely appealing. He wanted Joanna Ware. Joanna, with her lovely lissome body, which admittedly he had not seen but had imagined in rather too much fevered detail… Joanna, whom he distrusted and yet wanted with a lust so intense he burned with it. Joanna, whom he wanted to shake for her willful insistence on traveling to the Arctic herself to fetch little Nina Ware because could she not see how dangerous it was?
But he would thwart that plan easily enough. That was what he was here for tonight.
“You’re in a bad mood,” Owen Purchase said in his rich southern drawl, tipping his chair back and raising his tankard to his lips. “It’s a permanent state with you at the moment, I hear.”
“I suppose Dev told you that.” Alex eased himself onto a bench behind the rough wooden table. “And I suppose he’s here, too, upstairs with some girl?”
Purchase grinned. “What are you now—his father?”
“I feel like it sometimes.” Alex groaned. “I want to drag him out of there, warn him to be careful to avoid the pox—”
Purchase spluttered into his ale. “He’s young, Grant. The young make their own mistakes. They never listen.”
He put down the tankard, leaned his elbows on the table and surveyed his colleague with amusement in his bright green eyes. “Neither do their elders, I hear. David Ware?”