Lady in the Mist - Laurie Alice Eakes [97]
She gasped. Other than the sharp inhalation of breath, she neither spoke nor moved. This time not even her face betrayed her.
Dominick opened his mouth to comment on her lack of reaction, then realized she was in what must be her midwife mode—calm and still and ready to hear anything. After Sally Belote’s confession, not much else could shock her. She might have even heard worse in the course of her occupation.
“I’m much worse than that.” He made himself smile. “Well, that depends on one’s perspective. I am not a spy for the crown, as you might think. My king didn’t send me, nor anyone in the government. I have no military rank or anyone at Whitehall who even has a high opinion of me. But I have an uncle who is a rogue vice admiral in the Royal Navy who offered to send me to his plantation on Barbados or come here to spy out a spy.”
At this, she arched her winged eyebrows, and the corners of her mouth twisted up in a mocking smile. “Are you sure this isn’t an adaptation of some lost Shakespeare drama, Dominick? If so, you’d best be advised that I am not impressed with tall tales.”
“You don’t believe me?” Dominick jerked upright. “Tabitha, I’ve stretched the truth a time or two since we’ve met, but this, I promise you, is nothing less than factual. When I found myself in a spot where leaving England for a bit seemed like the better part of valor, my uncle said I could redeem myself this way.”
“Redeem yourself from what?” She leaned toward him. “What could have been so dreadful that a man with an Oxford education would become a servant for four years to accomplish it?”
“I . . . uh . . .” Dominick scooped up a handful of sand and watched it trickle from his fingers. Thus would go any love for him Tabitha might have had. “I wounded a man in a duel.”
She jerked as though he’d struck her with the rapier that had sent his challenger dropping to the grass. Her face paled, and one hand fluttered in the air, as though she wanted to grasp an elusive stronghold.
He caught her hand in his and breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t pull away. “It was a fair fight. He challenged me. But dueling is illegal and the authorities got wind of it, so we both had to get away for a while.”
“Four years is a rather long while,” she said dryly. “Four years of enforced servitude. Was that what your uncle had planned for you on Barbados too?”
“No, I’d have been free there, but I couldn’t have made amends. Here . . . if I can find out certain information, my uncle will buy my indenture. I could be gone in weeks.”
“Gone.” She tugged her hand free and tucked it beneath a fold of her skirt. “And you want me to help you so you’ll go away from me all that much sooner?”
“For the good of both our countries, yes. That is—Tabitha, I want to stay, but I’ve no work here and you Americans are a bit hostile to me.”
“And your father won’t want me showing up on his doorstep alongside his precious son.”
“I’m not a precious son to him.” He shifted his shoulders, feeling the stiffness settle in. “Perhaps I can make him accept me back into the fold and restore my allowance if I succeed here, but unless I do what he wants, he will never care what I do.”
“And what is it he wants you to do?” She tilted her head. In a flash, the sun shone beneath the wide brim of her hat and showed the bright sparkle of her eyes. “Let me guess. You’ll need a wife with money and position.”
“I want a wife with character and beauty.”
“Dominick, I can never go to England. You English wouldn’t accept me. I’m barely tolerated in regular social circles here, let alone the sort you enjoyed.”
He jumped. “What sort do you think I enjoyed?”
“The sort that would think Wilkins and Kendall unacceptable despite their money.”
He couldn’t deny it without lying, so he said nothing.
“Is your family wealthy or highborn?” she persisted.
He sighed, picked up part of a broken crab shell, and began to draw the Cherrett family crest in the sand. “You may as well know. My father is the fifth Marquess of Bruton.