Betrayal

Wariness tightened the muscles between Pippa’s shoulders as she turned to face the speaker. The Marchioness of Witherspoon stood not less than two feet away, studying Pippa like a naturalist studies a bug pinned to a specimen tray. The Frenchwoman must have noticed the similarity between Pippa and Pippen from the hospital.

A shiver skated down Pippa’s spine as she forced a smile. ‘I don’t believe so. I would have surely remembered if we had.’ She made a slight curtsy and tried to edge around the woman. The sooner she was away, the sooner the Marchioness would forget the memory.

‘Non, non,’ the Marchioness said, her small white hand shooting out and coming to rest on Pippa’s arm. ‘Do not run, chérie. I mean you no harm, only…’ Her head cocked to one side and her blue eyes studied Pippa. ‘I could swear I have seen you before. In Brussels, perhaps?’

Pippa shook her head. ‘No, milady. We have never met.’ She moved her arm so that the woman’s hand fell away. It was like having a chain opened. ‘Excuse me, but I have an appointment.’ That was not the truth, but she hoped to soon have an appointment.

Before the Marchioness could detain her further, Pippa spurted forward. The last thing she needed was for someone to penetrate her disguise.

Even as her palms turned clammy at the possible ruin, an image of Dev as she had left him formed in her mind. Her step slowed and her gaze saw nothing in the bank. For the first time since she’d met him, Dev had been dressed to go out, his tall, lean form shown to advantage by buff-coloured buckskins that fit his legs to perfection and a bottle-green coat of superfine that showed his broad shoulders to advantage. Smudge-free Hessians had hidden the scars on his right leg—not that they mattered to her. She sighed.

Would he find her attractive dressed as a woman? She berated herself immediately.

Whether Dev would be interested in her was not an issue. Deverell St Simon was not her reason for being here. Nor would he want to be, considering how she was flaunting the conventions of their society. Best to put all thought of him from her mind.

Suiting action to thought, Pippa presented her letter of introduction to a clerk. While she waited, she watched the people around her. To her surprise, the Marchioness was still on the premises. She seemed to be depositing a large sum of money which was causing a stir with the young man taking it.

Briefly, Pippa wondered why the woman would be depositing money when the normal course of action for an Englishman or woman while in a foreign country was to draw on their British bank. Before she could dwell long on the problem, she was approached by another clerk and escorted to a large desk where the bank manager smiled benignly at her.

The Marchioness’s actions quickly slipped her mind as she concentrated on her transaction.

Her task done, Pippa retraced her footsteps to the small closet in the hospital where she had stashed her boy’s clothing. It was a matter of minutes before Pippen emerged, carrying a wicker basket, the letter of introduction safe in the breast pocket of the jacket. Her first instinct was to dump the basket and revealing clothes in the nearest heap of trash.

It had been safe to bring the dress with her and keep it in her portmanteau until she had moved into the Duchess of Rundell’s town house, where servants were constantly cleaning and straightening her belongings. The dress would have to go. The letter of introduction was much easier to hide and irreplaceable. She could always buy another dress.

On her way out of the hospital, she saw a woman kneeling by one of the patients. From the threadbare look of the woman’s dress it was obvious she didn’t have much money. Yet love shone from her eyes as she gazed at the man whose head lay in the pillow of her lap. Tears tracked down the woman’s cheeks even as happiness made her face glow.

‘Hush, darling,’ she said. ‘All that matters is that you are alive. I love you no matter what.’

Using the only hand he had left, the soldier gathered his love’s fingers to his lips. Moisture blurred Pippa’s vision. Another couple weathering the horror of war.

Without another thought, Pippa crammed a pound note into the basket and edged toward them. Unobtrusively, she set the wicker container beside the woman and slipped away.

Outside, the August heat quickly evaporated the moisture from Pippa’s eyes. The sunshine was golden and warm on her skin, easing the tightness in her chest. The brisk walk to the town house lifted her spirits.

‘Master Pippen,’ the butler said, bowing her into the house. ‘Her Grace wishes your presence in the morning room.’

Pippa grinned at Michaels. Since moving here, she and the old retainer had become fast friends. Michaels had taken her under his wing and endeavoured to remind her of the proper behavior for a young man of Quality, as he did the Duchess when she failed to do the proper thing. Pippa would be sorry to leave him.

She gave the butler her hat. ‘Thank you. I suppose that means I must go there immediately.’

‘It is customary.’

Pippa’s too large Hessians, which she padded with socks in the toes, clumped on the polished black marble floor as she made her way. A footman opened the door and announced, ‘Master Pippen, your Grace.’

‘Fustian, Jones,’ Her Grace said. ‘There is no need to introduce Pippen.’ The footman nearly smiled before catching himself and closing the door. ‘Come here, child.’

Pippa nearly shook her head. The staff was completely devoted to their mistress, but her lack of formality was often a burden they did their best to correct.

‘Good afternoon, your Grace,’ Pippa said, making a leg before taking the outstretched hand the Duchess held to her.

‘Call me Alicia. How many times must I tell you that? You saved my son’s life, we won’t stand on formality.’

‘Yes, your Grace.’ Alicia was too familiar. When Dev’s mother frowned, Pippa said, ‘I am sorry, milady, but as much as I know you would like it, I cannot bring myself to be so familiar with you as to call you by your Christian name.’

Michaels might often think Pippa lacked correct manners, but ‘twas not so. Her grandfather had drilled her and Philip in the behavior required by their stations. They did not call duchesses by their first names. Not unless they had run tame all their lives in the lady’s household, which was not the case here.

‘Child, I shall surely lose my temper with you if you persist in this stubborn adherence to polite manners that is not necessary between us.’ She pulled Pippa down to sit beside her on the pale blue silk-covered settee. ‘Why, I begin to feel like a mother to you. And the first thing we need to do is get you some evening clothes. I am having a small dinner party tomorrow to let our close friends know that Dev is fine.’

Pippa’s face blanched. The very last thing she needed was a male tailor taking her measurements.

‘Thank you, your Gr—Alicia.’ Using the Duchess’s given name was a desperate attempt to make Dev’s mother more accepting of the following refusal. ‘But I cannot put you to the trouble. Besides—’ she brightened ‘—I won’t be here much longer. Right this moment, Dev is making arrangements for me to meet Wellington. When I find out where my brother was last seen, I will head there.’

‘Nonsense. No matter what you learn from the Duke, you won’t be leaving here in the next couple of days.’

The door slammed open before Pippa could remonstrate. Dev strode into the room, his brown hair awry and his hazel eyes wild.

‘Bloody swine!’

‘Dev!’ Pippa jumped up without thought and ran to him. ‘What is wrong? Are you hurt? Sit down and let me see.’

She wrapped one arm around his waist and urged him to the nearest chair. As soon as he sat, she fell to her knees in front of him.

‘Is it your leg? Help me get this boot off so I can examine it.’

‘Leave me alone,’ Dev snarled. ‘I deserve to feel this pain.’

Pippa rocked back on her heels and stared up at him. The wild look was still in his eyes, but the skin around them was dark and bruised looking. His full lips were thin. He looked in pain.

‘What is this all about?’ the Duchess demanded, coming over and taking her son’s hand. ‘There is no excuse for your rudeness to Pippen.’

Pippa watched the emotions battle across Dev’s face: anger, hurt, contrition and back to anger. Something was terribly wrong.

‘That damned Napoleon. May he rot in hell. May the ship taking him to St Helena sink and take his carcass to the bottom of the sea for fish bait.’

Pippa reached up and smoothed the tumbled lock of hair from his brow before she realized what she was doing. The motion was so revealing, she dropped her hand, stood and paced away. The more distance between them, the harder it would be for her to do another action so unlike what one man would do to another.

The Duchess cast her a quick, appraising glance before turning her attention back to her son. ‘Calm down, Dev, and tell us what has happened.’

“Tis Patrick.’ The words were torn from his throat and sounded like a raw wound. ‘He’s…damn it. He’s dead.’

Patrick was the friend whose whereabouts had been the first thing Dev wanted to know when he regained consciousness. All Pippa’s resolutions fled. She rushed to him and gathered him close. His head fell to her shoulder.

‘I’m so sorry. So sorry,’ she crooned.

For long minutes she rocked him, trying to absorb his anguish. She could give him a sleeping draught, but that would do nothing for the grief. She knew. This was the ripped-apart feeling she’d first had when the letter had arrived saying Philip was dead. Nothing but time would ease what Dev was going through now.

Finally, Dev pushed away. ‘I’m all right. You can stop coddling me.’