Miss Goodhue Lives for a Night (5 page)

5

T
heo stepped out of the carriage and automatically turned to help Cecilia down. She put her hand lightly in his, and then immediately let go once she was on the ground. No contact any longer than necessary. Which was good, he decided. From the moment she showed up at Lord Ashby's door his entire body had been awakened to her—aware of her from across the room, across the carriage. He found his body bending when hers did, leaning in as she did. When she brushed an errant curl back behind her ear, he felt it in his fingertips.

Thus any actual physical contact might prove his undoing.

She was getting under his skin. One morning, barely a few hours in each other's company, and he found himself thrown into the past and forcing himself to remember how they had ended, and why.

He'd broken once, when she'd spoken about her father's funeral. That had struck him in the gut, and he couldn't stop himself from reaching for her.

Strange, but he'd thought he had more discipline than this. Considering how angry he was at her, how much he'd spent the last ten years cold and hardened by her actions, the fact that his body was betraying him in this way made him wary about being around her any longer than necessary.

Cee. His little Cee.

She wasn't that different. The years had thinned her a bit, her face had lost its youthful fullness, but in its place were graceful cheekbones and a directness that she didn't have before. And occasionally, glasses. But just underneath the surface he could tell that the giggles were still there. The breathlessness of her voice. The naïveté that made him wonder at how new eyes saw the world.

Take her cousin, for instance. She had to hope for the best—because what else was there?

Stop it
,
Theo
, he told himself, shaking his head and stepping forward into the yard of the Horse Guards.

“So . . .” she asked, biting her lip, her eyes on the rigid lines of men in uniform. “Where do we start?”

Biting her lip. She used to do that. When she was determined to do something, her top two teeth would peek out, as if leading the charge. When she'd been determined to kiss him that first time, under the oak tree.

When she'd seen the bed, in the inn . . .

“
I
start by speaking to the ranking officer on site,” he replied. “Stay by the carriage.” He looked up at the carriage driver, who nodded down to him.

He shouldn't have even handed her down, he realized. But now that he had reached out and taken her hand, he could not stop the impulse to do so again, and took the opportunity in front of him.

He was three steps away when he heard the soft steps on gravel behind him.

“Cee,” he warned, not turning.

“For the moment I think I should be Miss Goodhue, if you are to address me at all,” she said, stepping quickly to come by his side. He lengthened his stride; she moved into a trot to keep up. “Do you have any idea what to say to military men? I assume there is some kind of protocol, yes?”

His choices were either to take her by the arm and pull her back to the carriage, or to let her stay by his side. Since he didn't trust himself to touch her, he acquiesced and slowed—slightly.

“I have no idea. But as always, one must just dive in.”

“That has always been your forte, if I recall.”

Just diving in. It hadn't been, actually. Not in a while.

“Apologies, sir,” the guard at the door said as they approached. “Officers only.”

“Is Colonel Birmingham in?” Theo asked, and presented a card. “Mr. Hudson, of Henry, Smithson, and Rowe.”

The young guard looked at him, utter uncertainty on his face. “Um, I . . . I will check. One moment, sir. Miss.”

“Who is Colonel Birmingham?” Cecilia asked.

“He is an associate of Mr. Smithson, one of the founders of the law practice where I work.”

“And you know him? Colonel Birmingham, that is?”

“Never met him before in my life,” Theo replied. “But hopefully he will—”

“Sir?” the guard came back, slightly breathless. He must have been running. “Colonel Birmingham asks that you join him in his offices.”

“Thank you,” Theo said, and he gestured for Cecilia to go before him inside.

As they walked through the cold stone hallways, Theo watched Cecilia take two steps for the guard's every one, trying to keep up.

“What is your name, young man?” she asked him.

“Johnson, miss,” he replied.

“I cannot help but notice you are wearing a blue coat. What faction of the army do you belong to, may I ask?”

“I am a private in the Royal Horse Artillery, miss,” he said.

“And you wear it very well,” she responded. “Is it a difficult unit to be assigned to?”

“We are the very best of the best, miss,” he said, his chest puffing out with pride. “We are the king's own guard here. Only the most elite soldiers and gentlemen are assigned to us.”

“Of course, you would have to be the very best of the best.” She beamed at him, which only set Theo's teeth on edge.

“Then why weren't you on a horse with your unit in the yard?” Theo asked, before he could stop himself.

“I was asked to stand guard today,” young Johnson said, his tone becoming clipped.

“Not on a horse?” he asked, digging himself deeper.

“You approached in the few moments my horse was being reshod, if you must know,” was the miffed reply.

“Don't mind him,” Cecilia said, sending a warning glare over her shoulder to him, and stepping half an inch closer to Johnson. “He's never had much interest in the military.”

“Yes, miss,” Johnson said, and Theo could see a smirk on his face as he turned to look down at her.

Dammit, he thought. The boy was half in love with Cee already. Her voice was starting to do that breathless thing that drove him mad. It possibly could have been due to the fact that she had to trot to keep up with their pace, but Theo didn't think so. She was using her wiles on the poor lad. How was it that someone who could turn him inside out with just a slight change of her voice had not managed to take in another foolish man in ten years' time?

Maybe she hadn't deployed those skills.

Maybe they only affected him. Although judging by the look on Johnson's face, that was less likely.

But whatever her reasons, they were to be left at the door—specifically the one they stopped in front of. Johnson swung the door open, showing an empty receiving room. Comfortable chairs, a fire—but no Birmingham, no state secrets of any kind.

Obviously they weren't the first strangers to walk up to Horse Guards and request an interview out of the blue.

“At least we weren't shown to the dungeons,” he muttered.

“What was that?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. He hoped this would work. It was unseemly to be leveraging a connection from the firm—a tenuous one at that—to assist on such a mission. But if Mr. Smithson took umbrage with it, he could claim it was in service of Lord Ashby. At least, that was what he hoped.

Johnson murmured something about how they should wait there for Colonel Birmingham and clicked the door shut behind him. Leaving Theo and Cecilia alone again.

“You seemed to take to Private Johnson,” he said.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she replied, her eyebrow going skyward.

“I simply do not understand your motives. Birmingham will have the information we need. Not a young private.”

“You never know where information will come from,” she said. “There is no harm in being friendly.”

Sometimes there is, he thought, but thought better than to say it. Sometimes, her friendliness could prove a man's undoing. Specifically, him.

A rap sounded on the door.

“Ah, here we go,” he said, straightening. “Let me do the talking.”

“Of course,” she said politely, reassuring him not at all.

The door opened and Colonel Birmingham entered—at least he assumed it was Birmingham, given the number of epaulets and medals on his uniform. And if a man's mustache was only as bushy as his status would allow, Colonel Birmingham was very, very well regarded within the army.

For not the first time, Theo wondered if his impulsive decision this morning had been the right one.

“Well? You're Hudson, I presume?” Colonel Birmingham boomed out. “What is all this about?”

“Sir,” Theo said, giving a bow, “I apologize for intruding—”

“Damn right you're intruding,” Birmingham retorted. “Do you think we just sit around in our uniforms waiting for people to come and call? We are men of action, son! Our days are regimented to within an inch of their lives and you simply come here? Sent by Smithson, no doubt—well, you can tell that son of a—”

“Colonel Birmingham,” Cecilia said, stepping forward. “Mr. Hudson came here today on my behalf. I apologize, but the situation is dire. And we were told you are the only person who can come to our aid.”

She pressed a hand to her chest, and Theo watched as Colonel Birmingham's eyebrows went up, like two hairy caterpillars retreating north. “Dire, you say? Well, then, er . . . please have a seat, my dear.”

She reached out and clutched Birmingham's arm, practically putting all her weight on him. “Oh, thank you sir! Your kindness is exactly what I'd hoped to find. You will be our savior, I know it!”

“Erm, yes,” Birmingham said gruffly, his mustache twitching. “Now, start at the beginning, my dear.”

“It has to do with my . . . brother.”

“Your brother?”

“Your brother?” Theo repeated.

“Yes, my brother. He's in the army—but I don't know which regiment. He . . . had a falling-out with our family, you see. And likely, he enlisted under a false name. He wrote a letter to my mother from Manchester, in which he said one day he would come home in a blue coat and then our father would see he was a man.”

“Headstrong fools.” Birmingham shook his head. “No doubt the army drummed that nonsense out of him.”

“No doubt.” Cecilia beamed at him. Theo barely contained an eye roll. “But now we desperately need to find him, because my father is not well, and our horrid uncle is trying to take over the farm. And my brother is the only one who can stop him . . .”

She paused here to press a handkerchief to her eyes. Theo felt his bile and his admiration rising in equal measure. Because while he had to give her credit for creating a story that the colonel obviously was buying without question, it was unbelievable that the lie was so easily told.

Then again, maybe it wasn't unbelievable.

“We think he was with a regiment in Manchester, but was transferred to one in London. But we have no idea what name he might be using, what friends he can claim. It's been so long since I've seen him—I'm not even certain I could draw him out of a crowd!”

And with that she burst into crocodile tears.

“There, there, my dear,” Colonel Birmingham said. “Don't cry. My new niece burst into tears just the other day and I nearly buckled—and she was happy! We'll do everything we can, won't we, Hudson?”

Birmingham looked up at him with the most acute discomfort. His eyes pleading for Theo to save him from the weeping woman in front of him by any means necessary.

“Yes, of course we will,” Theo said. He sat next to her on the couch, and yanked her into his embrace as Birmingham sighed with relief.

It took him less than a second to realize what he'd done. But he couldn't let her go. She seemed to be as shocked as he, freezing in his arms. But then . . . she melted, and held close to him.

“It's likely he's in the horse artillery,” Theo said, trying to keep his mind on the proceedings. Cecilia lifted her eyes from his shirt to look up at him in surprise. “As he said he will wear a blue coat, and . . . associates of his have expressed a fondness for horses.”

“Hence why you came to Horse Guards,” Birmingham said. “We have paperwork on all recent transfers to the unit, of course, but if you suspect he has taken a different name, then I am afraid it is useless.”

“How many new transfers do you have?” Theo asked, feeling Cecilia's hand tighten on his sleeve. She sat up straight, composing herself. But she did not let go of that sleeve.

“A few dozen young men,” Birmingham answered.

“And have any of them come from a regiment in Manchester?”

“They have come from all over,” Birmingham said. “But unfortunately, none are here today. They are all to report in a week's time.”

“A week's time,” Cecilia said, biting her lip and turning her wet eyes up to the uncomfortable older man. Truth be told, those eyes made the younger man in the room uncomfortable as well. “I don't know if we can wait a week. Father is so very ill. Do you know of any boarding houses where the men might stay?”