It was ridiculous, thought Chastity, to feel so warm a glow at such
a singularly pointless offer. It only slowly dawned on her that there
was a flaw in her plan. It would require her to change clothes in front
of Cyn in the intimate confines of the coach.
She shrugged. She would simply put the groom’s clothes on over her
brother’s. It would have the added advantage of making her appear
bulkier.
Now that the planning was over, her attention focused again on the
Gazette
.
The newspaper lay on the empty seat beside her, and she was tempted to
slide over and sit on it, but that would draw Cyn’s attention. For the
moment, he seemed to have forgotten it.
They drew into the inn at Norton and put their plan into operation.
Cyn explained it to Hoskins, but it had to be Chastity who helped the
man pull the bags out of the boot.
The coachman glared at her. “I don’t know what your game is, young
fellow-me-lad,” Hoskins muttered, “but if you get Master Cyn into ‘ot
water, I’ll wring your bloody neck.”
“What makes you think I’m in charge?” Chastity retorted. “He’s in command now.”
“But if you ‘adn’t embroiled him in your tricks, he’d be safe at the Abbey now.”
“He’s not a baby.”
“No, but he near cocked up his toes this summer, and if he has a
relapse, you’ll have all the Mallorens on your back. Not to say the
marquess won’t already’ve raised the ‘unt up for him.”
They found Cyn’s portmanteau, and the box containing other clothing,
and tossed them into the carriage. Hoskins gave her a final malignant
warning look before climbing back up onto his box.
Chastity settled back in the coach, unsure what to worry about
first—Cyn’s health, the paper, or the fact that the formidable Marquess
of Rothgar had likely joined the hunt. It was only as they rolled away
from the inn that she realized she’d forgotten to get rid of the
dratted
Gazette
.
“Hoskins says Rothgar will be on your trail,” she said.
Cyn flashed her an unreadable look and took off his bonnet and cap. “He may not even know I’ve flown the coop.”
“You make it sound as if he keeps you in chains.”
“Bonds of affection can be as strong as bars.”
Chastity sensed she was stepping on delicate ground, but she
persisted. “I would have thought it would be no bad thing to be caught
by the marquess. His power could be an asset.”
“If one could be sure which side he’d be on.”
That gave Chastity pause. To have Rothgar against them would be truly disastrous.
“We had best get on with it,” Verity interrupted firmly. “Draw down the shades, Chas, and take William.”
Chastity obeyed, then in the shadowy coach her sister helped Cyn
with the infamous laces. Chastity smiled at the memory of their earlier
adventure with the gown— a memory she would treasure…
She hastily concentrated on the babe. He was awake and happy to
play. She gave him the newspaper, hoping he would gum it to a pulp, or
shred it, but he despised such dull stuff. His eye was caught instead
by Cyn’s scabbarded sword in the corner. Chastity picked it up and let
him play with the bright ribbons and gilded hilt.
Cyn glanced over. “Don’t let him touch the blade.” The fact that
William was gumming the ribbons didn’t seem to bother him at all.
Truly, his very carelessness entranced her. He’d be a wonderful father…
Stop it, Chastity.
Cyn soon shed his dress, shift, and stockings—which items raised a
giggle from Verity—right down to his drawers. Chastity hadn’t
considered this additional hazard to the changing arrangements—that it
would have
him
changing in front of
her
.
Chastity found herself studying Cyn’s legs and torso, and hastily
averted her eyes. He pulled out his uniform and began to struggle into
his white breeches. It necessitated thrusting first one bare leg then
the other right by Chastity; there was no other way. She hastily passed
William back to Verity before he was kicked.
She then wriggled to the side—almost incidentally ending up on top
of the newspaper—but she couldn’t get far from his legs. The sight of
the hard muscles dusted with golden hair dried her mouth.
He bent his knee a little to reach the cuff and pull it over his heel. Verity squeaked as his elbow jabbed her.
“Hell. I’m sorry. This is a lot harder than I thought. Charles, work the thing over my heel, will you?”
Chastity gulped but obeyed. It necessitated grasping first his calf
and then his warm, naked foot, which didn’t do her thundering heart any
good at all. She had always ignored feet, but now here was a fine
specimen in her hands. She was assailed by the strangest desire to kiss
his instep.
Now his other foot appeared for her attention. She pushed his
breeches over that heel, too, sighing with relief to have the task done.
He half rose and wriggled the garment up to his waist. “Thank you. Perhaps you could help with the stockings, too.”
Chastity looked up sharply to see him holding out white silk
stockings. Red-faced with embarrassment, she eased the hose onto his
long elegant toes, over his arched instep, and up his hard calf.
“Smooth them out a bit,” he said rather gruffly.
Chastity flashed him a look, but he appeared fully involved with his
shirt. She threw caution to the winds. How many more opportunities
would she have to touch his body as she wished to? She kept her eyes
lowered as she ran her hands up his calves, smoothing out every
wrinkle, slowly and meticulously. Then she repeated the act on his
other leg.
Her heartbeat was not fast anymore. It pounded in a deep way which made her dizzy. A heavy warmth pressed on her lower abdomen…
After a moment she realized it was coming from his right foot which
rested low on her stomach as she attended to his left. His heel nestled
snugly at the juncture of her thighs. A part of her very close to that
heel throbbed like a wound, and she had an almost overwhelming urge to
spread her thighs and push against him.
She tightened instead and moved his foot away. “There,” she said.
“Thank you.” he drawled, and tied his own garters. “I assure you,
dear Charles, I’ll happily do as much for you one day.” He tucked in
his shirt. “Ah, that feels better. Feel as if I’ve regained the use of
my legs.” He shrugged into the long, white waistcoat, fastened the
eight silver buttons, then tied the scarlet sash.
Next he pulled out his regimental coat. It was a fine sight—scarlet
with buff facings, glittering with gold braid on cuffs, pockets, and
buttonholes down both sides. It took a fair amount of contortions, and
a few muttered curses, but eventually he had the trim-fitting garment
on. Now he looked a soldier in truth.
He tied a black stock around his collar and hung the silver gorget
of rank around his neck. He smiled. “I must say, I feel more myself
than I have in an age. I think I’ll leave off the boots, however, until
we stop. I’ll probably kick one of you in the face if I attempt to put
them on now.” He opened his dressing-case and used a small container of
water to scrub off his rouge. Then he took out a comb, mirror, and
ribbon.
He passed the mirror to Chastity. “Hold that, dear boy, while I struggle with my hair.”
Chastity watched as he combed his tawny curls and tied them neatly
enough at his nape. She had always scoffed at young ladies who were
aux anges
at the sight of a scarlet coat, but now she felt the affliction.
Captain Cyn Malloren looked magnificent in his regimentals. But then,
to her he would look magnificent in anything.
Now, however, he had lost that illusion of softness. He looked
authoritative, capable of handling any emergency, and ready for
dangerous heroics. Chastity was reminded all too keenly that he was a
soldier, and that dangerous heroics were his business. With the
emphasis on dangerous. What had he said? “Blood is the god of war’s
rich livery…”
They would part in a day or two. He would soon forget a prickly
youth called Charles, would never even know she was a woman, a woman
who… who felt warmly toward him.
She, on the other hand, would never forget him. For the rest of her
life she would study the army news, hoping for word of him. She would
scrutinize casualty lists in fear that his name would one day appear, a
bleak acknowledgment that the laughter had been cruelly stilled…
His voice jerked her out of her brown study. “Now,” he said, “let’s transform Verity.”
“You are having nothing to do with it,” said Chastity. “‘Twould be indecent.”
His lips twitched. ‘“I don’t think your sister is as sensitive in these matters as you, sir.”
“I—”
“Pax!” called Verity in amusement. “I will be stripping no further
than my shift, and though that is rather risque. I am quite able to
handle the matter. However, I think Lord Cyn should hold William.” She
passed over the baby, who was immediately entranced by the gold braid.
“I don’t think he’s likely to leak all over your magnificence, my lord,
but I make no guarantee.”
Cyn did not appear dismayed. “I’ve always held there’s something
suspicious about a pristine uniform. Rothgar thought my war-weary gear
beneath the dignity of a Malloren—particularly as it had been chopped
about in the cause of practicality in the backwoods. He insisted on
ordering this for me just weeks ago. It needs breaking in or I’ll be
taken for a Johnny Newcome.”
Without apparent embarrassment, Verity worked her way out of her
coarse servant’s garments, and into Cyn’s other outfit—the gray
petticoat, the blue-and-black stomacher, and the Prussian-blue sacque.
She knelt so Chastity could tie the stomacher laces, but managed the
loose gown by herself.
Verity’s ample bosom filled this bodice without assistance. Cyn stuffed the wool into his portmanteau.
Nothing could be done with Verity’s greasy hair other than to comb
it into a tight knot. With the cap and bonnet she looked genteel, but
severe. That very severity disguised her, but it would not fool a
relative.
“Keep out of sight,” Cyn advised, “and when in public, keep your
head lowered. Remember, people are looking for a fugitive, not a
respectable matron, and peopie generally see what they expect to see.”
He looked at Chastity. “Now you, young Charles.”
Chastity shrugged out of her velvet coat and pulled on the breeches
and shirt over her brother’s clothes. She took off her cravat and
knotted the spotted kerchief around her neck in its stead. She pulled
the flat-brimmed hat firmly down over her wig. “There,” she said.
His smile was wry. “One of these days your modesty is going to land you in trouble, Charles my lad.”
Chastity engaged herself in stuffing all the discarded clothes into the box.
Silence fell, and the shadowy coach became disconcertingly intimate.
The babe grew sleepy in Cyn’s arms. Both of them seemed remarkably at
ease with the situation.
Chastity leaned back in her seat, pretending to be resting, but
really studying Cyn Malloren through her lashes. Her relatively short
lashes. She resented his lush lashes, but lusted after them for her
children.
Stop it, Chastity.
It was no good. Her eyes insisted on drinking in the sight of Cyn
and storing it away for the bleak future. His head was turned slightly
away, so she could safely run her gaze along the firm line of his
profile. To her surprise, she detected a resemblance to Rothgar. In ten
or more years would Cyn be as intimidating? She doubted it. She didn’t
think Rothgar had ever had the reckless devil-may-care side to him
which was Cyn’s most marked feature, and one she loved.
His hands were beautiful, made more so by the gentle way they
cradled the babe. How had she not noticed their quality before? They
were long-fingered, and capable of strength or gentleness. She
remembered them stroking her head and neck in that strange kiss, and
wanted to be touched by them again. Even at the thought, a shiver of
desire passed through her.
Cyn could feel Chastity’s eyes on him like a heated touch. A few
stolen glances had shown her studying him like an artist working on a
portrait. He wished he had the same indulgence, but there would be
other times, and he was pleased enough to have her so intent on him.
At least, part of him was pleased—his wicked part. It gleefully
anticipated the time when they would have opportunity to explore each
other fully.
His noble side bellowed that he must tell her he knew her to be female, so she would recover her maidenly modesty.
Except, of course, she wasn’t a maiden.
He’d suspected from the first that she was not cold, or barred off
from sensuality. Now he knew it to be true. A few moments ago her touch
on his legs had been a lover’s touch, and he’d been hard-pressed to
maintain control. If it hadn’t been for Verity he feared he’d have
pulled his damsel into his arms for a ravishing kiss, and very likely
more.
The coach passed through the next change without a problem, and Cyn
and Verity stepped down for a moment to give everyone a clear sight of
the captain and his lady. No one questioned them, but Chastity detected
one lounging man whose eyes seemed markedly sharp. He did not look
suspicious, however.
When they rolled on, she said, “Did you see… ?”
“Yes,” said Cyn soberly. “It could be nothing, and I’d thought we’d
lose the hunt by turning south. One thing’s clear. We can’t risk
stopping on the road. We’d never conceal the presence of a baby at an
inn.”
“But the light’s already fading,” said Verity, pallid with fear and exhaustion.
“We’ll manage with the coach-lights,” said Cyn. “It’s not far now.
We have to press on. In Winchester we will be a few among thousands,
and we have a private place to stay. On the road we’ll stick out
wherever we stop.”
He was remarkably sober for Cyn Malloren. Chastity knew he shared
her concern at the tightness of the net thrown over the south of
England. It was not so much a search for a missing person, as a hunt
for a fugitive. Her father’s work, she was sure.