Chapter 2 #3
She’d sketched the man? Good God. He’d had no idea she sketched. Or for that matter, did any sort of art at all. He really didn’t know much about her, did he, despite seeing her frequently in Verdun. Once Morris had warned him away, he hadn’t delved any deeper. Now he wished he had.
As for this Nash chap, the man might be fishing for information about the Bernard ladies’ papers to find out who helped Heathbrook and his friends.
Lewis Nash might suspect they were searching for the man who’d betrayed them.
Nash might even be their betrayer, hoping to stop their investigation by . . . by what?
Heathbrook scowled. Ruining Beasley? That made no sense. Although perhaps Nash had guessed that they would protect Beasley at all costs because of what he’d done for them. Perhaps the chap was hoping to threaten them by threatening Beasley.
Or, since Nash hadn’t seemed to know Beasley’s name, by threatening whoever had given them the forged French passports they’d never had the chance to use.
Heathbrook rubbed his temples. That sounded a bit farfetched.
Then again, why was the fellow asking the Bernard ladies about their passports?
How had Nash even known the papers were forged?
It wasn’t as if French émigrés were forced to flash their passports every time they moved about town.
That was done in France, to be sure, but not in England.
Especially not now that the war was over.
“Here it is,” Miss Bernard said as she came back in. “It was in my reticule.”
When she handed the sheet of paper to him, he examined it thoroughly. “This is quite good. Apparently, artistic talent runs in your family.”
“Thank you,” she said with a self-deprecating smile that unfortunately made her even more appealing. “My half sister has been teaching me to draw. So, after Mr. Nash spoke to me that day, I made a point of watching for him in town so I could gather enough information to make a likeness of him.”
“He does look vaguely familiar.”
“Oh, that is a relief! I thought you might know who he is, and perhaps you could . . . mmm . . . talk to him.”
“Talk to him?” he said with a raised eyebrow. “Threaten him, you mean.”
She thrust out her chin. “Talk. Threaten. Cajole. A man like him would listen more to a man like you than to a woman of any rank.”
“No doubt.” He stared at her sketch. Why did the fellow’s face ring a bell? Had Heathbrook encountered Mr. Nash in Verdun? Or perhaps even in London or at some—
“Bloody hell, I saw this chap months ago at the theater. He seemed familiar even then. He was listening avidly to our conversation about life at Verdun.” And about the escape. Yes, Nash had been listening to that, too.
Still, the name Lewis Nash didn’t ring any bells.
He waved the sketch. “Do you mind if I keep this?”
“Not if it helps Maman and me.”
Of course. He’d forgotten entirely about the real point of her appearance in his town house.
“I could show this to my friends in the Foreign Office—they might know who the fellow really is. Scovell would normally be more helpful in that regard, except that, as you say, he is too distracted right now by his brother’s illness to do much.
Or I can show it to Beasley and see if he knows the man.
” He laid the sketch on his desk. “For that matter, why didn’t you show it to Beasley yourself and see if he recognized the fellow? ”
She stared at him, bewildered. “How would Mr. Beasley be able to help Maman and me get legitimate papers?”
“You’re right. He wouldn’t,” he said truthfully.
“Still, knowing who the chap is might help me figure out what game he’s playing and why he seeks to make you part of it.
But getting legitimate papers for you and your mother will take rather more work, I’m afraid.
I’m not even certain who would be best to speak to about that. I’ll have to investigate the matter.”
“Bloody hell,” she said, shocking him.
“I should . . . um . . . probably warn you that ladies in England do not use the oath ‘bloody hell.’ ”
She genuinely looked confused. “But you just used it.”
“Ah, but I shouldn’t have. A gentleman should never say such a vulgar oath before a woman. I got carried away. Forgive me.”
“It is none of my affair,” she said, then paused. “I did use none of my affair right, did I not?”
He suppressed a smile. “You did. And it’s not inappropriate for a woman to say, either. But now I’m curious. What made you curse in the first place?”
“I had hoped this matter of our papers could be resolved before Maman and I return to Bath in a few weeks. That way, if I encounter Mr. Nash, I could show the legitimate papers to him, and he would see that our papers are not forged.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think the documents issue can be resolved quite so quickly. Between the time it will take me to find out what I need to know and the time I must spend getting the court to recognize me as my brothers’ guardian, I . . .”
Unbidden, Pitney’s suggestion about how to make the latter process go faster leapt into his head. Take a wife, my lord. That would be the quickest and easiest way to show you are responsible and settled, and not some free-living bachelor. Failing that, at least produce a fiancée for their benefit.
Heathbrook refused to marry just to obtain custody. No marriage should be contemplated without plenty of time and effort spent by both parties in getting to know each other. And he needed custody of his brothers sooner rather than later.
Besides, even if he were fool enough to marry Giselle, she would be all wrong for him.
The town near Longmead still held too many of his secrets, and while the average Englishwoman of rank knew to refrain from asking probing questions about the earl’s past, Giselle was not that sort.
No, she would throw her whole heart into a marriage.
She would dig the truth up and be unable to keep it quiet.
He couldn’t have that, not when it wasn’t just his secrets he kept.
Or worse yet, she would be devastated to hear it and be as disappointed in him as his parents had been. He refused to go through that again. He had made a terrible mistake in his youth, and he didn’t intend to make the same mistake again.
But there was another possibility . . .
“What?” she asked.
He rounded the desk. “I am more than happy to help you with this endeavor . . . as long as you give me something only a woman can offer me.”
She stared at him, then cast him the chilliest look he’d ever received from a lady. “If you are proposing what I think you are, sir, you should know that despite my illegitimacy, I am not that sort of woman.”
Turning on her heel, she marched for the door of his study. That was when it dawned on him how she’d interpreted his pronouncement. How he’d phrased the damned suggestion.
“No, no, it’s not what you think.” He strode after her, and she increased her pace. “For God’s sake, stop and let me explain!”
She halted to look back at him, her hackles still fully raised.
“I’m talking about you acting as my fiancée.
” When she blinked, he added hastily, “Just long enough to convince the court to make me guardian of nurture to my brothers. If you’ll help me with that, I’ll have more time to help you with your issue.
Please, Miss Bernard, be my pretend fiancée for a while. That’s all I ask.”