Page 6 of Secrets of the Highwayman (Immortal Warriors #2)
S he was afraid of him . She was trying to hide it, but it was easy enough to recognize. The fine sheen on her skin, the darkening of her eyes, the quickened breathing. It was either fear or lust, and although he’d like to believe she desired him that much on first sight, Nathaniel was more inclined toward fear.
He didn’t want her to be afraid of him. He needed to win her confidence and her trust. It wasn’t something he’d ever had to worry about before, but then he’d never been in this situation before, either.
If he hadn’t needed her so desperately, he’d have shrugged his shoulders and walked away. But he did need her. She had to agree to help him, that was the first command the queen had given him, after she woke him and explained what needed to be done.
“ When the mortal woman comes to you, you must gain her trust. She must agree to help you. Use your charm and powers of persuasion, but only after she agrees can you proceed on to the next step .”
“ Simple ,” he said and smiled. “ Women find me irresistible, Your Majesty .”
“ Perhaps this time it won’t be as simple as you believe .”
He only laughed, expecting to sail safely through any storms the queen might whip up in front of him.
“ Show her your enemy . . . what he’s capable of. Let her see, but you must not interfere with the past. If you try and change the outcome of what has already happened, I will return you to the between-worlds. Do you understand me, my Raven ?”
He made an impatient gesture. “ I understand what you’re saying but I don’t know why it must be so. Let me at him now, Your Majesty. Let me —”
“ No! That would do more damage than good. First you must understand what it is you are facing, and to understand you must have the help of the mortal woman. Gain her support. You will need her .”
While he was distracted, Melanie had stepped farther away, clearly uncomfortable with being this close to him. Nathaniel reminded himself that despite her ugly clothing—strange coarse trousers and a tight overshirt with odd words on it and shoes like half loaves—she was probably the future equivalent of a gentlewoman. He must treat her with respect and care.
With deliberate patience, Nathaniel held out his hand.
Melanie glared at his fingers as if they were snakes.
“Come, I want to show you something, Miss Jones.”
“Show me what? And back off.”
Well, not a gentlewoman, perhaps, after all. He eyed her doubtfully, wondering again how to proceed. With her short fair hair and slanting blue eyes she looked half-elf. The thought amused him, and he covered his mouth to hide the smile, then pretended to smooth his expertly arranged neckcloth.
“Show me what?” she repeated impatiently.
“I want you to see my family. I want you to see what my enemy has done to them.”
“I don’t—”
“Understand? No, but you will. I need your help.”
“You need my help?” she repeated slowly, her eyes slanting even more as she looked up at him.
“You’ve come all this way, Miss Jones,” he said engagingly. “You may as well look. You can’t go home until you do.”
That caught her attention. “I can go home afterward?” she asked him carefully.
“Of course.”
He could see her wavering. He cast her clothing another glance, puzzling over the writing emblazed across her bosom: I fought a bull and won. She would look rather beautiful in the fashions of the day, the flimsy dresses designed to uncover more than they covered. She had the same appealing gamine qualities as Lady Caroline Lamb, but without the histrionics, and without Byron.
She’d caught him staring at her shoes.
“I suppose jogging isn’t big in this century,” she said, giving him one of her direct looks. Then, with a shrug, she took hold of his hand. Her fingers felt cold, and they trembled in his until she stilled them, giving him another glare, as if daring him to mention her momentary weakness.
He smiled. She wasn’t as tough as she pretended.
“What?” she demanded, and attempted to snatch her fingers back.
He held on. “I don’t think you understand what is happening to us. We don’t have a choice in the matter, Miss Jones.”
“It’s Melanie. And who says I don’t have a choice?” she added sharply.
And she was a shrew. Nathaniel gave an inner sigh. She probably believed women should vote. Maybe she was even a man-hater, an adherent of Sappho, the poet from the Isle of Lesbos? How could he win over such a woman?
“What?” She met his look.
But he shook his head. There was nothing for it. He’d just have to go ahead and try his best.
“This is Christmas Eve in the year 1813, and at Ravenswood we are celebrating our traditional Yuletide Ball,” said Nathaniel. “The British army have been fighting the Peninsular War for five years, trying to preserve Portugal’s independence against the invading French forces, who have already overtaken Spain. We are worried that, if France invades and subjugates Portugal, then it is only a short step across the Channel to our own shores. So we fight.
“Last year, things looked grim. Napoleon Bonaparte controlled a large swath of Europe—Italy, Germany, Spain among them. But he was greedy, he wanted more, he wanted Russia. The Russian weather defeated him, his troops dropping dead on the long retreat back to Paris. Consequently he has been weakened, overstretched. This year things are looking brighter. Wellington has the French on the run. Just last month he crossed the frontier into France. We believe that very soon Napoleon will be captured, and the war will finally be over. It is time for us to celebrate.”
“Christmas Eve, 1813,” she said, with an edge of hysteria. “Right.”
“At Ravenswood the Yuletide Ball is a long-held tradition. This year the son of the house”—he gave her a little introductory bow—“is back from the war, alive, although recovering from injuries. But with the good news comes the bad. Mr. Raven Senior fell from his horse in the park not long since, and died of a broken neck, plunging the household into mourning. Despite that, it was decided to go forward with the Yuletide Ball.”
Melanie cocked her head, and he could see her listening to the laughter and music upstairs, thinking that Ravenswood didn’t sound much like a house in mourning.
“Major Pengorren is here, too. He was my commanding officer in the army, and has been a pillar of strength in my family’s time of need.”
“Pengorren? As in Miss Pengorren? Then—”
She didn’t finish because Sophie, in a pale blue dress, her dark hair elaborately styled on top of her head, came out of the ballroom and down the stairs. Nathaniel found himself looking at his sister through a stranger’s eyes, seeing how young she still was although she’d deliberately dressed to appear older. The neckline of the high-waisted dress showed off a surprising amount of bosom, and he wondered how his mother could allow it. But, then, his mother was occupied elsewhere these days.
“Nathaniel,” Sophie said, and smiled her sweet smile.
He felt a painful stab in his heart, seeing her like this after so long. Although she could not know he had been dead for nearly two hundred years, that he had only returned for the purpose of showing an invisible stranger his family, he felt the moment weigh heavily upon him.
“Sophie, my dear sister.” He set aside his confused feelings, gathered up his wits. “You’re blooming tonight, a rose in the dead of winter.”
She giggled, pleased with the compliment, and all of a sudden she was his little sister again, following him about with her constant chatter and gazing up at him adoringly.
“You look very handsome yourself, sir,” she teased, and stretched up to kiss his cheek. “Although Mama will say you smell of the stable. Why haven’t you changed into your evening wear, brother? Or at least your uniform. A man looks very dashing in a uniform.” He wanted to capture her, hold her, warn her . . . But he wasn’t allowed to, and she was already moving away, her eyes shining.
“Speaking of uniforms, the major has promised me a dance, which makes me very special for, as you know, he never dances. Oh, and Sir Arthur Tregilly has drunk too much claret and is ogling the ladies’ ankles, and Miss Trewin is asking where you’ve got to for the fourth, no, the fifth time.”
“I can’t help breaking hearts.”
Sophie giggled again, but perhaps not quite so innocently as before. “I know you can’t, Nathaniel.”
He hesitated. He was breaking the queen’s rules, but he couldn’t help it. He had to speak. “Is everything all right with you, Soph? You would tell me, if it wasn’t? I’m always here.”
Except he wasn’t, not when she needed him.
Sophie looked at him strangely, and then she shook her head. “Silly,” she said, and continued on her way, probably to pass some message from his mother on to the cook.
Well, so much for brotherly concern. Nothing was going as planned.
Melanie had pressed herself back against the wall so as not to touch Sophie, and was looking dazed. He took her hand in his again, and this time she didn’t argue.
“Come on,” he said with quiet desperation, “let’s get this over with, and then you can go home.”