The Captain's Kidnapped Beauty. Mary Nichols

to live with if that was all she cared about. But at least she was honest. Letitia had not been honest; she had led him on, knowing she was never going to accept him. He shook the memories from him and turned back to Miss Gilpin. She was riding steadily with no sign of the fright she must have had. Foolish and hoydenish she might be, but he found himself admiring her composure, which would have done credit to a duchess. ‘Do you go home or to Long Acre?’ he asked, as they left the park and rode along Tyburn Lane.

      ‘Home to Piccadilly,’ she said. ‘I will slip indoors and change before joining my father for breakfast, then we will go to the Long Acre together as usual.’

      They turned down beside Green Park and on to Piccadilly and thence to the mews. She pulled up as a groom came out to take her horse. Alex dismounted and held out his hands to help her down. ‘Are you recovered?’ he murmured, noticing her hands were still shaking a little.

      ‘Yes, thank you. I will bid you good day now, Captain, but remember when you come to collect your carriage, say nothing of what occurred.’

      He bowed. ‘As you wish. But you must remember what I said about not going out alone. Having failed once, those men might try again.’

      ‘I will remember.’

      He remounted and rode back to Mount Street to change and have his own breakfast. He was more than a little worried by the episode with the two men. That they had intended an abduction he was fairly sure and if that were the case he thought they might try again and if Miss Gilpin was foolish enough to ride alone in the park, he could not answer for her safety. He wished wholeheartedly that he did not have to go to Norfolk. Why he was so bothered he did not know; Miss Gilpin was nothing to him and Henry Gilpin had funds enough to pay a dozen ransoms. And perhaps he was seeing trouble where none existed. He left Pegasus with Davy and went indoors.

      Charlotte was far more shaken up over the episode that she liked to admit. Had those men really intended to kidnap her? Whatever would she have done if Captain Carstairs had not come along to scare them off? She had been so relieved to see him, she had fallen into his arms. How could she have been so blind to decorum as to let him hold her like that? They had stood so close, toe to toe, his arms encasing her so that she could hear his heartbeat against her ear. No one had ever held her like that before and the strange sensations it had produced in her body had altogether eclipsed the fright she had had. She had looked up into his face and wondered if he would kiss her. But of course, he had not; it would have been the height of impropriety and would certainly have soured their business relationship. That was more important than wondering what he thought about her and whether he knew the effect he had on her. Why did it matter? Because he had held her in his arms and set her heart racing? No doubt he would have rescued any young lady in the same danger. She was not special.

      She breakfasted with her father and managed to chat about what the day held for them without saying a word about riding in Hyde Park. She hoped Captain Carstairs would keep his word and not give her away. She could not face any questions about that or any restrictions on her freedom. But she would take care to ask one of the grooms to ride behind her when she went riding in the park again.

      * * *

      Alex arrived at Long Acre promptly at noon where he found his new carriage had already been harnessed to a splendid pair of matched greys. It was a matter of a moment to transfer his baggage from the handcart he had hired into the boot of the carriage with the aid of the young lad who had pushed it there. He tipped the boy generously and sent him on his way before carefully inspecting the whole equipage, watched by Davy who had been brought along to drive it.

      ‘It meets with your approval?’ Henry queried after showing him the secret compartment.

      ‘Most certainly. What say you, Davy?’

      ‘As fine an outfit as ever you could meet, my … Captain,’ he amended, catching a warning look from his master.

      ‘Then let us go into the office and complete the transaction,’ Henry said.

      Alex followed Henry into the office where Charlotte sat at her desk. She was in the plain gown she had worn the day before, her hair was once more dragged back severely into a knot. Miss Gilpin at work was very different from Miss Gilpin at a concert. One was severely dressed in plainspun cloth with the minimum of padding, the other as elegant as any of the ladies of the ton, in a wide-skirted dress of heavy blue silk which emphasised a superb figure. It was almost as if she were two different people, three if you counted the hoyden who rode a horse many a man might find hard to handle.

      She bade him good morning as if it were the first time they had met that day and he felt obliged to play along with that, asking her how she did and if she had enjoyed the concert the evening before. He was bidden to be seated while she completed the invoice. He watched her as her pen glided over the paper. She seemed composed, the ultimate businesswoman, but he noticed her hand shook a little and realised she was not impervious to him. Why that pleased him he did not know. She was most definitely out of bounds and the episode in Hyde Park was an aberration and he must not continue to dwell on it.

      The horses, he discovered, when she handed him the invoice, cost as much as the coach, but he did not doubt they were worth it. Nor did he doubt that Gilpin had made more than a fair profit, but he did not begrudge him that. He was prepared to pay for quality, as so many others were, a fact testified by the man’s success. Altogether his bill came to two hundred and forty pounds ten shillings. He filled in the full amount on the bill of exchange and gave it to Miss Gilpin, receiving a neat receipt.

      Henry had been to a cupboard and extracted a bottle and two glasses. ‘Will you join me in a drink to celebrate?’ he said, pouring cognac. The man seemed utterly unaware of the dangerous currents passing between his customer and his daughter.

      Alex took a glass of brandy from him and they stood toasting each other, watched by Charlotte, who found herself studying him again. Although he had changed his clothes, he was still wearing dark blue and white, but far from making him look sombre it emphasised his magnificent physique. She felt herself unwittingly remembering how she had stood enveloped in his arms and how warm and comfortable it had been and, afraid her rosy cheeks would betray her, hurriedly looked away.

      His glass empty, Alex put it down, bowed to them both and took his leave, having promised to bring the coach back for servicing when it required it.

      Davy was already on the box ready to drive off. ‘Right, off to Briarcroft,’ he told him. ‘We will call on my mother first.’

      Charlotte watched him go from the window, conscious of a feeling of anticlimax, of wishing she knew more about him. He had an air of aloofness and a cynicism that sat ill with his courtesy and compassion. He had ridden hard to save her from those men, then berated her for riding alone, as if it was any business of his. Just what was his business? She knew he was a seafaring captain and belonged to the Piccadilly Gentlemen, but that was all. He had vouchsafed nothing about his family. For all she knew he was married and had a brood of children. Would a man buying a travelling coach not include a wife in the transaction, if only by mentioning her tastes? He had done nothing like that. And he had arrived at Lady Milgrove’s with Viscount Leinster when she would have expected him to bring his wife if he had one. But perhaps the wife lived in Norfolk and did not like town ways. What, she told herself sternly, had it got to do with her? She turned away from the window to answer a knock at the door. In answer to her ‘Enter’, a man in working garb and clutching a soft felt hat in his hand came in to stand before her.

      He bowed his head. ‘Miss Gilpin, I am Martin Grosswaite, here as promised. What would you like me to do?’ He did not, as she expected, ask to see her father who was in the paint shop, where the artist they employed was about to begin putting a coat of arms on a chaise before it was varnished. She surmised her father had told him to speak to her.

      She entered his particulars in the register she kept for employees and then conducted him to the upper floor to be introduced to the head carpenter and set to work. Then she went thoughtfully back to her office. Martin Grosswaite had been perfectly polite and had answered her questions in a straightforward manner, but there was something about him that troubled her. It might have been his craggy