Paying the Virgin's Price. Christine Merrill

must have misjudged his stability after all. Her introduction seemed to stagger him, and for a moment, he tottered as though he were a feeble old man. He reached for the arm of the nearest chair, and unable to control the rudeness of his behaviour, dropped unsteadily into it, taking a deep gasp of air.

      ‘Sir?’ She stepped closer, ready to offer assistance. ‘Are you ill?’

      ‘No. Really. It is nothing.’

      ‘A glass of wine perhaps? Or a brandy?’ It was far too early. But the man needed a restorative.

      He gave her the strangest smile she had ever seen. ‘Water, only. Please. The heat…’

      ‘Water, then. I will fetch it,’ she said, pretending to ignore his condition. It was barely past winter. There was no heat to speak of, nor was it particularly cold. But if the man wished to make excuses for an odd spell, it would do no harm to allow it.

      She went to the carafe on a nearby table, poured out a tumbler, and brought it to him. As he took the glass from her hand, she felt the faintest tremble in his, as though the touch of her fingers had shocked him. He drank eagerly. When he set the glass down on the table beside him, a little of the colour had returned to his tanned face.

      She sat in a chair opposite him so as not to call attention to his breach of etiquette.

      He looked over and gave a weak smile of gratitude. ‘Thank you for your kindness. Forgive me…Miss Price.’ He took a breath. ‘My name is…Dale.’ His voice steadied again. ‘I am an old friend of the family, but it has been a long while since I have had reason to visit this house. When I was last here, Miss Verity was but an infant and Honoria not much older. And seeing you, knowing that they are out…I was overcome with how long it had been. Are the girls well?’

      ‘Yes, sir. Both are well-mannered and accomplished young ladies.’

      ‘And lovely, I am sure. Just as I am sure that their good behaviour is a testament to your steady influence.’ He fidgeted in his seat as though the burden of polite conversation was one that he was unaccustomed to. Then he stilled, as though gathering himself to the task at hand. ‘But my business today is with their brothers. You say they are from home. Will they be returning soon?’

      ‘Lord Stanegate is travelling with his new bride in Northumberland.’

      ‘Marc married, eh?’ Mr Dale got a distant look and he muttered, ‘Felicitations. And Hal?’

      ‘Somewhere on the Peninsula, I believe. He is a lieutenant in the Dragoons.’

      The man nodded. ‘It would suit him, I am sure, the life and the uniform.’ And then he muttered, more to himself than to her, ‘Very well, then. They are both safely out of the way, and I will not worry about them.’

      It was good to hear that he seemed concerned, although why he should feel the need to worry over Marc or Hal, or think that it was safer to face Napoleon than be in London, she was not sure.

      And now, he was looking at her again, as though he had forgotten that she was in the room with him and could not think what to do next. Then he said, ‘If you could provide me with paper and pen, I would write a message to Marcus.’

      ‘If the matter is important, I can give you the address at which he can be reached,’ she offered.

      Mr Dale waved a dismissive hand. ‘If he is happy and away from town, I would not dream of bothering him.’

      ‘Perhaps Honoria…’

      ‘No,’ he said a little too quickly. ‘Do not trouble the girls with this. I doubt it will involve them. This is a matter to be settled amongst gentlemen. And I would hate to think I’d been a source of worry to them. A brief note to Marcus will suffice. If you could relay it when he returns, I would be most grateful.’ He favoured her with another bright smile. And this time, she was sure that he was deliberately attempting to charm her. Most likely, he wished to make her forget his strange behaviour.

      And it annoyed her that he had succeeded. He had a nice smile, friendly and unthreatening, yet a little knowing. There was something about the way that he sat in the chair, now he had recovered himself, that made her think he was usually an adventurous man. Wherever he belonged, it was somewhere much more exciting than a drawing room. As she got up and went to prepare the desk in the corner for writing, she could feel herself colouring at the thought that he was behind her and might be watching her move.

      Had it been necessary of him to give flattering attention to a paid companion, just to get writing materials? She would have given him what he asked, even if he’d frowned at her, Diana thought. But his charming behaviour only stood to remind her how hopeless her fantasies might be. In a short time, he would be gone and she would be here, delivering the note like the servant she was. He would have forgotten all about her.

      And she would be left with the memory of that smile.

      Mr Dale came and sat at the place she prepared for him, at the tiny desk by the window. He thought for a moment, then scrawled a few words on the paper, blotted it, and stared at the sealing wax for a moment. Here he would show how little he trusted her with the contents.

      Then he put the wax away, and looked directly into her eyes—the green light in his sparkled like emeralds—and his smile changed to a thoughtful frown. ‘Miss Price. I do not wish to trouble the girls with the reason for my visit. My fears for the Carlow family might be for naught. But you are their companion, are you not? A watchdog for their honour and reputation?’

      Diana nodded.

      ‘Then should they receive the attention of a dark gentleman who calls himself Stephano Beshaley, know that he is a danger to them. Watch him carefully. And watch the girls as well, for he is just the sort to try and turn their heads. Should he appear, you must find Marc or Hal immediately and tell them. Can you do that for me?’

      She nodded again, more puzzled than she had been before.

      ‘Very good.’ He handed her the folded sheet of paper. ‘You can give this note to either Stanegate or Lieutenant Carlow, when next they are home. Marcus preferably, since he is eldest and most responsible. But either will understand its meaning. Thank you for your time, Miss Price.’ He gave a short bow, and turned to leave.

      ‘Wait.’She held up a hand to stop him before realizing that she had no reason to call him back to her, other than an irrational desire not to let him go.

      He turned back, an expectant look on his face.

      ‘If they wish to reply, where shall I direct the message? Or will you be returning?’

      He gave the barest shake of his head. ‘Do not concern yourself. They will not wish to reply to me, any more than they wish a visit from Beshaley. But now, my conscience is as clear as I can make it. On this subject, at least.’ He gave her another strange look, as though he were apologizing for something, even though he had done her no wrong. ‘Good day, Miss Price.’And he was gone.

      She walked slowly back up the stairs to Verity, with the note in her hand, wondering what she was supposed to do with the thing. She could forward it on to Marc on his honeymoon, she supposed. But he and Nell were not due back from Northumberland for weeks, and she hated to bother them. The time before their marriage had been stressful enough. Surely they deserved a few weeks of peace.

      The paper before her was not sealed. Mr Dale had left it to her discretion. And although she would never peruse Marc’s mail under normal circumstances, perhaps this one time it would be better to read the message to see if the matter was urgent.

      There was only one line, scrawled hurriedly in the centre of the paper.

      Marc,

      The Gypsy has returned.

      Nathan.

      Her breath caught a little in her throat. The words were ominous: black and spidery against the white of the paper. But it was nothing that she did not already know. Nor would Marc be surprised. He had explained to her what happened, before he left,