His Wicked Smile Read online

  Lord Judah shook his head in sad wonderment as the footman returned.

  “The hamper and other items are being loaded into your conveyance, gentlemen,” he said. “Mr. Noble said you should be able to depart in ten minutes.”

  Gawain whistled a ballad popular a decade before in the Royal Sussex Regiment. He had marched to it many a time as a recruit.

  Lord Judah smiled wanly and clapped him on the shoulder. “Who would have thought we’d ever go on campaign again?”

  “Not me,” Gawain said, pointing to his eye patch.

  “You should stop wearing it,” Lord Judah pronounced. “You have some small amount of vision in the eye. I cannot help believing it would improve if you would not keep it covered.”

  “It gives me headaches as it is, and people stare less at the eye patch than they do at the scar.” Gawain whistled again and strode through the room.

  Outside, the night air felt more like February than April, though it wasn’t quite as coal-soaked as it had been. Gaslight winked against the gravel, catching bits of glass or mica. He heard a motor roar as Lewis cranked his steam buggy to life. Steam and smoke filled the sky, tainting the night.

  “Gretna Green, gentlemen?” Lewis called.

  A footman jumped down from the front seat. “Everything is aboard, Mr. Noble.”

  “Who is going to steer?” Lord Judah asked.

  “I will. I’ve done it before,” Gawain said.

  “I can take over for periods of time,” Lewis shouted over the motor’s roar. “But we’ll get the best speed if I sit in the back and monitor the engine.”

  “Then monitor you shall,” Gawain said, climbing onto the step and swinging his bad leg into the seat. “How do I turn on the lamps? I’ve never driven this bloody thing at night.”

  After instructions from Lewis and a general settling of cushions and rugs, Gawain drove into the night. It quickly became obvious that it would be unsafe to drive at full speed in the dark.

  Still, they made good time even while battling the occasional badger and rabbit crossing the road, and had ventured far into the north, when factory smells set the two men in front to coughing mightily.

  The sky had scarcely begun to lighten. “What time is it?” Gawain asked, pulling his scarf over his nose.

  Lord Judah pulled out his pocket watch and squinted at it. “About five, I believe.”

  Gawain estimated their rate of travel versus their location. “I expect we’re coming onto Leeds.”

  “That’s not bad. I was afraid we hadn’t made it to Sheffield yet.”

  “No. Leeds is notorious for its smells and slums. I’m sure that’s where we are.”

  “I can’t see the sky anymore.”

  “That would be the smoke. Of course we’ve created our own miasma tonight.”

  Lewis protested. “We are well on our way. At this rate, even though it is slower than expected, we might make it to Scotland by noon.”

  “What about food?” They had demolished the contents of the hamper several hours before.

  “We can stop at Harrogate,” Lord Judah said. “I know Lady Bricker is not your favorite person, Gawain, but we’ll get reprovisioned beautifully at her house. She loves her food.”

  “And we are only about an hour away,” Lewis said. “I wouldn’t mind tucking into a solid breakfast.”

  “I’ll brave the lady for breakfast,” Gawain allowed. “But we don’t want to waste time with idle gossip.”

  They had passed hours during the night speculating about when Manfred and Beth might have reached the border. Late at night? What funds did they have? Where might they have stayed—somewhere respectable or shady? How compromised was the lady by now? Certainly she’d have to marry someone before her adventure ended.

  At least she couldn’t be married by their arrival at noon, or, more likely, late in the afternoon, if they were going to stop in Harrogate.

  “Your cousin will fill up our coal stores, right?” Lewis asked.

  “She’s Magdalene’s cousin,” Lord Judah corrected. “I’m sure she will. As generous with her possessions as she is with her advice. She nearly married Magdalene off to a baronet up this way. If Manfred hadn’t taken ill with a serious fever, I’d have lost my bride to Yorkshire.”

  “So you want to salvage Manfred’s reputation as well?” Gawain joked.

  “Oh, he’s a rotter,” Lord Judah said, but not without affection. “The Crosses are just one scandal after another, the lot of them. Earl Gerrick had hoped I would become friends with his sons, but I much prefer the more serious pursuits of you lot.”

  “We are superior,” Gawain said. He had just heard the sound of Lewis’s voice, most likely in agreement, when a loud pop came from the rear of their chariot, and the entire structure shook. Though they continued to roll on, Lewis swore creatively and began to search through their baggage for tools. Gawain smelled oil and very hot metal.

  From the sounds Gawain heard momentarily, Lewis was banging on a pipe with a wrench. Within a couple of minutes, the carriage swaying as Lewis moved this way and that on the rear seat, he found the steering very hard going. Another minute after that, on a street full of tiny back-to-back houses, the steam carriage rattled to a stop, braking against a barely visible pile of foul refuse.

  Chapter Two

  “Not here,” Lewis groaned.

  Around them stretched a vast row of mean, two-story houses, with no lamps to be seen in any of the windows. The only reason Gawain could see anything was because of the lamps at the front of the carriage.

  “Not now,” Lord Judah said, seeing the activity on the street was quite limited.

  “Factory hours start at five,” Gawain commented. “Few people will be home.”

  “No one here would have anything we need to assist us,” Lewis said. “We must have a blacksmith’s shop.”

  Gawain pushed open the side door that had protected him from the worst of the elements, and kicked down the step. He got his good leg onto the metal plank and then swung his bad leg to the cobbles. “Should I turn off the headlamps?”

  “We need to knock on doors until we can find someone to point us to a blacksmith’s shop,” Lewis said.

  “You have that great bag of tools,” Gawain growled. “Don’t you have what you need?”

  “A pipe exploded,” Lewis said, pointing to the offending metal as Gawain limped to him. “I need a new one.”

  “That will take time,” Lord Judah said, as he joined them and stared at the engine.

  “I’m sorry, old man. At least you’ll be able to catch a morning train from here.”

  “That’s true.” Even as Lord Judah spoke, they could hear a train’s whistle off in the distance.

  “I’m not going to bang on any doors in this street,” Gawain said. “It’s obviously deserted. Let’s push the carriage for a bit, until we find some sign of occupation.”

  The other two agreed, though Lewis wanted to steer around the refuse pile, rather than power through it.

  “No point in being fastidious in a slum,” Gawain said. “It won’t be the only mess we have to get through.”

  It took them quite some time to push the heavy carriage through the bumpy street. They found nothing at the first turning and kept on to the next. An hour later, they found themselves on a street with some light industry. They walked along, puffing misty breath into the air, hunting for a blacksmith.

  “Let’s stop there,” Lewis said, pointing to an inn.

  “That isn’t a blacksmith’s,” Lord Judah wheezed.

  “They’ll know where one is, and we can eat,” Lewis said.

  “I’m in,” Gawain called from his position on the far side. “Do I need to turn the wheel?”

  “To the left,” Lewis said.

  They pushed, pulled, tugged and swore until the carriage was parked next to a stable that ran alongside the courtyard. The inn itself was a stained, three-story brick structure called The Old Hart, judging from a wind-beaten wood sign dangli
ng over the door.

  Gawain straightened when he noticed all three of them were pressing palms into their backs. “Are we all not hearty young men still in our twenties?”

  “No,” Lewis said. “I turned thirty last October.”

  “I had forgotten you were older than I,” Gawain said.

  “And I’d forgotten you could limp that badly,” his cousin observed. “You walked like that when you first came home. I suspect you won’t be able to walk upon rising tomorrow.”

  “That presumes I will have to stay up all day?” Gawain asked. “I can sleep on the train.”

  Lewis shook his head. “Do not, Gawain. You’ll be crippled for a month. Let Lord Judah continue the hunt, and we’ll drive up as soon as I get my pipe. We’ll be just a day or so behind.”

  Lord Judah’s mouth tightened at the mention of their mission, but he pushed the door of the inn open and they walked into the front hall together. Gawain could hear tableware clinking against dishes and the sound of voices from the paneled breakfast room off to the left. A wide staircase led upstairs. No one manned the table to the right, where a ledger rested.

  “Food first,” Lewis said. “Then we’ll get Lord Judah on a train.”

  The room was largely full and no one gave them a second glance as they seated themselves at a free table near the kitchen. Gawain looked longingly at the enormous medieval stone fireplace, but no tables were available near it. At least every time the kitchen door opened, warmth drifted over him like smoke. The smells were deliciously spicy.

  A young girl, just budding into womanhood, approached them. A lock of mousy hair fell into her face as she placed a tray with a sturdy teapot and three cups onto their table. Then she held up a slate board, which asked the question, “English or Indian breakfast?”

  “Let’s all have the Indian breakfast,” Lewis said. “I’m curious.”

  “What’s your name?” Lord Judah asked.

  She pointed to the upper right corner of the slate board. The word “Fern” was written there.

  “Fern, can you direct me to the train station?” Lord Judah asked.

  The girl smiled but shook her head.

  “I think she’s mute,” Gawain said. “Or she wouldn’t have the slate. We do have a couple of questions. Could you send someone to us after breakfast?”

  She nodded and went into the kitchen. Lewis drummed his fingers on the table, then pulled out a scrap of paper and began to scratch down the specifics of the pipe he needed.

  “I hope they took enough money,” Lord Judah muttered.

  “Surely Beth would have money.”

  “Why? Hatbrook has accounts at all the stores.”

  “If they had planned this, they’d both have been saving for it. They knew they needed to survive for weeks, right?”

  Lord Judah shook his head. “I don’t know. They might think it is still possible to dash over the border and jump over an anvil, or something equally old-fashioned.”

  Gawain rubbed at his hip. The hard chairs were making his pain worse. He hoped he’d be able to rise again. With a sigh, he stroked his scar. “If they are serving an Indian breakfast, do you think they’d have Indian remedies?”

  “Let’s take a look at the breakfast and see what they serve. If it is just kedgeree, probably not,” Lord Judah said.

  “The breakfast will give us some hint as to the region of the cook,” Gawain mused. “That will help me ask for more specific medicine.”

  Clearly losing patience, Lewis stood up. “Can anyone here direct me to a blacksmith? I have a commission for him.”

  A few of the men around the room glanced up, while simultaneously the closest woman pulled her young daughter closer to her on the bench.

  “What you be needin’, sir?” asked a man in broad Yorkshire tones.

  “This.” Lewis flourished his paper. “A metal cylinder.”

  In less than a minute, three men were standing over Lewis, poking fingers at his paper and muttering. After a moment, one of them rubbed his nose and spoke. “I’m Thomas Hammer, and my shop is just down the way.”

  “That is an excellent name for a blacksmith,” Lord Judah commented.

  “My father and his father before him, for I don’t know how long, have been farriers.”

  Lewis smiled for the first time since they heard his pipe explode. “Then you are an excellent man for the job. Can you do it?”

  Hammer rubbed his nose again. “It can be done, sir, but I’ve an herd to shoe today. Be midweek ’afore I can fashion it.”

  “I can pay,” Lewis said. “Come now, name your price.”

  The blacksmith named a figure that sounded outrageous to Gawain’s ears. Lewis snorted. “What is your price for having it done today?”

  “It’s not worth my shop,” Hammer said. “But I can do it early tomorrow morning.” He named another price.

  Lewis nodded and they shook hands on the deal, then he handed the blacksmith his paper.

  “What is the purpose?” Hammer asked.

  “It is for my steam buggy. Would you like to see it?”

  The man smiled for the first time, exposing yellowed teeth. “Oh aye, I would.”

  Lewis grinned and patted Gawain on the shoulder, then led the trio out of the room. Lord Judah rubbed at his forehead.

  “I hope you didn’t think retrieving your sister would be easy,” Gawain said, draining his teacup.

  His friend chuckled. “Only if they’d already found a way to wed. I like Manfred, to tell the truth. He’s a good lad in his way and did his best for my wife during their elder brother’s worst excesses. But he is too young for Beth.”

  “I agree.”

  Lord Judah dropped his hand to the table. “And you are too old, Gawain. Not just in years, though you have a decade on her. Pain and hard work put time on a man.”

  “That’s why I didn’t discourage you from marrying,” Gawain said. “I knew you understood your own mind. And I want your sister, old man.”

  “Oh, you lust after her and she fascinates you. I don’t deny it. But she’s not complicated enough for you.”

  His speech was interrupted by the kitchen door swinging open. Gawain’s eyes went first to the tray, which surely held their breakfast. He saw chickpea curry, flat bread, eggs and a potato dish. A North Indian breakfast, he thought, redolent of ginger, onions and chilis, among other spices. Then, he gazed higher and saw her.

  Regal, was his first thought. Her thick mass of wavy black hair was pinned into a knot, but heat had created a dark nimbus of individual midnight strands around her ivory brown skin. She had large, dark eyes and unusually sharp-arched eyebrows. Her lips stunned him with their kissable plumpness. Now this was lust. He forgot his hip pain as blood surged to his groin. Pale and pretty Lady Elizabeth Shield vanished from his mind’s eye, to be replaced by this, this—kitchen maid?

  She smiled at Lord Judah, a seductive uptilt of those siren lips, and began to remove items from the tray. Why hadn’t she smiled at him? Was he too fierce? He tried a few words of thanks in Hindi as she set his plate before him, but she looked at him, confused.

  “I don’t speak Hindi,” she said in the local accent, smoothed by her naturally husky voice.

  “You are obviously Indian.”

  “My mother came from Caliata. I admit I was born in India, but we came to England when I was five.”

  “Your father was English?” asked Lord Judah.

  “Yes. A soldier. You must have been soldiers, too. No other Englishmen order the Indian breakfast.”

  “Royal Sussex Regiment,” Lord Judah said.

  She nodded. A man called from a cozy table by the fireplace. She smiled at them and tucked her tray under her arm, then walked to the other table. Gawain watched her hips sway, mesmerized. She had a tiny waist, created by stays, no doubt, but the generous curves flaring below were nature’s gift. He had hardened so fast that it hurt to be dressed. Shifting in his seat only made his hip surge with white-hot pain.

 
He thought he would be sick if he tried to eat anything. His hand shook as he reached for his teacup.

  “I’m sure I can find some laudanum if it is that bad,” Lord Judah said.

  “No, I won’t take the stuff,” Gawain snapped. “I’ll get a room after you eat and order a few bottles of port. Getting blind drunk will do the trick. I don’t think Lewis will need me today.”

  “Is this a solution you use often?”

  He forced a smile. “God no, man. I couldn’t function. But it will force me to relax and remain in bed. That’s what I need.”

  Lord Judah sighed and began to fork up his food.

  The stunning woman walked back their way and frowned when she saw Gawain wasn’t eating. “It is not to your liking?”

  He spoke slowly, fighting the nausea. Tea on an empty stomach combined with pain was a dangerous combination. “No, it looks delicious. I wonder, are you familiar with Kaishore Guggulu?”

  “ ’Tis a pitta balancing powder,” she said promptly. “Yes, I know it.”

  He nearly sagged with relief. “Do you have any?”

  “Yes, I made up some tablets last winter.”

  He wished she had his own formulation, but still, this news was miracle quality. “Who trained you?”

  “My mother. She had the best teachers.”

  He preferred to deal with the teacher rather than the student. “Is she here? Could I consult with her?”

  “No, she died ten years ago, now.”

  He hoped this goddess of serving wenches wouldn’t poison him. “Very well. Could you bring me a dose, please, and a bottle of port? Also, we will need two rooms for the night, stocked with a half dozen bottles, and a hansom to take Lord Judah to the train station as soon as he is finished with his breakfast.”

  She nodded with each request. “I’ll send Harry Haldene to you. He is the innkeeper.”

  Gawain felt so relieved to know he had these things on the way that he took a small bite of egg. When that went down, he broke off a piece of flatbread and dipped it into the curry.

  “Freshly made,” Judah said. “Not quite authentic, but no doubt the best she can do with what is available locally.”

  Gawain was surprised to see an evil-looking fellow approaching them from the kitchen door when they were half done with their meal. He wore baggy, stained trousers, and his coat was of some foul, checked cloth. With a strong smell of the stable emanating from him, he was glad this man wasn’t the cook.