Regency Steele
Chapter 4: Wednesday

Weary beyond all reason, Daniel gladly applauded when the dancing concluded.  He hadn’t missed the emptiness in Harry’s eyes nor Laura’s prolonged absence.  A stray tendril of guilt wound through him; he was certain his conversation with Harry had been the root of both.  

Once in his room, he didn’t bother with a candle.  He stiffened when he realized he wasn’t alone.  A shadowed figure sat at the table near the open window.  Light flared as Laura struck a match.  She set the flame on the trio of candles, making the room dance in the flickering light.  Daniel saw faint tear tracks on her face.

Her voice cracked across the room.  “This setting suits you.  A charade for the ultimate charlatan.”

Countering her sharp words, he injected a note of humor into his.  “One must find amusement where one can." 

“You set him up, didn’t you?”

A fit of coughing overcame him.  He tried to use it as a dodge.  "The night air catches in the throat.  If you'll excuse me, I really must turn in before I get a chill."

“It’s not the country air,” she retorted.  “And it certainly isn’t the damp.”  She stalked to his bureau.  From of the top drawer, she yanked  out a bottle of pills and slammed it on the surface above.  “You have more pills in here than a drugstore.”

Furious she’d discovered his secret, he snapped, “Leave it to Linda to dig until she comes up with all the morbid little details.”  He dropped his neckcloth on the bed and began unbuttoning his tailcoat deliberately to make her uncomfortable.

Instead, Laura took two steps toward him, her hand out in a plea.  Her voice softened.  “I know you and I have had a ... strained relationship at best.”  

“We’ve always been vying for the same object.”

She bit her lip.  “Why don’t we take off the gloves and talk truth for a change.”

“I don’t like the truth.  I’ve spent my whole life dancing around its edges.  You want the truth?”  He stalked to the chest of drawers and dug into the pile of bottles, dropping a half dozen of them on the top.  “Here it is.  I’ll take fantasy any day.”

She winced.  “I’m sorry.”

His voice was hard—and bitter with irony.  “No need.  Harry will finally be yours.  Irrevocably.  Even a consummate artist at deception can’t outfox the Grim Reaper.  Does that satisfy your thirst for truth?”  

He had to give her credit.  She had to be overwhelmed by his declaration, yet she stayed composed—neither begging for forgiveness nor offering pithy sympathies.  Instead, she held out her hand and opened a heart-breakingly familiar gold watch.  

“I found something else.”  

The tinkling song sent him straight back to Ireland and a pair of blue eyes that haunted his dreams.

“Pretty tune,” he quipped.

“What are you doing with it?” Laura probed.

“Meaningless bauble.”  Damn you, Linda.  Can’t you leave this one alone?

“It belonged to the Earl of Claridge.  He meant it to go to his son.”  

“But it was stolen before his son could receive it.”  

“Then it came to Mr. Steele with a note which said, ‘Your father always wanted you to have this.  Signed, Patrick O’Rourke.’”  

Daniel gave up.  She wouldn’t leave him alone until she had the whole story. In for a penny, in for a pound.   “The thief gave it to O’Rourke.”

“To give to the thief’s son?”  Laura’s eyes narrowed.  

“A father wants to leave some legacy to his children—no matter how small.”

She pressed her lips together in irritation.  “You still haven’t told me what this is doing among your belongings.”

He laughed.  He had to give her credit for her tenacity.  “I’m afraid I stole it—again.”

Enlightenment dawned and her eyes widened in surprise.  “You’re the thief?”

“You’ve uncovered quite a Pandora’s box, Laura.  As difficult as it may be to believe, the man you call ‘Remington Steele’ is my son.”  

For a moment, all she could do was stare at him, the open pocket watch resting in her palm.

*****

Laura’s brain stumbled.  She closed the watch and set it in Daniel’s hand without a word. 

His eyes never left hers as he slipped it into his pocket.  “The last time I visited the Earl, he told me his most painful regret was that he never got to see his son again.  Having just found out my own odds were getting a bit long, I told him the truth.  After all, he once thought Harry was his son.  It’s the first time in over thirty years I’d told anyone I was his real father.”

The words were smooth; the story rang true.  Yet, Laura had no reason to trust Daniel.  “How am I supposed to believe any of this?  The first time I met you, you had more passports with more aliases than Mr. Steele did.  How do I know this isn’t just another in a long line of your scams?”

Daniel looked her straight in the eye.  “You don’t.”

She began pacing in front of the table, thinking about all the ramifications for Remington.  “If it is true, if you are his father, you’ve got to tell him.  He deserves to know.”

Daniel refuted her.  “He’s done quite well without knowing.  And he’s learned to cope with whatever anger he feels toward his father.”  

“But that anger is based on a father he never knew,” she countered.  “Give him a father, and you could eliminate that anger.”

“Or bring it to a boil.”

All right, I’ll give him that one.  Still—  “You can’t not tell him.”

Daniel stopped her, mid-pace, and took her hand.  His was much colder than it should have been.  “My dear Laura, you’re a lovely young lady, and Harry is extremely lucky to have you, but this is between him and me.”  The look on his face was firm as he kissed the back of her hand.

For how long, Daniel?  Until you’re gone and I have to pick up the pieces?  “Of course,” she said instead.  She walked to the door, and after giving him one last searching look, slipped down the empty hallway to her room.  

Remington must have heard her come in; their connecting door swung open just seconds later.  “Nice of you to rejoin the party.”  He leaned on the door frame wearing a pair of dark blue sweatpants and a loose gray t-shirt.  

Still dazed by Daniel’s revelations and irritated with his son for the way he’d treated her earlier, she deliberately unbuttoned her black shirt.  “We have a case to solve, remember?”  

“Is that what you were doing?  Skulking about in the darkness?” he joked.  

Mentally smacking herself on the forehead, she remembered she was supposed to look over the housekeeper’s inventory.  But at least she had the satisfaction of watching the color rise in his face as she dropped the shirt on top of her trunk, leaving her in slacks and a black bra.  “Among other things.”  She began unfastening the pants.  

“Care to enlighten me?”

“Care to tell me what this afternoon was all about?”  The slacks joined the shirt, leaving her in a skimpy pair of panties and bra.  She noticed Remington’s breathing becoming a touch labored and smirked inwardly.  Pretending she didn’t have a regard for him being there, she headed for the miniscule bathroom.  She left the door halfway open as she cranked on the hot water in the shower.  She stripped off her underwear, knowing damned well he would catch a quick peek as she stepped behind the curtain to wash.  She hoped he suffered.  It was a small payback for the hell he’d put her through today.  

“I was jealous.”  

She pretended not to hear him and poked her wet head out, making sure a bare shoulder could be seen.  “What was that?”

He pushed open the bathroom door, his eyes going straight to her naked arm. .  “I was jealous.”  

“Of what?”  She gave him a dirty look before ducking under the spray.  

“Of Anthony.  Of you.  Of you dancing with Anthony and looking as if you were having a good time.”

“I was having a good time.  He’s not a bad dancer.”  She rinsed out her hair, intent on getting clean in short order.  

“He’s sniffing at your heels, Laura.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So I want you to tell him to bugger off,” Remington growled.  

“I can’t do that.”  She shut off the water and peeked around the curtain again.  “Will you hand me a towel?”

He yanked one off the shelf above the mirror and handed it to her.  “Why not?”

“Thanks.”  She pulled her head back in and dried off.  “Why not what?”  

“Why can’t you tell him to bugger off?”

After making sure her towel was secure, she jerked the curtain aside.  “Because, according to the rules of this lovely week, we’re not supposed to be attached, remember?”  She said, mimicking his tutelage from the previous week.  “One doesn’t want to be considered fast or show her affections too early.  It’s not seemly.”  She leveled a hard look at him as she stepped out.  “Are you changing the rules of the game?”

“This is different.”  

“How?”  She brushed past him to retrieve a nightshirt from her wardrobe.  As she half-expected, he caught her in the doorway.  

“It just is.”  He started to kiss her, but she slipped out of his grasp.  

She pulled on the shirt and tugged the towel out from underneath.  “It doesn’t work this way, Remington.”  She returned to the bathroom to hang the towel on a hook, then found her comb and pulled it through her hair.

“What doesn’t work this way?”  He rested his forearm on the doorway and watched her reflection.  

“I thought we had … an understanding … of where our relationship is going.”  She dropped the comb on the counter.  “What changed?”

“I told you I’m sorry; I was jealous.”  

“That doesn’t even begin to explain the things you said to me today.”  She turned out the bathroom light, then pushed past him and crawled into her own bed—leaving him in the darkness.  “Feel free to wake me when you’re willing to be honest.”  

After a minute or so of silence, the door closed with a soft click.  She rose again, curling up in a chair by the window to stare into the night. 

She hadn’t been exactly fair.  Still reeling from the confrontation with Daniel, she’d antagonized Remington rather than giving him the chance to make amends with her.   Another missed opportunity was certainly her punishment—as was the sure knowledge that Remington was as miserable as she at the moment.

When the moon came out sometime later, she gave up analyzing motives and emotions, trading them for cold logic and hard facts.  In absolute silence, she dressed again in black.  With a tiny penlight palmed in her hand and a set of lockpicks in her pocket, she blended with the walls as she made her way into the housekeeper’s tiny office.  

The inventory records were neatly labeled, and Laura had no trouble locating the various “stolen” items in the journal.  As she suspected, each of the items was still listed.  She thumbed backward through the records. 

A note from two years earlier caught her attention: “Silver filigreed handbrush, item #GG143, missing from Duchess suite.  Reported to Lord Brighton 5 April 84.”

Carefully, Laura turned the pages forward again until she reached the point in time the mysterious “thefts” had begun.  Not a single item had been remarked upon.  Either the housekeeper wasn’t actually taking inventory, or she knew exactly where they were.

As Laura made her way back to her room, she wondered how she would approach the housekeeper in her guise as a guest.  Undressing again, she sat in the chair, lost in thought, until the dawn began to streak the sky. 

*****

Mildred knocked again, but this time Laura was awake and dressed to ride.  

“I brought you some coffee.”  Her broad face was full of smiles.  

“Oh, bless you, Mildred.”  Laura sipped in bliss.  “Chocolate is wonderful, but it doesn’t have the same kick.”

Mildred sat on the edge of the bed.  “So, what’s going on with you and the boss?”

Laura pretended to be nonchalant.  “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come now, Miss Holt.  I told you; the servants know everything.”

“Such as?”

“Well—”  Mildred counted them out on her fingers.  “I know you and the boss had a fight last night.  That came from a valet who helped Daniel last evening and heard it from the hallway.  Daniel himself was in a grouchy mood after the dancing, which is unusual for him.  Since he and Mr. Steele were both in pretty good humor last evening according to the footmen, it wasn’t because of Mr. Steele.  Now the groom mentioned you went for a late night ride and returned about a half hour before the party broke up.  I’d guess, knowing what I do about you, that you and Daniel went toe to toe, and somewhere in there, you had a row with the boss.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mildred, how does anyone get anything done around here?”

“Miss Holt, we don’t have television or radio, so the only soap operas we get have the guests in the starring roles!”  

Laura shook her head in disbelief.  “All right.  If you know all that, then what were Mr. Steele and I discussing?”

“Oh, that’s easy.  Everyone can tell he’s jealous of the attention Lord Royce is paying to you.  The butler said they were glaring at each other for most of the party.”

In supplication, Laura held her hands up.  “I give up.  Help me pack my bags, Mildred; I’m going home.”

“Oh, but you can’t.  This is too much fun!”

“Then stay the week.  There is no case.  The housekeeper’s inventory shows all the items are still here—somewhere.  I think Daniel wanted ‘Harry’ here all along.  Me?  He’d rather drop me off the nearest cliff.  I think he’s afraid I actually give a damn about his—” She caught herself.  “Prodigy.”

“Why would that bother him?” Mildred asked.

Laura started to make a sharp retort, but a new thought stopped her.  Remington had said once that he’d been told his mother had died having him.  If Remington was Daniel’s son, then that woman had been with Daniel.  Had Daniel been deeply in love once?  And lost her?  

She mused over the new piece to the puzzle.  “I don’t know, Mildred.  Maybe it’s time I found out.”

“That a girl!”  Mildred grinned.  As she rose to depart,Mildred took a deep breath.  “Miss Holt, may I offer some advice?”

“Certainly.”

“For the Regency era, you’re beginning to develop quite a reputation.  If Lord Remington doesn’t offer for you soon, you’ll be ostracized from society.”  

“Offer for me?  Ostracized?  Why?”

“Well, the attraction you two have is apparent, and obviously, he was in your room last night.”  She shrugged.  “The others expect some sort of betrothal announcement in the next day or two.  Otherwise, you’ll be considered ‘damaged goods,’ so to speak.”   

Laura’s mouth dropped open.  “Good Lord, you sound like my mother!”

“She’d probably fit in quite well.  But I’m serious, Miss Holt.  Her Grace had quite a bit to say on the subject to Lady Ratcliff and Lady Esterberg last night.”

“Mildred!  This is a charade!” she protested.

“A very serious one.  Friday night betrothals and Saturday morning weddings are quite common around here.  It’s not just about you, Miss Holt.  Brighton Manor has a reputation to uphold as well.  I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Lindermann himself encourages you and Mr. Steele to go along with the pretense.  His business is built on being true to the standards of the era.  If word gets out that a number of guests were allowed to operate outside Regency society morals, his business would suffer.”  

“And there’s no chance of keeping a secret like that.”

“Exactly.”  

Laura nodded.  “All right.  I’ll behave myself.  It’s only three and a half days.”  She flicked a glance at Mildred.  “Is anyone having this conversation with Lord Remington?”

“I believe Lord Ratcliff is taking it upon himself to discuss it with him.  Lady Ratcliff is sure to have a word with you as well.”  

She groaned.  “I’ll look forward to that.”  

Neither one of them voiced the obvious—that a real wedding could take care of a very real problem. 

*****

When Laura appeared at breakfast, Remington noted the faint smudges beneath her eyes.  Good.  He wasn’t the only one suffering after their fight.  She acknowledged him in the same manner as the others—no animosity and a friendly smile—then took a seat between Lady Gray and Lady Esterberg at the other end of the table.  

He regretted most of yesterday.  She was right.  Jealous or not, he had no reason to be angry with her.  She hadn’t encouraged Anthony.  And he hadn’t precisely warned Anthony off.  That, of course, would change—and wasn’t the root of the problem.  He’d let Daniel’s accusations worm into his psyche.  He’d seen the utter shock in Laura’s eyes and knew it wasn’t feigned.  

An apology was in order.  That was clear enough.  He’d become rather good at them as he’d stumbled time and again the first year he’d stepped into Remington Steele’s shoes.  They’d become easier because Laura always forgave him for his missteps.  She never let him get away with insincerity, yet was quick to absolve him of his latest transgression.  

He hoped this time wouldn’t be any different.  

But first, the men had to pretend to hunt small furry creatures while the ladies had last minute fittings on their gowns for Friday night. 

Targets had been set up all over a particular wooded area.  The six men carried long guns.  Royce and Lockwood led the crew, taking turns hitting the various marks.  By mutual, unspoken agreement, Anthony stayed at the head of the pack for the “hunt” while Remington brought up the rear.  Remington took great pride in knocking down targets the other man missed.   

Daniel and Lord Gray merely carried their rifles, neither of them seemingly interested in the game play.  Lord Ratcliff made a point of staying with Remington.  Why he did so became clear when the others began to outdistance them.  

“Hold a moment.  These old legs require a bit of a rest before we go on.”  Ratcliff stopped and used his rifle as a stick to lean on.  Remington eyed him.  The man seemed robust enough.  Certainly the vigor with which he danced last evening didn’t support the current excuse to rest.  The older man stroked his mustache and coughed to clear his throat.  “Lord Remington, a matter of some importance has come to my attention.  I feel, as your senior in both age and rank, that I must have words with you.”

Remington’s brows flew upward.  He had the uncomfortable sensation of stepping into a trap.  “Pray, sir, I’m desirous of your counsel.”

Ratcliff’s eyes twinkled.  “Don’t be cheeky.  Your affections for Lady Holt have been noted.  We are a conservative house, and she is without a sponsor.  As you were overheard in her room late last evening, I’d suggest you consider making an offer for her.  A betrothed woman has a small amount of freedom not permitted to an eligible miss.  As I hope matters have not progressed—”  He gave Remington a hard look.  “Beyond that which may be overlooked for an affianced couple, I think for the purposes of this week, a betrothal will suffice rather than a wedding. ”  

The proverbial door began to close behind him.  Remington gave a curt nod.  “I believe that information was shared with me yesterday.”

“Then don’t delay, Lord Remington.  The ladies will be in an uproar until matters are settled.  You have until dinner to consider your position.  Should you decline to set matters to rights, His Grace and I will make other arrangements.  I do believe Lord Royce would be agreeable to suit with Lady Holt.”

Remington scratched his nose as the door slammed shut.  “Ah, no.  I think that will not be necessary.”

“Ah, good.  His Grace assured me you would do the right thing.”

He blinked.  And blinked again.  “His Grace?”

“Yes, Sinclair has taken particular interest in the situation.  You may apply to him for permission as he has agreed to act in Lady Holt’s interests.  He had little doubt you would make an admirable match with Lady Holt.”  Lord Ratcliff clapped a hand on his shoulder.  “Don’t delay much, my friend.  We’ll all be miserable with the gossip and nattering about.”  He eyed Remington slyly.  “She’s something of a firebrand, I think.  You’ll have your hands full.”  

“You have no idea,” Remington muttered as he felt the key turn in the lock.

“Let us join the others.  We’ll toast your good fortune this evening after dinner.”  

Remington worked his way through the group until he could pull Daniel aside for a private conversation.  They walked in the woods away from the others.

“What in the bloody hell are you scheming at now?”

“Is something wrong, Harry?”

“Yesterday you were warning me off Laura; now you’re encouraging Ratcliff to force me to ask her to marry.”

“First, my boy, I wasn’t the one who was in Lady Holt’s quarters last night.  The servants chatter, and the gossip was rampant this morning.  I’d warned you precisely about this situation yesterday, and still you didn’t take care to be private.  Second, Lord Ratcliff came to me, and I convinced him a betrothal would do.  So if you have anything to discuss with me, it ought to be a ‘thank you’ for rescuing you from the charade of a wedding.”

“Laura is going to be furious.”

“I’m quite certain Lady Ratcliff will have explained the situation to her this morning.  I expect she’ll be amenable to your proposal.”

“Daniel, I can’t do this.  The timing is all wrong.  Laura and I—”

“Are what?”

“Damn it.  I’m finally past her bloody defenses, and it’s been a bloody hard road to get there.  We’re—”  No, he wouldn’t go there.  It wasn’t Daniel’s business to know they weren’t lovers yet.  “I haven’t told Laura about the letter from INS.  A marriage is the best answer to that problem.  But—”  

“Then marry her, Harry.  Keep yourself from being deported if that’s what you want.  She owes you this one.”  Daniel clapped him on the shoulder and walked away to rejoin Lord Gray.  

Remington closed his eyes to get a grip on his anger.  He had to think fast or he’d lose his ultimate prize.  When he opened them, Anthony was propped against a nearby tree, boring a hole in him with a dark look.  Remington didn’t hold out much hope that the man hadn’t overheard the conversation, especially when Anthony pushed away from the truck with an expression of disgust and stalked off into the forest.

*****

Laura concentrated on the page before her, her fingers walking through the intricate passage.  The fourth time through, she succeeded in conquering the difficult notes and played them with verve.

“Well done, Lady Holt.”  Lord Remington nodded from the doorway.  Lady Esterberg smiled at him, inclining her head.  Sally had been keeping Laura company after a tedious morning of discussing the dance to be held on Friday evening.  

Remington seemed hesitant to talk until, with a sweet curtsy, Lady Esterberg deliberately crossed the room to hold her needlework up to the sunlight, keeping her back to them.  Sally didn’t see the grateful softening of his expression, but Laura did.  She wondered if he’d been cornered the same way Lady Ratcliff and the Duchess had done with her this morning.   

“Lady Holt, if I might have a word with you.”

She nodded.  “Yes, Lord Remington?”  She rose, taking care to keep a respectable three feet or so between them.  Lady Ratcliff had put the fear of God into her if she didn’t behave with propriety for the time being.  For Laura, the feeling had been disconcerting; even her mother hadn’t been able to evoke that particular emotion.

He touched his lips for a moment and stepped toward her.  Very softly, he said, “I must tender my apologies for my words yesterday.  I had no right to question your behavior—nor your motives.”  

An apology wasn’t what she was expecting and made it all the harder to stay in character.  “My lord, you have no cause for concern.”  

“I do, Lady Holt.”  He shot a quick look in Sally’s direction.  “My … affections are … overwhelming at times.” 

She laced her hands togehter, the epitome of a demure miss.  “Indeed.  I am quite familiar with the sensation.”

Remington closed the distance a little more when he caressed her cheek.  “Are you?  I hadn’t thought you to be quite so … altered.”

His touch was electric.  Her skin sizzled where he set his fingers.  She tilted her head in disbelief, leaning into his hand.  “Do you not know the effect of your person on my sensibilities?”

“At times, I think I do.”

“Then let those moments stand in testament of my feelings for you.”  She turned just enough to brush her lips inside his palm.  He jerked, then sealed his hand against her cheek and closed his eyes.  

It was then that Laura fully appreciated the situation they were in.  Restricted by the setting, hampered by the letter, and hemmed in by their feelings, just being together at the moment was a problem.  More than ever, she wanted to pack their bags.  They needed a heart-to-heart talk about Remington’s immigration problem, but she couldn’t leave matters with Daniel as they were.  She sure as hell didn’t want to be the one to have to tell Remington the truth about his father—not to mention that these were likely the last moments they would have together.

“Laura—”  His voice was hoarse as he spoke.  “I’m sorry.”  

In the softest whisper, she said in his ear, “Remington, we’re okay.  I’m not disappearing over a silly spat.”  Lightly, she brushed her lips across his cheek, then challenged, “Remember, this is only a game.  I expect a very pretty proposal this evening so we can sneak off for kisses now and again.”

“Just kisses, Lady Holt?”

She shot him a siren’s smile.  “That depends on you, my lord.” 

*****

Remington sat on the edge of Harold’s desk in bemusement.  Laura had done it again.  Somehow, with her pragmatic approach to life, she’d righted his world.  He still didn’t know how to manage the situation with the INS, but she’d bought him time while he figured out Daniel’s latest scheme.

He picked up the phone and dialed.  “Leland?  Steele here.  … Yes, yes, old chap.  … No, I’ve nothing to sell you at the moment.  I do have something to buy, however.”  He broke out in a grin as he listened to Leland’s accusations of aging thieves.  “I’m in a bit of a hurry.  No time to obtain it myself.”  He scratched his nose.  “What can you get in a Regency era betrothal ring?  … No, no paste.  I want the real thing—authentic.  I’ll know if you’re putting me on.  …  Diamonds, of course, with, ah, rubies or emeralds—I’d prefer the latter.  … Excellent.  Now, can you get a courier to Reno by three?  I need it by five, and the drive is long.    … Yes, it’s good doing business with you, mate.”

*****

Laura actually looked forward to the afternoon.  Archery was apparently a popular pastime in the Regency era, and she hadn’t yet had the opportunity to shoot anything other than a crossbow.  Sally had helped her select a costume that allowed for a respectable amount of movement, so for the first time this week, Laura was comfortable in her clothing.  

Naturally, Lord Royce presented himself to assist her right off the bat.  He’d been practicing—landing arrow after arrow on the target.  

Showing off, aren’t we? Laura mused as she wandered out to the field with Sally.  

Sir Lockwood joined them, presenting his arm to her companion.  She flashed Laura a delighted smile and took it—leaving Laura stuck with Anthony.  Humming under her breath so as not to utter curses, she wondered where in the hell her partner had gone.

“Lady Holt, have you experience at archery?” Lord Royce asked, handing her a bow and arrow.  

“I’ve seen it.”  Taking the bow in her right hand and arrow in her left, she made to aim for the target.  

“No, no, Lady Holt.  You’re holding it the wrong way.”  He turned her around so that her left hand held the bow.  

Damn.  Now you’re going to use this as an excuse to show me the proper way.  Sure enough, he laid his hands over hers to help her aim and shoot.  His nearness made her uncomfortable, but she concealed it as she hastily released the shot.  Her arrow flew high over the target and to the right.  

“That’s all right.  We’ll try again.”  Anthony picked an arrow out of the quiver the servants had set up nearby.

“It won’t help.”  Remington's clipped accent came from behind. 

"I beg your pardon," she retorted.  But her lips curved up.  Her partner had his arms crossed and was glaring at Anthony.  

“Lord Remington, I find your remark rather insolent,” Anthony said darkly.

Remington tugged Laura toward him a step, then took the bow from her hand.  “Turn the other way, Laura,” he murmured in her ear.  She pivoted to put her back to him, and he replaced the bow in her right hand and the arrow in her left.  He raised his voice.  “Lady Holt favors her left hand.  It’s one of her many charming traits.”

Anthony’s mouth pressed into a thin line.  He stepped back but didn’t abandon the field.  Instead, he and Remington held a staring contest over her head.  

Remington didn’t crowd her or try to show her the proper way to shoot an arrow.  In fact, he didn’t lay a hand on her.  Instead, he whispered instructions into her ear. “Don’t use your first finger; it’s too weak.  Use the middle finger.  Aye, that’s it,” he encouraged.  “Now, aim at the target, Laura.  The harder you pull back on the bowstring, the straighter the arrow will fly.  Use your instincts.  Move your aim upward until you can feel the point it will arch over and land on the target.”  She made a small adjustment.  

“Got it?”  

“Yes.”

“Then listen to the wind.  Which way does it blow?”

Closing her eyes, she could feel the breeze on the right side of her face.  A strand of her hair blew in the same direction.  “I feel it from the right, not very hard.”

“Then make the adjustment.”  

She took a deep breath, aimed and bit her lip.  She took a final pull and let the arrow fly.  The point thunked into the outer ring of the target.  

“I hit it!” she said in delight.  Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Remington’s wink and a pleased grin.  

“Aye, that you did, Lady Holt.”  He stepped farther away to let her try again.   As he did, he invited Lord Royce to a friendly competition.   

Laura mentally shook her head.  Now Remington was going to declare ownership.  Sometimes men could be so predictable.  

*****

“Care to shoot a round, Lord Royce?”   

“I’d be delighted, Lord Remington,” Anthony said with a sneer.  At the other end of the range, he retrieved his bow and landed an arrow in the white ring of the target.

From the quiver Remington selected an arrow, checking its feathers and shaft for nicks.  “Nice shot.  Pretending to be Robin Hood, eh?”  

“Grab a bow,” Anthony snarled.

Remington tapped the arrow against the other man’s chest.  “Enough games, Royce.”  You’ve been bird-dogging Lady Holt since we arrived.”

“Who’s bird-dogging whom?  You’ve been panting after her like a stallion sniffing after a mare.”  

“Ah, I see.”  He pulled the bowstring and let the arrow fly, striking the target just inside Royce’s.  

“Nice shot.”  Anthony readied his own bow.  “Hope you like England.  Once America deports someone, that’s it.”

“That explains your churlish humor.  It’s not like that, Anthony.”  

“Really?  Could have fooled me.”  He let go of his arrow, hitting the center of the target.  

“Laura—”  Remington emphasized her first name.  “Can take care of herself.  I’ve yet to talk her into anything she doesn’t want to do.  And believe me, I’ve tried.”

“I see.”

“Do you?”  He released the bowstring with a twang.  The arrow split Anthony’s shot down the middle.  “Antony, old chap, I seem to have split your shaft.”  With an arrogant grin he knew would irritate the other man, he kissed the back of his middle finger.  The fact that it was the same one he’d used to pull the string was a mere coincidence.  

He returned to Laura’s side.  She’d landed another arrow on the target but missed several more.  

“Finished?” she asked.  

“We have an understanding.”  

She rolled her eyes at him and took aim once more.  This time it landed on the white ring.  

“Excellent, Lady Holt.  I think you’re a natural.”  

“I think my finger is getting a blister,” she complained.  

“Yes, that is an unfortunate effect.”  

“I think I’m done.”  She dropped the bow on the rack next to the quiver and began walking toward the manor house.  

He fell into step beside her.  The sidelong glances she made warned him she had something to say.

“I’ve misjudged Daniel,” she said softly.  “He is really a very fine man.”

Remington snapped his head around in disbelief.  “Really?”

“Have you … have you had a chance to talk to him today?”

He carefully sidestepped the question.  “Yes, in fact.  Apparently, I’m to apply to him when I get around to making an offer for you.”  

Her voice came out in a squeak.  “That’s it?”  Then she subsided, her face seeming terribly sad all of a sudden.  

“Laura?”  

She shook her head.  “Ah, nothing.  I had expected he would try to talk you out of this whole mess.”  

“So did I.  I’m as baffled as you.”

Laura slipped into Daniel’s room once again and paced impatiently while she waited for him to return from … wherever.  He had to dress for dinner. 

When he did, he didn’t seem surprised to see her.  “Ah, Lady Holt.  How nice to see you again.”

“You haven’t told him.”

“No.”  

“Daniel, you have to tell him,” she implored.

“No, I don’t.  Now don’t you have a case to solve, Linda?  Something about trinkets getting stolen here and there?”  

Her back stiffened.  “There isn’t a case, Daniel.  You manufactured this whole dance merely to lay eyes on your son one last time and interfere once again in his life.  Congratulations, you’re making him miserable.”  

“I’m making him miserable?  My dear Linda, I think you hold the gold medal for excellence in that arena.”  

Laura had forgotten that Daniel had a tongue as sharp as hers—and in this case, used it to cut her to the quick.  Tears sprang to her eyes, and she fought to keep them from falling.  She would not give him that sort of satisfaction.  “You want me to solve this damned case?  Fine.  I’ll find proof.  Then you have to tell Remington the truth.”  

He chuckled, angering her further.  “All right, Laura.  Have it your way.” 

*****

The courier, an unassuming blonde of about twenty-five, met Remington at the guest house.  

“Tanya!  My, my, my, you are absolutely lovely.  How did you convince Leland to let you run errands for him?”

She grinned, dimples popping out on her apple blossom cheeks.  “I didn’t have to.  His clients have started asking for me.”  

“That’s because you’re a damned sight prettier and smarter than your Da.  Now, I’d love to chat, but I’m on a tight schedule.  Show me what you’ve got.”  

Tanya opened a flat black jewelry box that held four rings and a jeweler’s loupe.  “Take your pick.”  

He examined each of the four rings but only for show.  He’d known immediately which one belonged on Laura’s hand.  When he made his selection, he and Tanya haggled a bit; then she set the piece in its own black velvet box and gave it to him.  

Tanya wasn’t done though.  Out of her pocket, she drew another box.  “This is from Dadd.  The woman’s ring is vintage Regency; the man’s is modern as most men in that era didn’t wear wedding rings.  But Dad thought you might be interested.”  

Inside was a pair of wedding rings that complemented the one he’d selected for Laura.  “Leland’s a canny old boy.  He knew which one I’d pick.”  

“Anyone with your taste and understanding of jewelry would have selected it, Mr. Steele.”  

Remington slid her a suspicious glance and looked at the rings again.  One authentic, the other merely for show.  Yet they matched—not unlike Miss Holt and himself.  “I’ll take them.  Add it to my bill.”  

“Oh, those are our wedding gift to you.  Congratulations, Mr. Steele.  You and Miss Holt will be happy.”

“I never said anything about Miss Holt.”

“As you said, Mr. Steele, my father’s a canny man.” 

*****

Still upset, Laura paced in her room in an attempt to clear Daniel’s words from her mind.  A gaggle of voices outside her door made her pause only a moment before Miss Tate, Sally, Lady Ratcliff and Meg spilled in from the hallway with hardly a knock.  

Lady Ratcliff took charge.  “Laura, we need to get you dressed.  Lord Remington has requested your presence in the parlor.”  Both Sally and Kelly squealed in delight.  Laura waited until she was in the shower to roll her eyes.  

Oddly though, Laura felt a frisson of uncertainty.  It’s just a game, Holt.  She only had to let Remington give her some sort of smarmy proposal and a fake ring, then enjoy the benefits of being “affianced” in the Regency world.  In the meantime, she had to find proof of Daniel’s duplicity in order to extract her partner from yet another one of his mentor’s intrigues.

She cheated while in the bathroom with a blow dryer and a thin layer of cosmetics, but since Lady Ratcliff didn’t come bursting through the door to yank them out of her hands, she assumed no one was going to complain.  The woman did bark orders at Meg to lace her into her second best gown, a pale green silk creation that complemented the red in Laura’s hair.  Then she had to wait while Meg arranged the tresses in a mass of curls at the top of her head and threaded ribbon through the creation.   

Finally, she was allowed to descend the stairs alone to enter the parlor where Remington waited patiently.  As soon as Laura closed the door, she heard the not-so-quiet patter of footsteps.

It was only familiarity that kept her from sighing in appreciation for the masculine specimen before her—that and the frank admiration reflected in his gleaming blue eyes.

“My God, Laura, you are beautiful.”  His words echoed those of the first day he’d seen her dressed thusly.  He bowed.

She flushed as she closed the distance between them and dipped in a low curtsy.  “You wanted to see me?  Sir?” she teased.  

He grinned, flashing a white smile that made her heart stutter.  “Ah, but I don’t have any paperwork for you.”  He reached into his pocket and drew out a box.  “Only this.”  

She took it gingerly, opening it as her nerves unaccountably danced with anticipation.  Inside was a ring consisting of a single diamond flanked by four emeralds in a filigreed band.  Although the gold was polished and the stones danced in the light, the setting looked old.  “This can’t be real,” she breathed in astonishment.

Remington only arched a brow and took the ring from the box.  “Laura, I haven’t given you enough of the sorts of things one gives to his … girlfriend?  That’s not the right word.  It seems terribly shallow for what we have.  For what we will have,” he promised.  Setting the box on a side table, he took her hand and slipped the ring onto her third finger.  “Regardless of the game, this ring is quite real.  You, Laura, are deserving of it and so much more.”  

He didn’t give her room to protest, for he captured her in an intensely tender kiss that frightened Laura to her toes, though she didn’t pull away.  Instead, she returned it with alarming fervor.  

A light rap on the door broke the mood, although Remington wrapped his arms about her and hugged her tightly for another long moment.  At the second knock, he let her go with a brush of his thumb along her chin.  “Shall we?  I’m sure the masses will want to see proof of our betrothal.”  

She glanced down at the heavy ring.  “I think this ought to convince them.” 

*****

After dinner, in which Laura and Remington anchored the center of the table and conversation flowed with the wine, a very happy group rose from the table.  In the parlor where they gathered afterward, the guests approached in pairs or one by one to wish them happiness.   

Laura noted the smug looks from Lord and Lady Ratcliff and concluded they were well pleased with themselves as orchestrators of the betrothal.  Sally and Kelly kissed her cheek, the latter giving her a knowing look as she made her congratulations to the pair of them.  Minutes later, Laura saw Lady Tate stalking Lord Royce on the other side of the room.

Daniel was the last to offer his thoughts.  He brushed a kiss across the knuckles of her right hand.  “Well, Lady Holt, I must offer my congratulations.  You’ve cast your web and ensnared a satisfactory feast.”  His barb stung, and Laura yanked her hand away. 

“Your Grace,” Remington warned.  

“Of course.  May I see the ring?” Daniel asked.  With trepidation, Laura held out her other hand.  Daniel examined it critically, flicking a quick glance at Remington. “It appears I must offer my congratulations to the two of you.  Lady Holt, Lord Remington.”  He bowed somewhat stiffly, pinning Remington with final sharp look before turning away.

Afterward, Laura tried to concentrate on Miss Tate’s piano piece, but the long days without much sleep took their toll.  She rested her head on Remington’s shoulder.  When the mini-concert was over, Remington shook her gently.  “Come awake, Laura.  We’re done for the evening.”  He escorted her upstairs, leaving her properly at her bedroom door.  

Meg helped her to undress and settle into bed, offering her own quiet felicitations.  When the maid curtsied and left, Laura blew out the candle.  

In the darkness, she stroked the base of the ring with her thumb.  The jewel-encrusted piece was heavy.  The weight of it made it different from any fake wedding ring she might have worn in her career.

All at once, her eyes filled with tears, and she buried her face in her pillow.  Memories she’d thought firmly locked away flooded in.  There was a time she’d thought a husband and family were in her future as much as a career as a detective.  

At twenty-four, she’d assumed, naively perhaps, that the right man would be willing to help her balance a family and a career.  She’d been in love then—and had thought marriage was only a matter of time.  Laura had forgotten about the way she’d secreted pictures of wedding dresses away and fantasized about the look on her mother’s face when she announced her engagement.  That Wilson wasn’t headed down the same path simply hadn’t occurred to her until the day he moved out, leaving only a note and a few scattered objects behind.

Now at thirty, she was in love again—and too terrified to assume anything at all.  

That Remington would select a stunning, unique ring for her that would look glamorous on a movie star, yet be wearable everyday with its understated elegance, told her exactly how well he knew her.  But what kind of future did they have together?

She hiccuped into her pillow.  The soft sound must have carried, for a moment later, Remington stood beside her bed.  She tried abruptly to stop the flow of tears and hiccuped again.  

“Laura?” he asked quietly. “I don’t mean to intrude, but I rarely find you imitating a waterfall.”

Scrubbing at her face, she sat up.  The edge of the mattress sagged where Remington joined her.  

“I—I’m exhausted,” she offered.

“I know.  But that doesn’t explain your tears.  Usually a round or two of raillery with me, laced with a touch of disappointment, will settle your nerves adequately for you to sleep.” He picked up her hand.  “Like the ring?”

“I do.  It’s exquisite.”

“So are you.”  

She looked away.

“Laura?”  He placed on her knuckles.  

She started to tell him the truth—then realized that the truth right now would only hurt him.  The last thing she wanted was for him to regret giving her the ring or to sully the memory of that moment.  With a last shake of her head, she put the sadness away.  

“Just a bunch of realizations about myself.  I promise, Remington, absolutely promise to tell you when this weekend is over.  I can’t yet.  It’s too … raw.”

“Did I do something to hurt you?”  

“No.  Not at all.  Perhaps even, that you do so many things right.”  

His hand tightened over hers at the compliment.  “Ah, Laura.”

“Stay with me,” she said on impulse, not wanting him to go just yet.  

Remington declined, regret clear in his voice.  “You’re exhausted, Laura.”

“Do you want to sleep in your bed by yourself or in this one with me?” she demanded quietly.

“That’s the best offer I’ve had in a month.  Scoot over.  You’re hogging the bed.”  

Laura laughed softly as he echoed back her words from a few weeks ago.  The similarities between that moment and this one as turning points in their relationship weren’t lost on her—though the setting was infinitely improved.

His dressing gown landed on the foot of the bed.  She made room for him, then settled into his embrace and tugged the covers up.  With her cheek resting against his shoulder, she laid an arm across his waist, smiling a little as the crisp hair tickled her wrist.

The last thing she remembered was his hand lightly stroking her back.  The sensation was more than soothing, less than erotic, and very, very, nice.  

Chapter 5: Thursday