Debt of honour, p.1
Debt of Honour, page 1
DEBT OF HONOUR
Gail Mallin
Elusive heiress.
It was time Sophie Fleming was married, and her large fortune ensured plenty of suitors. She had all but accepted Sir Pelham Stanton until the mysterious Kirk Thorburn appeared in her life. An abduction and a winter storm made her realise that one of these men was no better than a scoundrel--but which one should she trust?
CHAPTER ONE
THE EXOTIC FIGURE standing outside the handsome-fronted shop caught Kirk Thorburn's attention as he strode down the Highgate. Wintry sunlight burnished the gilded feathers on the Turk's turban and danced down his red jacket and baggy green trousers to catch the upturned tips of his crystal-encrusted slippers. A long clay pipe was held to his lips and in his other hand he clasped a large plug of tobacco.
Kirk halted, his gaze going to the name painted above the wide bow-window. "Fleming and Sons, Snuff-Merchants". It seemed he had found the place he sought. Kendal had been a major centre for the tobacco trade for over a hundred years now, but Flemings was reputed to be the best. Perhaps he would find an answer to his questions here?
Involuntarily, his long fingers tightened around the leather pouch in his coat pocket, but as he made to cross the narrow street to reach his goal a tall young woman stopped outside the shop. She had her back to him, but he spotted die friendly pat she bestowed on the exotic statue before entering.
A brief flicker of amusement lightened Kirk's expression. There had been something decidedly proprietorial about that little gesture! For an instant he wished he had caught a glimpse of the girl's face. Then his curiosity died. He was not here to dangle after any petticoat, pretty or not.
Ten minutes passed.
"Damn the wench!"
His feet were growing numb and Kirk had the feeling that he might become frozen to the spot if he didn't move soon. Caroline had laughingly informed him this morning that his blood must have grown thin during his long absence from his native soil, and Kurk was beginning to think she might have a point. Certainly, he could do with a little of that fierce Bahamian sun right now!Kirk stirred restlessly. He had hoped for privacy in which to conduct his business, but he had travelled over three thousand, five hundred miles to try and find an answer to a mystery, and his patience, never abundant at the best of times, was all but exhausted.
What the devil could she be doing in there, anyway?
"WHY, MISS SOPHIE, what brings you here on such a cold afternoon?"
Sophie Fleming smiled at the thin, stooped figure behind the polished counter. "I thought I might persuade my uncle to accompany me home, Mr. Hoggarth."
Behind his steel-rimmed spectacles Mr. Hoggarth's faded grey eyes assumed an apologetic sympathy. "I fear you have already missed him. He left a quarter of an hour ago, saying he had an engagement to meet Master Strickland at his warehouse to discuss that new shipment of port."
"In that case there is no point in waiting," Sophie announced ruefully, knowing that such a business might turn out to be protracted.
It had been something of a wasted afternoon. Against Nancy's advice, she had donned her warmest cloak and boots and ventured out in search of ribbons to trim her new gown for tonight's soiree, but the shade she had wanted proved elusive.
"Is Mrs. Nelson waiting for you in the carriage, Miss Sophie? Only it won't do to keep horses standing in this weather," Mr. Hoggarth reminded her gently.
"Oh, I walked," Sophie replied airily, "and left Nancy at home to toast her toes by the fire, since she viewed the prospect of any exercise with such repugnance."
Mr. Hoggarth looked scandalised. "Then I hope you'll let me procure a chair to take you home, Miss Sophie. 'Tis blowing fit to bring the chimney-pots down! You shouldn't ought to be out in this weather, let alone walking."
"It is very kind of you, but there is no need. Truly!" Sophie strove to keep her annoyance out of her tone.
It seemed no one could forget the childhood accident which had almost killed her. The fall from her pony while learning to ride had left her with a weak ankle, but she was not delicate!
"Then won't you at least take a glass of something to warm you before you leave?"
Becoming aware that her uncle's oldest and most trusted employee was regarding her with anxiety, Sophie curbed her impatience and nodded. Mr. Hoggarth had known her ever since she was a baby and, like her uncle, he found it difficult to accept she was a grown woman of one-and-twenty.
When she was settled with a glass of sherry in the most comfortable chair that the shop could boast Mr. Hoggarth enquired how she had enjoyed the recent round of New Year festivities.
"Very well, thank you, sir. Though Nancy swears she is tired of mending all the petticoat frills I have torn while dancing." Sophie laughed. "She is convinced I must have two left feet!"
Mr. Hoggarth chuckled. "You are teasing me, Miss Sophie. You are too light on your feet to be a poor dancer." A beam of fond pride lit his wrinkled face. "I am sure even an elegant London gentleman like Sir Pelham Stanton could not wish for a more graceful partner."
Sophie merely smiled. There was a note of curiosity in the old man's voice, but she had no intention of satisfying it.
Disappointed, Mr. Hoggarth sipped his wine. Everyone in Kendal was agog to see if Sir Pelham's whirlwind courtship would come to anything, but he knew that he would get no hint from Miss Sophie. She was completely lacking in the girlish fluttering he felt appropriate in such momentous circumstances.
Rising to her feet, Sophie set down her empty glass.
"Thank you for the wine," she began, but her speech of farewell ground to a halt as the door flew open with a noisy bang.
Turning automatically, she beheld a tall figure framed for an instant against the doorway, his dark cloak swirling in the icy wind. Then he turned to close the door behind him and the picture dissolved.
Sophie let out the breath she hadn't realised she had been holding as he advanced into the centre of the room. Politely he raised his high-crowned hat in her direction, revealing a head of hair that gleamed like a golden guinea.
"May I enquire if your business is concluded, ma'am?"
His voice was attractive, a deep, rich baritone, but with a curiously heightened sense of awareness Sophie caught the hint of sarcasm behind his question.
Colour flared into her pale cheeks. She was not used to being spoken to in such a fashion.
"No, it is not," she snapped and, turning to the surprised Mr. Hoggarth, she demanded to see a selection of smoking pipes. When a rack was brought for her inspection she viewed them with a show of concentration, but every now and then she allowed her gaze to flick triumphantly to the tall man impatiently waiting next to her.
Kirk restrained the impulse to curse. Unless he missed his guess, the baggage was being deliberately provoking. When she asked to see yet another rack of clay pipes Kirk was sure of it.
Sophie was aware of Mr. Hoggarth's unspoken disapproval but her irritating behaviour owed its origin to more than her hasty temper. Something about this man had caught her on the raw! Only look at the way he was standing there, glowering at her. Over six feet tall if he was an inch, with broad shoulders to match, he reminded her of nothing so much as an angry giant out of a child's fairy-tale.
Sternly Sophie quelled the thought that without the frown he would have been devastatingly handsome.
"Ahem, while the lady makes up her mind, perhaps I could help you, sir?"
Mr. Hoggarth could not fathom what Miss Sophie was up to, but it was against his principles to risk losing custom.
Kirk hesitated fractionally and then nodded.
"I'm obliged to you, sir," he said. Delving into the deep pocket of his coat, he produced a leather pouch. "I have here a snuff-box. Observe the motif on the lid, if you would be so good."
Surreptitiously, Sophie glanced up at the object he handed over.
"Mmm, Odysseus blinding the one-eyed Cyclops, executed in quarte-couleur gold." Mr. Hoggarth studied the snuff- box. "A very beautiful item, sir. Did you wish to sell it?"
Kirk laughed, and Sophie thought she had never heard a sound so devoid of mirth.
"Nay, if s not for sale. My purpose in bringing it here was to discover if you have ever seal it before. I have reason to suspect it may have been purchased in Kendal, but none of the other snuff-mills I've tried stock such fine goods."
"It is indeed French workmanship of the highest order," Mr. Hoggarth murmured, turning the box in his hand and surveying it intently. "We do stock such quality pieces on occasion, but I cannot recall one like this."
"Are you sure you don't recognise it? It was bought some time ago. Think, man, think!"
The urgency in his tone caused Sophie to abandon her pretence of indifference. Staring at him in frank amazement, she wondered at the reason for the look of strain which marred his classically cut features. Hot-tempered herself, she sensed that something more than mere impatience lay behind his words.
"I'm sorry, but I cannot help you, sir. I would have remembered such a fine snuff-box had I seen it before, I do assure you."
From the coolness of his reply, Sophie realised that Mr. Hoggarth was somewhat ruffled. He took pride in running the shop like well-oiled clockwork and he plainly resented any implication to the contrary.
The stranger did not seem to notice he had given offence, but let out a low mutter, which sounded suspiciously like an imprecation.
Mr. Hoggarth's disapproval deepened. He coughed and threw a warning glance in Sophie's direction.
"Will that be all
He flipped open the snuff box lid in one easy movement and sniffed cautiously at the interior. "Kendal Brown. A popular choice, sir, but we can offer you a large selection of other blends or prepare one to your particular requirements if you would prefer something a little more unusual."
"Thank you. Kendal Brown will suffice."
Sophie received the distinct impression that snuff was the last thing on the stranger's mind, but his casual assent brought a smile to Mr. Hoggarth's face. He was clearly relieved to have matters back on a normal business footing again.
A grin curled Sophie's wide mouth. Plainly he did not share her curiosity; Nancy was forever complaining that it was her besetting sin! But, in truth, she had to admit she was intrigued by this man. It was hard to tear her eyes away from his tall, well-proportioned figure. There was an air of purpose and a sense of energy about him that was exciting, and somehow almost dangerous. With a little shiver, Sophie suddenly decided he would make a ruthless enemy.
Who was he and why was he here in Kendal? His face was deeply tanned, but she did not think he was a foreigner. Whatwas more, his black caped cloak and well-polished leather boots were obviously of the finest quality. No doubt a dandy like Sir Pelham Stanton would decry his lack of fashionable accessories—he carried no Malacca cane and his cravat was plain—but he was undoubtedly a gentleman.
Mr. Hoggarth had reached down one of the many glazed earthenware jars that lined the shelves of the shop and begun weighing out the correct amount of snuff on to his scales. His expression became creased with annoyance when he realised that he was a fraction short of the necessary amount.
"Your pardon, sir. I shall have to fetch a new supply from the store-room. It will only take a moment," he announced, going red with embarrassment. Flustered by this unusual mishap, he hurried out.
The snuff-box lay on the counter where Mr. Hoggarth had placed it, and out of the comer of her eye Sophie could see that the upraised lid was decorated on the inside with an intricate design.
What an odd sort of place to put such an elaborately embossed initial, she thought to herself. That beautifully gilded letter would be constantly splattered with snuff and difficult to clean.
Was it an S? Unconsciously, Sophie moved nearer for a better look.
"You admire my trinket, ma'am?"
The cold voice made Sophie jump and then flush until she felt sure her face must be as red as her hateful fiery hair.
"I... I... that is..." Aware of her appalling lack of manners, Sophie could hardly bring herself to meet his gaze.
Viking eyes he had, as blue as the reflection off a sunlit sea. Her heart began to thump in the strangest way and to her intense annoyance she found she was tongue-tied, something that had not happened to her in years.
If only he would not stare at her in that sardonic way! The more she struggled for composure, the more those azure depths filled with a cool amusement that mocked her efforts.
"Sir, I.".I hardly know what to say," she stammered, ending the silence at last.
"You could always try apologising."
The impudence of this remark restored Sophie's wits. Granted, she had behaved in a shameless fashion, but if he possessed any decency at all he would have pretended to ignore her eavesdropping!
"You go too far, sir," she retorted with a haughty frown. "I am sorry if I have given offence, but it is not your place to rebuke me."
"No, that task belongs to your legal guardian," he agreed smoothly. "But obviously he has been shirking his duty."
Sophie's big brown eyes widened as she digested his meaning. "You are insulting, sir! No true gentleman would think of speaking to a lady in such a fashion."
A short bark of laughter answered her. "Then it seems we are quits, my girl, for no real lady would dream of trying to pry into matters that were none of her damned business!"
Sophie sucked in her breath, but before she could deliver a blistering reply Mr. Hoggarth returned and she had to hastily school her expression into serenity. He would be horrified to discover she was quarrelling like a fishwife, and with a man she hadn't even been formally introduced to!
Deciding that the only dignified escape lay in retreat, Sophie smiled sweetly and bade the elderly shopkeeper farewell.
However, before Mr. Hoggarth could extricate himself from behind the counter, the tall stranger said, "Allow me," and swiftly moved to open the door for her.
Gritting her teeth, Sophie inclined her head in a gracious gesture. "Thank you."
"My pleasure, ma'am."
Nettled, Sophie glared at him. He was grinning at her, malicious amusement dancing in his blue eyes.
Quelling the absurd tug of attraction his smile provoked, Sophie swept past him with her chin held high.
A faint chuckle followed her out into the street.
"LORD SAVE US, Miss Sophie, where have you been? Your uncle came home long ago."
Sophie had hoped that the lengthy, roundabout walk she had taken would have restored her temper, but she had reached the Flemings' handsome Queen Anne residence in the Stramon- gate without being able to dismiss that hateful man from her mind. Flinging off her fur-lined cloak, she dropped into her favourite armchair by the fire and held her chilled hands to the blaze. "I am frozen to the bone, Nancy."
"Well, you would go out," the older woman scolded, rescuing the abandoned cloak and folding it carefully.
"So I would," Sophie laughed, the tension draining out of her as she watched Nancy's plump figure bustle about, restoring order. There was something very soothing about the familiarity of her companion's action, she decided as she stretched out her long legs, revelling in the warmth and comfort of her boudoir.
It was a very pretty apartment adjoining her bedroom, beautifully decorated and large enough to hold all the expensive presents her uncle had showered upon her over the years, like the elegant rosewood writing-desk that sat before the silk- curtained window. Sophie knew she was very lucky to have been taken in by so kind a man as Thomas Fleming after her parents had been killed in a tragic accident when she was only a baby.
"Your uncle wants to talk to you when you are dressed, but shall I order some tea first? It might restore you. You look as if something more than the cold has upset you." Nancy came to stand before her, her arms folded in a manner that Sophie recognised as a sign of anxiety.
"What nonsense, Nancy," Sophie replied lightly, not wishing to confess the reason for her ill temper. "I think I had best forgo tea if my uncle is already waiting for me. Do you know what he wants to talk to me about?"
Nancy shook her greying head. "He was pleased about something, though," she volunteered.
"Oh, well, I'll find out soon enough, I suppose." Sophie shrugged; moving into the bedroom. She surveyed the daffodil-yellow gown Nancy had already laid out for her. "I have changed my mind. I will wear my blue brocade."
"But the matching petticoat needs pressing."
"Then be a dear and press it for me, Nancy, darling." Sophie smiled coaxingly. "I couldn't find those yellow ribbons I wanted."
Nancy rolled her eyes, but did not argue. The gown was well enough as it was, but stubborn as an ox Miss Sophie could be when she had set her mind on something! She took the sapphire flowered brocade with its sky-blue petticoat from the clothes-press and left her young mistress to her ablutions.
The copper can of hot water Nancy had placed earlier by the fire had kept warm, and as Sr phie poured it into the rose- patterned china basin on her wash-stand her mind returned to the man she had encountered at the snuff-mill. Perhaps he was visiting friends in Kendal. She had lived all her life in the old grey town and knew everyone of note. Surely they would be bound to meet again if he was staying for any length of time?
A thread of excitement flickered through her slim frame at the thought. Provoking though he had been, she longed to know his name, and her heart skipped a beat at the prospect of meeting him in more favourable circumstances.
"What a fool you are!"
Sophie pressed her hands to her hot, damp cheeks. She whirled away from the wash-stand, scrubbing furiously at her skin with a towel, and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the ornate mirror above the mantelpiece. A hectic sparkle showed in her dark eyes.
