“Yes, my lord. The Dowager is quite elderly. I don't believe she travels out of London much these days.”
“Of course,” the Governor intoned.
Lady Corbett pursed her lips and stared down the long table with admonishment at her husband. She clutched her knife so tightly, Nick worried that she was poised to fling it down the table into her spouse's chest.
Nick nodded to a passing servant to refill his glass. “She suggested I look into purchasing property in Bermuda, perhaps an estate whose owners wished to return to London. I feel certain I could prosper here. Her ladyship was very generous with me.” He annunciated the wordgenerous,which elicited another sigh from Agnes Sinclair.
The man next to Governor Lord Corbett smiled, reminding Nick of a drunken elf.
Lord Corbett didnotsmile, instead he raised his glass to his lips and continued to regard Nick over the rim of fine crystal.
“You shall stay as long as you like, Mr. Shepherd.” Lady Corbett shot her husband a quelling glance.
“The Dowager will be most appreciative of your kindness to me, my lady. I thank you.” Nick bowed his head and considered the man sitting next to Governor Corbett. He assumed Governor Lord Corbett to be his quarry, but perhaps Nick was mistaken, for Lord Corbett’s friend appeared to listen to Nick’s speech with more than polite interest and his hand continued to tremble as he popped a piece of bread into his mouth.
The expensive cut of the man's clothes and the rubies winking at his wrists marked him as wealthy. The laugh lines around his mouth and the plumpness of his face suggested he was happy, well fed and had not a care in the world. His manner with Lord Corbett was relaxed and lacking in artifice, so the two men were close friends.
Nick was perceptive, sometimes so perceptive that his observations were taken to be a form of mind reading or witchcraft. Neither was true, but given Nick’s status as the Devil of Dunbar, it seemed convenient to allow thetonto believe it for their misconception instilled a healthy dose of respect for the his family.
The man stared back at Nick and drained his glass of drink. The goblet came back down to the table slowly and the man’s eyes widened, a smile frozen on his lips as if something important to him had just been remembered.
He recognizes me.Even with the eye-patch, somehow he knows me.
Nick had come to Bermuda to find the traitorous bastard who dared to steal a packet of papers from the Duke of Dunbar’s home during a house party when Nick was barely a lad. The documents were the property of the duke and contained a list of English spies embedded in France. Locations and names were noted. Treason, apparently not enough of a heinous crime for the thief, also arranged the evidence of the theft so that blame would fall on an innocent man, Nick's father, the duke’s heir. Whoever the true mastermind was, he had much to answer for—the death of loyal Englishmen, Nick's parents and of course the taint of treason which sullied his family.
The last offense nearly trumped the other two as the loyalty of the Duke of Dunbar and his family had never fallen into question. The Duke of Dunbar served the Crown.Always.
Nick focused his attention on the man sitting next to the Governor. Who was he?
Every guest who attended that ill fated party, every man who had dealings with Nick’s father had been carefully tracked down and questioned by Nick. None proved to be the man he sought. Frustrated at not finding the true culprit, Nick's search returned to one man. Lord Corbett. A man who he originally disregarded because Corbett sent a note of regret that he couldn’t attend the party. He was leaving London immediately to assume the Governorship of Bermuda.
The man sitting next to Governor Lord Corbett looked up at Nick, then quickly looked away.
Nick's sixth sense tingled. The Governor’s friend fairly reeked of fear. Perhaps Corbett was not the person he sought after all.
* * *
Jemma resistedthe urge to yawn as she listened to Augie chatter on about the latest news from his sister Dorthea. Composing her features into a look of attentiveness, she nodded and interjected at the appropriate times, feigning interest. She couldn’t care less what Lady Whatshername wore to Lord WhoCares’ fete in the country. Or how Dorthea adored the creamed truffles that Lady Something served at the one dinner party Dorthea attended in London. Augie, his face a bit red from drink, and his dark brown hair flopping over a brow, cheerfully described every detail to her.
Lady Corbett ushered the remainder of her guests into the drawing room after dinner, disregarding the custom of the gentlemen having brandy and cigars, to announce a game of charades. She clung to Nick Shepherd's arm, leading him about the room and introducing him to the dinner guests.
What in the world wasthatman doing at the Governor's?
Jemma and her father arrived a bit late, in time only to be ushered in for dinner. Nodding her head in greeting to several of the guests, her breath caught as she saw the large form of Mr. Nick Shepherd seated next to Lady Corbett at the far end of the table.
Good Lord!Her heart beat faster and she felt giddy at the sight of him, seated amongst Lady Corbett and the Sinclair sisters. During the soup course she admired him as the glint of red in his hair caught in the candlelight and his coat stretched across the breadth of his shoulders. A warmth spilled through her as she attempted to concentrate on her soup even as she reminded herself of the man’s arrogance. When the Sinclair sisters began to flirt madly with him, she smiled, thinking how appropriate that a fortune hunter should fall prey to Agnes and Bertie. When Agnes Sinclair, true to form, nearly attacked him over the fish course, Jemma simply couldn't contain her mirth.
Now he circled the room with the Governor's wife, greeting wealthy merchants and their wives cordially and with the grace and manners of the upper class. The limited society of Hamilton swirled about Nick Shepherd, the attractive, well connected stranger in their midst. Every woman present either approached the man for an introduction or forced her husband into Nick Shepherd's orbit. Connections to those in thetonwere highly sought, and Nick Shepherd, according to the letter of introduction, had them. He never once looked her way.
Jemma was relieved.Wasn’t she?
“There is Mother, leading about our house guest.” Augie frowned, his brown eyes narrowed with dislike. "I don't know why mother is sofascinatedwith the man. I suppose she hopes that if she treats him well, the Dowager will invite Dorthea to tea in London. Dottie’s husband is only a barrister in Yorkshire. He needs all the assistance Mother can provide.”
“Even the vicar's wife is behaving like a silly school girl.” Jemma nodded towards a portly woman who extended her beefy hand to Nick Shepherd, giggling as she did so. “I find this entire display a bit ridiculous. Bertie Sinclair nearly wedged herself into the man's lap while the chocolate tarts were served. Agnes leaned so far across the table her bodice nearly burst apart on the cheese tray. Why didn’t you mention you had a houseguest?”
Augie shrugged. “I find him of no import. He’s common.”
“Common?” Jemma questioned, thinking that was the last word she would use to describe Nick Shepherd. He seemed the most uncommon man she’d ever met. “He’s a bit too self assured. He—” Augie twisted his lips, “acts as if we are below him somehow. I don’t suppose I like it. Not one bit. My father’s the Governor, after all. Ah. Here they come. Mother and her new pet.”
