Philip found a surprising amount of comfort in her words. He had known that his father loved him, though it had never been said aloud. It made sense that his father had been equally aware of his son’s regard. “I hope you’re right.”
Uncomfortable with the extent to which he’d revealed his emotions, he took the music box from Nicole, carefully wrapped it in a heavy towel, and wedged it securely into the leather portmanteau. “My curricle will be brought around in a few minutes, so I’ll go down and speak to Masterson now. Can you be ready to go in ten minutes?”
“Oh, yes.” She smiled. “I’ve little to pack.”
Philip collected the neatly folded white negligee, then took a lamp to light his way down the Rochester’s dark stairs to his friend’s rooms. Hair tousled and suppressing a yawn, Masterson himself answered Philip’s knock.
After identifying his visitor, Masterson smiled lazily and gestured for Philip to come into the narrow vestibule. “I’m surprised you aren’t still enjoying your warm bed.”
“That warm bed is why I’m here,” Philip said dryly as he handed over the negligee. “While I must thank you and Kirby for your generous gift, a mistake was made. Miss Chambord is a lady, not a lightskirt.” He gave a succinct description of Nicole’s background and his decision to take her to Winstead Hall.
Masterson leaned against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, an expression of amused interest on his face. “So the chit batted those long lashes and said she’s a distressed gentlewoman. You actually believe her?”
Not liking the tone, Philip said shortly, “I do.”
The other man shook his head cynically. “Be careful the little tart doesn’t rob you the moment you turn your back.”
“She’s not a tart.” When Masterson gave him a skeptical glance, Philip’s eyes narrowed. “You may have catastrophic judgment about women, but not all men are such fools.”
The other man’s brows shot up. “A low blow, Philip,” he said without rancor. “But no doubt you’re right. If the girl is an innocent, it would explain why yesterday she gave me a setdown worthy of an Almack’s patroness when I told her I was in need of a mistress and asked if she was interested in the position.”
So Masterson had offered the girl a carte blanche. Philip teetered between satisfaction that Nicole had turned him down and a strong desire to plant a fist on his friend’s jaw. “Time will tell which of us is right, but until Miss Chambord’s honesty, or lack thereof, is established, I’d thank you not to say anything that might ruin her reputation.”
“I shall be a model of discretion,” Masterson assured him. “I guarantee that Jamie will be the same. If she is a decent girl fallen on hard times, she deserves a chance.”
Satisfied, Philip offered his hand, then took his leave.
Masterson grinned as he returned to the comfort of his bed. Philip was obviously taken by the girl. If pretty little Nicole was what she claimed to be, she might turn out to be a more lasting Christmas gift than they had intended.
* * *
Despite of his defense of Nicole’s integrity, Philip found himself troubled by doubts as he made his way up the dim stairwell. He had believed without question everything the girl had said, but perhaps he’d been naive to do so. The fact that she had an air of refinement and spoke excellent French didn’t mean she was honest. Perhaps she was a deceitful little vixen who had been stealing his purse while he was talking to Masterson.
Frowning, he entered his rooms and glanced around, but saw no sign of his guest. He crossed the drawing room in half a dozen steps and entered his bedroom, but there was no sign of her there, or of his luggage, either. Cursing himself for a gullible fool, he spun on his heel and barked, “Nicole, where are you?”
He was so sure that she had fled that it was a shock to hear her voice floating from the narrow hall that led to the servants’ entrance.
“I am here, monsieur.” She trotted into sight carrying a battered wicker basket in one hand. “I found this in a closet. May I use it to carry Merkle?” Her expression became anxious. “You don’t mind if I take her with me? I couldn’t bear to abandon her to starve.”
Her gaze was so transparently honest that Philip felt like six kinds of idiot for doubting her. “Of course she can come. Put a towel in the basket to keep her warm. It’s going to be a long, cold drive.”
He saw that Nicole had neatly stacked all of the luggage beside the front entrance. He’d been in such a hurry when he came in that he’d rushed right by it.
He was just congratulating himself that Nicole knew nothing of his doubts when her gentle voice asked, “Did you think I had robbed you and run, Sir Philip?”
He could feel hot color rising in his face. “The thought had occurred to me.”
She nodded with apparent approval as she folded a towel into the bottom of the basket. “That is only natural. What do you know of me, after all?”
Deciding to cast his lot with instinct over logic, Philip said, “I know that you are entirely too perceptive, and you have honest eyes. That’s quite enough for me. How do you know that I am not a murderer, or going to sell you to a slaver who will ship you to a harem in Arabia?”
She laughed. “Because you are not. I knew you were honorable as soon as I saw you.” After which placid statement, she scooped up Merkle and put the cat in the basket, making soothing noises to allay feline protests.
After staring at her dark head for a moment, Philip decided that the girl was either a genius or a lunatic, possibly both, but amiable in either case.
Hearing the sound of hooves and wheels outside, he went to the window and saw that the livery groom had brought his curricle right on schedule. “The carriage is here. Don’t you have a cloak? If not, you’d better wear something of mine, though you’ll be lost in it.”
In answer, Nicole lifted a garishly scarlet garment that had been draped over the back of the sofa. Philip blinked in disbelief as she wrapped the voluminous folds around her. Eyeing the fluffy ostrich trim, he said, “I can see why Masterson and Kirby thought you were no better than you should be.”
