But…was it actually, factually, properly a scrape?
John smoothed his lapels. He had yearned for total anonymity, had he not? After the humiliations of the past fortnight, the last person he wanted to be was Mr. John Sharp, solicitor-turned-chef-turned-laughingstock.
Why not be Captain Hamish L’Amour, if only for a minute, for these two young ladies?
Yes, yes, the noble captain was everything John was not: adventurous, accomplished, titled, respected, creative, romantic…French, Russian, and English all at the same time.
But it wasn’t real. It was a lark. A way to be someone else for a few moments, and help his gorgeous goddess to save face with her young charges. Rescuing her from embarrassment after all, just as John had intended to do in the beginning.
After their brief encounter ended, he would return to his safe, predictable world. Or perhaps he’d ask the proprietress of his hotel to refer to him as Mr. Smith instead of Mr. Sharp.
There, that was a happy end to the misadventure, was it not? The goddess could continue on with her Banbury tales, and John could spend the next few weeks in a comfortable room with a stunning view of the ocean and a mountain of blank notebooks in which to plan the rest of his life.
“Yes,” he told Pert Nose and Blond Ringlets. “Of course your cousin would never lie to you. I will…reunite…with her later when we can have a word in private. In the meanwhile, I shan’t take up any more of your time. Please carry on and enjoy your day.”
All three women stared at him.
Trepidation pricked beneath his expertly tied cravat.
“All right, then.” Blond Ringlets plucked the reins from the goddess’s hands.
John nearly sagged in relief. That hadn’t been difficult at all. Problem solved. Since he would be keeping entirely to his rooms, he was unlikely to cross paths with any of the trio ever again.
Pert Nose waved. “We’ll see you tonight, Captain!”
“Er,” he said. “Tonight?”
“The ball at the Castle Inn,” Blond Ringlets said helpfully. “Of course you won’t miss your first chance to hold Allegra in your arms once again, like the illicit heated embraces you shared so many years ago.”
Pert Nose waggled her eyebrows. “If you’re lucky, tonight, you can rekindle your unrestrained passion.”
Chapter 4
Who the devil was this man?
Allegra stared at the ridiculously handsome total stranger who was in no possible way the fabulous and fictitious Captain Hamish L’Amour. No matter how the present situation appeared, one couldn’t conjure dashing, swashbuckling adventurers to life from one’s overactive imagination.
The stranger was simply a good Samaritan attempting to save her from the embarrassment of being caught out as a liar.
Just your average, ordinary knight in shining armor. Or in his case, gorgeously sparkling turquoise waistcoat. With chiseled features, rebelliously overlong glossy black hair that curled over the top of his snowy white neckcloth, a rugged scar across one cheek that only added to his charm, a brilliant tailor who had outfitted a trim but toned masculine body to perfection, and a limp that indicated he had indeed suffered some sort of injury to his leg.
Perhaps in an even more daringly romantic skirmish that whatever fiction Allegra was likely to concoct.
“He is sooo handsome,” Portia cooed into Allegra’s ear.
As if Allegra did not see that. As if she weren’t sitting askew in a diagonally stationed phaeton, gazing in wonder and disbelief at the improbable male specimen before them.
“I can see how you fell in love at first sight,” Dorcas whispered.
Dorcas. Dorcas who did not believe in love. Dorcas who had laughed herself hoarse when Portia had proposed renting lodgings at Siren’s Retreat, a luxurious seafront manor home, renowned not just for its views, but for the local legend that all travelers who spend the night with an open heart find love before their stay is through.
Uncle had thought the claim twaddle too, but with two daughters to marry off, only a fool would insist upon lodgings less conducive to courtship.
And now, in a farcical turn of events contrary to what any of them had imagined, it was Allegra who had garnered the first assignation from an ostensible suitor.
That was, if the good Not-Captain L’Amour had any intention of putting in an appearance at the Castle Inn’s evening ball.
What would her cousins think if he failed to appear?
What would Allegra do if he showed?
“We have to go,” she blurted out. “Good day, Captain.”
At this, Not-Captain L’Amour looked unspeakably relieved. His wide shoulders relaxed, and he lifted the hand without a cane to give a little wave.
“That’s it?” Portia said in disbelief. “You’re not going to launch yourself into his eagerly waiting arms?”
“I’ve already launched two horses and an entire phaeton at him,” Allegra reminded her. “There will be plenty of time for corporeal acrobatics later.” Or not. “We have interrupted the captain’s afternoon enough already, and must allow him to carry on with his day.”
“He wanted to be interrupted,” Portia said. “He has spent the past decade scouring the earth, doing his utmost to return to you.”
The expression on Not-Captain L’Amour’s chiseled face looked more wan with every word.
“And yet you must admit that our timing could have been better,” Allegra told her cousin. “He didn’t wish to be interrupted at this specific moment or in that precise manner.”
Dorcas rolled her eyes in agreement. “Portia, you’re so silly. Everything Captain L’Amour does is on the grandest possible scale. He was no doubt planning an explosive public reunion at tonight’s ball and we’ve spoiled the surprise.”
“It’s not spoiled,” Portia said at once, raising her voice to ensure poor Not-Captain L’Amour could hear each word. “I very much look forward to witnessing dramatic, wholly unpredictable acts of romance unfold before my eyes.”
Not-Captain L’Amour took a small step backwards.
“Then we must leave him to his tasks,” Allegra said briskly. She gestured for Portia to do something productive with the reins. “We will see what Fate has in store on its own time.”
With obvious reluctance, Portia maneuvered the horses off of the pedestrian pavement and onto the actual road. Not-Captain L’Amour tipped his rakish black hat and turned smoothly in the opposite direction.
“Wait,” Dorcas said.
“Do not wait,” Allegra instructed Portia.
The horses clopped to a halt.
“Captain L’Amour,” called Dorcas.
After an infinitesimal pause in which the poor Not-Captain was perceptibly steeling his nerves and gathering his patience, he glanced over his shoulder at Dorcas. “Yes?”
“Where did you rent your rooms?”
“Dorcas,” Allegra hissed. “You cannot go about asking strange men the location of their private chambers—”
“He’s not a stranger. He’s your betrothed.”
“—and you certainly cannot shout indecent inquiries in the middle of Brighton’s shopping district, do you understand?”
“Siren’s Retreat,” Not-Captain L’Amour called back.