Page 33

“I’ll take the file in payment.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

BEAUCHAMP TOWER

Livie followed Lord Devin into the Beauchamp Tower—a prison that housed only prisoners of high birth—trying to ignore her upset stomach. The fragrance that rose from her pelisse was making her so queasy that she might never eat a peach again.

Or perhaps her nausea stemmed from the smell of limestone spotted with mold and wet with river water.

“Why is the moat so smelly?” she asked Lord Devin as they climbed the stairway.

“The Tower’s sewers empty into the water.”

Livie’s stomach lurched again.

At the top of the steps, a bored-looking guard snapped to attention. “Lord Devin!”

“Captain Sir Tyron’s daughter for a visit.”

Livie glanced at her escort and discovered Lord Devin at his most haughty.

The guard blinked rapidly. “Does she appear on the approved list, my lord?”

“I shall vouch for her. Move aside.”

The guard turned a large iron key in the lock and stood back.

Lord Devin pushed open the door to a large chamber adorned with faded tapestries. In one corner a bed was hung with thick curtains, and directly in front of them, under a mullioned window, Captain Sir Tyron was seated at a table, presumably dictating a letter. His first mate, John Cassio, sat at the other end of the table, transcribing.

With a rush of relief, Livie realized that fear hadn’t made her father gaunt. His thick, dark hair was brushed over his forehead with military precision; his shoulders were just as wide and proud as ever, his back just as straight.

“Put the tea tray on the table,” he barked, without looking at the door.

“Father?” Livie breathed.

At that, his head whipped about, and he rose. Livie burst into tears and hurled herself across the room, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I’ve been so afraid for you!”

The captain cleared his throat, and the rigidity of his body registered in Livie’s brain. She sprang back, dashed tears from her cheeks, and fell into a deep curtsy, head bowed. “Captain Sir Tyron.”

When she rose, his arms were crossed, his eyes uncompromising. “You grieve me, Miss Tyron, at a time when I have other concerns. As I have instructed you in letter after letter, a gentlewoman should be ever reserved.”

“I ap—apologize,” Livie hiccupped, accepting the handkerchief that Lord Devin pushed into her hand.

“I have overlooked the signs of impetuousness you occasionally exhibit in your letters, as your years are green, but your presence here gives me doubt as to the strength of your character. It could be that your cousin is a poor influence. My sister describes her daughter as growing more impudent and feckless by the day.”

Beside her, Lord Devin made a sudden movement.

Livie spoke quickly to cut off his lordship before he agreed with her father. “She isn’t!” she cried, shaking her head. The captain’s eyes narrowed at her defiance. “Daisy is everything good and kind, Father.”

Lord Devin stepped forward and bowed. “Captain Sir Tyron.”

Livie’s father turned and bowed. “Your lordship.”

“I deserve your censure for prompting this occasion,” Lord Devin said. “I had hoped that the presence of your daughter would relieve the tedium of this unjust imprisonment.”

The captain’s rigidity eased, and he nodded to Livie. “I might have guessed that you would not be so immodest as to visit me unprompted. His lordship was much mistaken, but that reproach ought not to land on your shoulders. Those of your sex often fail to engage in complex forethought.”

Livie drew in a shuddering breath. Her father was never precisely affectionate, but she’d never seen contempt on his face before a few moments ago.