The Shocking Miss Anstey by Robert Neill Read Free Book Online

his thoughts. He was certainly glad of Wickham, and the starting again of a friendship that had not had time to grow. The invitation could give him what he wanted, or thought he wanted, and it would all have been perfect, except for the obvious. He was going away from her.
    He turned into St. James’s Street, where the clubs were crowded and the gambling houses gay with lights, and he was still telling himself that this was silly. She was going to Paris, and he would see no more of her if he stayed in London. But the freshness of her was still in his mind, her laughing eyes and her eager childish talk, and he was resentful that she could be bought by Hildersham’s inheritance--and he told himself that this, too, was silly. She was probably older than she looked, and the childish talk was a make-believe, done for his amusement, and he would be better in the country--if he could manage Lord Barford, and the sister who was Lady St. Hollith. She would perhaps be friendly, like her brother, and she would at least know that there had been a war. But she would not have eyes like Anice, or the laugh, and the look of quick delight.
    He came to his hotel, and as he was crossing the hall the porter came after him with a letter. It had been brought by hand, the man said, an hour ago, and Grant took it slowly to the candles that flanked the fire. It was a single sheet, folded and faintly scented, addressed in a hand that was big and impetuous, surely feminine, and he had already made his guess as he ripped the seal.
     
    You can come to me tonight if you want to. H. has to dine with Prinny, so I’ll be all alone, and I want to hear about ships. Of course, if you’re going to someone else you needn’t think about me.
    Anice
     
    He stood utterly still as it reeled through his brain. He could not quite grasp it, what she wanted or why, and a part of him was leaping in delight, a part saying coldly that this was her trade and she was pursuing it brazenly. It was impudent and outrageous, and--as his other part rejoined--entirely like her.
    ‘Do you send an answer, sir?’
    He glanced up and saw the porter waiting, and then he nodded in dismissal.
    ‘Thank you. Nothing needed.’
    He was crisp and easy about it, but Amphion’s officers would have known that impassive stance and the slow unhurried walk that took him to the stairs. Two thoughts were struggling wildly, and one of them was winning. He was warm from the wine at dinner, and he wanted to see her. There was Hildersham, too, who had been so smooth and possessive, and something like a cutting-out expedition could be attempted here--or the beginnings of one. He could hardly do much in an evening, but he would know the coast better for next time.
    He had made up his mind before he reached his bedroom, and already he was considering the details. She had given him a rose, so he must take her something in return, and he thought he had it ready. She had talked of ships, and if that was a pretext he could use it also. He had in his baggage the assortment of trinkets and souvenirs that the homecoming sailor brings, and among them was what Anice would surely like--the sailor’s ship-in-a-bottle. And not merely a ship. It was a model of Amphion, done by one of his foretopmen in the endless days at sea, and Grant had liked it enough to buy it. He took it now to the light, and there was Amphion, lifeless in a stiff blue sea of paint, but certainly Amphion, with her black hull, yellow decks, white sails on slender masts, and the black-and-yellow checker of the gun ports. Even the guns were there, and the wheel and binnacle and hatches, and the specks of shining gold on the taffrail that spelt her name. He held it up, viewing it through the clear glass of the bottle, and he thought it was exactly right. At worst it was a pretext, and at best, if Anice really liked it, it would be his ship for her; and that, at least, was something she could not have from Hildersham.
    He straightened, glanced