He tore the paper off. Inside was a delicate wooden box with silver hinges and clasp. He had seen similar boxes hawked in the market square. Usually, there was a key . . . he turned the box over and found a small silver one attached to the bottom. He looked at the letter again. This had to be a mistake.
Ian used the key and the box snapped open. A frilly piece of blue cloth lay inside. It was a woman’s undergarment. He dropped it on his desk. Someone must be playing some sort of prank on him!
Another knock sounded at the door. Ian swept everything toward the open drawer just as the door swung open.
“Ian?”
Cecily poked her head into the room. He slammed the drawer shut.
“Yes?” He stood up. “What is it?” He glanced down at his desk and saw the letter lying on the floor between his desk and his chair. His face reddened.
“Oh. I didn’t know you were in here.” Frustration flashed across her face.
“I thought you had retired,” Ian tried to bite his tongue, but the words continued to tumble out of his mouth, “. . . after Lord Orrington left.”
Cecily’s brow wrinkled. “Lord Orrington wasn’t here.”
“Don’t lie to me! I just saw his coach outside! Wynston said you were expecting him!”
“Are you having the old Hawk spy on me again?” Cecily snapped. “I told you if you did that I’d . . .”
“He wasn’t spying on you!”
“Am I not allowed to have guests anymore?”
“Not Orrington. Not in my house. I can only imagine what you do with him when I’m not around. I don’t want to imagine it being done under MY roof!”
Her dark green eyes narrowed dangerously as she stalked across the room and stopped on the far side of his desk. “Don’t speak to me about adultery, Ian. I know what you have been doing down on the docks.”
Ian glanced at the letter. “What are you talking about?”
Cecily opened her mouth as if to continue but then her hard face cracked into a strange, eerie smile. “What is that?”
Ian frowned. “What is what?” Had she seen the note?
Cecily sniffed the air. “That. That . . . perfume . . .” She leaned in and sniffed him. “It’s on you!”
Ian paused. The perfume! The air around him reeked of it.
“You smell like a whore!” The sharp lines of her face sharpened. “Like smoke and a cheap whore!”
“After the fire-”
“Did you dally with a whore?”
“No. Of course not!” He thought of Josephine and the way she had touched him. “I went to a tavern with Kylpin to have a drink. Some women stopped by to console him and-”
“Console!” Cecily snorted. “Is that what you call fornicating now?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
Cecily crossed her arms. “That’s not what I heard.”
“Is Lord Orrington spreading his lies again?”
A triumphant smile spread across her face. “If you’re so innocent, why do you look so worried?”
“I’m not worried!” Ian insisted. “I’m just tired and-”
“And you want me to console you?”
“No!” Ian said. “I mean . . . I . . . that’s not . . .”
Cecily’s lips curled back into an ugly sneer and almost immediately the sneer turned into another bizarre smile. “You’ll be sorry.” She whirled around and stalked toward the door.
“Sorry for what?” Ian asked, trying to recover. “You’re the one having the affair, NOT ME!”
She reached the door, stopped, and turned back, her face a perfect mask of triumphant rage. “Why don’t you go console yourself!” She slammed the door on her way out.
Ian collapsed into his chair and fought the urge to vomit. He waited until the nausea passed before stooping to retrieve the love letter. He read it once more. Signed, J.
What was the other woman’s name? Not Evie. The one named after her father . . . Josephine . . .?
“Wynston!”
Ian shoved the letter into his bottom desk drawer and locked it.
Wynston appeared at the door. “Yes, M’lord?”
“Have a man follow Lord Orrington. Pick someone discreet. I want to know where he goes and who he sees,” Ian hesitated, “and put another one on Lord Ragget.”
“Lord Ragget?” Wynston stepped into the room and closed the door. “Are you sure about that?”
Ian nodded.
“Of course. Anything else?”
Thoughts of business surfaced. “Have papers drafted detailing the losses at the warehouse and on the Serenity. Send them to the castle when you are finished so I may reclaim the tariff I paid. King Henrik will no doubt refund me.”
“Right away. Will you require anything else?”
“A hot bath and a bottle of wine.”
“Waiting for you already, M’lord.”
“Thank you, Wynston, that will be all for now.”
He took a fresh piece of paper and dipped his quill into the inkwell. “Your majesty, King Henrik Rutherford,” Ian began, “I am afraid I have some troubling news. I must confess a certain prejudice involving the case and therefore, I seek your wisdom and guidance. I am requesting an audience at your earliest convenience. Your faithful subject, Lord Ian Weatherall.”
He examined the letter, affixed his seal, and set it aside for a runner to deliver in the morning. Rising from his desk, he walked over to the balcony and stepped outside. A cool evening breeze drifted down from the distant Uldran Mountains, swept across the city, and sent a chill down Ian’s back. He leaned against the balcony railing and stared out into the swelling darkness. Far to the south, Lord Ragget’s central tower thrust mightily into the night sky dwarfing many of the buildings around it.
“What are you doing?” he muttered, staring at the tower. “After all these years of peace, what are you-?”
A frantic alarm sounded. His vault! Someone had triggered the new alarm!
Chapter 29
“Tell me what you have heard!”
“Please Cecily, my dear; demand from me anything else but that.”
“Tell me! I need to know the truth.”
“I just can’t bear the thought of hurting you.”
“These lies are hurting me more than you know!”
He looked at her with what she believed were the most beautiful and seductive eyes she had ever seen. They were violet, not muddy brown like her husband’s and they made her tremble.
“I would never lie to you,” he stated, offering a tender, reassuring smile. “You can trust me.”
“Then tell me what you know,” she tried to sound resolute.
“Surely, it is just a terrible rumor, and not one I feel comfortable repeating. You are a lady and . . .”
“Do you find me frail?”
“No, of course not, my dear. You are the strongest woman I know. It is simply the language . . .”
“Just tell me plainly then.”
He released a great sigh and then spoke the words she had anticipated, but not truly believed.
“He has been unfaithful.”
The quiet statement loomed over her and for a moment neither of them spoke.
Cecily replayed the earlier conversation in her mind as she left Ian’s study and stormed through the mansion. The sound of her emerald slippers scraping on the marble stairs echoed faintly against the thick stone walls which rose to create a dome overhead. She descended the spiral steps brusquely, her pace reflecting her mood. After years of enduring their arranged marriage and keeping true to her wedding vows, she now knew the truth. He had been unfaithful and the illusion that was their marriage would soon be over.
Irritated by the entire situation, she ground her teeth, wincing at the intense pain in her right jaw. She opened her mouth to relieve the tension and the joint near her ear popped. She massaged her cheek, stewing over the disquieting news.
How dare he humiliate her like this!
“I’m truly sorry,” the earlie
r conversation continued to play out in her mind as she descended into the bowels of the estate. “I should not have told you.”
“No.” She bit her lower lip. It was a habit she hated, in herself, in others. It was a sign of weakness. “It is better to know the truth.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?” He took her hands gently in his. “Anything at all?”
Cecily shrugged. She liked how his hands felt. Smooth, yet strong. A surge of excitement flowed through her, a glimmer of goodness during this time of wickedness.
“I just can’t believe he would do something so callus,” he continued. She detected a hint of disgust in his voice. “So despicable.”
“We have been . . .” she hesitated, wondering if she should say it aloud. “It has not been easy living together . . . pretending . . .”
“Yes, but to whore around,” his voice lowered, conspiratorially, “in public.”
“What?!”
“I’m afraid so.” He licked his firm lips and she found herself staring at them as he spoke. “Those are the rumors going around.” He slid his hand up to her elbow.
“He’s been embarrassing me with whores in public!” Images surged into her wildly creative mind. She saw him with other women, frolicking, laughing, consoling. And that wasn’t all. They were directing their snide laughter at her!
“I’m terribly sorry, my dear. Yes, in public. On the docks, but only if you believe that kind of disgusting gossip.”
“That bastard!” Her cheeks flushed, and she tried to blink away the reddening vision before her eyes.
“Cecily, please, calm down. I’m sure it is only a nasty rumor!” His hand moved to her shoulder, then slid gracefully over and down her back. His fingers caressed her gently, soothingly.
“Get me proof!” she demanded, melting slightly under his touch. He was very close . . . so close she could smell his familiar scent and she smiled inwardly. He still used the same soap.
For a moment, she forgot the earlier conversation, and remembered a more distant time, a blissful time that had been . . .
Heavenly.
Then with a gentle shake of her head, the delightful memory faded, and was replaced with their most recent conversation. She had taken a step away from him then, to clear her head, but he had followed, not willing, it seemed, to let her escape. His warm breath tickled her ear and a demure smile turned up the corners of her mouth. She thought about pulling away again, but didn’t, couldn’t. There was something about him; something wild, yet oddly civilized which kept her near. Was it the way he looked at her? He was trying to keep it in check, but his passionate eyes were devouring her like a starving man turned loose at a banquet. The rose returned to her cheeks again. She had never seen that look in Ian’s eyes.
“You want proof?” His brow knitted together. “I don’t know.” His hand moved down to the small of her back, still caressing. “I just couldn’t . . .”
“What?!” She moved closer or was he pulling her nearer? “If you know something, just tell me. Do not make me wait any longer.”
“No . . .” His other hand pushed a loose, blonde curl back off her face. The tips of his fingers grazed the edge of her cheek and she turned her head a little to follow his touch. “Surely, it can’t be true, and I wouldn’t want to spread any lies.”
“Tell me anyway, I insist.”
He hesitated. “One of my sources said something about . . . letters.”
“What letters?” she asked, looking up at him. His lips seemed so full, so close.
“My dear, I wouldn’t put much hope in this.”
“What letters?”
“One of his lovers, I’m sorry, let me rephrase that. One of his whores writes him . . .” he paused to inhale, obviously distressed by the discussion and then with a sigh he continued, “. . . one of his whores writes him love notes.”
“Do you . . . do you have any of them?”
“No. I would give them to you if I did.” He pushed another loose curl back and tucked it behind her ear. “But one of my sources overheard a whore say something about Ian keeping them in his study so he can read them before . . .”
“Before what?”
“Please Cecily.” A pained look stretched across his rugged face. “I have said too much.”
“Before what?” she demanded.
He bowed his head. “Before he . . . beds you.”
She took a step back, her mouth agape, unable to speak.
“I don’t think it is true!” he added quickly, closing the distance between them again. He looked her straight in the eye. “I can’t imagine anyone needing to . . . well, needing anything but you in their bed.”
“I will kill him for humiliating me.” She started to turn away.
“No!” He grabbed her hand and held it firmly. “Cecily, my dear, you cannot.”
“Why can’t I?”
“Because you would go to prison.”
“My grandfather wouldn’t allow that!”
“Ian is a powerful man.”
She laughed. “My grandfather is the king!”
“Yes, but even kings are subject to their own laws.”
“I don’t care.” She closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest. “I don’t care,” she murmured once more.
“Cecily, listen to me.” She could feel him trembling. “Ian’s death would not go unpunished.” His hands slid down to her hips. “If only we could find those letters, assuming of course, they exist.”
“Why?”
“I really don’t want to get your hopes up.”
“Let me worry about my hopes. Just tell me what you’re thinking.” She craned her neck to look up at him, and then without thinking, she kissed him gently on the underside of his chin. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest. “Please . . .”
“If your grandfather read those letters,” she heard his breath catch again as she kissed the side of his neck, “and you . . . requested a separation . . .”
She straightened. A beacon of hope appeared on the horizon. “He could grant me my freedom?”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps? He is the king.”
“Yes, but your marriage bound not only your families together, but two countries as well. Gyunwar will not be happy with the split.”
“To hell with Gyunwar! And to hell with Ian!” She leaned forward and kissed him square on the lips. The passionate zeal in which he responded caused her nipples to harden. The rush of his fervency surprised her, but the longer they kissed, the more she was reminded of their past. Feelings she had thought were long forgotten resurfaced so quickly she wondered if they had been buried at all. This must be fantasy, she thought, but his firm lips and darting tongue argued against that assumption and she found herself becoming more and more carried away . . .
Reluctantly, she broke from the kiss and turned away. “I . . . I can’t.” She gasped for air. Her heart was beating so fast! Too fast! Her hands trembled. “I can’t set myself up for another heartache. Losing you before nearly killed me.” She grabbed for the back of the emerald chair to steady herself. He was there, immediately by her side, grabbing her by the arm and around her waist, offering his support.
“I need to sit,” she murmured.
He helped her over to the settee and then he sat beside her. Their knees touched. “You must believe me. I did not want to come here and reveal his treachery.” He looked down at his hands. “Tell me I was right to come to you.”
She reached out and pulled his chin around to look at her. “You were right to come. The news hurt me, but you did not.”
“And the kiss?” he asked softly. She saw the pain of their loss reflected in his eyes as well. She hadn’t been the only one hurt all those years ago. “Was that right?”
“I kissed you,” she said. “There is nothing for you to worry about.”
“But as a gentleman, I should not have-”
She raised a hand, silencing him. “You have done nothing wrong. I just
need to find those letters. If they exist, I could be free of all this.” She offered him a reassuring smile. “And then we could . . .” she trailed off; worried she might have said too much.
His face brightened at the unspoken possibilities. “Where in his study would he hide them? Or would he transfer them to your vault?”
“No. If he reads them before his occasional trip to our marriage bed, the vault would be too inconvenient.” She thought for a moment. “His desk! He locks one of the drawers.” Her brow wrinkled. “But if I do find the letters, what then? Take them straight to my grandfather?”
“I’m sure we can think of something,” he said, and Cecily thought she saw a faint smile touch the corners of his beautiful eyes and lips.
Cecily had been upset to find Ian behind his desk when she had knocked. She had hoped the study would be empty. She was even more upset to see a note fall off his desk as she had entered. A scented note at that!
And his lies! The lingering guilt she had felt regarding the stolen kiss faded and she found herself smiling instead. It had been an amazing kiss. Oh, to feel the touch of a passionate man again, to feel HIS touch again.
She reached the end of the stairs and hurried toward the vault. Navigating the tall corridors in the dusty, maze-like cellarage, she rounded the final turn and spied the twelve-foot high metal vault door staring down at her ominously.
Cautiously, she stepped forward, listening to the whispering scuff of her slippers echo within the empty antechamber. She frowned. Something was different. A faint azure light outlined the vault door and there were now three keyholes instead of one. She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, deep in thought.
How could she trigger the alarm?
She crossed the antechamber and struck the metal door with her fist. The azure light flared, and a blast of cold air pushed her back.
“Go away,” a deep, rumbling voice boomed. It sounded like it was coming from the door. Had Ian paid for the vault to be doubly spelled?
“I am Princess Cecily Rutherford Weatherall,” she declared in a loud, clear voice.
“Go away.”
“I told you I am . . .” she stopped. She was not going to argue with the stupid vault door! Besides, all she really wanted to do was sound the alarm and draw Ian out of his study.
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