Beth beamed beneath his praise.
When Beth had met the queen and his scheme came to fruition, he would show his true colors. He would demand Pamela show respect when she felt none. He would coldly discard Beth. He would pay Pamela off and go seeking another lover.
Then the earth would be round, the sky would be blue, the sun would rise in the east, everything Pamela believed in would be true, and her life would return to normal.
Chapter 22
“How was your trip, my lord?” Moulton asked late the next afternoon as he helped Kerrich off with his coat.
“As foul as foul can be.” With an imperious gesture, Kerrich waved away the swarming footmen. “I discovered the whereabouts of the mysterious disappearing Mr. Athersmith.”
Moulton lowered his voice. “He was at your estate in Norfolk?”
“Not at Brookford, but he had been at the bank.” Kerrich stripped off his gloves and stuffed them in his hat. “On my business, he told my employees.”
“And they believed him?”
“Why would they not?” As Kerrich walked past, he handed the hat to the footman. “I have confided my troubles in no one.”
Moulton trailed him to the vase of roses displayed prominently on a table. “Of course, you’re right, my lord. What did Mr. Athersmith do at the bank?”
Leaning down, Kerrich sniffed a particularly lovely blossom and thought of Pamela. “He stole a large quantity of the special, watermarked paper on which we print our notes. Concluding they worked on my command, my employees helped him carry it out. They were pleased with themselves.”
Moulton stared in blank amazement. “The ballocks of the man!”
“I didn’t know he had it in him,” Kerrich said wearily. “Any developments here?”
“Mr. Athersmith has disappeared from London, although now I know why, and without him we’re no closer to discovering the creator of this plot.”
“You weren’t doing too well with him.”
“No need to be critical, my lord,” Moulton said, and then proceeded to be exactly that. “Although the officials at the Bank of England are the least efficient I’ve ever worked for. They insist on using their own people where we professionals should do the job, and this is the result. We’re left with nothing but a cold trail.”
Pulling a rose from the bouquet, Kerrich twirled it in his fingers. “Perhaps Lewis’s band will return to my estate to do their printing.”
“We’re watching the site—or at least the bank officials claim someone is—but the villains realize you have knowledge or they wouldn’t have shredded your study. And to be frank, they can abandon that printing press because they can afford a new one now.” Moulton was tight-lipped with frustration. “If we can find your cousin, my lord, we will arrest him, regardless of your wishes.”
Kerrich nodded. He’d done what he could to rescue Lewis. The Mathewes family name would suffer, but Kerrich was damned tired of worrying about his cousin when he had a queen to pacify and a betrothal to enforce. “As long as I’m not going to hang with him.”
“Is that what they told you?” Moulton shook his head. “Not a chance, my lord.”
Kerrich had thought the bank gentlemen were bluffing; cheering news to know he was right. “Good. I’m planning on marrying, and prison would interfere.”
Moulton’s smirk blossomed. “If I may, I would offer my congratulations and say you have chosen a lovely young lady.”
Presumptuous, of course, but for the moment Moulton was the butler, and a good butler always knew what was happening in the house. “Don’t tell her that,” Kerrich advised. “She’ll give you a lecture on the shallowness of outer beauty.”
“Quite.” The two men exchanged a grin.
Kerrich gestured toward the closed door of the library. “How is the mess?”
“I told my men what happened, and we’ve confided in a few of the trustworthy footmen. Told them there was a robbery, but you wished that no one be alarmed. We’ve been quietly cleaning it up. It looks acceptable, if somewhat denuded. I’ve kept it locked, for I’ve had to keep an eye on some of the maids. They’re incredibly curious.”
Finally, Kerrich asked the question he’d come through the door wanting to ask. “Where is Miss Lockhart?”
Moulton proved himself not only one of the sleuthing world’s most efficient operators, but also an accomplished source of information. “She is upstairs with the child,” he said. “Shall I send for her?”
“Have her come to the drawing room.”
When Kerrich walked in the drawing room, he wondered why he hadn’t said the game room or the lounge or the ballroom. He couldn’t relax in this room. He couldn’t even sit down. His mother had decorated this chamber. He had deliberately left it as it was so he would always be reminded of that day after his father’s death when he had found her in the embrace of a stranger. Why tonight did he choose this room in which to meet Pamela? Was his mind hinting that he should rethink his determination to wed any woman who affected the emotions he had constantly and carefully safeguarded?
He’d always thought his wife would be a woman of little mind and average beauty, one who let him do all the thinking, one who would not be a temptation to other men, or a temptation to him. Pamela was not what he’d planned, and he knew if he gave up on his scheme to wed her, she’d be relieved. So why not—
“My lord, you sent for me?”
The sound of her crisp voice halted his wayward thoughts. She was here—the no-nonsense, frank, sparkling Miss Lockhart and the handsome, passionate, determined Pamela. Two women blended into this one, this perfect woman. The woman he wanted. Every time he saw her, he grew more and more sure. He had to have her.
He would just make sure she never knew the depths of that need.
She still wore a dowager gown, bunched at the shoulders and wide at the waist. Her hair was pulled back as tightly as it had ever been, and the knitting needles were back in place as if that would halt his passion—and disguise hers. She was frowning, the ferocious frown she had used with such success when she had played the role of the sour old governess. Unfortunately for her, the gown and the coiffure poorly camouflaged her figure and her loveliness, and without her disfiguring cosmetics that frown lent a piquant air to her even features and made Kerrich want to kiss it away.
Of course, probably he would want to kiss away any expression she wore, save an expression of longing.
Extending the rose, he said, “I missed you.”
She closed her eyes, obviously not in ecstasy. “My lord, we have agreed that the other night was an aberration, not to be repeated, and I must beg that you don’t say such things to me.”
Pamela was too intelligent, too saucy, too sure of herself, and even in that ridiculous ensemble, far, far too beautiful. Taking advantage of her closed eyes, he sprang across the room to her side. “I love to hear you beg.”
Opening her eyes, she jumped back.
Ah, she wasn’t nearly as impervious as she would like him to believe. Certainly the way she viewed him bespoke some emotion, even if that emotion was nothing more than alarm.
“Depth and passion hide in the rose’s scent.” He held the flower before his nose. “Don’t you agree?”
“One would have to travel far before one finds a person who does not love the scent of roses.”
He brushed the flower underneath her chin. “The scent reminds me of a transcendent evening I spent with the lady I will wed.”
She tried to hold her breath. He saw her try, but she couldn’t. Not and say what she was driven to say.
“I don’t want to be reminded, and I’m not going to wed you.” Taking a breath, she refilled her lungs with the scent of the rose, and her expression perceptibly softened. “You sent for me, my lord?”
“I want a kiss.” Before she could refuse, he quickly added, “It was a ghastly trip. I’ve got problems at the bank, and not just the difficulty threatened by Queen Victoria. I’ve uncovered treachery, too”—he rubbed
his aching forehead—“and that of the kind that breaks my heart. All that sustained me was knowing you were here in my house and when I got home, I would get—” He broke off. What had gotten into him that he prattled on in such a manner? Ladies should be protected from life’s difficulties. With his best irresistible smile, he said, “You’re being incredibly patient with my complaints.”
She looked at him as if he were mad. “No. I thought you were talking to me as if I were—” Now she broke off.
“My wife?”
She was shaken; he saw it in her face. But he was no less disturbed. The casual, occasional conversations he had foreseen for his marriage did not include intimacy of thought and experience.
Stepping up to him, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “One kiss.”
His wife should be a decoration on his arm, a hostess in his home, a mother to the faceless, nameless and well-behaved children they would breed.
Her fingers tangled in his hair.
He didn’t want his wife thinking she had the right to know his business or share his concerns.
She pressed her lips to his.
He didn’t want his wife thinking at all.
Then he wasn’t thinking. He dropped the rose and gathered Pamela close, lifting her onto her toes. The scent of her, the feel of her, the taste of her was what he needed to clear away the hurt of a cousin’s continued betrayal, his worry about the queen’s threat and the rapidly approaching reception. They kissed as if they were lovers reunited after a long and painful absence. As if together they made one whole person. As if they were in love.
Her lips opened beneath his and she accepted his tongue gladly, then sucked at it with gentle pressure. The eroticism of her action brought his imagination to life, and he dreamed of lying flat on his back while she used her mouth on him.
They needed more time together. He needed more privacy to tempt her as he knew she could be tempted. He wanted to possess her, over and over, until she desired him so much she would willingly call him master.
Knowing Pamela, the loving would have to be prolonged and intense—and if he were lucky, she would hold out for a long, long time.
The scent of rose surrounded them. He looked down to see they’d crushed the blossom beneath their feet, and Pamela—Pamela was melting in his arms.
Using all his persuasive powers, he said, “We can’t continue in this manner. We must be together.”
He meant in marriage, but she said, “Yes. Now. Shut the door.” Her willingness and her demand caught him by surprise, but he wasn’t a fool. If her desire for him was inexorable, he would not object.
“Not in here,” he said. Not in here, with the ghost of his mother and her lover mocking him.
Taking Pamela’s arm, he hustled her out the door and toward the library. Moulton saw them and without in any way revealing his thoughts, sprang forward, key extended. But as he fit it in the lock, the door swung slightly on its hinges.
Both men stopped. The door was open. Gently, Kerrich put his finger on his lips to indicate the need for silence, then shooed Pamela back. Like a charging brigade, Moulton slammed the door back and dashed through the entrance, Kerrich on his heels.
There, sitting at the desk viewing all the account books, sat Lord Reynard, a glass of whisky at his elbow. The old man’s mouth was puckered, and he stroked his chin as he viewed the aghast Moulton, then Kerrich. “Interesting stuff you have here, Devon. Complete nonsense, of course.”
Kerrich exchanged a glance with Moulton. “Sir, I…”
Lord Reynard looked beyond them. “Ah, Miss Lockhart, are you a part of this conspiracy, too?”
Kerrich saw her peeking around the door, and said hastily, “No, sir, she’s not.”
“Then, much as I hate to interrupt your wooing, perhaps she should leave.”
Kerrich went toward her, but she backed away as if he were the carrier of some dreaded disease.
“I left Beth with Corliss.” She didn’t look at him. She didn’t look at anyone. Her cheeks were red, and her spine was as stiff as ever Miss Lockhart’s had been. “I must go back. If you would excuse me, my lords.” Curtsying, she hurried off.
“I embarrassed her.” Lord Reynard made a tsking noise with his tongue. “And just when things were going so well.”
“Yes,” Kerrich murmured, looking after her. “I wish I hadn’t…”
“No use wishing you hadn’t, yet. There’ll be plenty of time for that after you’re married. You’ll wish you hadn’t said this, and swear you hadn’t done that…you are going to marry Miss Lockhart, aren’t you?” Lord Reynard leveled a stern gaze on him.
“I have asked her, sir.”
“Beg her. Women like men who grovel.”
“I am not so far gone as that, sir.”
“Really?” Lord Reynard got that grandfatherly smirk on his face.
“If you would excuse me, my lords.” Here Moulton tried to make his escape, with a bow and a few murmured phrases.
“Shut the door, Moulton, and stay,” Lord Reynard commanded. “I told you before—I recognize a man from Bow Street environs when I see him.” He waved a hand at the chairs before the desk.
Both men seated themselves, Kerrich with resignation and Moulton with great discomfort.
Lord Reynard folded his hands before him and leaned forward. The amiable old gentleman was gone. They faced the man who had been raised in poverty, taken control of a bank and made his family’s fortune through shrewd intelligence and utter ruthlessness. “Now. A few of my old friends still have connections in the Bank of England, and rumors of counterfeiting are starting to swirl. These books”—Lord Reynard pushed the dummy accounts away—“are fraudulent. So it’s time to explain to your old grandfather just what’s going on.”
Lord Reynard’s genial tone didn’t fool Kerrich, and he said, “You see, sir, Lewis met this girl…”
When Kerrich had finished the tale, the old man pursed his lips. “I never knew Lewis had it in him.”
Leaning back in his chair, Kerrich said, “Neither did I, but he’s having an affair with some great lady, he’s in love with Miss Fotherby, and he’s involved in stealing from the Mathewes Bank and the Bank of England.”
“Busy boy,” Grandpapa commented. “But I don’t care. I’ve known that lad since he was in nappies, and Lewis’s mind isn’t convoluted enough to think up such an intricate plot to counterfeit money.”
“No, my lord,” Moulton said. “We know he is working for someone, but we cannot find out who.”
“I knew the boy was in trouble, but I had no idea how much.” He turned to Moulton. “Is he going to hang?”
Moulton looked grim and nodded. “The best he could hope for is transport.”
“Damn. I hate to see that happen. He’s my sister’s grandson.” Lord Reynard sipped his whisky. “But you have to catch him first. Do you know how you’re going to do it?”
“No, sir,” Moulton said.
Lord Reynard put his glass down with a snap. “Then I’ll tell you.”
Chapter 23
Pamela crumpled the note. She couldn’t believe Kerrich’s gall. He summoned her to him now, when the queen’s party was not four hours hence and she was supervising the maids as they prepared Beth.
Although the maids didn’t really need any supervision. Today, with no struggle, Beth had taken a bath. Her white, ruffled gown with the blue velvet sash was laid out. So many cheerful, helpful maids were crowded into the bedchamber, Pamela didn’t have a place to sit, but still…she wanted to be there for little Beth. The sweet child needed her for reassurance.
Going to Beth, she knelt beside her. “Darling, Lord Kerrich demands to see me.”
“All right,” Beth said brightly as she turned her head to let Corliss take another rag curler out of her hair.
“But I won’t go if you want me to stay here with you.”
Beth nodded and watched her hair bounce in the mirror. “You can go.”
“Your happiness is more imp
ortant to me than Lord Kerrich’s summons.”
“I’m happy. Go ahead.” Touching the newly formed curls, Beth asked, “Corliss, I want these forever.”
The maids laughed indulgently, and Corliss said, “Really, Miss Lockhart, there’s no need for you to stay. When it’s time to go, we’ll have Beth ready to meet Her Majesty, and you know you can’t refuse the master.”
For one brief moment, Pamela was horrified. Did everyone know she couldn’t refuse Kerrich?
Then she realized Corliss meant she couldn’t refuse the master’s summons. “No, I suppose I can’t.” Reluctantly, she stood up, edged toward the door and out into the corridor.
Moulton spoke quietly from the shadows. “Miss Lockhart, this way.”
Startled, she caught her breath.
“Beg pardon, miss. Lord Kerrich has instructed that I bring you to him.” He led her down the long corridor with its blaze of candles and on every table a vase of roses. Then they walked into the gallery, their heels clicking on the polished hardwood floor. They passed open guest bedchambers rich with color and fabric, through a game room with a billiards table, and at last they turned into the other wing. The family wing, with the family bedchambers.
Pamela’s cheeks burned. Kerrich didn’t mean for her to come to his bedchamber…did he? Just because she had given him an inappropriate invitation yesterday, and just because his grandfather had been in the library, and just because she and Kerrich had been left frustrated—that was no reason for Kerrich to think he could call for her any time he wanted a romp. Hadn’t she been humiliated enough in front of Lord Reynard?
Moulton stopped before the double doors that led to the master suite and flung them open. Stepping back, he bowed.
Cheeks burning, lips pressed together, fingers knotted, Pamela looked at him.
In a rush, Moulton said, “No, miss! It’s not like that. Please, no one but me knows where you are and I wouldn’t…I am the soul of discretion.”
There could be no doubt. He was the soul of discretion, or word of her downfall would be all over London by now. Still she hesitated until Kerrich stepped into the doorway. He hadn’t changed yet; he wore a plain white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and trousers with no boots, and he sported an impish grin.
Rules of Engagement Page 21