Perilous Risk

by Blackthorne, Natasha

  All right. She was quite intimidated by taller, statuesque women.

  With age, wisdom is supposed to come. Act your age. Keep your dignity.

  Rebecca’s face grew tight, as though the clay of her forced pleasant mask had suddenly hardened and might crack under the strain. “Is little Jonny still suffering with the colic?”

  Lady Ruel nodded. She seemed to speak as little as humanly possible.

  As though us mortals aren’t worthy of the effort.

  Rebecca forced the uncharitable thought down and sought to fill the uneasy quiet. “This herbal mix really does work wonders for colic. I used it with my own son. But it may be harder to get him to take it, it is quite bitter compared to the other.”

  “You promise that it works?”

  “Oh yes, it works. It is just getting it down the gullet that may prove a tricky feat.” Rebecca put a lighter note in her voice and all the force of her charm into her smile.

  The lady stared back at her with that same icy air.

  Oh, Lord. What ever had possessed Jon to choose such a cold, haughty woman for a wife?

  Well, the answer was plain. It had been her exquisite dark beauty and voluptuous form, her wealth, her noble blood and yes, her youth.

  But today, on closer inspection, Lady Ruel’s visage didn’t appear so intimidatingly perfect. Purple crescents lay under her reddened eyes and her complexion was bit sallow.

  Despite herself, Rebecca felt a twinge of sympathy. Three births in four years, no wonder the lady appeared worn. Young noblewomen were under such incredible pressure to produce the required males for their husbands’ family lines.

  “It will work.” Rebecca made her smile broader. “And he will sleep. I guarantee it.”

  The other woman’s rigidly held shoulders suddenly dropped. “Very well, I’ll try it,” Lady Ruel said, without having once glanced at the other books.

  That was surprising. She’d never before been that easily persuaded.

  Another, stronger twinge of sympathy softened Rebecca’s heart. Who could blame the lady for her heightened vigilance? The first two children born into Lloyd House had been healthy, lovely little girls. Unfortunately, the Ruel heir had been born weak and had fought hard against a virulent respiratory fever in his first weeks. Yet he had managed to cling to his fragile thread of life and day-by-day was gradually gaining strength.

  Rebecca put the little glass bottles into a box. “Will there be anything else today, my lady?”

  “No.” Anne Lloyd shook her head, albeit listlessly. Usually she left quickly. But today she seemed to hesitate. Her haughty mask faltered. She bit her lip whilst staring down at her gloved hands. She looked more girl than noblewoman.

  “My lady?” Rebecca inquired.

  “I was wondering…” The young countess’ voice drifted off and she tapped her fingers on the counter.

  Rebecca stared at those long, elegantly tapered digits, gloved in kid leather that appeared to be the thinnest possible and was dyed a rich lavender.

  Jon had tapped his fingers in the mornings before a battle—the same exact cadence and pattern—when he had been full of energy, waiting, impatient. Lady Ruel was mimicking her husband’s habits in the way all young, infatuated brides tended to do. Only they were no longer newlyweds.

  Rebecca’s bitterness threatened to return.

  No, you’re better than this vain jealousy. You’re certainly stronger than this.

  She had proved herself stronger. For the past few years, she had worked hard from sunrise to sunset, suppressing her sensuality, her earlier need to belong to a man.

  But she had no heart for the sensual side of life. She’d had no lovers since Jon, male or female.

  Lust, pleasure, romantic love. She didn’t need those things any longer.

  They weren’t worth the price. Not worth the pain and heartbreak when the attachment ended.

  She was a changed person.

  Duty to her family and the satisfaction of serving a higher cause had replaced her earlier, sensual and frankly needy ways. Daily work made her stronger, devotion made her stronger. She straightened her spine.

  “Yes, my lady?” she repeated herself. The firm yet deferent tone in her voice pleased her. Yes, she could manage Jon’s wife just fine.

  Lady Ruel bit her lip. She appeared vulnerable, a bit lost. Human. The effect was rather breathtaking. It made Rebecca pause.

  “My cousin the Duke of Saxby is rather ill.”

  “So I had heard.” Everyone had been talking about the surprising marriage between the young Duke of Saxby and the disgraced Lady Maria Waterbury. The nuptials had taken place in Kingston, Jamaica. Presumably they had been happy newlyweds for many months. Then Saxby had taken ill from a tropical fever and they had returned to England.

  “The doctors say he should be recovered but his illness lingers.” Again, she tapped her gloved fingers, the soft leather making a pleasing patter on the highly polished walnut counter. “Perhaps…” Voice trailing off, she flashed a quick glance through her dark lashes.

  Mercy, was it really possible for any woman to be born with such long, thick lashes? Or did she enhance them with some artifice? Her eyes sparkled like sapphires.

  Rebecca found herself fascinated. The girl really was exceptionally lovely.

  A faint blush coloured Lady Ruel’s olive cheeks and she quickly lowered her gaze.

  “Yes, perhaps, my lady?” Rebecca prodded gently.

  Lady Ruel kept her eyes focused on the counter. “Do you think Maria is capable of actual murder?”

  The last word was spoken as though it were hard for her to pronounce it. Even so, the bluntness of the question startled Rebecca. Ladies were seldom blunt.

  “I meant, you knew her, correct?” Lady Ruel added, somewhat breathlessly.

  Rebecca scarcely knew what to say. “I knew her to some degree but not well.”

  “She’s an evil woman.” This was said with firm conviction.

  “Yes.” Oh lord, but Rebecca could surely use a large Scotch whisky!

  “She intends to murder my cousin and nothing can be done to stop her.” Anne Lloyd’s voice was sad.

  Saxby had been Anne’s lover. She had been unfaithful and yet all she had had to do was return home and Jon had, apparently, forgiven all. Resentment crackled along Rebecca’s skin.

  No, you don’t know that she was actually unfaithful. You only know that she ran away with Saxby. It’s none of your affair in any case. And you’re the last woman alive who can throw stones at an unfaithful wife…

  Rebecca tried to present a pleasant expression and failed. She could feel the lines in her face, cracking, cracking. “What does Jo—Lord Ruel say?”

  That impossibly lush, wine-red mouth curved upwards. Trembling lips and a catching in her breath. “He says that Saxby has made his own bed, that only a fool would have bedded down with a woman who had proved herself to be such a she-wolf.”

  “That’s sounds like Lord Ruel.”

  Anne Lloyd gave a little laugh. A stifled sound. “He is quite adamant.”

  “There is a certain wisdom in what he says, my lady,” Rebecca ventured carefully.

  “Yes, I suppose there is. But my cousin is a young man. Foolish? Perhaps. Naive and idealistic most definitely.”

  The fondness in the young countess’s voice brought back that earlier certainty that she had been Saxby’s lover. Rebecca’s patience suddenly snapped. She was here to sell medicinal extracts, nothing more. “My lady, I do not think Maria Seymour intends to kill her husband.”

  “You sound so certain,” Anne Lloyd said.

  It was slightly disconcerting to talk to a person who was so pointedly avoiding eye contact. It was disconcerting to have lengthy conversations with this lady. Rebecca gave an internal sigh. “Maria Seymour came here just a few days ago and she implored me to have a look at Saxby and give my opinion as to what could possibly be done to increase his chances of recovery.”

  “She did?” Lady Ruel sa
id, incredulously.

  “Yes.” Rebecca’s own voice held a note of incredulousness. She still couldn’t believe it herself.

  “And did you go?” Lady Ruel’s words carried a certain breathless hope.

  “No.” Uneasiness bristled down Rebecca’s spine. “I am no doctor. I just sell extracts.”

  “Oh.” Another of those small, nervous smiles. “I disagree. In fact, I rather doubt my Jonny would have lived through his first two weeks without your expertise with medicines.”

  “I sincerely doubt that, my lady, he was attended by the best physicians that London has to offer.”

  “Yes, and that was likely part of the problem.” Anne drummed her fingers on the counter again.

  Rebecca’s back began to ache in protest again. God, she just wanted to get off her feet for the day.

  Lady Ruel looked up, and Rebecca found herself staring into deep, dark blue eyes. Huge and full of emotion. Pleading.

  “Perhaps you could have a look at him? He is the last family I have left in England. And he is kind and good. His heart leads him into trouble sometimes. He acts before he thinks. But he is good.”

  Much like her own Edwin.

  Rebecca found herself overcome with sympathy. She hardened herself against the feeling. “No.”

  She spoke firmly, coldly, as though she could push her compassion away through the strength of her gesture.

  “No?” Anne Lloyd’s voice was soft. Sweet without being saccharine.

  The girl’s appeal was well nigh irresistible. But Rebecca had enough self-protective sense left. “I am sorry, my lady, but I cannot.”

  “If you will, I shall pay you well. Grandly. Extravagantly.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “I am sorry. I cannot. I will not go anywhere near the new Duchess of Saxby. And in any case she would not allow me into her house.”

  “Oh, but I think she would. Just to show everyone that she cares about the duke and wants the best for him.”

  “I will not go near her.”

  Rebecca’s palms were sweating now. She did fear Maria. The woman was pure evil.

  “Well, if you won’t, you won’t.” Lady Ruel sounded sad. “I had feared you wouldn’t. But I simply had to ask. You seem so knowledgeable about medical matters and I certainly trust you more than I do most of these London physicians. I think they create more illness than they cure. I hope you understand, I have no wish to cause you to feel ill-at-ease.”

  Anne Lloyd spoke as though she’d suddenly forgotten that Rebecca was a commoner and she was a powerful, exceedingly wealthy aristocrat. Her vulnerability was still incredibly endearing and Rebecca felt a warmth spreading through her heart. Compassion. Words rushed to her lips, the urge to agree to see Saxby. But she couldn’t let them free and she clamped her mouth shut. Surely Jon would understand, a commoner like herself simply couldn’t risk angering a woman like the new Duchess of Saxby.

  “I am very sorry that your cousin’s illness lingers but I will not entangle myself with his duchess.”

  Lady Ruel nodded meekly and picked up the box with the herbals in it. Rebecca watched her leave the shop with a growing, heavy weight upon her heart.

  Oh, but it is not my responsibility!

  Firmly, she took herself in hand and set about her evening routine to close the shop. Then she brought her father his evening cup of tea with a dollop of peach brandy in it.

  The dark blue blanket wrapped about him made his hair glow silvery white. He wore it longer than was fashionable now and it lay about his shoulders, shining and sleek. Combined with his large, hooked nose, it gave him the appearance of a bird of prey, much like the bald eagle the Americans took such pride in.

  His pale blue eyes pierced into her, as though searching for secrets.

  She suppressed a shiver. “How are you feeling this evening, Father? Is the fire adequate?”

  She offered him a tentative smile.

  He continued to search her face. “What is with all these grand ladies coming to see you lately?”

  “Just customers, Father.” Did her voice shake? She sat in the chair opposite him, careful not to slosh her teacup.

  “The young, plump one with the fetching little hat. She’s been here before. Who is she?”

  “That is Lady Ruel.” Rebecca took a deep drink of her own tea. When she went to bed, no longer under Father’s gaze, she’d have a generous Scotch whisky.

  His bushy white brows lifted. “Lady Ruel, eh?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh good heavens.” Disapproval sounded in his tone.

  “Pardon me, Father?”

  “I thought we were done with the mighty Earl of Ruel.”

  Rebecca’s stomach tightened and her gaze skittered away from his. “His wife is a customer. Nothing more.”

  “That’s a relief.” He lifted a slightly gnarled hand and waved it. “No good ever came of mixing with the nobility. They expect everything and they never pay their bills.”

  “She pays her bills.”

  “There’s other trouble from their sort. They have too much power and they like to wield it over the rest of us. Best to just stay away.”

  “Of course, Father.”

  He gazed at her with a sceptical air. “How many years did your family’s need for you take second place to his lordship’s whims? He asked you to take a leap for him and you responded how high.”

  She had the grace to flush. The heat burnt her cheeks, her ears. Suddenly, she was sixteen again and being called to account for having smiled too brightly at the neighbour’s son. “Father, please, I am home now.”

  “Yes, but for how long, eh?”

  “He’s married.”

  “I never knew of an aristocrat who was married in anything other than name.”

  “It has been five years.” She swallowed back a burning in her throat. “You still don’t trust me?”

  “There’s more than one gentleman in that cesspool of vice and privilege known as Mayfair.”

  That ball in her stomach grew tighter and tighter. “I am home now, Father.”

  He gave her a derisive sort of smirk. “Yes, you’re home. But you have yet to sell that house he gave you.”

  She refused to cow. “I give this family my service all week. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Most women would want the fellowship of their kin on the Sabbath.”

  “I am a mature woman. How I chose to spend my Sundays is my concern.” God, without her Sundays spent in quiet solitude, in her own home, she’d go mad.

  “You have never made peace with your place in this world.” His accusatory tone cut into her.

  “I have made peace with it.” She could hear the sharp note of defensiveness in her own voice. It was perhaps disrespectful to him but she couldn’t help it.

  “You have but one son and nothing else to show for your youth.”

  “Edwin is a fine son. He has made much of himself. I have need of no other.”

  He fixed a glower upon her. “Don’t make things prettier than they ought to be. Edwin floundered in his studies and your grand lover bought him a position.”

  Her mother’s heart contracted with pain to hear such criticism levelled at her son. “Edwin struggled with his studies, that’s true. But he has a good heart and he is a good listener. He will make a fine clergyman.”

  “When Howland died, you ought to have come home and I could have found you a worthy husband.”

  “Father, please…I—”

  He waved his hand, a quick, jerking motion. “Pah, then, go to bed. We’re going to be up early in the morning in the distillery and I shall have need of your alertness.”

  Rebecca’s energy was considerably sapped when she reached her bedchamber. She stripped her clothes off numbly then pulled her nightdress over her head without even splashing her face with water. She didn’t even bother to have her whisky.

  Her eyes were so heavy she could scarcely keep them open long enough to clean her teeth.

  But when she f
inally lay in bed, she remained wide-awake, haunted by the memory of those deep, dark blue eyes. Pleading.

  She recalled years ago, when Jon’s cousin had died young. Jon had told her that most of the males in his family were born with weak lungs. The condition was so prevalent that many times only one male child survived to reproduce from each generation.

  Jon was the last male of his generation.

  Young Lady Ruel had a heavy load on her shoulders and she was trying so hard to bear up. To be an excellent mother to a son who might well not survive the coming winter with its attendant fevers and agues.

  Now she was also forced to watch her cousin, the only relative she had living in England, be slowly murdered by his own wife.

  In the past, you have thought such vicious, uncharitable things about Lady Ruel. And you have always despised people who gossip, people who are cruel and shun others.

  Rebecca tossed in the bed and sighed.

  Her jealousy for Lady Ruel had turned her into someone she didn’t always like. Now she had the chance to make up for that. To force herself to become a better person.

  What was it really going to hurt her to go have a look at young Saxby?

  * * * *

  A petite female figure in a pale grey pelisse alighted from a hackney and hurried through the rain up the steps to the Duke of Saxby’s house.

  He’d watched the woman enter this house every night this week. He knew who she was. But didn’t know what she was doing here.

  A burning pain erupted in his stomach. The rat that lived in his guts had awoken and begun gnawing away. Stephen Drake pulled back from the rain splattered window of his carriage and rubbed his stomach. Rats were the most loathsome creatures. But he’d learnt to respect this one, for at the least provocation it could metamorphose into a fire-breathing serpent, twisting like burning death through his innards. He took several uneasy breaths and the pain eased a bit. He brushed his hands together briskly then closed his eyes and pressed his warmed palms to them.

  Keep your mind on the task at hand.

  He couldn’t even imagine how Rebecca had come to be entangled here but he must figure it out. He must know. There could be no possibility for error, not if he was to be able to protect her.