She sat up and pulled her shoulders more square. “I don’t like to speculate.”
“As I was saying, it is highly unlikely anyone ever will publicly raise the issue of murder in regard to the Duke of Saxby’s death.” Again, that hint of a smile. “At least, no one would do so without ironclad proof.”
“The Earl of Ruel would question it.”
“Not without proof.”
Stephen was correct about that. Jon could be volatile but he also knew how to control himself in order to attain a goal. And according to his countess, he felt that Saxby deserved whatever consequences he reaped from wedding a she-wolf like Maria. She rolled her shoulders. “Perhaps Maria wants to shield herself from public speculation.”
“She’s a disgraced woman and well used to public condemnation. And she now has the power of rank and greater wealth. Likely she doesn’t give a d—” He reached over and placed his hand over hers. “Rebecca, tell me what she really wants.”
Rebecca tried to tell him but her tongue seemed to grow heavy. He was very kind to try to help her. But she must placate or insult him, whatever it took to get him to cease. And then, when he had left her, she would write a note to send to Jon. She schooled her expression to be frosty. “She wants to place the blame for her husband’s untimely death on me.”
Stephen stared at Rebecca. He studied every aspect of her visage. Those eyes of the most pastel blue possible. The small, straight nose. A little mouth but well-shaped, the lips thin but not too thin and pink as a peony. The chin softly rounded but not weak. Alabaster skin with a faint blush over the cheeks.
From inside the plain black carriage, across the street from Seymour House he had witnessed her flight. Had watched her hair fall from its pins. Now it lay about her shoulders in a spill of slightly curling, finely-textured light brown tresses interspersed with threads that glinted in the warm yellow glow from the chandeliers shining in the open top of the antechamber. These highlights appeared to be of an even more gossamer texture, their colour a variance in shade from deep to palest gold.
She had always reminded Stephen of his mother’s most prized possession, a set of teacups, with roses painted so delicately upon the fine china that it had appeared to be a watercolour.
That was what Rebecca’s beauty was like. Understated. Refined.
And just as precious and priceless to him.
Her voice still echoed in his ears, gentle and warm.
She was lying.
Damn it all anyway. She was lying to protect Jonathon Lloyd. The man who had thrown her aside in favour of his younger, wealthy countess.
What a fool Stephen had been to think Rebecca would accept his help. Pride had kept him from contacting her all these weeks he’d been back in England. The sense that she would respond to him in this off-putting manner. He should just leave her now.
But he couldn’t. She was in trouble and she desperately needed his aid.
He would die to protect Rebecca.
Well, it wouldn’t do to appear over-eager, would it? If he wasn’t careful he would reveal the depth of his feelings for her. And frighten her away. He couldn’t make a muss of things. She didn’t understand the situation she’d so unknowingly traipsed into. But he did. He couldn’t reveal all to her. He certainly couldn’t reveal that he’d been spying on her as she’d come and gone from Saxby’s house. That would unnerve her and make her suspicious about him.
But he must impress upon her the urgency of the matter at hand. “You think the Earl of Ruel will be able to help you better?”
“With something like this, yes, I do.”
“He doesn’t have my connections, Rebecca. He can’t protect you as well as I could.”
Her mouth dropped open. “I can’t believe you would do this.”
“Do what?”
“You men.” Her tone was light, almost teasing. But her smile was belied by the wintry glint in her eyes. “You are unbelievably callous.”
“Pardon me?”
“Gentlemen will say anything.” She looked away, her expression and tone sharpening. “You men will do anything when you are set to get up a woman’s skirts.”
What could he say? He’d dearly love to get up her skirts. He’d thought of nothing for the past few years but how close he’d come to getting up her skirts. In fact, it had driven him mad yet been the one thing that had proved his salvation in some particularly dark times. The desire to live and come home to England. To her.
And to get up her skirts.
However, this wasn’t the time and place. He blinked at her, indignant.
“You think this is why I am offering my help, that I would take advantage of an obviously distraught woman?”
“Listening to your incredible boasting, I do now.”
“It wasn’t a boast, Rebecca. It is a simple fact.”
All her customary kindness suddenly stripped away from her expression. She curled her lip. “You are just a commoner—I don’t even know what you do now for your living.”
“I am Baron Drake now.”
Her expression hardened even more. “It’s true, Rebecca.”
“You’ve become a baron.” She gave a sharp, stilted laugh. “Just like that.” She snapped her fingers.
“Yes, that’s just about the whole of it.”
“You were an equerry last I heard. And not a particularly important one.”
Certainly not as important as the almighty Earl of Ruel. A flare of pain burnt in his stomach. He took a slow yet shallow breath as it passed. Then he pushed his bitterness down. There was no time for jealousy. He must convince her to trust him. Her safety depended on it.
“I have made some lucky connections and done some valuable services for powerful gentlemen, especially at the Congress of Vienna and during the latest Congress at Verona. I was an exceptional equerry and I have been well-rewarded.”
And he’d engaged in some travel during the past few years. Seen some of the world. Italy. Peru. India. He’d also taken care of some clandestine business whilst there. Business quite valuable to certain powerful gentlemen.
She stared back at him, less angry but more wary than a moment ago. “They don‘t just bestow titles on secretaries, no matter how valuable their service.”
There was nothing to say to that. Most people simply assumed his service had been transacted on his knees, beneath a desk. And that he had been very, very skilled. It brought the most awkward of propositions. But he’d grown weary of the current conversation and so he brought up the one point that was sure to distress her. But it would also facilitate the best conclusion to their discussion. “Jonathon Lloyd left town this morning with his countess.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders dropped and her expression crumbled.
The most peculiar ache centred in his chest. He hated seeing the depth of her continued emotional attachment to Ruel. But he also hated causing her pain. “I believe they intend to spend a fortnight in Devon before the opening of Parliament.”
“Then I shall have to send him a message and wait for his reply.”
“I wouldn’t send that message.”
“Why not?”
“Things are rather…sensitive between the earl and his countess. It is said that he is not happy that she has insisted on their daughters and resulting nursery staff accompanying them to Devon. Bringing the infant Midhurst could not be avoided, as the countess is nursing the heir herself. However, the presence of the toddling daughters and their nannies will change the whole atmosphere in their house in Devon.
“One feels much sympathy for Ruel for surely he had intended this trip away as a time to recommence their connubial activities. But Lady Ruel is a most devoted mother. She has always refused to leave their children in the sole care of their servants.”
“Oh…” Rebecca’s softly arched golden brown brows drew together. “Yes, the time since the countess’ lying in…I hadn’t thought of that.”
“And then there was the whole matter of the countess’ delicate con
dition whilst carrying this latest child. She must have been unavailable to her lord a good many months.”
Her frown deepened. “Oh, dear me. Yes, that would be in very poor taste for me to send a message.”
It said a great deal about Rebecca’s state of agitation that she didn’t ask him how he happened to have such intimate knowledge of the Lloyd household. Though it might have been passed off as whispered tittle-tattle, Lady Ruel was an exceptionally private person. She had no friends among her peers to confide in and have such matters whispered about. But that wasn’t what was most important at present. He’d had to make Rebecca understand. Only putting matters so bluntly and revealing his private knowledge would have sufficed to turn Rebecca’s mind.
“You can’t wait for Ruel.” He pressed the issue whilst she was still confused, still off-balance.
She cocked her head to one side and her forehead wrinkled as though with consternation. “But you said there was no immediate danger to me.”
“I never said that.”
“You said she wasn’t really interested in blaming me for Saxby’s death.”
“Logically, I predict that she isn’t.”
Again, her brows drew closer together. “So there’s no real danger there? Do you think she’s just bluffing ?”
God, she sounded so hopeful. And this was all tearing him apart inside. Literally, for a slow yet steady burn had begun to smoulder in his belly.
“Rebecca, logic isn’t always an accurate gauge of what a person will do. Especially if they are unbalanced in any way. And I need to hear more about what she really wants, before I can more accurately predict her future behaviour.”
Her eyes widened and she blanched. How he wished he hadn’t had to tell her that part. She had looked quite lovely with her angry flush just a few moments past when she had been hotly cross-examining him over his title. And it hurt him to know she was once again frightened.
Now her shoulders drooped even more. “Please, I am very tired and I need to return home.”
Time for another bit of bad news. But he had no choice. “No, you can’t go home.”
“Why not?”
“If she called for a magistrate, they could come at any time and take you away. And it would be more difficult once you were in custody for me to assure your safety. You could come to some harm there.”
Her faced went ashen and she closed her eyes. “Oh God.”
He squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry, I am going to do my utmost to protect you.”
“I don’t know what to do.” Her chest rose and fell rapidly, the sound of her panting breaths echoing softly, the sound exaggerated by the closed space.
There was something oddly compelling about that sound, combined with watching the rise and fall of her breasts, the size of early summer peaches. It put him immediately in mind of what she would look like in bed, beneath him, on the verge of coming. It made his own breath begin to quicken. It put fire in his blood.
It was giving him an erection.
He’d been fortunate not to have ever had to physically torture a woman. But over the years, he had applied mental and emotional techniques when needful during interrogations of women. Their tears had left him feeling nothing but a certain discomfort to cause a woman distress.
Yet, if he liked a woman, her tears, her visible signs of fear aroused him. It was something that rested uneasily on his mind and conscience. He had certainly never explored the phenomenon. It made him too uncomfortably aware of how closely he matched the other flawed males of his bloodline.
He took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. “Rebecca, please trust me.”
But it was as though she hadn’t heard. Her chest rose and fell even more quickly, and her eyes glazed over.
A bolt of pure lust shot into his loins. It was reprehensible of him. Utterly reprehensible.
“I don’t know what I should do!” Her hands gripped his, her nails digging into his flesh like claws. “I can’t go to prison. I can’t!”
He pulled her close. “Shh-shh.”
Her body, so warm in his arms, began to tremble. “I can’t face this!”
“You’ve always been strong.” She’d been an inspiration to him as a boy, when he’d known her as a practical yet sunny-natured young woman with a lively laugh and a gentle, kind manner of speaking. She’d been a stabilising influence, the kind of woman who could listen to a man with such genuine empathy and understanding that he couldn’t help but feel instantly lighter of heart.
Skilled and efficient, she’d been a laundress who was handy with her needle, an expert nursemaid, a highly sought out helpmate among the officers. The wages she had commanded had made the other women green-eyed with envy.
Of a sudden, a passage from Proverbs leapt into his mind.
A wife of noble character who can find her?
She is worth far more than rubies.
Indeed. Such was Rebecca Howland. An Incomparable.
Was it any surprise that Stephen had never forgotten her…or that he had failed to find another woman who could come close to matching her in his estimation?
She shook her head wildly. “No, no, you only know the me on the outside. I am expert at being a fraud. You don’t know what I am really like on the inside.”
Her voice carried a note of rising hysteria. The last of his lust drained away and was replaced by intense sympathy.
“Then tell me, Rebecca.” He touched her mussed hair. His fingertips glided over strains that were softer than cornsilk, slightly cool and still damp with rain. “Tell me your fears.”
“Rats. I am terrified of rats.” She shuddered violently. “All those years sleeping in barracks and tents, and I was terrified of being bitten in my sleep. No one knew but Jon. He let me keep cats even on campaign. And I felt safe again. But they won’t let me have my cats in prison.” She was speaking hurriedly, rambling.
“Shh.” He caressed her hair.
“Rats have such sharp little teeth and they can sneak up on you and they-they—”
Ah, yes, rats. He did indeed know about rats.
“Rebecca.” He spoke firmly. “You must stay calm.”
“Y-you said we cannot know what she will do.”
“Indeed, we cannot. That is why we must keep our heads and act decisively. But you must trust me.”
“I don’t know you.”
Her words sliced into him. Her stricken expression stung him even more. No, he mustn’t give in to maudlin personal feelings. It wouldn’t help the situation. He must remain strong, firm, focused.
“You know me.”
She shook her head frantically. “No, no I don’t.”
“You must try to trust me.”
“Oh, Stephen. It isn’t that easy.”
“Will you please try?”
She stared at him blankly for long moments.
“There’s no time for us to argue the matter.” He attempted to speak calmly, though the urgency of the situation was beginning to press upon him. Truly, he did not know what this duchess would really do. The woman might be mad. And he never knew when a more severe attack of pain would render him incapable of action. He must get things in motion soon.
“Oh God.” She bit her lip then turned back to him. “You’re exactly right. She could send for the magistrate at any moment. She may have already done so.”
“You must come with me.”
“Yes.”
Could she have sounded any less confident? Less trusting?
“I own a property in Cornwall. That’s just where we need to go. Someplace remote.”
“You mean I should run?”
“It would be better for you to be out of reach. For your whereabouts to be unknown to others.”
Rebecca gaped at Stephen. In the glow of the lamplight, his masculine beauty appeared otherworldly; he looked like a beautiful archangel, sent to her in her most trying moment.
Heavens, he’d just told her that she’d become a fugitive.
She
couldn’t go home.
She hadn’t considered not standing her ground. She was innocent. She just needed help with the strategy she must take from someone experienced in dealing with the law and the power and caprice of the aristocracy.
“It’s going to be all right, sweeting.” His voice was so assured. So comforting.
The reality of the situation finally hit her with brutal effect. Her life had changed tonight. All her rights and liberties as an Englishwoman might have already been stripped from her.
“Shall I have to hide for the rest of my life?”
He shook his head.
“This is just for a short while. Until Maria Seymour shows her hand and I can sort out what to do.”
“You are so kind to offer your protection in this manner. But I shall be able to leave town on my own.” Rebecca stood quickly.
Her knees seemed to turn boneless and the closed space of the antechamber spun. She swayed on her feet. He caught her.
She had forgotten how potent Kean’s punch was.
“Have you eaten recently?”
She thought back over the day. “I haven’t eaten since early this morning.” And that had been but a thin slice of bread and a cup of tea she’d choked down in between attending to a particularly difficult birthing. She’d been called in to see a viscount’s young wife who had birthed six daughters in eight years. The young lady had struggled valiantly but had already endured two days of labour. She had died.
Though she was used to losing patients occasionally, the loss of a young mother always shook Rebecca to her core. She’d had little sleep in the past day and a half.
“Are you well?” he asked.
“I just need to go somewhere…I need sleep.”
“You can’t go home,” he repeated firmly.
“I know.” She put her hand to her head for a moment and the chamber began to appear steadier. “I’ll stay the night at a tavern. I’ll hire a post chaise and I shall leave town for a few days.”
She would give Ruel the time with his countess and then she would write to him and seek his council.
“You cannot travel on your own.” Stephen’s husky voice cut into her thoughts.
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