It was no use trying to keep secrets from either Hugh or Penelope. They might as well be sharing the same brain.
“I need to—” Margaret bit her lip. “I admit to having a few… qualms.”
“Did those qualms arrive before or after you began disappearing alone with his yummy nephew?”
Margaret stiffened. “Lord Rockingham has become a friend to me.” She couldn’t allow Penelope to know anything of how she’d been carrying on with Sebastian. Good God, because then, of course, Hugh would know as well. She frowned. “George is amenable to everything I want. He assured me this afternoon.”
“So, children, then?”
“Yes.” Margaret was grateful no one was sitting within earshot of their conversation.
“And he is able…?”
Margaret inhaled. And then it hit her. She did not trust him. There was no specific reason in particular, but something was causing her to feel on edge and she’d learned long ago to listen to her instincts. “I am going to cry off. I am terribly sorry, Penelope, if my doing so brings scandal to your house party, but I cannot go ahead with it.” A gigantic weight seemed to lift off her chest as she spoke the words.
Perhaps she was not destined for motherhood. She forced the thought away, knowing she’d have plenty of time to mourn this later.
Penelope nodded. “Hugh will be relieved.” And then she waved a hand through the air. “And, good Lord. Do you really think I am concerned with something like that? After everything I have done?”
Margaret shook her head with a grim smile. Her sister-in-law had most definitely nearly created one of the greatest scandals of their generation. If the truth had ever gotten out…
“You will tell him tonight?”
At this question, the debacle with the ring, which she’d been able to forget about for three seconds, came rushing back to heighten her anxieties again. “I’ve lost it.”
Penelope’s green eyes widened. “You’ve lost what?”
“The ring. That dratted priceless ring he jammed onto my finger.”
“Where?”
“If I knew the answer to that then I wouldn’t have lost it, now would I?” But perhaps that wasn’t what Penelope had asked her. “If Lord Rockingham is not in possession of it, then it is somewhere between here and the lake.”
“Why would Lord Rockingham have it?” Penelope’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“He got it off—It was stuck—the ring.” Margaret removed her glove and held out her hand where her finger still showed signs of redness and swelling from wearing the ring for the past two days. “After I returned to my chamber this evening, I realized that I had… left it on the ground. I am hoping he has it, but he has disappeared for the evening, and I cannot break off my engagement without returning that ring, now can I?” Her voice raised and she realized she was beginning to sound hysterical.
She’d experienced all sorts of emotional upheaval over the course of one day and it was beginning to show in her lack of patience. At least Penelope was not easily offended.
“Well, you cannot. You’ll need to find it,” Penelope agreed. “I’ve never seen a stone quite so large as the one on that ring. This is bad.”
Margaret shuddered and then drew on her last reserves of calm in order to keep herself from bursting into tears. “Don’t you think I know that? I will ask Lord Rockingham. He has to have it. If he does not… well, then. I will search for it until I find it.”
“Do you have any idea of where it might be? I mean a more precise idea than a path that is at least three miles long and several hundred yards wide in places?”
Margaret drew in a steadying breath. Because, yes, she did. It was likely she would not ever forget the idyllic spot anytime in the near future. “I will check with Rockingham first. And if he does not have it, I will spend all my waking hours there until it’s found.”
* * *
Margaret slipped a dressing gown over her night rail and then stepped into a soft pair of slippers. Tonight’s visit would be vastly different than that last time she’d gone to this particular chamber.
Hopefully, he had returned to the manor by now. She did not wish to think what he might possibly be doing if his chamber was empty.
With an odd sense of déjà vu, she checked the corridor and upon seeing no one lurking in the shadows, padded her way to his chamber for the second time since the house party had commenced.
Arriving, she realized she could not really knock. Anyone else was as like to hear her as the occupant. She turned the latch and slipped into the dark room. Again, she could see nothing.
“Sebastian,” she whispered. “Are you here?”
Nothing… except breathing. Soft snoring sounds, in fact.
She tiptoed to where she knew the window was located and then pulled the drapes open wide. There was just enough moonlight to barely illuminate the room. Ah… yes. He was here— sprawled atop the bed, still wearing the clothing he’d had on that afternoon—except for his jacket.
Even in his state of disarray, he was… marvelous to look at. Margaret sighed.
Eyeing the sinewy strength of his thighs and buttocks, she could not help but think that he was a perfect specimen of the masculine form… from a purely artistic point of view, that was.
She was never one to want to paint portraits, in fact, her talents did not lend themselves to them, but she would like nothing better than to have Sebastian Wright sit for her. Nude? She dismissed the idea, exasperated with herself.
“Sebastian,” she whispered.
“Grmph.” He shifted his legs slightly but otherwise didn’t move.
She walked quickly to the bed and leaned forward so that she might speak directly into his ear. “Sebastian, you must wake up.” She was not going to sleep a second until she located the ring.
“Brtinkfunkle…” A truly ridiculous response. “Goway…”
“Sebastian.” She placed her hand on his arm and shook him slightly. “I cannot find the ring! Did you bring it back with you?”
He surprised her this time by rolling over, a dreamy smile stretching his lips. “Maggie.” One hand reached up for her. “You came back.”
Despite his jug-bitten state, he tugged at her in a crude attempt to pull her into the bed with him and if it hadn’t been so high off the floor, he might have succeeded.
“I cannot find the ring, you addle pate.” She pushed away from him, alarmed that her inclination was to climb in beside him.
She wanted him; she wouldn’t be so hypocritical to deny that. But for now, she needed to locate the ring.
Sebastian remained motionless on the bed, eyes closed, but his obnoxious grin remained.
What to do now? Margaret pinched her lips and forced her eyes to search the room, almost as if she might find some clue as to where the ring might be.
Wardrobe, desk, chair, Jacket…
Wait.
With renewed hope, she snatched the jacket up and began rifling through any pockets that might have been sewn into it.
Handkerchief. Fine linen with what she supposed must be his family crest embroidered on one corner. She lifted it to her nose and inhaled. Spicy, clean. Much like the man who carried it around. She placed it on the wardrobe and resumed her search.
Pencil. Short. Practical. She set it beside the handkerchief.
Journal. The same one she’d seen him make a note in on more than one occasion. She flipped through it and without reading the contents, appreciated the small but tidy handwriting interspersed with various drawings of ships and unidentifiable contraptions that filled over half the pages. His diligence made her smile as she placed it atop the handkerchief and delved deeper into the same pocket.
A hairpin? One of her hairpins?
She blinked at it and then, setting it aside, moved to another pocket.
Here, she found a leather pouch, similar to the one she’d seen George with earlier. Perhaps he’d placed the ring in it for safekeeping?
Only… inside, she
did not find George’s ring. Instead, folded neatly together, it contained a collection of cylindrical but somewhat transparent… sheaths?
The moment she realized what they were, she hastily tucked them back into the pouch and stuffed it back into the jacket. She had never seen one, but she’d heard of them.
French letters!
In one pocket the blighter carried around one of her hairpins and in the other, he carried these! Exhaling loudly, she turned to stare back at the man who was currently creating far too much chaos in her life.
The ring was not in his coat. Where was it?
She located a flint, lit the taper on the desk, and did as thorough of a search as she could possibly manage, illuminating inside the dresser drawers and then every surface in the room.
Twice.
He did not have it. They’d left it in the field.
“Maggie?” His voice made her jump. “I’ve been thinking.” He ran one hand through his hair, sitting up now, looking more asleep than awake.
“You know where it is?”
His eyes were still glassy and he swayed, causing her to rush back to the bed to prevent him from toppling onto the floor. “About you and me.”
“You’re foxed.” And yet she wasn’t angry. She was only frustrated and worried and sick at the thought that she had lost something so valuable.
He dropped an arm around her shoulders and buried his face in her neck. “It’s good,” he mumbled. “ Don’t you think? You and me.”
“What is good, Sebastian?” She inhaled, not really expecting an answer. Even in this state, his nearness affected her.
He wrapped his other arm around her waist. “This.” His mouth located the side of her jaw. “You feel it. You’ve felt it since that first night. It’s most unusual... Spectacular, really.”
His lips crept searchingly along her jaw and then hovered at the corner of her mouth, tasting her skin. He was right. It was good.
“I cannot,” she answered. “Today was a… lapse.” She was not this sort of woman. Yes, it was only a lapse brought on by her thirtieth birthday and her impossible situation.
As well as a rather handsome younger man.
It is a lapse. Because if she allowed herself to think anything differently, she would be dreadfully disappointed.
“Just listen to me, Maggie. I’ve had too much drink.” He studied her with sleepy eyes. “But it’s good. It would be such a waste to not…”
She drew away from him with a frown, the discovery of his packet of English overcoats all too fresh in her thoughts. The ring obviously wasn’t here, leaving her with no reason to remain in his chamber. She needed to return to her own chamber now.
“Stay.” He groaned. “I don’t think you understand what you’re doing to me. You’re here, we should—why is the room moving?” And then he frowned. “I’m foxed.” He dropped back onto the pillow.
Pathetic man!
She moved to the foot of his bed and grasped at the heel of one of his boots. “Didn’t the tavern wenches wear you out?” Her comment sounded petty, jealous. It was quite unlike her.
She tugged a few times before realizing that he’d risen to his elbows and was watching her with a curious expression. “I thought about it, Maggie, but I didn’t. None of them were you, which ought to have been a good thing. You’re a cruel joke, Lady Asherton. With your breathy little moans and your soft skin… because damned if you didn’t leave me in a painful state this evening.”
A painful state? She dropped her gaze to stare at his breeches. What might it be like to do whatever one pleased?
Dangerous? Terrifying?
Delightful?
Disturbed by such thoughts, she roused herself to her task at hand and increased her efforts on his boot. “Don’t you have a valet? You’re a marquess, for heaven’s sake.”
How was it that she found his stockinged foot as beautiful as the rest of him? Long, slim, but not too slim. She trailed her fingers up to where the silk disappeared into his breeches.
He groaned and she dug her fingers into the muscles.
“That feels so good, Maggie. Everything feels good when you touch me.”
Her heart skipped a beat and those butterflies took flight in her abdomen again—simply from touching his calves and ankles. She moved to his other boot and worked it off his foot as well.
When she was finished, she stared dumbly at the bed. She needed to stop touching him. She needed to return to her own chamber.
“I can’t find the ring, Sebastian. How am I going to break things off with your uncle if I don’t have a ring to return to him?” Her hands moved to massage his other leg. In all honesty, limiting herself to his calves exhibited a good deal of self-restraint on her part. Because she wanted to climb onto the bed and lie beside him. She wanted to…
This was not like her. None of this was like her.
“We’ll go up tomorrow,” he mumbled, eyes closed. “It won’t go anywhere. Don’t worry, we’ll find it.”
“What if we don’t?”
“Trust me,” he muttered. While she mulled over his statement, a slow even snoring sound broke into her thoughts. Margaret slid her hands to the end of his foot and stepped backward. After scrawling instructions for him to meet her outside the servants’ entrance at dawn, and then adding that if he was not there, she would leave without him, she extinguished the taper and crept out of the room.
And then the oddest thought struck her.
Did George’s little leather pouch contain the same licentious items? And if so, how often did he have cause to use them?
16
Search Party
“What are you doing?”
Margaret practically jumped out of her skin when Penelope’s voice broke the silence in the corridor.
“Nothing.” Margaret glanced behind her and then back at her sister-in-law, attempting and failing to summon an explanation for her presence outside of Lord Rockingham’s chamber.
Penelope blinked and then yawned. And instead of staring at Margaret suspiciously, her emerald eyes appeared tired and worried.
“Are you all right?” Margaret forgot her own troubles upon seeing her sister-in-law looking so frazzled.
“I’m exhausted. Louella is teething and has been fevered most of the night and nurse just sent word that Creighton feels warm now.” Penelope swayed and then caught herself with a moan. “This makes for three nights in a row.”
“Can’t Hugh help you?”
“He went up earlier.” Penelope glanced up and down the hall, apparently just now wondering why Margaret was walking about late at night. “Did you decide to try again?”
“Shh…” Margaret took Penelope’s hand. “I noticed he was drooling more than usual this afternoon.”
“Mr. Kirkley?”
Margaret chuckled. “Your son. I’ll go upstairs with you. If Creighton allows it, I’ll rock him, and you can go back to bed.”
“You’re always helping me, Margaret. I do wish you’d lean on me more often.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble.” Margaret turned toward the stairway that led to the nursery.
“That’s the thing, though, Margaret. You’re never any trouble. And I know you disapproved of what I did, before Hugh and I married, but I was hoping you’d forgiven me by now, I’ve been hoping for a very long time that you and I could be friends.”
“But we are!”
Penelope waved a hand through the air and resumed their climb up the stairs. “Only because I force myself on you. Which normally wouldn’t bother me, but we are sisters. And sometimes—“
“Sometimes, what?” Margaret felt quite taken aback. They were friends, were they not?
“This was your home. Hugh is your brother. Sometimes I… feel as though you simply tolerate me. You are a difficult person to get close to.”
At these words, Margaret frowned and halted again. “But it is your home, and I like you very much!”
“You are always trying to walk away from
me or shoo me from your room. I know you love the children, but they are your niece and nephew. I am… Hugh’s wife.”
“Oh, but… I don’t mean to be difficult. You know more about me than anyone else.”
Penelope grimaced. “I often don’t give you a choice.”
Margaret stared at her sister-in-law. She’d known that she hadn’t always been the easiest person to know but… “I have never had close women friends. There was always my mother, and then Lawrence took ill. I am not used to…” She blinked. She was not used to sharing her thoughts with other people. Had she inadvertently kept Penelope at arm’s length?
“You are my dearest of friends, Penelope.”
Penelope tilted her head. “I am?”
“You are.”
“And you are not angry with me for your birthday celebration? I did not want to do it, but Hugh insisted.”
This was not like Penelope at all. “Are you certain you are not ill?” She reached out to touch Penelope’s forehead and then her hands, causing her most steadfast and dispassionate sister-in-law to promptly burst into tears.
“I am so tired, Margaret. I never should have hosted this party.” And then Margaret could not help but lower her gaze to where Penelope’s hand rested. “And I don’t want you to go away. Hugh is here but it isn’t the same, and I’m afraid you’re going to resent me again.”
Ah, yes.
“I’m carrying again.”
When Penelope had carried the twins, Margaret had made a quick departure from Land’s End. She’d believed that she couldn’t bear to watch another lady become a mother.
Margaret reached out and squeezed Penelope’s hand. She’d been a horrid sister-in-law! “I am so very sorry.” It had been selfish of her. “Your children give me more joy than I ever could have imagined. And I am so happy you married Hugh. Without my mother, I’ve felt so alone. Will you forgive me, Penelope? Of course, I don’t resent you. I am jealous, but I am also happy for you!”
And now both of them were crying.
“I’m being such a ninny.”
“You are not!” Margaret remembered how she’d felt in those first few wonderful months that she’d carried her and Lawrence’s child. “How far along?”
Lady and the Rake Page 15