by Jane Feather
Tamsyn drew breath at the power of his thrusting flesh, rocking her on her perch, pressing against her womb, impaling her with his pleasure. He held her buttocks with bruising fingers as the whirling conflagration caught her, swept her up, exploded in her belly so she thought she was flying apart, and she heard his cry against her back as he yielded himself to the fire.
Flame crackled in the hearth, a candle spurted. Julian slowly came back to the room. Tamsyn had fallen back against his chest, lying as weak and weightless as a wounded bird.
“Sorceress,” he accused with a feeble chuckle when he could speak at all.
Tamsyn smiled weakly. “I can play many parts, milord colonel.”
“Don't I know it.” He kissed the top of her shining head. “And now I'd like you to feed me some more oysters.”
“I am here only to serve you, my lord,” she said demurely, sliding off his knee. “Your word is my command.”
Julian stretched luxuriously, and a slow, lazy smile played over his mouth. “I can think of many commands, buttercup. I foresee a long night.”
It was a very long night, and Tamsyn had been asleep for barely half an hour when her internal clock woke her just before daybreak. Julian was deeply asleep, sprawled on his stomach beside her, his red-gold hair thick on the pillow.
She slid out of bed, barely disturbing the covers, and crept out of the bed hangings into the dark room. She was used to moving around at night, and her eyes accustomed themselves quickly to the darkness. The remnants of their picnic still sat on the table, and the heavy furniture was disarrayed. She smiled reminiscently as she dressed hastily in her riding britches. The colonel's commands had involved a fair degree of gymnastics on occasion.
She was ready in five minutes, then sat down at the secretaire to write him a note. Somehow she had to produce a convincing reason for sliding off in the night without telling him. Maybe he wouldn't have insisted on coming back to Cornwall with them, but he might have, and she didn't want him anywhere in the vicinity when she tidied up her loose ends with Cedric Penhallan.
Milord colonel:
We have to return to Cornwall to collect Josefa and the treasure, and Gabriel has something to do for himself. We’ll return here two weeks from today. I know you have work to do in London, so I didn't want you to feel that you should have offered to come with us. Two weeks today, I shall be yours to command again. Besos.
She read it through quickly. It would have to do. If he was vexed that she'd disappeared as abruptly as she'd arrived, then she would make it up to him when she returned. At least he would have something to remember in the meantime.
She rolled the paper and with a little smile tied it with the ivory velvet ribbon she'd had in her hair. Then she tiptoed back to the bed and placed it carefully on the pillow beside his head.
Julian mumbled in his sleep and turned onto his back, his arms flung wide. Tamsyn resisted the urge to push aside the unruly lock of hair and press her lips to his broad brow. He slept like a soldier, she knew, and the slightest touch would waken him.
She crept out of the room, hurried down the stairs in the silent house, into the book room at the rear. She flung up the low window, scrambled over the sill, and dropped to the soft, damp earth beneath.
Gabriel was waiting in the mews, holding Cesar's reins. He greeted her with a nod. “All well, bairn?”
“All's well.” She sprang into the saddle. Five days should see 'them back at Tregarthan. Her confrontation with Cedric would take no more than an hour or two. The horses would need a day to rest. And then they would return, and she would concentrate all her forces on the bastion that was Colonel, Lord Julian St. Simon.
And if she failed to breach the walls, then she'd settle for what he could give her for as long as he was prepared to give it.
It was broad daylight when Julian awoke. He read the note in disbelief and growing anger. For hours she'd played the most elaborate game of seduction, showing him a side of herself he wouldn't have believed possible. But she was still a goddamned brigand! Why couldn't she be simple and straightforward? Why in the world would she slide out in the middle of the night to do something as simple as fetching her luggage and Josefa?
Uneasiness prickled his spine. Why would she? Not even Tamsyn thrived on unorthodox manoeuvres to the extent that she'd choose to leave like that without some good reason.
And he could think of only one reason: she didn't want him with her on the journey. She'd given him a night to remember, while deliberately planning to slip from his bed and be on her way while he was asleep. It made no sense at all that she would do something that devious when she was simply going back to Tregarthan to collect Josefa and her treasure.
Despite her denial, was she going back to try one last time to discover something about her mother's family? Had she perhaps found a clue that she wanted to follow up before finally leaving England?
From what he knew of Tamsyn, it made more sense that she would try to finish what she'd come there to do than that she would meekly give it up because he'd asked her to. Oh, he believed she intended to return to Spain with him. But she was going to do something first.
Damn the woman for an obstinate, devious hellion! And he couldn't go after her until he'd completed the formal arrangements for their passage from Portsmouth. If he was really persistent, prepared to hang around in corridors waiting for an audience, prepared to push ruthlessly through the obstructive layers of the bureaucracy, he could probably have the documents in his hand by the end of the day. But he couldn't then start his pursuit at night, so he would lose twenty-four hours.
Why was he so uneasy? He frowned, staring around the dishevelled room in anxious vexation. Even if she had some idea about the Penhallans, the worst that could happen was that she would face Cedric and he'd humiliate her with his scorn. What could possibly happen in twenty-four hours at Tregarthan? And she had Gabriel with her.
Chapter Twenty-four
“I WISH YOU WEREN'T GOING BACK TO SPAIN,” Lucy SAID disconsolately, sitting on the windowsill in Tamsyn's tower room. “I was really looking forward to sponsoring you for the Season.”
“It was a rather sudden decision,” Tamsyn said, buttoning her shirt, trying not to show her impatience.
“But what about your mother's family? Don't you want to find them anymore?”
“Your brother persuaded me that it wasn't really a good idea. They probably wouldn't know what to do with me if l did find them, and I probably wouldn't have anything in common with them, anyway.” Tamsyn tucked her shirt into the waist of her riding skirt and hooked it up, wishing that Lucy would cease this catechism and find something else to do. Gabriel had gone to Fowey for the afternoon. He'd offered no reason and she hadn't asked. If he'd gone after the twins, it was his business, just as her uncle was hers. His absence gave her the opportunity to ride to Lanjerrick and see her uncle, but Lucy was wasting precious time.
“Are you going back with Julian because you're his mistress?” Lucy spoke in a sudden rush, her cheeks flushed, her china-blue eyes unnaturally bright as she gazed intently at Tamsyn.
“Oh.” Tamsyn sat down on the dressing stool with a rueful grimace. “How did you discover that?” She picked up a riding boot and thrust her right foot into it.
“We heard you one evening,” Lucy said, her flush deepening. “And we… well, we saw you in the corridor. Julian was chasing you.”
Tamsyn grinned, remembering the occasion. “Why didn't you say something before?”
“I… we… we thought it would be indiscreet. Julian obviously didn't want anyone to know, because he's usually so cool with you, and… oh, dear, this is so embarrassing.” Lucy half laughed as she pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks.
“No, it's not,” Tamsyn said stoutly, pulling on her other boot. “But I don't think your brother would like to know that you know, so you will make sure Gareth doesn't bumble into a confession, won't you?” It explained Gareth's winks and innuendos and the sometimes calculating lo
ok she'd encountered. He was probably sizing up his chances of stepping into Julian's shoes should they become vacant, Tamsyn thought with an inner grimace.
“Of course Gareth wouldn't say anything,” Lucy declared a touch defensively. “He's not indiscreet.”
“No,” Tamsyn said, unconvinced. She could well imagine Gareth's approaching Julian with a hearty masculine laugh and a wink and the invitation to share the juicier aspects of his liaison. But she could as well imagine Julian's response, and if Gareth could imagine it, too, then he would hold his tongue.
“Well,” she said, “that is one reason why I'm going back to Spain.”
“Do you think you'll marry Julian?” Lucy was frowning now, nibbling her bottom lip.
Tamsyn swivelled on the stool to face the mirror as she tied the crisp linen stock at her neck. “Do you think I'd make him a good wife?” she countered lightly.
Lucy didn't immediately reply, and Tamsyn wished she hadn't asked. Then Lucy said, “If you love him, then of course you would. Do you?”
“Yes.” She turned back to the room. “But I doubt your brother thinks I would make an appropriate Lady St. Simon.”
“Well, you are rather… well, rather unlikely,” Lucy said slowly. “But I don't think that should make any difference.”
Tamsyn shrugged into her jacket. A full description of exactly how unlikely she was would require several hours of explanation that Lucy would find hard to credit. “Mistresses usually don't become wives,” she said casually. “Lucy, I have to run an important errand, so you must excuse me. I'll see you at dinner.” She went to the door and opened it invitingly.
“Where are you going?” Lucy, with obvious reluctance, prepared to leave the room. “Shall I accompany you?”
“No, because I intend to ride Cesar, and there isn't a horse in the stable that you can ride that would keep up with him.” Tamsyn smiled to soften the statement. Lucy was a dreadful horsewoman, and Tamsyn suddenly vividly remembered the moment outside Badajos when Cesar had shied and the colonel had grabbed her bridle. She'd been furious, and he'd explained that he was used to being on the watch when riding with his sister.
Lucy pulled a face but didn't argue further. “I'll see you later, then.”
“Yes.” Tamsyn waved from the door as the other woman trailed rather mournfully down the corridor to her own room.
Tamsyn closed the door with a sigh of relief and began to gather things together.
Copies of the documents Cecile had given her went into the pocket of her cloak; the locket was around her neck, as usual. The original documents were hidden in a jewel cask in the armoire. She thrust her pistol into the waistband of her skirt and strapped knives to each calf over her britches.
She didn't expect this meeting with Cedric Penhallan to turn: violent. But just in case, she was prepared, both physically and mentally. Her head was clear, her heart cold and determined and filled with vengeance. She was going to drop like a bolt from the blue into the vicious, orderly world of Cedric Penhallan. And she was going to claim her mother's diamonds as the price of her silence. It could be called blackmail, of course, if one was being a particularly fussy stickler for ethics, but she was dealing with an attempted murderer… and goodness knows what other crimes he'd committed in the interests of ambition throughout his long career. It was simple justice. And besides, the diamonds belonged to her.
An inconvenient little voice trilled that Julian would say it was still blackmail, however you painted it. But he was safely in London and never going to find out.
Josefa came bustling in as she was putting on her hat, a rather dashing tricorn. The Spanish woman was wreathed in smiles and hadn't stopped smiling since they'd returned with the glorious news that they were going home. She rushed around the room, picking up Tamsyn's discarded afternoon gown, scolding her nurseling for her untidiness, but her smile unwavering.
“Josefa, I'm going for a ride, if anyone wants to know. I'll be back by five o'clock at the latest.” Tamsyn planted a kiss on one shiny round cheek and left the room, running down to the stables.
Five minutes later she was on the road to Lanjerrick.
She and Gabriel had ridden over one afternoon a few weeks before, to get a sense of the extent of the Penhallan estates, but they hadn't entered the grounds. The gray stone house stood on a promontory overlooking St. Austell Bay and was easily seen from the road. It was a house of turrets and gables, with a steeply pitched roof and transomed windows. Tamsyn had taken an instant dislike to it, finding it forbidding after the soft, golden warmth of Tregarthan.
She turned through the stone gate posts and rode up a weed-infested drive. Apprehension and excitement prickled along her spine as she left the road behind her and rode deeper into Penhallan land. This was Cecile's home, the place where she had spent the years of her growing. Had it changed much in the last twenty years? Had she missed it much? Tamsyn realized she'd never given that question any thought. Cecile had always seemed so joyful in her life that it was hard to imagine she had any regrets. But perhaps sometimes she had thought of her childhood home with nostalgia, as Tamsyn thought now with an ache of longing of the mountain villages and the icy peaks of her own childhood.
The drive opened out into a gravel sweep, and the house loomed, ivy covered, the stonework cracked in places, its windows curiously blank, like blind eyes. It struck Tamsyn as strange that a man as rich and powerful as Cedric Penhallan should neglect his property. When
Cecile had talked of Lanjerrick, she'd described its magnificence, the grand parties, the weekend shooting parties, the endless stream of guests. But there had been women in the house then. Now there was only Cedric and the vile twins. Presumably they didn't notice the air of neglect.
She rode boldly up to the front door and dismounted. As she did so, the door opened and a liveried flunkey in an old-fashioned powdered wig stepped out. “'You have business here?”
“Yes, I'm come to call upon Lord Penhallan,” Tamsyn said cheerfully, tethering Cesar to the stone pillar at the base of the steps leading up to the front door.
The flunkey looked momentarily nonplussed. Taking advantage of his uncertainty, Tamsyn swiftly mounted the steps. “Would you announce me to the viscount?” Without waiting for a response she pushed past him and stepped into the hall. An expanse of black and white marble tiles stretched to the staircase, and light came from a series of arched diamond-paned windows along one wall. As she stood looking around, curiosity now superseding her apprehension, a pair of greyhounds leaped out of nowhere and raced past her.
“Walters, what the devil are you doing?” An irascible voice rasped from the rear of the hall. “Close the bloody door, man, before the dogs get out.”
The door banged shut behind her, and the two dogs sloped back into the shadows.
“Who in the name of the good Christ are you?” the same voice demanded. Cedric Penhallan came forward, glaring into the gloom. Then he stopped as he saw his visitor clearly.
Tamsyn raised her head and looked her uncle full in the face as she had done at the party at Tregarthan. She saw, as then, a choleric countenance, flat black eyes, a shock of iron-gray hair, a beaky nose above a fleshy mouth. A massive, powerful frame beginning to run to fat. Her scalp lifted as she felt that aura of menace flowing around him, and for the first time she felt fear.
Cedric stared at her. The minutes passed, and the only sound in the room was the scratch of a dog's claws on the tiles. “Who are you?” His voice was suddenly quiet, a strange light enlivening his hard eyes. He knew the answer but he wanted it spoken.
Tamsyn stepped closer to him on a sudden surge of exultation, banishing her fear. He knew and yet he couldn't believe what he was seeing. “Good afternoon uncle.”
“Good God, it's St. Simon's doxy!” Before Cedric could respond, the slurred voice of Charles Penhallan came from the stairs. He held a wineglass in one hand and his eyes were unfocused. “Look what we've got here, David. The little whore's come back for more.” He laugh
ed and came down the stairs, only then seeing his uncle.
“Beg pardon, sir. But what's St. Simon's harlot doing here?”
“Don't be any more of a fool than you can help,” Cedric said coldly. He jerked his head at Tamsyn. “Come in here.”
She moved to follow him, aware that David had joined his brother on the stairs. It was very fortunate Gabriel was not with her. They were both regarding her with a lascivious, drunken interest. She glanced up at them. “What a pretty pair of cowardly sots, you are, cousins. Have you had fun with any little girls recently?” Then she followed Cedric into a large paneled library.
“Where have you come from?” He spoke from the sideboard, where he was pouring cognac with hands that weren't quite steady.
Tamsyn didn't answer the question, saying instead, “I look very like her, don't I?” She felt rather than heard the twins stepping into the room behind her.
Cedric tossed back the contents of the glass. “Yes,” he said. “The very image of her. Where is she?”
“Dead. But she lived rather longer than you'd intended.” Tamsyn was beginning to enjoy herself; all her fear had gone. She glanced again at her cousins, who were standing by the door, gawping in incomprehension. “Long enough to ensure that you will pay for what you did to her.” A cold smile touched her lips. “Was it really necessary to send her to her death, uncle?”
“Your mother was a very difficult woman.” Cedric refilled his glass. He seemed almost amused. “She intended to ruin me… to bring disgrace on the name of Penhallan. If she'd been just a silly chit, I could have brought her to heel. But Celia had an iron will… hard to believe, really, to look at her. She was such a little thing.”
“What's St. Simon's doxy got to do with us?” David asked, sounding petulant in his drunken confusion.
“Are you?” Cedric asked Tamsyn with the same amusement.
She shook her head. “Certainly not. I'm a Penhallan, sir. Penhallans are not whores, are they?”