Behind Camden, making sure his man was finished, Raikes used his foot to turn the huge body over and, looking down on the French agent, shook his head. “This one’s another goner, Gov.”
Camden paid him little heed. Instead, he wanted answers before the dandy died. “Why, Pearson?”
“Debts.” It came out almost a cough.
“And Guyot? What was he?”
“French agent . . . wanted bigger cut. Maurice killed him.” Pearson’s voice was low, gravelly, as a trickle of blood oozed from a corner of his slack mouth.
“Who killed our courier?” asked Camden, and when Pearson didn’t respond, he demanded more urgently, “Who?”
“Scum . . . Maurice,” were Leslie Pearson’s final words, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.
Camden closed the dandy’s eyelids and stood to survey the macabre scene, three bloodied bodies sprawled about the hut’s rough planked floor.
“Least ways, there ain’t no worrying about them telling any secrets,” was Raikes’s pity observation as he, too, looked from one body to the next.
Loud shouts were heard coming from outside at the front of the cabin. Moments later, a soldier dressed in the blue jacket and gray trousers of the Royal Horse Guards appeared in the doorway, his rifle aimed first at Raikes, then Camden before he slowly lowered it as he took in the interior of the hut. Over his shoulder, Camden could see a small army of men milling about in the front of the cabin as torches were being lit. An officer shoved the stunned soldier aside and stepped into the small room.
“Ah, Captain Hawker, I presume,” Camden called out as a wave of weariness suddenly hit him. He was once again conscious of his throbbing shoulder and accepted the large muslin handkerchief Raikes offered him, tucking it inside his jacket, covering his wound.
“Aye,” began Raikes, by way of making introductions, “and this here, Captain, is the Viscount Camden.”
“Begging your pardon, my lord, but what in hell’s name happened here?” Captain Hawker asked as he observed the three bloody bodies.
“Much as I’d like to take credit for putting a period to at least one of these damnable souls,” said Camden, making a sweep of the room with his good arm, “I’m afraid the honor must go to my good friend.” With a wry smile, he turned to his comrade. “Fill him in, Raikes.” Then slowly, he slid down upon a battered three-legged chair, propped against one wall, and leaned his head back to listen to his fellow conspirator’s account of Pearson’s perfidy to avoid debtor’s prison with blood money, earned by selling out his own countrymen.
While Raikes explained Guyot’s roll as a greedy middleman, intent on increasing his own booty, and the burly French agent’s malevolent pursuit to get the contents of the diplomatic pouch, Camden closed his eyes to blot out the ugly scene. Behind his weary eyelids floated a pair of large, trusting hazel eyes, staring back at him. He could still taste the sweet softness of her lips, feel her response, her arms around him, the warmth of her slender body pressed against his. It seemed like eons ago that he’d made love to Chloe in the garden.
He smiled to himself. He knew he’d seen the last of his days as an intelligence agent for the Crown.
Unfinished business demanded he travel to London and file an accounting with his supervisors at Whitehall and possibly even make a report to the Prince Regent. That might mean a trip to Brighton where Prinny had transferred a simple farmhouse into the Pavilion, an opulent summer residence. Once this assignment was concluded, he intended to ignore his reawakened conscience one last time.
There was no doubt she deserved much better than the likes of him. But by all that was holy, he loved Chloe Woodforde with every fiber in his body and vowed he’d have her as his wife. He wanted to give her the real home she never had, to see her smile every day, to fulfill her every dream. He would take her to Hampshire where his principal estate was, Camdenbury. If need be, he was willing to put up with that eccentric old baroness if it meant Chloe’s happiness. Never before had he possessed this burning need for a woman and could not envision a life without her.
And if in making her his very own he was indulging in his own heart’s desire, then so be it.
*** Chapter 19 ***
Since most of the guests danced well into the early hours of the morning, it was not unexpected that the majority of the revelers slept until noon the next day. But with her emotions in utter turmoil, Chloe had slumbered fretfully and so rose early. She had not witnessed the Viscount’s return, although she knew when it occurred. A military officer arrived sometime after midnight to deliver an urgent message, and together the Marquis and Lord Howard hastily departed the ballroom.
Since she was bound by her word to say nothing, Chloe was left with only hope and a fervent prayer that Camden had sustained no further injury. An hour later, as she and Sir Morley were preparing to ascend the stairs with the tipsy baroness between them, Lady Howard inexplicably begged Chloe for a moment of her time and led her aside.
“No need to say a thing to anyone else, my dear,” Lady Howard began. “But I did think you might like to know that Camden is closeted with my husband and the Marquis in Clairmont’s study along with several soldiers, all discussing some important development. However, I take it that whatever their business, all went well tonight.”
She studied Chloe’s face for a moment. “Did you know Lord Howard was a rake before we met?” Lady Howard said, giving Chloe a warm smile. “I can tell you first hand, my dear Miss Woodforde, that a reformed rake makes an excellent husband.” She patted Chloe’s hand. “Now, my dear, go to bed, and sleep well. My guess is this whole ugly affair is over and now they are tying up loose ends.”
Chloe thanked her and said good night. She felt relieved to know that Camden had come to no further harm, though she was puzzled by Lady Howard’s remark about rakes making good husbands. She rejoined Sir Morley with her aunt at the bottom of the staircase, and together they guided the baroness up to her bedchamber. She helped Hannah put Lady Sophia to bed and headed for her room.
But though she was bone weary, Chloe could not sleep. Lady Howard had been reassuring about Camden’s safety, yet Chloe was still concerned for him, and her mind continually replayed the scene in the garden. Surely he cared for her? Why else would he have left her with such fateful words, declaring they had to talk? Then there was Lady Howard’s enigmatic remark about rakes.
At last, snatching a couple hours of troubled sleep, Chloe rose soon after sunup, hoping to see Camden at breakfast. She hastened her toilette, donning a simple sprigged muslin and twisted her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck. Hurrying down to the dinning room, she encountered only the Marchioness. Though dusky circles under the Marchioness’s eyes showed the petite woman was feeling the strain of hostessing the ball and rising so early the next day, she merrily greeted Chloe.
“I didn’t expect to see anyone else stirring at this hour,” Lady Clairmont said after Chloe had accepted a cup of hot chocolate from a footman.
“I have always been an early riser,” Chloe responded.
“Well, I can assure you I would still be abed except that Clairmont, Howard and Camden had all risen before dawn, that is assuming they went to bed, to be off by sunrise. They are determined to reach London before noon.”
“You say they . . . went to London?” asked Chloe, trying to cover her disappointment at being unable to see Camden.
“Yes, and what a brouhaha!” her hostess exclaimed. “It was useless for me to try and sleep with Clairmont in and out of his room barking orders to his valet, sending dispatches hither and yonder throughout the night. Needless to say, they were all the worse for wear, especially the Viscount, who looked particularly pulled.” The Marchioness shook her head in exasperation. “But to the very man, they were on the road before the rooster crowed.”
Chloe sat staring into her hot chocolate with a lump in her throat that threatened to choke her. Perhaps it was for the best that Camden was gone, she decided. After all, what had they
to say to each other? She’d already resolved not to marry him . . . hadn’t she? Anyway, it was a moot point since he had never asked for her hand in the first place. Now, it seemed that had never been his intention to do so.
“Are you not feeling well?” the Marchioness asked.
“A slight headache,” said Chloe, thinking this was not too far from the truth with her heartache, though it was almost more than she could bear. Finishing her meager breakfast, she returned to her room and waited for her aunt to rise.
The day lagged on interminably. Lady Milbanke was expectedly crotchety after the late night of genteel debauchery. Her finances hadn’t suffered, however. As usual, the baroness’s purse was several hundred pounds heavier. And no, she had no desire for Chloe to read to her.
“My head is pounding, and I feel sick,” her aunt complained. Truth to tell, she did look a little green. “It was the liver pate. I thought it smelled funny. And cease your infernal fussing, Hannah!” she yelled and ordered both women out of her room. Of course, the baroness’s motive was so she could nurse her aches and pains with her special “tea” without Chloe or Hannah harping at her.
All of which was fine with Chloe, except that she was left with too much idle time to brood over her future minus Camden. With Lady Caro as her sole companion, she found it easier to avoid company roaming the grounds and even venturing into the woods.
She was hard pressed to comport a smiling countenance at dinner that night. The absence of male company was keenly felt with only Sir Morley and Sir Clarence present. Thankfully, however, she was spared from enduring Judith Palmer’s frosty stares. The widow had departed some time earlier that day, most probably to join Camden, Chloe suspected.
After dinner, Chloe needed assistance removing Lady Milbanke from the dining room. The old gal totally neglected the French chef’s culinary efforts, electing instead to drink her meal to clam her queasy stomach.
“It’s from all that rich food I ate last night,” Lady Sophia declared to one and all.
“Humph!” said Edwina Reaves, spearing Lady Milbanke with a critical eye. “That is truly rich, Sophia. ‘Tis more likely you indulged in the sauce too much, if you ask me.”
“Well, I didn’t” retorted the baroness in between generous sips of an excellent Bordeaux. “Wish you’d take my advice and learn to sweeten that acid tongue with a bit of the grape, too.”
Before all out war broke out between the two dowagers, Chloe tried to convince her aunt to retire after dinner. But Lady Milbanke stoutly refused. In fact, the old gal enacted quite an unpleasant scene, forcing Chloe and Sir Morley to abandon her in a corner of a settee, where finally she rested her chin on her chest and drifted off.
Giving Chloe a commiserating smile over her aunt’s nodding head, Lady Howard motioned for Chloe to join her for a coze. For some reason, Agatha Howard felt inclined to divulge what had been afoot throughout most of the house party.
Chloe was not surprised to learn of all the clandestine meetings and the number of people involved but was amazed by the gravity of the affair. While she did not care for Leslie Pearson or, more particularly, the unctuous Pierre Guyot, she had no inkling of their perfidious characters.
With this new insight, she began to understand why the Viscount had so ruthlessly insulted her initially. Obviously he’d expected her to act like a sensible female and develop a thorough disgust of him, as well as all the other individuals involved in the grisly matter, and keep her distance. All of which confirmed what she knew in her heart. There was absolutely no reason to assume Camden had had any interest in her other than a passing fancy. Probably, he’d found her innocence amusing, a novel diversity from his usual flirts and nothing more.
When the old traveling carriage rumbled to the front door barely before noon the next day, Chloe was heartily glad to leave Clairmont Court and all its memories of the Viscount Camden. Just as on their outbound journey, they progressed at a snail’s pace with a stop at the Rose and Thistle Inn. Chloe used the opportunity to walk Lady Caro one last time after dinner since this treat would be denied her upon their return to London. Her aunt felt the city streets were far too dangerous for a young woman to be out alone, even if she were accompanied by a footman.
“Besides, ain’t at all seemly for a gel to be caught running behind some animal while it’s going about relieving itself. For that matter, Chloe,” Lady Milbanke admonished her, “a real lady would die first before she’d go traipsing all over the city on foot like some commoner.”
Tonight, however, Chloe found little joy or solace in the brilliant moonlit sky strewn with stars or the quiet whisper of the trees as a light breeze ruffled the leaves. Acutely aware of the physical ache about her heart, she could not stop the bombardment of memories of that first fateful encounter with Camden.
Or was it? Perhaps it all really began at Lady Sarah’s come-out ball where the young army officer’s wife, Amy Sansbury, had pointed him out to her. She remembered that initial feeling of something momentous about to happen when she had first entered the ballroom and had assumed it was the invitation to Clairmont Court. That, as it turned out, had been a mere stepping stone in a series of encounters and events, all involving the Viscount.
And now it was over.
Returning to London at least held one consolation. It was unlikely Camden’s path would cross with hers since Lady Milbanke moved in far different and less lofty circles. There was, of course, an outside chance that he’d be at Lady Howard’s dinner. It that happened, she’d invent an excuse to leave early and never attend another. Her heart simply could not bear the pain of watching him pay court to some other woman. For the hundredth time, she chided herself for being such a sap, fooling herself into thinking she had meant something to him. He was a viscount and thus had the pick of the ton. Why should he give a dowerless nobody a second glance?
Acknowledging a very lonely and bleak future, tears stung the backs of her eyes as she envisioned herself well into her dotage. Perhaps she’d take to wearing flamboyant turbans or dressing only in blue gowns, dark blue like the color of his eyes.
Or perhaps it would help if she were to keep a dog, a huge dangerous looking mastiff, she mused on a tragic sigh.
*** Chapter 20 ***
Lady Milbanke must have been suspicious of Chloe’s melancholy for she allowed Chloe to persuade her to depart the inn before noon. But travel was made worse by a chilly, intermittent rain that somehow seemed to seep into Chloe’s bones. So it was early evening before the lumbering carriage drew up to the townhouse in Mount Street.
As usual, after being cooped up in the coach for the better part of the day, Lady Sophia was quarrelsome. After a light supper and a lot of coddling, it took the combined efforts of Chloe and Hannah to settle the baroness comfortably in her room. Fortunately, her aunt’s recovery was quick. Within days, Chloe and Lady Milbanke had reverted back to their regular routine, and a long week dragged by for Chloe. Though morosely depressed, she made a valiant try to hide her heartache from Lady Sophia and Sir Morley, who had become a daily visitor.
Morley had followed his lady friend back to town and appeared on the townhouse’s stoop the very next day shortly before noon, and every day thereafter. After he’d eagerly accepted a dinner invitation the first night, he’d pulled Chloe aside and explained that he wished to relieve her of some responsibilities in looking after the baroness. He insisted on escorting the ladies everywhere and took them shopping, riding in Hyde Park, to the theater, parties and teas.
If his intention was to waylay any resentment Chloe might feel at his presumptuousness, he needed not to worry. Chloe was delighted with the improvement in Lady Milbanke’s disposition whenever Sir Morley was around. The dowager fairly blossomed with flushed countenances, toothy smiles and became more animated in the old gentleman’s congenial company. She even drank less.
By the end of the week, Chloe suspected his motive was more than the one he’d expressed to her. Thus, one evening in the drawing room after dinner,
she was hardly surprised when Sir Morley cleared his throat in a preparatory manner of making an announcement.
“As much as I’d like to flatter my ego, thinking a pretty damsel as yourself appreciates my company, I do wonder, my dear Chloe, why you’ve not remarked on my practically living out of your pockets this past week. Perhaps I have been less discrete than I thought? Or are you ken to the regard in which I hold your dear Aunt Sophia?” He glanced at the baroness who sat next to him on the settee and reached for one of her bejeweled hands.
“Lady Sophia and I have at last come to an understanding,” he said proudly. Pulling his eyes away from his heart’s desire, he smiled kindly at Chloe. “You see, Sophia has consented to take care of me in my dotage, and since time is not something we’ve a great deal of at our age, we plan to tie the knot next month.”
“Why this is wonderful,” cried Chloe, truly happy for the elderly couple. She rose to give her great aunt, whose wrinkled cheeks were suffused with an unpowdered rosy blush, an affectionate hug.
“Yes, yes, it is,” agreed Morley, beaming besottedly at his future bride. Behind his thick spectacles, his pale blue eyes twinkled with joy.
“Albert has finally convinced me he is all the tonic I need in life.” Returning a quite girlish look at her intended and batting her gray lashes, Lady Milbanke added, “And we do seem to deal quite well together.”
“But my dear Chloe,” Sir Morley said quite seriously, “I don’t want you to think this will change your circumstances.”
“No, no, I will not hear of it,” affirmed his fiancée. “Albert and I are agreed that you must continue living with us. I could never bear parting with you, my dear child.”
Chloe was at a loss for words. It had crossed her mind that she might be forced to return to her odious cousin. That thought was so repugnant she knew she’d become another lady’s companion or a governess first. The elderly couple’s generosity was a life line that she grabbed, tearfully expressing her thanks.
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