“Tell me, precisely, what he did to you. I have heard the stories, and Matilda told me a lot of it, but now I want to hear it from you. In your own words. From the beginning.”
“Very well.” She marshaled her thoughts. “You must know that Dorcas was taken ill, and we were forced to spend the night at Greenwich. That was where my friendship with Kilsyth began. Nothing more, I promise. The beginnings of attraction, and a friendship.”
Trensom nodded.
“After that, he courted me. Sent me gifts, sought me out at balls—you know how that goes.”
He nodded again. He had not visited London last year, so he wouldn’t have seen any of that.
“Everyone, including me, assumed he would propose before the end of the year. He did not, but we attended the same house parties that summer, and people grew accustomed to seeing us together.” She paused, forcing her emotions down. He wanted a straightforward narrative, and he would get it.
“Then we went to London for the autumn, and he did not come. He had business, he said, on his estates. He promised to visit me in November. But he did not. We had no idea what was happening, and Matilda came to the conclusion that he was playing with me, that he never had any intention of proposing. She told me to move on.”
She looked down, staring at her clasped hands. “I tried to. I did.”
His deep voice broke into her thoughts. “And I preferred Matilda to you.”
“Yes, but when I saw you together, I was glad of it.” Eagerly, she met his gaze. “You were so in love. I never bore a grudge.”
“I know it.”
She nodded. “Yes. Eventually we heard that Kilsyth had gone abroad. When we went to London in March to prepare for the season, people were laughing at me. They did, truly. The caricaturists, you know what they’re like. I wanted to die. And then Matilda invited me to come with you.”
“She knew you’d always wanted to visit Rome.” His gaze softened. He laid his hand over hers. “You did not deserve such cavalier treatment. But why seek him out now, after what he did to you?”
“His treatment of me is not part of this. I know how much he sacrificed to restore his fortunes, the way he faced society defiantly.”
“As you did,” Trensom murmured.
“Yes,” she admitted. “So I know how vicious unfounded gossip can be and how quickly it can turn to perceived truth.” He mouth trembled and a lump formed in her throat as she remembered that humiliation.
Trensom closed his eyes and shook his head. “Leave him be. He’ll find his own ruin.”
She made a scornful sound. “Or not. I won’t ostracize him. Not yet.”
The carriage jolted to a halt outside the house. Apart from the inevitable sway of his body as he adjusted to the lack of forward motion, Trensom stayed where he was. “Kilsyth is already under observation because of his past, and his visit to the Stuart court. Why would he go there dressed so shabbily, when obviously his fortune remains intact? The Old Pretender wants to see Kilsyth privately. What are they discussing, and why?”
“You could have asked him just now, instead of losing your temper.”
He grimaced. “Go inside now. What I said to you this morning remains. I cannot condone a closer connection until I’m sure he isn’t a traitor. But I will not refuse him the house.”
She had won that much, at any rate.
As she turned to the door, a footman opened it and let down the steps, holding his hand out to help her alight. Delphi graciously accepted his assistance, but looked over her shoulder at Trensom. “I have another appointment,” he told her. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
An hour after he had escorted Delphi home from the den of iniquity, the Duke of Trensom slammed into his gracious Italian home and headed for his study. The staff knew to leave him alone. Although generally an easygoing man, the duke drew lines in the sand, and he drew them deep. Best to let him be.
But his wife refused to accept the household’s atmosphere of hushed reverence. Lifting the skirts of her cherry-red gown, she came down the stairs from the piano nobile and followed him right in.
From his stance by the window, staring out, he spun around, his coat skirts flying. “What?” he demanded.
“That’s a fine way to greet the love of your life.” Where anyone else would have retreated in confusion, Matilda swept across the room to confront him. “You said you were going to fetch Delphi, and left the house in such a rush I had no time to get my hat and follow you. She is my charge, Harry, and I will know if I have to go upstairs and ask her for myself.”
Gritting his teeth, he glared at her. Matilda didn’t move. She knew perfectly well that Trensom would never lay hands on her in violence. Though his eyes flashed and his face flushed with anger, she stood her ground. She did not appreciate being left out of any decision regarding the Dersinghams.
“You have not asked her?”
“She shut herself in her room and asked to be left alone. I have not, but she’s upset, Harry.”
Matilda would have stormed her defenses if she thought it would do any good, but Delphi could be stubborn. So she saved her questions for the more vulnerable party; her husband.
Finally, he sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his long nose. He lifted his head and met her gaze. “Delphi went to visit Kilsyth. You know I told her we couldn’t receive him. She went to him. Alone. I had no choice but to go after her.”
“Foolish girl.” Surely she’d taught Delphi better than that? “I can hardly believe she would do such a thing. She could imperil the reputation of the whole family. Gerald would be forced to disown her.” Delphi should have kept her distance.
Since she could gain nothing standing nose-to-nose with him, or rather, nose-to-chin, since despite her heels, he towered several inches over her, Matilda glided to the sideboard, unlocked the tantalus and poured two generous helpings of brandy. She handed him his glass. His fingers tightened around the cut crystal as he murmured his thanks.
She sipped, letting the fiery liquid heat its way down her throat. “I don’t for one minute think Kilsyth has thrown over his years of hard work only to change sides. There is some reason for his strange behavior and it isn’t because he’s run mad and decided to abandon his title and fortune.”
“The world is changing,” he said. Finally, he drank. “Perhaps he is changing with it.”
“I know the situation full well,” she snapped. “The king is not getting any younger, and Prince George is still a minor. Nobody wants to see Bute in charge. Does that cover it?”
Lord Bute, rumored to be the widowed Princess of Wales’ lover, was the young prince’s tutor, and had what many considered an unhealthy influence over the family.
He nodded and took a healthy sip of his drink. “Since the Prince of Wales died, the situation has become more volatile. While they will not march in war again, the Stuarts are always looking for an advantage.”
“Why do you think Kilsyth is turning traitor?”
“Kilsyth bowed to James Stuart. A deep obeisance, one made to a king, and he did it in plain sight. He has agreed to a private meeting.” Harry shrugged. “He lives in a well-appointed residence and dresses richly inside it, yet he goes to the Stuart court in a shabby suit. He left London abruptly. And he is not mingling with the Britons here as one would expect. Apparently, people who call on him are turned away by that beanpole of a majordomo.”
“I still won’t believe it until I have proof.”
“Sometimes proof is not available. One must believe one’s eyes.”
“Oh must one?” As a woman of the City of London rather than a daughter of the aristocracy, Matilda prided herself on her independence of spirit, and her practical commonsense. “He’s wealthy, and adamantly determined to put his family first. He has a brother and two sisters. His brother is in the army. Do you think he would risk all that by turning traitor?”
Harry shook his head. The frown between his brows told her more than his words. “I don’t know, Matilda.”
The worried tone sank deep into Matilda. She put down her empty glass and went to him, curving her arms around his waist, under his coat, the silk of the lining grazing her arms. “Should I go up and talk to her?”
“Not yet.”
“She’s hurt, but she has a sense of justice. As do I. If we refuse to see him, then society in Rome will follow suit.”
“Damn them both,” he said, exasperated. “This is our honeymoon, Matilda. Sometimes, I think we should just go back to the villa and leave them all to it. I’ll tell the government I won’t be their damned attaché.”
Matilda smiled. He’d stopped apologizing to her for his strong language. Exactly as she liked it. Honest dealing had always been her preference. “You’ll accept it because it’s your duty. You and I know that perfectly well.”
She took his empty glass and her own to the decanter and refilled them.
“The Old Pretender is up to something, isn’t he?”
He nodded. “I think so. He’s a wily old fox.” He took his refreshed glass with a smile and sipped. The drink seemed to restore him. Color returned to his face and the twinkle to his eyes.
That was the first thing that had drawn Matilda to him. Mind you, after falling out of a tree onto him she’d been deeply grateful he’d been there to catch her. And then deeply attracted. And then deeply in love. The three steps had followed each other seamlessly, and now she couldn’t imagine her life without him, duke or no duke. He could have been a City merchant or a country gentleman. She’d have loved him the same.
But as a duke he had responsibilities. By virtue of his birth he was a member of the government, and they had reached out to him now. He had all the experience of growing up in the heart of the ruling class, innate knowledge that would help them. “Stuart won’t stop scheming. If he can’t put a spoke in our monarch’s wheel, he’ll offer what he considers a solution. He knows he can’t win us by force of arms, so why not diplomacy? The country thinks he’s given up because of his son Henry’s appointment as a cardinal. Nonsense. That merely consolidates his position here. Besides, if Henry wants to leave the Church for any reason, he’s at liberty to do so. But he won’t. The boy has a practical turn of mind entirely lacking in his older brother. And a religious conviction I admire but cannot share.”
“Thank the Lord,” Matilda said. “If you became a cardinal, you’d have to take a vow of celibacy.”
That made him laugh. She was glad to hear it. She hated to see her husband troubled, especially with troubles she had brought to his door. Without her, he wouldn’t be housing Delphi. Although he might not be doing that any longer. “Can you see me as celibate?”
“No,” she said, and went up on tiptoe to claim a kiss. As natural as breathing, as if they’d been married for years instead of a few months. Well, nine, to be precise.
He took his time over the caress, not releasing her until they were both breathing hot and heavy. “Neither can I see myself without you,” he said, his voice pitched lower and roughened.
“So you’ll reconsider shunning Kilsyth until we know more?”
He regarded her through eyes gone cool. “What would you do if I said no?”
She heaved a sigh. “I can’t do that.”
“If Kilsyth does prove to be a traitor, and if Delphi insists on pursuing him, I’ll have to send her home or cast her off. As she reminded me, she’s of age, and I have no jurisdiction over her. I can’t lock her in her room.”
Delphi’s decision puzzled her as much as the reason for Kilsyth’s betrayal of everything he had worked for. Delphi and the Duke of Kilsyth had forged a sound friendship, but it had the potential to become much more. If it went that far, then like it or not, Kilsyth would make an honest woman of Delphi. Matilda wouldn’t stand for any besmirchment of the family. It would redound on Delphi’s brother, Gerald, who heaven knew had worked hard to have his family accepted in society.
“We’re missing something,” she said, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “Something important.”
He took her hand and led her to the sofa, placed their drinks on a side table and took his seat next to her. “I know,” he said. “Let me tell you the rest. But you must promise to tell nobody else. Not even Delphi.”
She swallowed, but nodded. “Very well.”
“I had the details today, in a dispatch from London. There’s a conspiracy to assassinate King George and his family. Adam Kilsyth and his brother are suspected members.”
Chapter Six
Adam managed three hours’ sleep before he had to rise and trudge down to the Palazzo del Re. He wore the salmon-pink coat and breeches again, an outfit that he would take great pleasure in burning when the time came. But that time had not yet come, although it approached faster each day.
The walk gave him time to plan, and clear his mind of the unexpected complications bursting into his life.
He had missed Delphi, but until he’d seen her and that rush of feeling had overwhelmed him, he hadn’t known how much. He’d thought of her from time to time, regretting bitterly that he couldn’t pursue her as he’d wanted. But duty came first, as did the safety of his people.
He paused by the site of the Trevi Fountain. The fountain was taking an age to complete, but a few statues stood in their appointed places. A welcome breeze touched his freshly shaven cheek, and he lifted his head to enjoy it. The honey-colored stone buildings gleamed, boasting centuries of occupation.
In contrast, the clean lines and pure white of the fountain dazzled. In time, it would probably blend more, but the design and style would always set it apart.
People strolled around it, passing on to the many galleries and piazzas beyond, where the wealthy disported themselves in gentle exercise. Later, the exercise wouldn’t be so decorous, or so gentle. Many of the voices around him were in English. The area around the Spanish Steps bustled with British people. Accents from all over the country, from Highland Scots to Devonshire drawl, with a large helping of high society precision echoed around him. He listened to none of them, just let the sound wash around him.
Adam had dreaded meeting someone from his life here, but when he’d finally seen someone, he’d acted without thought. More fool him. He should have passed her by, or at least waited at a discreet distance until her footman arrived to ensure her safety. Now he wanted her again, as much as ever. But he couldn’t drag her into this mire. Not until he’d dragged himself out of it.
He should not have kissed her, but he couldn’t regret it.
Cursing himself for his foolish behavior, he moved on, and reached his destination shortly after.
The Palazzo del Re stood before him, its impressive entrance with its twin columns on either side and balconied first floor indicative of the glories that lay within. The place stank of past glory, the marble columns soot-stained, the red plaster faded and scratched.
People entered and left; some with a furtive shiftiness, as if leaving a den of thieves, others in court finery striding in as if they owned the place. Loyal subjects of King George as well as Jacobites came here. They watched each other like hawks. The court, like every other he’d visited, seethed with plots and gossip.
Inside, he nodded to the footmen standing on either side of the door, their livery gleaming in the sunlight. Above him, the brightly painted fresco ceiling showed a mythological scene he would have to ask Delphi about.
But, of course, he wouldn’t ask her. She would come here with her family, not with him.
The court in Rome held the exiled king, a romantic alternative to the dour German court in Britain. This palace held the grandeur, the extravagance that the British court lacked. And it drew people like a magnet. Approved by the pope, the man who called himself King James the Third lived here in splendor. He provided an alternative and a useful political needle to poke in Britain’s hide when required.
Adam strode across the tiled floor, his nailed shoes clicking on the tiles. Nailed to preserve them, to make them last longer. The shabby clothe
s, the shoes, the apparently tiny apartment he occupied, his refusal to accept visitors, were all part of his subterfuge. And now he would continue, which meant he couldn’t see Delphi again, couldn’t allow himself to, lest he tell her everything, let her into his shameful secret.
As he climbed the broad staircase, the curlicues and serpentine twists made his stomach churn. He looked neither to his right or left. People passed him, but he took no notice of them. Should he take Trensom into his confidence? No, of course he could not.
Upstairs, a line of footmen fringed the open doors of the grand suite of rooms that led to the innermost chamber. They let him pass.
They knew he was coming. After yesterday’s frustrating visit, when he’d fought his way through to the last room, arguing with officials and courtiers at every turn, he’d only been able to bow to The Old Pretender. The man had accepted his obeisance and then got to his feet and walked away. The bored voice had said, “Return before the dinner hour tomorrow. We will speak then. Privately.”
Before the last room, the intimate chamber that only the most favored entered, a guard blocked Adam’s way, his long spear crossed over the doorway. People stood inside, staring at him, no expressions on their painted faces. Adam stood, and waited. Lifting his chin, he hooded his eyes and stared down his nose. “Shall I go, then? If you refuse me now, I will never come back.”
He said it loud enough for anyone inside the room to hear him. Except this was not his last chance. He would have to come back.
A pause, and then he shifted, moved a little bit, so that the nails on his shoes scraped the floor.
“Let him in,” a bored voice announced. Adam couldn’t see its owner, but he knew who it was.
As he entered the chamber, heat blasted out at him. St. James’s Palace in London, the official residence of the King of Great Britain, had the same atmosphere, stuffy enough for people trussed up in court dress to faint. The two men, the one here and the one in London, were distant cousins. Perhaps they had more in common than they thought.
A Whisper of Treason Page 6