Playing with Fire

by Sandra Heath

  She kissed his mouth, his eyelids, his temple, his wound; she untied his neck cloth in order to kiss the little pulse at his throat…. She wanted to kiss the locket because it would be warm from his body. But the locket wasn’t there, just the broken chain. The realization sent desire into retreat. “Oh, Martin, your locket—!”

  “What of it?”

  “It’s gone!”

  His hand went swiftly to his throat. Sure enough, there was only the severed chain. Tansy began to get up. “It can’t be far away, for you’ve only been from here to the library and back again.”

  “I’m sure it will come to light.” He put a hand on her arm to make her stay. “Don’t go,” he said softly.

  She relaxed into his embrace again. “What is in the locket?” she asked, not liking to ask him outright about Marguerite Kenny.

  He gave a low laugh. “Tansy Richardson, you know perfectly well what is in the locket, because you and Amanda took a peek before going down to the library.”

  Tansy’s cheeks flamed. “You…knew?”

  “Yes. I’m afraid I was guilty of subterfuge.” He smiled. “I was most disappointed when Amanda interrupted, for you were about to steal a kiss.”

  Tansy couldn’t look at him. “I behaved most outrageously.”

  “I didn’t think so. It was an agreeably sensuous moment.”

  She smiled a little. “Yes, it was,” she agreed, remembering.

  “What followed was very enlightening too. It certainly confirmed my low opinion of your cousin.”

  Tansy felt guilty about the locket. “I’m sorry she looked in it. I should have stopped her from prying.”

  “It would take more than your disapproval to stop Amanda from doing anything.”

  “True.” Tansy looked up at him. “Why do you carry Marguerite Kenny’s portrait around your neck?”

  “She’s my mother.”

  “Your mother?” Tansy sat up to look properly at him. “Truly?”

  “Truly. Didn’t you see the inscription? Actually, forget I asked that, for neither of you saw the inscription or you would have said.”

  Tansy’s brows drew together. “Did she like living in Minorca? I…I mean, that was why your parents went there, wasn’t it?”

  He was silent or a moment. “There was nothing wrong with her health, Tansy. She and the man I call my stepfather moved there in order to avoid her husband, my real father.”

  Tansy’s lips parted in surprise.

  “And before you ask,” he went on, “I don’t know who he was. I was never told, and from what I have heard of the way he treated her, I do not ever wish to know about him. It shames me to know I have the blood of such a scoundrel flowing in my veins, and I am more than proud to carry my stepfather’s name, even though he was never legally married to my mother.”

  “Have you no curiosity at all about your real father?”

  “No. He and my mother were very much in love at first, but married clandestinely because he was wellborn and she was only an actress, and he feared she would not be accepted in society. But unfortunately their love foundered when he became addicted to gambling, and incurred huge debts he had no hope of settling. That was when he decided he wished to forget the wife he had begun to regard as an encumbrance, and marry a richer bride instead.”

  “Oh, Martin….”

  “He threw my mother out, with threats of violence if she ever breathed a word of their marriage; then he coolly underwent a bigamous match with a gullible heiress whose fortune rescued him entirely. By then my mother had discovered she was expecting me, so she feared not only for herself, but for me as well. She had met Richard Ballard, my stepfather, whom she told the complete truth about her circumstances. He loved her too much to let anything stand in the way of happiness, so he took her off to Minorca, and they spent the rest of their lives there, well away from the danger imposed by my damned father.”

  “And that is truly all you know about your real father?”

  “Yes. Oh, and the fact that he and his second wife had a son, my half-brother, who is obviously illegitimate in law, but has nevertheless inherited everything.”

  “Don’t you have any desire to claim what is rightfully yours?”

  He hesitated, then gave a dry laugh. “I don’t really know, and that is the truth. I despise my father so much that part of me wants nothing to do with anything that was his. Another part of me thinks it is only right that I should inherit.”

  “There are no documents? A marriage record? His name on the record of your birth?”

  “None that I am aware of. My mother was very afraid of my father, Tansy, and took nothing with her when he threw her out, unless you count me, of course.” He smiled at her again.

  “But somewhere in England you have a half-brother?”

  “Yes, and he, poor fellow, believes himself to be born on the right side of the blanket. Little does he know.” He looked at her in the firelight. “Do you think any less of me for hearing this, Tansy?”

  “Less of you? Oh, no! Besides, who am I to think less of anyone? I am a poor Church Mouse of a thing, that is all.”

  “But you are a very lovable Church Mouse of a thing,” he said softly. “I’m glad you know my background now, Tansy, for I want us to be open with each other. Always.”

  Her heart seemed to skip a beat, for the way he spoke made it seem he envisaged them together for a long time to come.

  “Now I have found you, I do not intend to let you go,” he whispered, and pulled her close once more. His lips found hers, and all else was forgotten as they gave themselves to more kisses.

  The wind sighed down the chimney, and the flames leaped, sending sparks fleeing up toward the darkness of the night. Ozzy and Cleo were still sitting contentedly side by side before the hearth. They looked at each other, then touched noses, for all the world as if they too were kissing.

  And all the while the figurine shimmered mysteriously in the folds of Tansy’s skirt. Then suddenly it disappeared.

  Chapter 26

  Sir Julian and Hermione did not quit the library for their beds until the small hours, obliging Randal to kick his heels in the cold wind at the edge of the woods as he waited for James’s signal from the billiard room to tell him the coast was clear. He was impatient to get on with things and more than a little anxious to dispose of the letter now that the real heir had turned up so inconveniently. Down in the bay the waves crashed on the beach, and the lights of a vessel glimmered out to sea. The wind soughed through the trees behind him, and the taste of salt was on his lips as he stared resolutely toward the house, willing the signal to appear. But still there was nothing, yet he was certain that the candles had been extinguished in the library several minutes ago. What in God’s own name was delaying that fool of a footman?

  At that moment, James was in the billiard room struggling to light the signal lantern. Try as he would, the wick simply would not take flame. He cursed beneath his breath as he wrestled with it, and was unaware of two pairs of feline eyes peeping at him around the open door, making certain he was preoccupied.

  Then the cats drew back and trotted into the deserted library, which was now only illuminated by firelight. Once there, they acted swiftly, with Cleo waiting impatiently by the hearth as Ozzy jumped onto Sir Julian’s desk, where the bronze figurine now stood among the clutter of papers and other objects. The tomcat mewed and rubbed his whiskers against it, then began to push papers aside with his paw until at last he found what he had noticed earlier in the evening. It was a long letter from a rather eccentric gentleman in Scotland, who believed that Plato’s lost land of Atlantis was actually beneath the Sahara Desert, and that it had been inundated with waves of sand, not water. To the tomcat it was simply a folded sheet of paper of the desired size and appearance.

  He patted it across the desk until it fell to the carpet, where Cleo took it in her mouth, then leaped up on to the mantel, which only she was small enough to stand on with any comfort. She edged carefully along u
ntil she was as close to the statue of Isis as could be managed; then with a dainty but determined paw, she patted and pushed the scarab until at last she succeeded in opening the secret compartment. She delved in the cavity with claws extended until she managed to hook the precious letter and draw it carefully out. Allowing it to fall to Ozzy below, she then set about putting the Scottish gentleman’s missive in its place.

  It was a feat of quite astonishing dexterity, ending with a quite undignified scramble over Isis’s head, but at last the little tabby succeeded, and just managed to close the flap of the compartment before she lost her footing and fell, almost on top of Ozzy. But the deed was done, and without further ado the two furry schemers ran out of the library again, Ozzy carrying the letter in his mouth, for all the world like King Osorkon’s retriever cat. They had just disappeared among the ferns around the pharaoh in the atrium when James at last succeeded with the lantern in the billiard room. The cats’ eyes shone as they watched through the open door as the footman went out onto the terrace to signal to Randal.

  Tansy and Martin, meanwhile, had fallen asleep in each other’s arms in front of the fire. He still leaned back against the chair, and she was cradled close in his arms, her knees drawn up as if she would curl around him. The fire had burned a little lower, but still glowed in the draft from the wind in the chimney. The sound of something falling awakened her suddenly, and she sat up, for a moment fearing discovery in such a very improper situation.

  But the room was quiet. She was tempted to close her eyes again and snuggle back into Martin’s embrace, but then she saw the bronze figurine lying in the hearth. She must have moved, and in doing so dropped it, she decided, carefully unlinking herself from Martin’s arms and managing to get up without disturbing him. He needed all the sleep he could get if he was to recover fully, she thought, pausing to touch his hair. She could still hardly believe that he felt the same for her as she did for him. She, Tansy Richardson, the Church Mouse to end all Church Mice, had won the heart of a handsome naval lieutenant who was everything any woman could desire!

  Taking the figurine, she placed it on the mantel, then went softly to the door to see all was clear before she went out. A night candle burned down in the atrium, casting a very faint light up to the landing. Shadows swayed with the solitary flame, and she was about to hurry to her own room when she heard something downstairs. What was it? A stifled cough? Curious, she lingered at the balustrade, looking down to see who was there. She was sure she heard footsteps in the billiard room. And whispers!

  As she watched, two men walked into view. They were cautious, furtive even, looking this way and that before crossing the atrium to the library. One she recognized as the footman called James; the other she did not know, except to see that he was very well dressed. A gentleman? Surely not if he was creeping around the house when everyone had gone to bed! As they disappeared from view, she caught up her skirts to hurry downstairs. It did not occur to her to awaken Martin, or raise the alarm in any way, just to see what the men were up to.

  At the bottom she halted. A candle had now been lighted in the library, and by the shadows on the wall she could see the gentleman next to the statue of Isis. He was trying to open the secret compartment! Slowly she crossed the atrium, and suddenly became aware of Ozzy and Cleo blocking her way. The cats sat directly in front of her, clearly trying to prevent her from continuing, but she moved quickly around them and reached the door just as the gentleman operated the scarab.

  In a trice his gloved fingers had closed over the letter, and he’d begun to rip it into shreds. Tansy was rooted with shock, unable to do anything except watch as he calmly tossed the torn pieces of the letter onto the fire.

  Suddenly James saw her in the doorway. “Sir!”

  Randal turned sharply, and at last her lips parted to scream, but before a sound escaped her, she was struck hard from behind. Pain lanced jaggedly through her, then blackness lurched in from all sides, and she knew no more as she slumped senseless to the floor. The last thing she was aware of was the bronze cat on her uncle’s desk; it seemed to be glowing….

  Amanda dropped the candlestick with which she’d struck the blow, then looked down at Tansy. “You aren’t going to spoil things, Coz,” she breathed.

  James’s face had drained of all color. “Have you killed her?” he whispered.

  “Don’t be such a fool,” she replied.

  Randal didn’t share her certainty, and he hurried over to crouch by Tansy and make certain she was still breathing. “Now what?” he demanded, looking up at Amanda. “She saw me, and while she may not yet know yet who I am, she will damned soon.”

  “Don’t panic,” Amanda replied in a level tone. “You and James will have to remove her. I don’t care where you take her or what you do with her, just make certain she can’t do any more harm. Leave everything here to me.”

  Randal straightened, his blue eyes reluctantly admiring. “You’re a cool one,” he breathed.

  “One of us has to be,” she answered. She had made her choice, and she would protect her own interests with every breath she had. No one was going to prevent her from becoming Countess of Sanderby. No one! But then her glance fell upon the desk and the bronze cat. She stared at it. She’d thrown it into one of the topiary sphinxes in the garden, yet here it was!

  Randal followed her gaze. “What’s wrong?”

  “That bronze figurine….”

  “What about it?” he asked.

  For a moment she considered telling him, but then thought better of it. “Look, the longer we dither here, the more chance there is of Tansy coming around. So get on with it. I want her out of here before she comes around. Just be waiting for me at dawn at that place by the woods you mentioned before.”

  “Waiting for you?” Randal repeated.

  “You have a tame clergyman at Wareham, and I am the bride. That is all you need for a swift marriage, is it not?”

  “What of the special license?” he pointed out swiftly, misliking the speed with which she was cornering him.

  “You have already explained about that. A special license will be forthcoming, and everything upon it will be exactly as it should be. Is that not so?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But nothing. Humor me, Randal, for I’m sure my fortune is worth it…to say nothing of my silence.” The threat hung deliberately in the air, for it wouldn’t do for him to feel too safe now the letter had been destroyed. She had to remind him that she still had it in her power to tell Martin the truth, even if she could not prove it.

  Randal regarded her in the firelight. “Have a care, Amanda—”

  “No, you have a care!” she breathed. “Noli tangere ignem, remember? Just be warned that you will indeed play with fire if you try to cross me.”

  He stared at her, beginning to realize more and more that she was his match in every way. It wasn’t a feeling he relished, but there was no longer anything he could do about it. The die was cast.

  From the atrium there suddenly came the loud sound of yowling cats, as Ozzy and Cleo set up a warning racket that resounded through the whole house. Almost immediately Sir Julian’s voice was heard from the floor above.

  Amanda spoke quickly to Randal. “So just be waiting for me at dawn.”

  “I will be there.” He beckoned to James to help him with Tansy’s limp body, and Amanda hurried to open the French windows. They carried Tansy out onto the windblown terrace, and Amanda closed the doors softly behind them. Then she hurried to the bookcase and took out The Tales of One Thousand and One Nights.

  She was about to hurry out into the atrium, where she could hear Martin and Hermione as well as Sir Julian, when her attention was pulled to the desk. The bronze cat had gone. Her cornflower eyes widened fearfully, but there was no time to think any more about it because someone was coming downstairs now. She hurried out toward the atrium, but got no further than the library doorway because Ozzy and Cleo were barring the way. Hissing and spitting, their tails l
ashing furiously, they crouched as if about to pounce. Startled to see her, Sir Julian and Martin halted on the stairs, while Hermione peered nervously over the balcony.

  Ozzy and Cleo redoubled their noise, and Amanda drew back a little, bursting into artful tears. “Oh, Uncle! They’re frightening me!”

  Sir Julian spoke sharply to his tomcat. “Ozymandias! Be quiet this instant!”

  Ozzy’s ears went back, but his racket subsided. Cleo followed his lead, but they both continued to crouch threateningly.

  Amanda whimpered pathetically. “Make them go away, Uncle,” she begged in a small voice.

  He waved an arm at the cats. “Off with you!” he snapped.

  Ozzy considered defying him, but only for a moment. With a resentful growl he turned and slunk away toward the kitchens. Cleo watched him go, then looked a last time at Amanda, before following the tomcat.

  Amanda immediately ran to Sir Julian, who had not stopped to pull on his dressing gown over his nightgown. His nightcap was awry, and his feet were bare, for he had not had time to don his Turkish slippers either. She flung herself into his arms. “Oh, Uncle! I didn’t do anything, truly I didn’t. I…I couldn’t sleep, so I came down to get this book! That’s all, but the cats made such a noise and wouldn’t let me out of the library again.”

  He stared at the volume she waved before him. “Oh, my dear….”

  “I think they thought I was a thief.” Amanda sniffed and bit her lip. “I’m not. Truly I’m not.”

  “No, of course you aren’t, my dear,” Sir Julian replied. “It’s clearly a fuss about nothing, so we’ll all go back to bed.” With his arm around her shaking shoulders, he ushered her past Martin and back up the staircase.

  Amanda could not resist glancing back at Martin. Their gazes met, his suspicious, hers alight with triumph. Then she looked ahead once more, and on reaching the landing almost ran into Hermione’s arms.