His coat, under her pillow. He would have laid odds she had burned the thing. Valen stared at Izzie, trying to sort it out. She smiled up at him. Then, as it dawned on her what he’d discovered, her expression turned to dread. She turned to see his hand beside her pillow and groaned. Rolling quickly onto her side, she jerked the fabric away from him and stuffed it back under her pillow.
Robert thumped his hand angrily against the arm of the chair. “I should have known!”
They looked over at him. Valen feared his confounded desire for Izzie must be a palpable thing. Robert really would have to call him out if he could read his thoughts at this moment.
Izzie’s voice arced up a trifle too high. “Should have known what?”
“Merót! When he disappeared on the continent—I should have guessed he’d come here. But no, I assumed he’d hared off to Russia.”
Izzie relaxed and Valen with her.
“Might have puzzled it out, too, if I hadn’t gotten called home. What the devil has he been up to?”
Valen stood up and paced to the window. “His old game, I expect, advising Napoleon’s generals on the movements of our troops.”
“But how?”
“We discussed it at length in the war offices today. If we have guessed correctly, his was a relatively simple scheme. Officers have sisters, sweethearts, mothers. These women buy silk. You know how charming he can be.” Valen glanced furtively at Elizabeth, who refused to look in his direction.
He continued. “Suppose he ingratiates himself to a lady who wishes to purchase his silk. In the course of conversation, this lady mentions she has received a letter from her sweetheart or son who is marching, let us say, toward Madrid. Merót, merely by expressing a casual interest, might easily extract more information regarding troop movement without her becoming suspicious in the least.”
Izzie sat up, startled. “You may be right!” She glanced from Valen to her brother. “Not three weeks ago, just as I entered the shop, Mr. Smythe escorted Lady Cauvil out from behind his curtain. At the time, I thought it odd that she should be in a back room, alone with a shopkeeper. But she probably wasn’t, was she? Merót must have been there. Smythe handed her a package, and she nodded amiably to me, as if nothing were amiss. I forgot all about it until now.” Izzie looked expectantly at her brother. “You realize, don’t you, Lady Cauvil has a younger son posted with Wellington in Spain.”
Robert nodded. “That’s it then. That must be his game. We’ll want a chat with Lady Cauvil.”
“Yes.” Valen pulled the window shut and latched it. “However, on the morrow, I think it would be prudent to move your sister to more distant territory for both her peace of mind and her safety.”
Izzie met his gaze. “You think he’ll find me and finish the job, don’t you?”
“No. It’s merely a precaution until we capture him.” Valen hated to lie to her. Maybe it wasn’t a lie. Maybe Merót wouldn’t bother to take his revenge with so much at risk.
“Could take her home, I suppose.” Robert rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“He knew my name.” She laid her head down, eyes drooping, her voice growing airy and soft with fatigue. “If he finds I’m not in London, I should think our estate would be the first place he’d look.”
“Gad. She’s right. And there’s no one there but our mum and a few old servants, too faithful to abandon us. They would hardly be useful in a skirmish.”
Valen turned to Robert. “We’ll take her to Ransley Keep. He’d never think of looking there, and my father will be glad of the company. Pack and be ready to leave at daybreak. And now, I must excuse myself for a few hours of much-needed rest.”
“See here, St. Evert. I’m terribly grateful and all.” Robert stood up, blocking Valen’s escape. “But you don’t really need me to travel with you, do you? What’s the point of two escorts? Much better if I stay here. Help the lads hunt him down. After all, I studied Merót for two years. Would still have had him in my sights if I hadn’t been summoned home on account of my blasted fa—” He cast an uneasy look in his sister’s direction.
Father.
The same reason Valen had been required to return to England—to take his place as head of the family. One father missing. One dying. Their families left in tatters. Both men studied Elizabeth. This is who they came home for, the innocent who needed their protection. She lay drifting to sleep.
“Very well,” he said softly. “I’ll leave Biggs to assist you. Without a doubt, Whitehall will be pleased to have your assistance. I’ve already advised them that you were in town. And I’ll return as soon as Elizabeth is situated.” Valen clapped a hand on Robert’s shoulder. “But are you certain you aren’t choosing to stay here because of a certain Miss Dunworthy?”
Robert chuckled. “Not a bit of it.”
“Hmm. Try to remember this is serious business we’re engaged in.”
“Don’t know what you mean, Captain. What business are you referring to, Miss Dunworthy or Merót?”
He smirked at his friend’s wry wit. “Both.”
“Too true.”
Valen turned to go, but at the door, he paused for one last look at Izzie sleeping with her arms wrapped tightly around her pillow, his hideous peacock coat tucked underneath. Something in his chest constricted.
He found it hard to swallow. “I meant it, Robert. Stay here with her until I can get her safely away.”
Robert inhaled deeply, almost as if it vexed him that he must play sentinel, but he dropped willingly into the chair beside his sister, his face a mirror image of the concern besieging Valen.
Chapter 14
Kitten Tangled in Yarn
IT WAS NOT DAYBREAK when they departed. Owing largely to the fact that Aunt Honore insisted on coming along, hours of preparation consumed the entire morning. Valen paced angrily in the rotunda, checking his pocket watch every ten minutes. It was well into the afternoon when they climbed into the coach, which meant the journey would cost Valen an extra day.
Aunt Honore sat opposite him, beside Elizabeth, and had the decency to wait until they were well underway before making demands. “Change places with me, Valen.”
He glanced caustically in her direction, purposely elevating one eyebrow. “I’m quite comfortable where I am, thank you.”
“Well, I am not. I prefer a seat to myself.”
“No one forced you to come along.”
She shrugged. “Couldn’t very well have left Lady Elizabeth to ride in a closed carriage alone with you, could I?”
“I would have ridden outside,” he drawled as if she were a slow-witted child.
Honore smacked her white-gloved hand against the black leather seat. “Humbug. It’s a five-hour trip. You would have been exceedingly uncomfortable up on the roof.”
“I’ve weathered considerably longer journeys and under worse conditions,” he muttered to no one in particular, knowing he may as well talk to the ceiling for all the heed she would give him.
“Oh, do stop grumbling and change places. I don’t want Lady Elizabeth drooling on me.”
That remark claimed Lady Elizabeth’s attention. She turned from the window. “I assure you, my lady, I do not drool. I would not dream of—”
Honore waved her hand through the air as if she were shooing away fireflies. “Bound to fall asleep, aren’t you? I slipped some laudanum into your tea this morning.”
Valen frowned at his aunt.
“You didn’t!” Izzie’s mouth did that opening and shutting thing she was wont to do from time to time.
“Of course I did.”
“But surely you should have asked me first. My brother will have apoplexy. He hates the stuff. Thinks I will become addicted like my—”
“Oh, don’t fret, my dear.” She patted Elizabeth’s leg. “Your brother is much too young for apoplexy. The most he will do is climb up in the boughs about it.”
Valen crossed his arms and snorted derisively. “You will have to pardon my aunt. She’s entirely
without scruples. Her behavior is guided solely by calculating what she might get away with.”
“I have scruples.”
“Not many.”
“Just enough.”
“Well, you ought not to have dosed Lady Elizabeth without asking.”
“Piffle. It was a very light dose. See here…” She cupped her hand under Elizabeth’s chin and inspected her closely. “She isn’t even drooping yet. Her eyes are only somewhat glazed. After hearing an account of her histrionics yesterday, I certainly didn’t intend to spend the journey watching her get sick and mopping up—”
Elizabeth groaned and pulled out of her grasp. “I assure you, I do not normally suffer in that regard. There were... extraordinary circumstances.”
Aunt Honore smoothed out her purple traveling dress. “I preferred not to take the chance.”
Valen regarded his aunt’s haughty demeanor, knowing full well she was maneuvering him. “All the more reason why you ought to have remained at Alison Hall.”
“Nonsense. High time I saw my brother again. He will want a report on how you are coming along. Let me see…” She tapped her lips and glanced pointedly at Elizabeth and then back to him. “Whatever shall I tell him? How are you coming along with your promise, Valen, dear?”
Cunning ploy. She knew he had no wish to apprise Elizabeth of the matter. His aunt was, indeed, unscrupulous. “Very well, I will change places with you. Here. Take my seat. But, for pity’s sake, spare me any more of your jabber.”
Honore switched places with him and plopped down triumphantly, looking from Valen to Izzie. “Do try not to drool on my nephew, Lady Elizabeth. It is the first time in recent memory that he has worn something presentable.”
“I shall endeavor to do my best.” Izzie inclined her head graciously, but he caught the hint of mirth in the set of her lips. She stoically sat upright, as if her back were still tied to a board from her youth.
But by the time they reached the outskirts of London, Elizabeth succumbed to the laudanum. She tipped sideways and flopped against the squibs.
Honore sighed lamentably and pointed at Izzie. “Only look at the poor gel, Valen, bumping her head against the side of the coach. It gives me the megrims just to watch. Can you not arrange for her to lean against something more comfortable? Your shoulder, perhaps?”
He fixed her with a level stare. “Usually your conspiracies are better disguised.”
“Whatever can you mean?”
He didn’t bother to answer, merely removed his coat and folded it into a bundle to use as a cushion for Elizabeth’s head.
“Oh, for pity’s sake, don’t crumple up your coat.” Honore groaned. “I liked that one.”
But when Valen leaned over to prop it under Izzie’s head, she moved into his embrace, draping herself against his chest, nestling up to him like a kitten to a mother cat.
Honore grinned triumphantly. “Well done, Valen.”
“You are completely incorrigible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Valen surrendered to his predicament, dropped his coat on the seat, and rested his arm around Izzie. She fit neatly against his side, as if she’d been designed for the purpose. The gentle rhythm of her breathing tickled his chest, promising that he would not easily ignore her presence. To the contrary, he could not think of anything else but her body pressed up against his.
Peculiar, how tucking a woman up against a man makes him feel things he might otherwise avoid. Judging by his aunt’s smug expression, she had known precisely what effect it would have on him.
“Would it be so very terrible, Valen?” Honore asked as if reading his mind.
Devious woman. He refused to answer. Instead, Valen studied the landscape as it drifted past the window in peaceful, predictable formations, fields of sheep and grain, familiar hills, the same ancient villages that had stood there since the days of King Henry. He was going home to Ransley Keep. His heart softened with a vague eagerness. Home. And somehow it seemed far more pleasurable because Izzie lay next to him, snuggled up against his chest.
Toward the end of the journey, Elizabeth roused, groping to find her way out of a cloying deep, dark cavern. Slowly the air around her became more real. Awareness seeped in gradually. With a grimace, she realized her face was pressed up, rather indecorously, against Lord St. Evert’s broad chest. Elizabeth sat up abruptly, checking the condition of her hair, straightening her traveling dress, blinking at the dimming light. Evening approached already. “I must have dozed off.”
“To be sure.” Lady Alameda nodded.
Valen pinched the fabric of his shirt, pulling it away from his skin, and arched his brow at her. “It would seem, my lady, that you do indeed, drool.”
She stared at the embarrassingly large moisture stain trailing down from where her mouth had been pressed against him. What could she say? Nothing for it. She smiled nonchalantly. “You must send me the laundering bill.”
A short time later, their coach turned down a bumpy country lane and, at long last, rolled to a stop. St. Evert took Elizabeth’s hand, guiding her as she stepped down from the carriage and stared up at Ransley Keep.
A mammoth old manor set on a hill, it looked more like a fortress than a house. Dark stone walls lent it an impenetrable appearance. Flags waved from a small parapet. One could easily envision medieval archers lined up across the battlements at the top. In the waning light, Elizabeth felt transported back to the time when swords clanked together and arrows whistled through the air as lords fought to protect their families and lands.
She shook her head. Perhaps she was still experiencing the effects of the laudanum.
“Magical, isn’t it?” Lady Alameda stood beside her. “The original castle is a crumbling ruin on another hill. One of my ancestors built this, trying to be faithful in spirit to the old keep. “Come. You must meet my brother.”
Valen put a restraining hand on his aunt’s shoulder. “Lord Ransley will be resting. We should not intrude upon him until tomorrow morning.”
“Nonsense! He’ll be eager to see you and to meet Lady Elizabeth. If he’s sleeping, we’ll wake him.”
“I insist you do not excite him in regard to Lady Elizabeth. We must not alarm him concerning... recent events.”
“Don’t be silly.” Lady Alameda tossed her head imperiously. “I have no intention of alarming him on that account.”
“On any account.” Valen ordered.
Honore rolled her eyes and trudged through the heavy doors that a servant had creaked open.
Chapter 15
The Flimsy Fabric of Prevarication
THEY OVERSAW the unpacking of their luggage and took time to wash away the travel dust before meeting Lord Ransley. Elizabeth marveled at the castle-like quality of her bedroom. The architect had left the stone walls and heavy wooden beams exposed, just as he had throughout the rest of the manor. She removed her traveling dress and changed into a light green sprigged muslin. As she tiptoed down the broad open stairs into the great hall below, she felt like a fairy princess in an ancient stronghold.
In the great room by the fireplace, she waited, studying a large old coat of arms hanging above it. The shield was partitioned into six sections. No doubt a grant from Queen Elizabeth, it contained a white field with three red falcons, each holding a rose in his raised claw. The Red Hawk. Arms for St. Evert?
Engrossed in her study, she didn’t hear Valen approach. “A hodgepodge, is it not?”
She started and spun around, almost colliding with him because he stood so close. “Hawks. Red hawks—” His nearness flustered her and she couldn’t put her question together properly.
He shrugged.
Rather than dressing up for the occasion of seeing his father, St. Evert had donned a pair of nankeen trousers, more suited for riding than the drawing room, and a plain cambric shirt with no neckcloth. Then she remembered. “I do apologize for ruining your only dress shirt, my lord.”
“Small matter. My father would be alarm
ed if I were to put on my best bib and tucker for a mere visit. He might think he’d passed, and was a ghost at his own funeral. Surely nothing else could induce me to put on finery at home.”
Before she could sort out this odd comment, he had Elizabeth on his arm, leading her up the stairs again. “Come along. With any luck we will arrive in his room before my aunt does.”
Lord Ransley’s bedroom was dark and smelled of close, fetid air and a heavy cologne, which had been sprinkled liberally to mask the odor. Servants were lighting more candles as Elizabeth and Valen entered.
Lord Ransley sat up in bed, an eager expression on his face. “Valen, my boy, delighted to see you. And you’ve brought your bride! How lovely she is.”
Valen’s feet suddenly stuck to the floor. He clamped Elizabeth’s hand in place on his arm with the strength of an iron shackle. They came to such an abrupt stop, she nearly stumbled. Elizabeth glanced sideways at him and saw sheer panic on his face.
Apparently the very notion of an alliance between the two of them struck Lord St. Evert dumb with terror. How very amusing. Insulting, but amusing. It would have only required a small explanation to set the matter right with his father. But she decided he might jolly well extricate himself from this little tangle without any help from her.
“I... no. She’s not my... we haven’t…”
The fact that the high and mighty, overconfident Lord St. Evert stammered nearly moved her to laughter.
All too quickly he recovered and stiffened to attention. “Has Aunt Honore been here already?”
His father shook his head. “Honore? No.” He gestured weakly in Elizabeth’s direction. “She’s not—?”
“No.”
His father’s countenance wilted.
St. Evert urged her toward Lord Ransley’s bedside. “That is to say, she’s an acquaintance. A friend.”
Cut from the Same Cloth: A Humorous Traditional Regency Romance (My Notorious Aunt Book 3) Page 10