by Gaelen Foley
“After coming up empty-handed there, I wrote to Uncle Rupert’s secretary to see if he had learned anything of interest in the meanwhile. Zed there, as well.
“Last, I summoned the two Bow Street officers who interviewed my servants before I sacked them all. Ugh, these two dunces were as useless this week as they were back in January.” He shook his head in frustration. “Turns out Bow Street decided weeks ago—without bothering to tell me—that the case was closed.”
“What was their conclusion?”
“That Rory was never poisoned. That it was either bad food, too much drink, or simply a stomach flu of some sort. Obviously, they don’t know the sergeant’s iron constitution,” he muttered. “I swear, that man could eat hardtack full of maggots and never even notice the wriggling— Oh, er, sorry,” he mumbled when she wrinkled her nose.
His heart sank at his blunder. You don’t say that sort of thing to a lady. Dunderhead. Dammit, it was all down to too much time spent in the rough, rowdy company of men. “Sorry,” he muttered again, embarrassed. “It’s just, well, unfortunately, spoiled rations are a soldier’s frequent lot in life.”
“Lud.” Her grimace had faded, thankfully, but when he noticed that the sparkle of amusement had never left her eyes, he smiled in rueful relief.
Maybe she was getting used to his rough-and-tumble ways, learning to see past them. He hoped so. He didn’t want her to think him, as so many English folk did, a typical “Irish savage.”
“What about your relatives?” she asked. “Have you been able to question them?”
“No.” He lowered his head and scratched an eyebrow with his thumb. “Those who aren’t in mourning still see me as an outsider. Aunt Lucinda doesn’t want to tell me what she knows; Aunt Florence doesn’t dare; and as to Aunt Caroline, I’ve been giving her and her daughters a wide berth, considering Uncle Rupert was her husband and Richard was her son. To lose them both in so short a time?” He shook his head. “I’m sure the sight of me, as the new titleholder, would pain the poor woman, and I’ve no desire to make this any worse for her than it already is.”
“That is considerate of you.” She paused. “Do you think she suspects her menfolk were murdered?”
“I really couldn’t say.” He growled under his breath and moved up restlessly to the window, staring out. “You know, I almost wish this blackguard would try again to kill me. That way, I could confront him, catch him, and be done with it. But he hides now. He knows I’m onto him, I think.”
Connor glanced over his shoulder, saw her apprehensive frown, and realized the lady found this a chilling subject.
“It’s all right, don’t be frightened,” he reassured her softly. “He failed twice now. He’ll fail again.”
“But I worry for you.” She laid a hand on his forearm.
“No need,” he told her with a gentle smile, sliding his arm up to capture her hand in his. “I’m ready for him now.” He lifted her gloved hand to his lips and gave her knuckles a confident kiss. “He attacked with poison, for God’s sake. The man’s obviously a coward, whoever he is. But never fear, Lady Maggie. The major eats cowards for breakfast. Just ask Will,” he said with a wink.
Her smile returned.
That’s better, he thought. She was studying him, and he grew mesmerized by the starlight sparkle of her eyes. Such beauty.
Then she moved closer to him of her own accord, and Connor held his breath, wanting so much to take her in his arms. But rare hesitation held him back, for hadn’t he forced her into this?
The risk to her reputation shook him, in hindsight. He hadn’t even thought about that much until now. He was ashamed of his own selfishness…but such was the power of a warrior’s well-honed survival instincts.
The morals of a high stickler were a luxury that only civilians could afford.
Then he glanced down in wonder as she laid her hand gently on his chest.
“Well, Major,” she said, her voice beguiling him with its slight, breathy note. She peered up at him from beneath her lashes. “In the interests of ending this threat to your life as quickly as possible, I stand ready and waiting for my next assignment—especially since this one got us nowhere. What can I do to help next?”
He willed his mind away from a hundred naughty answers.
She deserved better than that from him, his delicate English rose. Something tenderer than his usual roguery when it came to women.
Connor shook his head and ran his hands gently down her arms. “You’ve done enough, my lady. I fear it was wrong of me to involve you in all of this in the first place.”
“What? No,” Maggie protested, but he barely heard, realizing how incredibly glad he was at that moment that her batch of suspects had turned out to be harmless.
God, what if he had sent this innocent girl chasing after the real killer?
How could he have been so cavalier about her safety, simply brushing any the notion of danger reaching her? It had seemed remote enough, but his heart sank with disappointment in himself.
He could only conclude that, in the same way that Maggie had grown accustomed to putting up with her sister’s abuses over time, he, likewise, had come to take danger for granted as a normal part of his daily life, not worth bothering about. But just because life-or-death situations no longer impressed him, that didn’t mean others around him were equally equipped to shrug it off.
God, he thought with a shudder. If anything had happened to her…
It just went to show how hardened he had become after all those years of war. Maybe I’m less ready for peacetime than I thought.
Clearly, this new life before him would take more adjusting to.
Meanwhile, he barely registered her continued protests until her light touch on his chest became a small, cajoling caress.
“Please, Amberley, I want to help. It’s meaningful for me…”
At that, his senses homed in on her with his full, fiery attention.
“I’m sure I can be useful somehow,” she said.
Oh indeed. His mouth watered as he failed this time to rein his roguish thoughts back into line. You could help me, all right, love. Sit on my lap and let me show you exactly how…
“Well?” she prompted, sweetly oblivious to his wayward thoughts.
Connor jolted back to his own haphazard version of propriety. “You astonish me, my lady.” Alas, his voice had gone husky, and then his blood burned when Lady Maggie licked her lips.
“I do?”
“Aye,” he forced out, throbbing. Then he turned his gaze with determination toward the window, and decided to open it a crack.
God knew he needed air, suddenly finding it much too warm in this dark, tiny alcove. He clicked the lock open and slid the casement up, striving for a businesslike tone as he continued.
“I thought I would have to compel you to help me in my search for information. Thus my demand to see your…you know.” He glanced down wryly toward her skirts’ hem as he turned around again, dusting off his gloved hands. “Thought I’d have to blackmail you into cooperating. Sorry,” he added with a rueful grin, “I was desperate.”
“Oho, is that what that was?” She started laughing, then poked him in the arm. “Oh come, you wouldn’t have blackmailed me! I’ll never believe that.”
“Shh!” he scolded, laughing along quietly with her as he glanced past the curtain to make sure no one was coming.
The chilly thread of air whispering in felt wonderful. It stirred the tendrils of her hair—and helped to cool his lust enough so he could think again.
“Very well—you’re right. The threat of it was about as far I as I could have taken that, to be honest. But I must admit, I don’t regret makin’ the demand. ’Twas a very nice view.” He sent a hearty glance toward her shins, and she smacked him lightly in the chest for it this time.
“Ow! Careful of the gunshot wound, little hellcat.”
“Oh my goodness—I forgot!” Her hands flew up to her mouth.
“I was only tea
sing,” he told her.
“Humph! Ruffian,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him.
God, he wanted to kiss her.
“Well?” She propped her fists on her waist. “I want my next assignment, duke. Tell me what to do.”
“I don’t think I will,” he murmured, holding her gaze.
“But why? Didn’t I do a good job?”
“You did an excellent job, my darling girl. But this could get dangerous, and I couldn’t bear for any ill to befall you for my sake.”
“Well, that is very gallant, I’m sure, but I am your friend, and I am not afraid,” she declared, stealing his breath.
He could not resist reaching out to cup her cheek. “I know you’re not, sweeting. I can see you’re at your bravest when you’re defendin’ someone whose part you’ve taken up. You and I have that in common.”
She pondered his words, but a crestfallen look crept onto her sweet face. “There must be something I can do to assist. Safely, as it were, behind the scenes?”
He lowered his hand to his side. “If I think of anything, I’ll let you know.”
“Very well,” she said. But she looked so disappointed that Connor felt as though he had taken something important away from her.
As much as this puzzled him, he didn’t want to be the cause of that dejected slump about her shoulders, that forced smile on her lips.
“You really want to assist?” he asked, trying to think of something for her.
She nodded eagerly, brightening at once. “I didn’t at first, but now I really do. Did something occur to you?”
Something had. But it wasn’t a task, it was a question. One he couldn’t help asking, given the slight twinge of doubt nagging at him.
How reliable was her information, if she claimed to do thorough research on her prospective husbands, and yet had never found out that Bryce preferred men?
Connor looked toward the window, puzzling over any tactful way to probe the subject with a sheltered, virginal miss. There wasn’t one, he was rather sure.
“How did Bryce take the jilt, anyway?” he asked abruptly, opting for a flanking maneuver on the subject.
“About as well as you might guess. Why do you ask?”
“Er, my lady, are you…sure you knew everything about him that a woman would want to know before marrying a chap?”
“Well, not everything, of course. But as much as I needed to. Why? You don’t still think he’s involved in trying to kill you, I hope?”
“No, no. I just wondered how clear your picture of him was.”
She shrugged. “Fairly accurate, I think.”
Connor hesitated, then decided that, above all, he owed her his honesty. “So I assume you heard the rumors,” he said as delicately as possible, eyeing her.
She froze, stiffened, then lifted her chin. “Yes. I heard them,” she said tightly. “And ignored them, of course. Disgusting lies. Who could believe such a thing?”
“Ah. So, it wasn’t true, then?”
“People talk about everyone behind their backs in Society,” she said, which he noticed was not a direct answer to his question. “I’m sure they say plenty of things about me.”
“Like what?”
“Who knows? Who cares?” she said firmly. “The gossips of the ton twist the truth and delight in hyperbole. Take you, for example.”
“Me?” he said, startled. “They’re already talking about me?”
“Of course.”
“What are they saying? Wait—maybe I don’t want to know. As long as it’s not that I killed my own relatives.”
“No, no, no. Don’t worry. I don’t think anyone else took hold of that theory other than Bryce himself. However…if you really want to know, there is actually a tale going ’round that the fearsome major once discovered and then blew up a secret tunnel through which some French-held town under siege was receiving supplies.”
He winced.
“Unfortunately,” she continued, “they say that when the explosives were laid to bring the tunnel down, there were a dozen Spanish civilians inside, making their way through it, trying to reach freedom.”
He looked away, his face taut with the memory. “They weren’t supposed to be there.”
She gasped. “You mean, it’s true?”
“Aye.” He gave her a hard glance. “It was pitch-black in that tunnel, and those families did not make a sound in their fear of being discovered by the French soldiers while making their escape. If I had seen them, heard them… Dammit, I’d watched for the pattern of how that tunnel was used. Their presence was a fluke. Do you think I’d have killed them on purpose?”
“Oh God,” she whispered, staring at him. “I-I didn’t think it was true.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He turned away and shut the window again, sufficiently cooled by the night’s chill. “It happened. I cannot change the past.”
When he turned around, she was gazing somberly at him. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I should not have spoken out of turn. What does a lady know of war?”
“It’s all right.” He shrugged, stoic. “That’s war for you.”
She gazed at him in tender silence.
Connor shook his head and leaned against the windowsill, folding his arms across his chest. He lowered his gaze to the floor. “These idiots who think it’s all glorious cavalry charges and sunlight flashing on sabers make me sick, to be honest. It’s horror and pain and it ought to be outlawed.”
She was silent for a moment, then he glanced at her to gauge her reaction.
“Yet you went in so young, and stayed there so long.”
“Aye. My father signed me up. Family tradition.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I’m not,” he said in a steely tone. “If a war must be fought, then it must be won. So of course I was there, and stayed to see the thing through.”
She appeared to have been rendered speechless. She turned away a little, lowering her gaze, touching her brow. “I feel like a fool for bringing it up.”
His lips curved in the darkness, the tension easing from him again when he saw her dismay. “It’s all right, Lady Maggie. I only bring it up as a means of suggesting that, um, perhaps you might consider that the rumors about your former beau might be true, as well. Actually”—he hesitated—“I’m certain they are.”
Her chin jerked upward, and she looked at him, amazed. “No…”
He gave a noncommittal shrug. “It would seem that that was why he was so upset about Richard.”
She grew increasingly appalled. “You mean…?”
Connor lifted his eyebrows and looked away discreetly, tapping his fingers on his arm. “Yes.”
“Good heavens.” Her voice had dwindled to a whisper. “Are you sure?”
“I found my cousin’s diary.”
“I…I see,” she whispered, then furrowed her brow. “But if that’s the case, then why did he court me? Only for appearances?” A soft, pained laugh escaped her as she turned away, apparently in shame.
Connor scowled at the floor, wishing he had never brought it up.
“It was all a lie,” she said. “I was just…”
“There, now,” he said softly, going over to her. He laid a hand on her shoulder. “You gave him the benefit of the doubt.”
“I’m blind.”
“No. You are just one of those rare souls who chooses to see the best in people. It’s a beautiful quality. Do not berate yourself for this.”
She looked up at him mournfully. “No wonder you don’t want my help anymore. I am a dreadful judge of character. Yet…I am quite sure that the men whose names you gave me mean you no harm. They are not capable of murder.”
“I believe you. I trust in your word. And you do have good judgment with people. Your choice of friends downstairs proves that.”
He saw her swallow hard as she hung on his words.
“That’s not the reason I said I did not want you involved anymore. I just want to keep you safe, my lad
y.”
She searched his eyes, but then nodded, her lips pressed together. She took a breath and chased back the shimmer of tears that had threatened in her eyes.
Her gentleness moved him so deeply. He wanted with all his heart to take her into his arms and shield her from the world. But, as the target of so many threats, Connor knew that he mustn’t do that.
Not yet.
“Well,” she said, gathering herself, “speaking of my friends, I should probably return to the ballroom before they all start to wonder where we two have gone.”
Connor gazed at her in dismay. He did not want her to go, did not want to leave this alcove yet. “Tell you what. If I think of any way for you to help that doesn’t seem too dangerous, I’ll summon you to our meeting place.”
“Really?”
He nodded, determined to come up with something for her. He had no idea why exactly it meant so much to her, but clearly, it did. “Watch for my signal.”
She finally smiled again at his reminder of the lantern signals. “I will. At least you and I officially know each other now,” she added.
“Believe me, the pleasure is mine. Be careful going back downstairs. I don’t want to give the Town gossips any more fodder for their—what did you call it? Scandal-broth sessions?”
She nodded, chuckling. “Good night, Your Grace.”
As she started to turn away, Connor stopped her. “One more thing.”
“Yes?” She looked at him hopefully.
“Do come to that party I mentioned. My grandaunt’s soirée.”
She grinned. “Send me an invitation and I’ll be there.”
“Done. You promise?”
“I do. You’ll need moral support that night?”
“I just like seeing your face,” he said softly. “And…” He glanced down meaningfully at her ankles.
She giggled. “That never happened, Your Grace.”
“You catch on quickly,” he said with a smile, then he found himself holding her stare, and it seemed neither of them could look away.
She suddenly clapped both hands to her cheeks. “Why can’t I stop smiling when you are near?”
“Perhaps the same reason my wound feels better when I see you.” He touched his bandaged side vaguely.