by Candace Camp
“He kept the watch,” the colonel went on. “He made me tell him to whom it belonged, and he intended to give it back. He promised he would not tell anyone as long as I resigned immediately from the army. He wanted to avoid disgracing the regiment. Of course that would be his primary concern. Not what would happen to his friend—how I would live or how I would explain things. He insisted I write out this confession and said he would use it against me if I did not voluntarily resign. He put it into the watch to keep until I’d turned in my papers.”
“It must have been a great relief to you when Bruce died,” Eve said coolly. “Or did you speed the process along?”
“Good Lord, no!” Willingham looked at her with shock. “I would never have killed the fool. Bruce killed himself with his typically mad riding. The man never met a wall he didn’t think he could clear.” He set his jaw, and his gaze turned a trifle defiant. “But yes, I was relieved when I heard it. I thought I had been saved. You never gave any indication that you knew anything. I could breathe easier. All I had to do was get the watch back. I searched everywhere I could whenever I came over to your house in those days after his death, but I couldn’t find it. Finally I gave up. I hoped he had hidden it so carefully no one would ever find it. You went back to your parents, so I hoped the bloody watch would stay there, immured in the vicarage . . .”
“Then I came here, only minutes from Lord Humphrey’s house,” Eve put in.
“Yes, and I knew if Humphrey saw it I was a dead man.”
Lord Humphrey was still standing, staring at his friend, his fingers curled around the beloved watch. “Is this true, Robert?” His voice sounded frail, suddenly years older than he was. His face was lined with the pain of betrayal. “Did you steal Amabel’s watch?”
“No, damn it!” Willingham rose to his feet, his eyes flashing, and Eve drew in her breath, afraid that he was going to tell the old man the truth, that he had been conducting an affair with Lord Humphrey’s new young wife. “I—”
He had barely gotten out the words, though, when Fitz moved forward, grasping Willingham’s arm at the wrist and twisting it painfully up behind him. Fitz’s voice was low, but Eve was close enough to hear him say, “Careful. If you want to keep out of prison . . .”
Willingham grimaced. “Yes. All right. Yes, I took the damned watch. I found it on the floor one time when I was visiting here. I knew Sabrina must have dropped it, and everyone would assume that it was lost.”
“My God. I never knew you at all.” Humphrey glanced around the room vaguely. “Amabel . . .”
“Uncle Humphrey.” Vivian moved quickly over to her uncle, sliding her arm around the old man’s waist. Eve caught the shimmer of tears in her eyes. “Why don’t we go up to your room? I’m sure Chumwick would love to bring you a cup of nice hot tea. Perhaps with a little something in it?”
The old man turned with her, and, still talking soothingly, Vivian led him out the door and into the hall. The three people remaining in the room were silent until they heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Then Fitz let go of Willingham’s arm and came around to face him.
“Here is what is going to happen,” he told the colonel, his words hard and sharp as a blade. “I am going to keep this bit of paper. It is going into the safe at Willowmere, so don’t think for an instant that you can recover it. If you don’t do exactly what I tell you I will reveal this confession to the world. Am I understood?”
Grudgingly the colonel nodded. “Yes.”
“Good. You will resign from the army and retire to the country, where you will not breathe a word of any of this to anyone. You will not write to or see Lady Sabrina again. Nor will you try to excuse or justify yourself to Lord Humphrey or in any way attempt to worm yourself back into his good graces. Nor will you utter a word against Major Hawthorne or Mrs. Hawthorne. Believe me, if I hear a breath of scandal regarding either of them, I will know from whence it comes, and I will act. Now, go upstairs and pack your bags. I want you out of this house before I leave this afternoon.”
With a sour turn of his lips the colonel nodded and stood up, then strode out of the room. Eve stood for a moment looking after him. Then she turned to Fitz, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears.
“Thank you. Oh, Fitz, it’s over.”
He opened his arms, and with a little sob Eve rushed into them.
Chapter 21
Eve and Fitz waited until Vivian came back downstairs after turning her uncle over to the tender care of his valet.
“I think he will be all right, but this has been a terrible shock to him,” Vivian said worriedly. “It doesn’t surprise me that Sabrina has been carrying on affairs behind his back.” She sighed. “But I rather liked Colonel Willingham.” Her green eyes flashed. “The gall of that man, coolly sitting here, pretending to be Uncle Humphrey’s friend, pretending to be your friend, when all the while—I’ll tell you this, if he ever shows his face in the ton again, he’ll regret it.”
“He fooled all of us,” Eve told her.
“I never liked him,” Fitz pointed out.
Vivian chuckled and cast him an arch look. “Mm. I wonder why that was.”
Hurriedly Eve went on, “I thought him most kind and considerate. All those times he came by to offer his support and help after Bruce died—all he wanted was an opportunity to search through Bruce’s things.”
“What’s most absurd is that if they had not made such a to-do about the thing I doubt anyone would have noticed the watch,” Vivian said. “I don’t remember seeing you wear it.”
“I rarely did. It was too heavy for most of my dresses, and it wasn’t in style any longer. It was just my misfortune that I wore it when Sabrina first met me.”
Vivian grimaced. “I’d like to go up there and pull that witch out of bed by her hair. It makes me furious that she won’t get what she deserves out of all this. But I cannot let Uncle Humphrey find out. I think he knows he made a mistake in marrying her. You could see from the way he talked about that watch that he still grieves for Aunt Amabel. But Sabrina’s betrayal would crush him nevertheless.”
“It won’t get out,” Fitz assured her. “Willingham and Sabrina won’t be foolish enough to trumpet it about, and the only other people who know are you and Eve and I. None of us will say anything.”
“What about Camellia and Lily?” Eve asked. “They know that Sabrina was behind the letters. I’m sure they wouldn’t gossip, but . . .”
“Still, probably not a story for young ears.” Fitz looked thoughtful. “We can just tell them that Sabrina admitted to playing a spiteful trick on you. I don’t think they’ll have any trouble believing that.”
“Particularly when Sabrina comes over to make you a pretty little apology, Eve.” Vivian’s eyes sparkled. “Believe me, I’ll make sure she does.”
A few minutes later Colonel Willingham came back downstairs, escorted by the aging butler Chumwick and one of the footmen. Willingham turned toward Eve as though to say something, but Fitz quickly stepped between them. Willingham shrugged and left the house. Fitz followed to watch the man get into the carriage Vivian had ordered brought around.
Later, when Fitz and Eve were riding back to Willowmere in their own carriage, Fitz told her, “I gave the coachman instructions to take him to Lancaster. I would have liked to have dropped him off on the road and let him make his own way, but I didn’t want him anywhere close to you. I hated to let the fellow go after the way he frightened you. I would have liked to throw him in gaol.” He sighed. “But I’m not sure how we would have proved it.”
“We could not. Certainly not without involving Cam and Lily’s stepfather. And Sabrina. The scandal would have been enormous. And poor Lord Humphrey . . .” Eve leaned her head against Fitz’s shoulder. “It would not do to pursue him. I’m simply glad it’s over. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For everything—believing me, believing in Bruce, doing all you did.”
He chuckled and bent to kiss her forehead. “Wha
t else would I do? I hope you don’t think I’m the sort to let you fight your battles on your own.” He kissed her again, this time on the lips, lingering until Eve felt the familiar heat steal through her. Raising his head, he murmured, “I’ll always be there for you.”
He curled his arm around Eve’s shoulders, and she snuggled closer. It felt so warm and secure in his arms. If only she could believe that his words were true, that he would always be there for her. This idyll would end; it had to. Fitz was not a marrying man. But she told herself firmly she would not think about that now. The end would come soon enough.
“Eve . . .” he began, then stopped. “No, this is not the time or place.”
A shiver of apprehension ran through her. “No,” she agreed. “Later . . . later will be time enough.”
They had been gone so long they had missed tea and indeed barely had time to dress and make it to dinner. Lady Symington was in a bitter mood, having been forced by their absence to take tea with the youthful group on the second floor.
“I cannot think what you were about, Fitzhugh, allowing that Frenchman to take up residence here,” she said at dinner.
“He had a broken leg,” Fitz pointed out mildly. “I could hardly turn him out on the road.”
“But one doesn’t know anything about him,” Lady Symington went on. “And the French are far too easy in their speech and manners.”
“He’s a very intelligent man,” Priscilla surprised everyone by saying. She blushed at finding all eyes turned on her, but with a little gulp, she went on, “He has been all sorts of places and knows a great deal about . . .” Her mother’s gimlet gaze was turned upon her, and she wavered. “About a number of things.”
“What good is that, I ask you, when you have no idea who his parents are?” Lady Symington stated. Having taken care of that minor rebellion, she turned back to her original quarry. “I can’t imagine where you go haring off to all the time, either, Fitzhugh. This is scarcely the way to entertain guests.”
“It’s rather easier to entertain guests when one knows they’re coming,” Neville pointed out, then shot a glance at his friend. “Of course perhaps some of us knew about it earlier than others.”
“In the old earl’s day Willowmere was always prepared to receive guests,” Lady Symington replied in chilling tones.
And so the dinner conversation continued. Eve did her best simply to stay out of the line of fire, and even Camellia, eating downstairs for the first time since her illness, made no attempt to counter the older woman’s attacks.
“I know I should have said something,” Camellia told Eve as they climbed the stairs to her room after the meal was over. “Lily is terrified of the woman. Lady Symington made everyone miserable during tea.” She sighed. “But I was too tired to argue with her.”
“Of course you were.” Eve slipped her arm around Camellia’s waist. “You are barely out of your sickbed. Don’t worry. I’m sure there will be ample opportunities to argue with Lady Symington in the future.”
Camellia smiled. “I’m sure there will be. I get the impression that she’s settling down for a long stay.”
“However long it takes to bring Mr. Carr in line, I imagine.”
Camellia nodded. “Poor Lily. She’s so unhappy. I saw her and Neville whispering in the hallway earlier. They looked so . . . desperate. I don’t think I’ll ever fall in love.”
Eve glanced at her. “But Cam—”
She shook her head. “It seems an awful lot of trouble.”
Eve smiled. “I suppose it is sometimes. But it can be quite wonderful too. Think of how happy your sister Mary was, marrying Sir Royce.”
“Yes, but there was a lot of unhappiness before that. I wonder sometimes if it’s really worth it.”
Eve asked herself the same question sometime later as she sat in her room, brushing out her hair and waiting for Fitz to knock at her door. Was it really worth it? Was it enough to have these few stolen hours of happiness? She knew it could not last. The earl would return home soon. Their guests would leave. Life would return to normal at Willowmere. It would be impossible for Fitz to keep up his nightly visits to her room. They would see less and less of each other. Then at some point Fitz would decide to go back to the excitement of London. And that would be the end of it.
She laid down her brush and looked at her image in the mirror. She could not lie to herself. She had fallen deeply, madly in love with Fitz. It hadn’t been planned. When she had started all this she had intended to remain heart-whole, to experience the pleasure and delight without taking on the heartache that would follow. Eve had told herself that she knew what she was getting into. No longer a girl, she was mature enough to indulge in an affair. She could learn about passion, experience the joy that a man could bring a woman, without giving into any girlish tendency to cloak her desire in a pretense of love.
Yet here she was, in love with a determined bachelor, a man who chose widows for his affairs because they were less difficult to deal with. Fitz was a wonderful lover. He could be gentle; he could be wild with passion. He could make love slowly, taking his time and arousing her to the point of screaming, or he could drive into her with hunger and need. But never, even in the midst of their lovemaking, had he ever said that he loved her. Fitz was a man who enjoyed life. He had fun. He was not a man to be serious. She had known that from the beginning. It was sheer foolishness to expect anything else. Sheer foolishness to give her heart to him.
The doorknob turned silently, and the door opened. Fitz slipped inside. He had already taken off his jacket and waistcoat. He wore no neckcloth or collar, and the top three buttons of his shirt were unfastened. Eve smiled and rose to her feet. The worries of the moment before fell away. There was no room inside her for anything but the sweet anticipation of the night ahead. For the moment Fitz was hers, and she was his, and nothing else mattered.
He closed the door behind him and pulled her into his arms. “It feels so good to do this,” he murmured, nuzzling into her hair. “Sometimes I think if I could just hold you I would not desire anything more.” He raised his head and looked down at her with laughing eyes. “That illusion always passes.”
They came together in a kiss, clinging to each other, not frantic with need, secure in the knowledge that they had all the time they wanted. Their lips were soft and gentle, the exploration sweet. He kissed her face, her ears, her throat, unbuttoning her dress as he did so. His hands slipped between the sides of the dress and pushed it back slowly, his fingers sliding over the tender skin of her chest. The dress drifted down her arms and fell to her feet. Eve stepped out of it, moving forward to unbutton his shirt. She gazed up into his face as she did so, and he gazed back at her, his eyes warm with hunger. When his shirt was undone, she placed her hands flat on his stomach and slid them upward. The heat in his eyes grew.
“Eve . . . you take my breath away,” he murmured, bending closer. “I want—I mean . . . will—”
There was a thud outside, followed by a muffled oath and a frantic whisper. Fitz whirled and crossed the room, opening the door a crack to look out.
“Bloody hell!” He flung the door open and charged into the hallway.
Eve heard a girlish shriek and another male oath. She started out of the room after Fitz, then remembered that she was wearing only her chemise and petticoats. She grabbed her dressing gown, throwing it on and belting the sash before she dashed out into the hallway after Fitz.
By the time she reached him he had already charged down the half flight of stairs to the landing and stood facing Neville Carr and Lily. Lily wore a bonnet and cloak, and she was holding a lantern in one hand, turned down to its lowest glow. In the other hand she held a small bag. Another bag lay at Carr’s feet as he stood facing Fitz, his arms loose and ready, his gaze watchful on Fitz’s face. He too was dressed for the outdoors, a many-caped coat over his clothes. A hat lay atop the bag beside him.
“You lied to me!” Fitz’s voice was cold with fury. “You swore that you woul
d do nothing to harm Lily. Now you are eloping with her! Exposing her to the contempt and scorn of the world. The scandal will follow her the rest of her life.”
“I will be with her. I’ll shield her from it.”
“You can make them admit her at Almack’s? Keep some righteous old biddy from giving her the cut direct? Can you put back together a tattered reputation? You’ve seduced an innocent, damn it, and you cannot shrug that off.”
“Who the hell are you to take me to task?” Neville shot back. “You think you are such a paragon? Look at you.” His gaze swept from Fitz to Eve, pointedly taking in their state of dishabille—Fitz’s shirt hanging open, Eve in her dressing gown, her hair loose around her shoulders. “Do you think you’re fooling anyone? Do you think I haven’t noticed you sneaking over here when everyone’s in bed? How the devil can you preach at me when you’re spending every night in your doxy’s arms?”
Fitz lashed out, catching Neville on the chin with his fist. The other man stumbled backward and fell with a thud, knocking the bag aside and sending it tumbling end over end down the rest of the stairs. Lily let out a shriek and started toward Neville, but he was up and charging at Fitz in an instant. Punching and cursing, the two men went after each other, crashing onto the floor and rolling across the landing.
“No! Neville! Fitz! Stop!” Lily hovered helplessly at the edge of the fight, still holding the lantern.
Eve, more accustomed from her years as a military wife to the sight of men brawling, turned and ran back to her room. A moment later she returned, carrying with her the pitcher of water that stood by her washbasin. When she reached the men, she upended the pitcher, pouring its contents over the struggling men.
Spluttering, the two men separated, and both turned to glare at Eve. At that moment a loud voice exclaimed, “Wrestling on the ground like schoolboys! Well, I must say, it’s no more than I would have expected of either of you.”