The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2)

by Alicia Quigley

  “Ignore it,” said Malcolm, his voice hoarse. “It is a tradesman, or a servant from another estate.”

  Helena’s eyes widened as she heard a man’s voice, and then her butler answering, his voice touched with concern.

  “It’s Denby!” she exclaimed, trying to pull away.

  “Is it?” he asked, holding her fast. “Then he’s in for a surprise. I’ll show him how to go about compromising a lady.”

  Helena pushed at his shoulders. “You must hide!” she whispered. “He cannot find you here.”

  “Why the hell not?” he growled. “I have no taste for this charade you wish to engage in. It’s better he knows now that he has no chance with you.”

  “But we have to find out if he is our man. Please, Malcolm, for me?”

  He looked down at her, his eyes serious, his arm still looped loosely around her waist. “That’s the first time you’ve called me Malcolm.”

  “I will call you that, or anything else you please, many more times, if you oblige me in this,” said Helena hastily.

  “Oh, very well,” he said grudgingly. He released her, allowing her skirts to slide back down her legs. “A pity,” he murmured.

  “Quickly, you must hide.”

  “Where? It’s a drawing room,” said Malcolm practically.

  “In the priest hole.” Helena grabbed his and led him toward the fireplace.

  “No, I’m not going in some dirty opening in the wall,” he protested. “My valet will leave me if I damage this coat.”

  “You are being impossible.” Helena turned to the ornately carved oaken woodwork surrounding the fireplace and reached for a finely detailed quince that hung at eye level. She turned it quickly, and a small panel in the wall slid open silently, revealing a cubbyhole barely four feet square.

  “I can barely turn around in there,” objected Malcolm. “And there might be spiders.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of spiders,” said Helena, exasperated.

  “I’m not afraid of them, but I don’t much like them. Why should I? It’s dark in there too, why are you always taking me into dark places?”

  “It was good enough for the priests.”

  “I’m not a priest,” said Malcolm rationally.

  Helena laughed in spite of her anxiety. “I feel sure that the entire world knows you are not, so why do you think you must point it out to me? But as it will ruin all if Denby sees you here, you must hide. Please, Malcolm?”

  “You did that on purpose,” he said, accusation in his voice.

  “Did what?”

  “Called me Malcolm.”

  She stifled a laugh and pushed him toward the opening. He moved into the space reluctantly.

  “I can’t stand up straight,” he complained. “This must have been built for exceptionally tiny priests.”

  “Then sit down. And be quiet. We don’t want Denby to guess you are here.”

  “Get rid of him quickly, or I shall come out,” warned Malcolm. “You won’t like that.”

  “Hush.” Helena turned the quince again, and watched as the panel slid back into place. A quick glance in the mirror assured her that Wroxton had not yet managed to disarrange her hair, and she turned toward the door, glancing down to make sure her skirts were properly arranged and adjusting her bodice.

  “I give you ten minutes,” came a muffled voice from behind the wall. “This place is full of cobwebs. Couldn’t you have it dusted from time to time?”

  “Be quiet,” hissed Helena. As she did so, the butler opened the door and entered the room.

  “Miss? Did you mean me?”

  “No, not at all Chalmers,” said Helena quickly. “I was—I was not speaking to you.”

  The butler glanced around and, seeing no one, turned back to Helena. “Miss Keighley, Lord Denby is here to see you. I told him you had another visitor—” he glanced around the room again, “but he says that you sent for him.” Chalmers’ voice indicated polite disbelief of Denby’s claim.

  “I did send for his lordship. Show him in.”

  Chalmers’ face expressed his emotions eloquently, but he bowed and exited. A few moments later Denby appeared. Helena did her best to arrange her face into an expression of welcome.

  “Miss Keighley,” he said, advancing on her and bowing elegantly.

  Helena nodded her head in acknowledgement. Despite knowing she should not, she found herself comparing him to Wroxton. Denby was older, of course, and therefore did not have the athletic slimness that graced the earl, but she also felt she saw something in his eyes that made her uncomfortable. He wore riding breeches with a black coat, a buff waistcoat, and a carelessly tied Belcher neckerchief, an outfit she found not nearly as elegant as Malcolm’s.

  Denby took Helena’s hand and raised it to his lips as she fought back the urge to snatch it away from him. He held it for a moment longer than was quite proper, and then produced her note from his pocket.

  “I must say I was very surprised to receive your missive, Miss Keighley,” he said. “You have never invited me to the Manor before.”

  “I did not have cause previously.” Helena noted the catch in her voice with irritation, and hoped that Lord Denby would assume it was due to her discomfort at having to summon him, not because she intended to deceive him.

  “Why do you wish to speak to me now?”

  Helena turned away from him, clasping her hands in front of herself nervously. “It seems—it seems, my lord that you were right about Lord Wroxton.”

  “I was?” Lord Denby sounded delighted. She swung around to find a large grin on his face, which he quickly rearranged into a look of regret. “I mean, I am very sorry. I hoped he might prove me wrong.”

  “He did not. He called on me yesterday and offered me the basest of insults,” she said, attempting to sound mortified.

  “Did he so? And what sort—I mean what—I mean, I am very sorry, Miss Keighley.”

  “He proposed an indecent liaison,” continued Helena dramatically. “It was quite clear he did not consider me worthy of his respect.”

  “An indecent liaison? How—how appalling, Miss Keighley. Do you wish me to call the rascal out?”

  “I dare not ask you. He is held to be a crack shot, as well as the very devil with a small sword.”

  Lord Denby looked nervous. “Is he?”

  “I heard he once shot the pips out of a playing card by candlelight, missing not one,” Helena assured him.

  “Well, then perhaps I will not call him out, though I would like to teach the lout a lesson. What would you have me do?”

  “I did not ask you here to punish Lord Wroxton. But what happened has made me realize that your plot some years ago worked far better than I thought it would.”

  “Miss Keighley, I know what I did was wrong, but I must plead that I was driven mad by my love for you,” protested Lord Denby. “You would have none of me, and I was desperate to make you mine.”

  Helena suppressed a shiver of revulsion. “I thought some other man would understand that I was yet a virtuous woman, but now I realize my reputation was irreparably harmed. If I ever wish to leave my brother’s home, to be a wife and a mother, I must consider your suit.”

  Lord Denby looked pleased. “I would be delighted were you to accept my offer of marriage. I can obtain a special license immediately.”

  Helena’s eyes widened. “No, not yet,” she said quickly. “I am still not sure I can forgive you for your actions in the past.”

  “What can I do to convince you I love you?”

  Helena bit her lip and tried to look maidenly. “Perhaps we can start again?”

  “Start again?” echoed Denby. “From the beginning?”

  Helena cast her eyes down modestly. “If you indeed love me and wish to protect me from the advances of wicked men such as Lord Wroxton, you must earn my trust and respect.”

  “I can do that after we are married. The results will be the same no matter what, will they not?”

  Hele
na summoned up a vision of a very silly woman she had known as a child and tittered. “You must humor me, my lord. I fear that I, as a mere woman, still harbor thoughts of romance.”

  “Ah. Romance.” Denby looked perplexed. “You wish me to woo you?”

  Helena, having run out of nonsensical phrases about courtship, merely nodded.

  “But if we marry now, I will be able to honor you as my wife. You might enjoy that. I know I would.” He leered at her, and to Helena’s horror, he advanced on her and took her in his arms.

  “My lord, we are not alone—the servants and others are about,” she protested, pushing at his shoulders and turning her face away. Her eyes widened as she saw over Denby’s shoulder the panel by the fireplace open a crack, and Malcolm’s face appeared in it. He looked extremely displeased.

  “No, don’t,” she said before she thought.

  “But my dear, you must let me convince you,” said Lord Denby, trying to fit his fingers around her chin so he could turn he face toward his.

  Helena saw Malcolm’s hand close around the edge of the panel and prepare to slide it open, and she decided she had to make an end to the little scene. She brought her slipper-clad heel down sharply on Lord Denby’s foot with all her strength. Lord Denby released her and staggered back with a muttered oath.

  “Oh, my lord, I am so sorry,” Helena cooed. “I was so startled I scarce knew what I was doing. You must forgive me.”

  As Denby leaned over to inspect his foot, Helena frantically gestured at Malcolm to return to the priest hole. With a scowl, he retreated, sliding the panel almost closed, though she noted with dismay that he left it open a crack. Clearly, he had no intention of leaving her to Denby’s ministrations.

  “Blast it, that hurt,” said Denby.

  “How clumsy of me,” purred Helena. “You took me quite by surprise. You must know, above all people, how very inexperienced I am. I scarcely know what to do when a man offers me affection.”

  Denby looked up to see her gazing at him innocently. He sighed.

  “Very well, Miss Keighley. I shall court you.”

  Helena tried her best to look grateful. “Oh, thank you, Lord Denby,” she murmured. “I am so honored.”

  There was a small silence. “How shall I go about it?”

  Helena blinked. “I—I suppose you should call on me again tomorrow,” she said brightly. “We can—we can stroll in the garden.”

  “That sounds delightful.” Lord Denby sounded a bit grim. “Until tomorrow, Miss Keighley.”

  “Until tomorrow.”

  Denby possessed himself of her hand rather gingerly and pressed a kiss to it before turning to leave the room, limping slightly. Helena rolled her eyes and gave a sigh of relief when the door closed behind him, and then ran to the hearth, where she turned the quince and waited for the panel to slide back.

  “You are impossible,” she said as it moved. “You almost ruined everything.”

  She gazed into the dark space, astonished. Malcolm was nowhere to be seen.

  Chapter 23

  Helena stood transfixed, staring into the empty priest’s hole. “Malcolm?” she called. “Where are you?”

  Silence greeted her, and she stepped into the cavity, looking around anxiously. She smelled a whiff of smoke, then noticed the open tinderbox on the floor. She smiled slightly, as she recalled leaving it there as a child, along with candle stubs she had begged from the housekeeper. Clearly Malcolm had lit a candle, but how he had managed to disappear she had no idea.

  “Malcolm?” she called again.

  “Yes?”

  She jumped, tapping her head on the ceiling of the cubbyhole as the voice came from behind her. She turned to see Malcolm lounging in the door of the drawing room, a satisfied grin on his face.

  “What—” she said.

  “What indeed,” he replied. “What in the hell were you getting up to with Denby?”

  “I am trying to find out what his role is in the smuggling ring,” she said.

  “It looked to me as though you were trying to fight off a lecher,” Malcolm observed. “My only consolation is that you respond to me far more prettily than to him.”

  Helena flushed. “I have no interest in Lord Denby, as you well know. But this is our only hope to gather information.”

  “I could beat it out of him in minutes,” he observed. “You sell me short, Helena.”

  “There is no need to resort to violence—” Helena began.

  “Nor is there a need for you to subject yourself to the insults of man such as Denby,” said Malcolm. “I very nearly came out of that damn priest hole and punched him. But it appears you can fend for yourself.”

  She gave a gurgle of laughter. “You see, my lord, I am not completely defenseless.”

  “I don’t like it,” he said flatly. “I won’t have you putting yourself at risk like this.”

  “You can’t stop me.”

  Malcolm tilted his head and considered her statement. “I wonder if I can.”

  “How did you get out of the priest’s hole?” asked Helena, eager to turn the topic.

  He stepped into the room and grinned at her. “Yes, I thought that might surprise you. It certainly shocked poor Chalmers when I came through the hall again.”

  Helena was unable to suppress her laughter. Malcolm grinned at her smugly.

  “But how did you get out of the hole?” she demanded.

  “I knew there had to be another way out,” he said. “Since you were determined to embroil yourself with Denby, and I had no stomach for watching it, I set about finding the other exit. Your tinderbox and candles from years ago were a great help, of course.”

  “Of course,” agreed Helena.

  “There’s a false back on the cubbyhole. It didn’t take long to find it.”

  “Truly?” she said, entranced.

  “Truly. Shall I show you?”

  Malcolm held out his hand, and Helena, after pausing a moment, placed her own in it. He led her to the fireplace and, giving her a conspiratorial glance, turned the quince. The panel slid open, and Malcolm led her into the tiny opening.

  “The people who built these were very clever. They created this outer space, knowing that if it was found and was empty, the searchers would stop. But there is another way out.” He slid his fingers along the back wall of the cavity. “There is a hidden catch here,” he said, pausing to show it to Helena. He lifted it, and the wall became a door, hinging silently out and revealing a dark tunnel, barely wide enough for one person, heading into the walls of Keighley Manor.

  “Where does it go?” she asked, peering into the gloom.

  “I’ll show you.” Malcolm winked at her and lit another of the candle stubs that were strewn on the floor. “Did you never have a full sized candle?” he asked teasingly.

  “The housekeeper counted them! She saw no reason why a child would need a candle, and of course she thought I would burn the house down if she gave me one.”

  “This will do for now. But if you mean me to hide in there often, I expect better amenities.”

  He took her hand and led her into the passage. It was pitch black and smelled of old wood and stone.

  “I had no idea this was here,” said Helena.

  “No, I imagine it’s been forgotten over the years. The occupants of Keighley Manor have had no reason to hide of late. It’s full of cobwebs; it must be a century or more since anyone has been in here.”

  “How very clever of you to find it.”

  “I’ve had some experience with these sorts of things.”

  “When?”

  “Oh, here and there,” Malcolm replied casually. “There was this castle in Germany—well, it hardly matters.”

  Helena was about to demand more information, but he spoke again. “Be careful, there are stairs now. They are narrow, but seemed to be sturdy enough when I went up them before. Whoever built this did good work.”

  They climbed the stairs slowly, Malcolm going first, holding the can
dle high. At the top of the stairs was a door; he turned the handle and opened it a crack, peering out.

  “All seems to be clear,” he said and, pushing it open, stepped out. Helena followed him, looking around.

  “The Queen’s Room,” she said in surprise.

  “The what?”

  “The story is that when Queen Elizabeth visited Kent she stayed at Keighley Manor. I have no idea if it is true; there were not enough nights in her life for her to have slept everywhere the claim is made. But we still call the room by her name.”

  Malcolm looked around the elegantly appointed bedroom. “It’s quite lovely. She must have been pleased. I wonder if she had company.”

  “The Virgin Queen?” asked Helena.

  “Yes, the Virgin Queen. “I wonder who her lover was when she was here. Leicester? Essex?”

  He turned and closed the door they had come through; Helena noted that it disappeared into the ornately carved paneling without a trace. She walked over and let her fingers trail along the wall, seeking the secret to opening it.

  “It’s here.” Malcolm had joined her, and she could feel the warmth of his body as he stood behind her, almost touching her. He reached over her shoulder and pressed a cunningly rendered wooden leaf; the door opened a sliver, just enough to slide a finger in and pull it open.

  “But we have no need of it now,” he said, gently pushing it closed again. He wrapped an arm around Helena’s waist and pulled her back against him so she could feel his growing hardness against her bottom. She gave a little sigh.

  “She had red hair too,” said Malcolm softly in her ear.

  “Who did?”

  “Elizabeth.” One of his hands splayed across her stomach, while with the other he moved a ringlet aside so he could press a kiss to the side of her neck. “I wonder if Leicester—or Essex—came to her through that passage. Her ladies would have prepared her for bed, or course, but then she would have dismissed them and sat alone in that enormous bed, anticipating, hungry for him. And then, after a little time of waiting, the door would swing open and he would be there, ready to pleasure his queen.”

  Helena closed her eyes as Malcolm’s lips travelled across the back of her neck, leaving a tiny trail of fire, and his hand inched up her stomach to cup her breast. His thumb lightly teased at her nipple, which already strained against the bodice of her dress.