He paused, casting her a wary glance over his shoulder. "What is it?"
An expression that in another female might have been counted hesitation flickered across her classical features and was gone. "It's been a few years since you made your offer to me," she said, glancing down at her clasped hands. "Since you are still unwed, I assume you've not made the same offer to anyone else?"
"No, I have not," Adam replied with a grimace. "Being called an unfeeling stone and having my head handed back to me is not an experience I care to know a second time."
To his surprise a faint blush of embarrassment colored her cheeks, but when she raised her head, her eyes were as remote as they had ever been. "Then a word of advice, if I may, my lord," she said. "The next time you offer for a lady, rather than cold reason, try offering her your heart instead. Much to my amazement, it would seem you do possess such an organ after all."
"Four?" Adam repeated, glaring down at the hapless milliner he'd spent the better part of half an hour interrogating. "You're certain it was four letters and not three your brother delivered for Miss Mattingale?"
"Aye, me lord, 'twas four, to be sure," Mrs. Treckler said, sniffing and dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her apron.
Adam noted her distress in grim silence. He'd disliked terrorizing a helpless woman, but his need to learn the truth left him no other choice. Threatening to have her brother hanged and her transported for smuggling might not have been the most gentlemanly thing he'd ever done, but it was effective. The moment the milliner realized he was in earnest, she'd been more than happy to provide him with whatever information was required. That the information was not what he wanted was of little consequence; it was the truth. All that remained was for Adam to decide what was to be done with that truth.
"How many letters did she send in return?" he asked, keeping his mind fixed firmly on the matter before him.
"The same number, sir, the same," Mrs. Treckler answered, blowing her nose with great vigor. "Four."
"When was the last letter received?" Adam pressed, thinking quickly. There was no way of knowing with any certainty when the papers were stolen, but he believed it was likely they were taken within a few days of their arrival. That meant at least ten days had passed since the possible theft. If the last letter arrived within the past few days, that would do much to lessen the suspicion against Elizabeth. If it arrived earlier, however, the implications didn't bear considering.
Mrs. Treckler's face screwed up in a thoughtful grimace as she searched her memory. "Oh, more'n a sennight, I would say," she said at last. "And she sent her answer not so many days later. The day you was here, in fact," she added diffidently.
Disappointment, bitterness, and a dash of fear boiled up inside Adam, creating a potent witch's brew. He believed in Elizabeth's innocence, yet each step he took, each fact he discovered, pointed more firmly to her guilt. If he shared what he'd learned with Henry or the duke, it was almost a certainty that Elizabeth would be taken up.
"You're to tell no one that we have spoken," he ordered, fixing Mrs. Treckler with his sternest look. "And when the answer to Miss Mattingale's letter arrives, it is to be delivered to me. Don't even think of betraying me, or it will go very badly with you and your brother. Is that understood?"
"Aye," she promised, bobbing her head eagerly. "And I'll not play you false, I swear! 'Tis just . . ." Her voice trailed off and she twisted her hands in her apron.
"It's just what?" he prompted gently when she didn't continue.
She bit her lip and met his gaze. " 'Tis just, me lord, what if there ain't no answer?"
Adam paused in the act of pulling on his riding gloves. "What makes you say that?" he asked curiously.
"Because when I asked when Tom should look for an answer, Miss Mattingale said there'd not be one," Mrs. Treckler said, looking uneasy. "She sounded near to tears when she said it, too, and I remember wondering if p'raps the old gent had died."
Adam thought for a moment. "Perhaps he has," he said, recalling his conversation with Elizabeth on the day they walked into the village. "Perhaps he has. Thank you, Mrs. Treckler. You have been of great help to me."
With the funeral set for the next morning, Elizabeth spent a frantic afternoon making the final arrangements. Because the service would be held in the Derrings' family chapel, only the house guests would be in attendance, much to the disappointment of the neighborhood. Several local ladies had dangled for invitations, but Lady Derring had stood firm. A guest might have had the poor breeding to be murdered under her roof, but she was determined he would not be allowed to turn the event into a seven days' wonder.
Elizabeth was returning to the kitchens for a final consultation with Cook when a grim-faced Alexi waylaid her in the hall.
"I have been recalled to London," he began without preamble. "Do you remember when I spoke of that traitor, Zaramoff?" he asked, his eyes as blue and cold as sapphires.
"Yes," she answered, sadly remembering learning of the old prince's death at the hands of his own son.
"I have been sent word he has been conspiring with the Austrians," Alexi continued, his mouth twisting in regal fury. "He means to advise the Czar to agree to Poland's independence."
Elizabeth gave a stunned gasp and covered her mouth with her hands. "But his Imperial Highness would never agree to such a thing!" she said, studying Alexi worriedly. "Would he?"
Alexi thrust a hand through his hair and swore feelingly in Russian before finally answering. "Alexander is not like the Grand Duchess," he said with visible reluctance. "Nor even like the Grand Duke, Constantine, who for all his faults is a good man. Alexander is the dreamer; a child who sees the world not the way it is, but the way he wishes it to be. If Zaramoff, who he admires, tells him that giving away Poland is the path to greatness, I fear he will do it" He met Elizabeth's gaze with determination. "I cannot allow this, little queen."
Elizabeth's heart went out to her old friend and the anguish he was undoubtedly suffering. "Of course you can't, Alexi," she said, standing on tiptoe to brush a kiss across his cheek.
"When will you be leaving?" she asked, trying to hide her sadness from his sharp gaze.
"I leave now," he said, taking her hand in his and carrying it to his lips for another kiss. "I know Falconer has said we must all remain until the true killer of Colburt is caught, but I have no time for such things. I will speak with him before I go, but first there is one thing you must promise me."
"Anything, Alexi," she said, not wishing to add to the great burden of worry he was already carrying.
"If these foolish Breetanskees make to arrest you, you are to send word to the Grand Duchess," he said, his expression stern. "She will tell me, and I will come at once. Promise me, Elizabeth, on your dear mother's soul, that you will do this thing for me."
"I promise," she said, fighting back tears at his fierce determination to save her.
"Good." He kissed both her cheeks. "And I promise on the souls of my sister and beloved parents that I will marry you. The wife of a prince they dare not touch."
"Marry you!" Elizabeth leapt back, staring at him in horror. "Alexi, are you mad? You can't marry me!"
He folded his arms across his chest, his face set in hard, implacable lines. "To save you, Elizabeth, I can marry you, and I will. In fact," he said with a frown, "perhaps we should wed now. There is something called a Special License, yes? We will get one."
Sheer shock robbed Elizabeth of the ability to speak. Her mind was racing like a mad thing, but she couldn't seem to find any words. He looked so solemn, so sure of himself and his duty, and looking at him, she thought suddenly of Adam; another man of honor and duty who would do whatever it took to protect those about him.
"Alexi, listen to me," she implored, her gaze holding his even as her fingers clung to his. "I love you, but only as a brother, just as you love me as a sister. For us to marry would be wrong."
Alexi studied her, his distress obvious in his eyes. "But they could hang you,
syestra" he said, his voice husky with pain. "Or send you to a prison where you would die. How can I allow this?"
"And how can I allow you to squander your life to save mine?" she asked, neatly turning his words around. "You are such a good man, Alexander, one of the finest I have ever known. You deserve to marry for love. Real love. And as your sister, I will not let you settle for less."
"Little sister," he whispered, tears in his eyes as he bent to press his cheek to hers. "How I love you. And how hard you make it for me to protect you." He drew back to scowl down at her with mock ferociousness.
"But I mean it, Elizabeth," he continued, glowering at her. "I will not let them harm you. If you will not marry me, then you must promise me you will go to Falconer."
"Alexi—"
"Promise me, dyevuchka," he interrupted, lifting his eyebrows imperiously. "Or I will wed you regardless of what you say."
Elizabeth glared at him, knowing he meant every word of what he was saying. "Now I know what is meant by being caught between the devil and the deep blue sea," she muttered feelingly.
"What?" He looked puzzled.
"It is an English expression," she said, trying to think of some way to mollify him without committing herself to a course of action she couldn't carry out. "It means to be trapped between two equally disagreeable choices."
"Ah, and I am the devil, yes?" Alexi asked, looking pleased. "Good. And the sea would be Falconer. It fits him, I think; stormy, wild, but constant in his way. He is a man of honor I would trust with my sister's life. No one would dare harm you with him at your side."
Elizabeth thought of the merciless way Adam had pressed her for her father's letters. It might have pained him to do so, and she believed that it had, but in the end he had done what his duty required of him. If that same duty required her arrest, even her life, what would he do?
"Elizabeth?" Alexi was eyeing her anxiously. "What is it? What sad thoughts do you have you do not share with your Alexi?"
She shook off her melancholy thoughts and tried to think of an answer that would placate him. "I suppose I was wondering what made you think my going to Adam, to Lord Falconer," she corrected, "would serve. He is more likely to hand me over to the hangman than to shelter me."
"Because I trust him," Alexi replied with almost childlike simplicity. "As you should trust him, little queen. He is a good man, and if you tell him the truth, he will do what is right. You will see."
His words lingered long after Alexi took his leave of her and she returned to her own room. She did trust Adam, Elizabeth realized, nervously pacing the confines of her small room. She trusted him more than she had ever trusted anyone, but she'd been far less than honest with him almost since the first time she'd clapped eyes on him. "Tell him the truth," Alexi had advised, and even though it meant risking her life and that of her father, she realized he was right. She realized something else as well. She was in love with Adam.
The thought had her dropping on her bed, dazed and terrified by turns. It couldn't be, she told herself. It mustn't be. And yet it was. She placed a trembling hand over her heart, feeling its wild thumping, and gazed off into nothing. Tears glistened in her eyes, and her lips parted on a soft sigh of wonderment as she accepted the truth she had so long denied. She loved Adam.
Like a child with a new toy, she examined that love, turning it over and over in her mind. She remembered his every expression, his every smile, and above all she remembered the shattering power of the kisses they had shared. No wonder his kiss had so affected her, she thought, smiling ruefully. A lover's kiss was certain to be far more potent than that of a mere beau.
But if her newly admitted love brought joy, it also brought sorrow, and a growing sense of shame. How could she say she loved Adam, she scolded herself, when she'd deliberately deceived him? He was risking his reputation and his honor to save her, and instead of doing everything she could to help him, she put him off with half-truths and lies. If that was love, then it was a very poor sort of love indeed.
There was no hope for it, she decided, her legs somewhat unsteady as she rose to her feet. If she loved Adam, if she trusted him, then she would have to give him the last of her father's letters. Without giving herself time to change her mind, she dashed out of the room, slipping quietly down the staircase to the ground floor. Most of the guests were in their rooms, and the servants were busy with their duties, so she was able to slip into the library unobserved.
It was early evening, and most of the room was in shadows. She contemplated lighting a candle but decided it was a waste of flint and time. She didn't need a candle to find what she'd come for. Retrieving the ladder chair from the corner, she dragged it over and climbed up on top, holding her skirts in one hand as she reached for the book with the other. In the end it required the use of both hands, but she was finally able to retrieve the heavy tome. Sighing in relief, she flipped the book open. The letter was gone.
Even as her shocked gaze was registering the letter's absence, she heard a sound behind her, and caught the sharp smell of flint as a candle flared to life. She turned her head, the book dropping from her hands as she stared into Adam's cold, furious eyes.
"Hello, my dear," he drawled, holding up her father's letter. "Is this what you are looking for?"
Eleven
Adam watched in taut silence as the blood drained from Elizabeth's face. Even in the flickering light offered by the candle's meager flame he could see her pale. Her cheeks were so white, they might have been carved from purest alabaster, and her eyes burned like silver-blue flames. She swayed for a moment, and he wondered cynically if she was going to swoon. If she thought it would soften him, she was sadly mistaken. He was done being deceived by her.
The idea to search for the missing letter in the library had come to him on the ride back from the village. He was fairly certain the letter wasn't in her room, and he was trying to imagine where it might be when he suddenly remembered the night of the masked ball. A vivid image of her perched unsteadily on the ladder chair, her fingers outstretched as she reached for a book, had flashed in his mind, and he knew where the letter would be found. The moment he arrived at the Hall he'd gone directly to the library to begin his search. The letter was in the second book he checked.
The memory of what the letter contained slashed into him like the blade of a saber, the shock and pain of it so great it felt as if he'd been gutted. He wanted to scream in fury and howl out his agony at his staggering sense of betrayal, and for the first time in more years than he could remember, he doubted his ability to control himself. The feeling of impotence only added to his turbulent emotions, and he hated himself for his weakness. He glared at Elizabeth, his temper and impatience mounting when he realized she'd yet to speak.
"Well?" he sneered, bitterness welling up inside him. "Have you nothing to say? No tears to shed, no protestations of innocence?"
Elizabeth remained alarmingly pale as she met his gaze. "No," she said, her soft voice devoid of its usual animation. "It's plain it would be a waste of time. You've read the letter, I see."
Adam was out of his chair and roughly grabbing Elizabeth by the shoulders before he was even aware of having moved. "The devil take you, Elizabeth!" he snapped, driven by pain and despair to give her an angry shake. "Don't you dare presume to act the injured victim! This letter implicates you in your father's treason!"
Her hair tumbled free from its chignon, spilling around her shoulders in a golden-brown fall as she gazed up at him. Her eyes were wide with shock, but she made no move to free herself.
"I know."
The quiet words made him angrier. "Is that all you can say?" he demanded, giving her another shake. "This isn't a game, Elizabeth. They're going to hang you!"
"I know that as well," she replied, her breath bitching as she showed her first sign of emotion. "Please let go of me, Lord Falconer. You're hurting me."
In response Adam's fingers tightened; not to punish, he realized furiously, but because he couldn't
bear to let her go. Angry as he was, hurt as he was, his first and strongest instinct was to protect Elizabeth. Damning himself for a fool, he released her, turning his back and stalking over to scoop up the letter he'd dropped. He unfolded it, his jaw clenching as he began reading it aloud.
" 'It need not be much; any bit of intelligence you have to offer would be welcome,' " he read, and then lowered the letter to fix her in his coldest gaze. "What did you send him, Elizabeth?" he demanded. "It may go better for you if you tell me now."
"I sent him nothing," she replied, her voice so soft he had to strain to catch the words. "Not that I expect you'll believe me."
Adam's lips curled in a bitter sneer. "When Mrs. Treckler has already confirmed that her brother sailed with your last letter a few days ago?" he asked with a bitter laugh. "Not hardly, my dear. You'll have to do better than that if you wish to avoid swinging. I'll ask you again, what did you send your father?"
For the first time since he'd made his presence known, Elizabeth's temper and pride flared to life. "Why should I bother telling you anything?" she cried, her small hands clenched in fists at her side. "You've already made up your mind, haven't you? In your divine estimation I've already been tried and found guilty, and of course there's no chance you could be wrong. You're never wrong, are you, my lord?"
"Damn it, Elizabeth!" He roared out the words. "Answer the question!"
"I did answer the question!" she roared back, and then drew a deep breath. She lowered her head for a moment, visibly collecting herself. When she glanced back up tears had turned her eyes to shimmering silver, and her face was a mask of raw anguish.
"Yes," she began, her voice shaking with pain, "it's true my father asked me to commit treason. Yes, he expected me to betray my country in order to please him. But I didn't. I couldn't."
The cold, analytical part of his nature sneered that she was a consummate actress, and that tears were a woman's favorite weapon. "Go on," he said, ignoring the way his stomach was churning.
"From the moment I read his letter, I knew he was forcing me to choose between England and him," she continued, bravely holding his gaze. "I also knew that once I'd made that choice there would be no going back, no way I could have both. So I made my choice. I chose England."
The Sinister Spinster Page 16