The Good, The Bad, And The Scandalous (The Heart of a Hero Book 7)

by Cora Lee

  By the time she’d emptied half of the boxes, Sarah felt like she was in full control of herself again. Hartland was still her best option for dealing with the people hunting her and the one—could it really be Lady Rebecca?—who wanted her dead. He had the contacts, the training, and the experience to keep her physically safe and track the woman down to put an end to the havoc she was wreaking. Once Rebecca was contained and her order for Sarah’s death nullified, Sarah could go anywhere, do whatever she pleased. Hartland had promised her separate lives, after all.

  But Sarah would no longer be a passive bystander in her own life. If she could take control in the bedchamber, she could take control outside it, too.

  She was waiting for him when he entered his study, already seated at the big mahogany desk that dominated the room.

  “And here I thought I was early for a change,” he said lightly.

  “You are, actually.” Her voice sounded nearly as tense as her body felt. The equanimity she’d experienced after she’d cried out her anger and frustration had vanished the moment her husband walked in the door.

  He stood before her, several feet from the desk with his hands clasped behind his back. “Shall we get started?”

  Her determination to take control of her own life was still firmly in place. “Yes. We should start with the bombs. If we can find a way to neutralize the gas Lady Rebecca is putting inside them, that will minimize casualties the next time she uses them.”

  Hartland pulled a chair over and parked it beside the desk, dropping into it with a nod. “That gives us time to find her. Good idea.”

  “It may also tell us something about where she is.”

  He reached around to the front of the desk, unlocking the end drawer with a small key and removing a sheaf of papers. “One of the letters I received gave the name of the gas. Apparently Lady Rebecca was keen to extol its virtues as a weapon and wrote some sort of manifesto to the Royal Army. Ah, here it is. She called it ‘phosgene’.”

  “Phosgene?” Thank the heavens! This would be an easy problem to solve. “That was the subject of John Davy’s paper—the one that his brother gave to the Royal Society earlier this year. Mr. Davy produced a gas when he exposed a mixture of carbonic oxide and chlorine to light, and he called it phosgene.”

  “Oh yes, I remember now.”

  “He said it caused his eyes to water a lot and become painful.”

  Hartland leaned back in his chair, gazing steadily at Sarah. “And if the gas caused his eyes to water and sting, imagine what it could do to the lungs.”

  “I’d wager a month’s pin money that Lady Rebecca thought the same thing.”

  “Well, she was right. Did Davy say how to decompose it?”

  Sarah reached for the stack of chemistry texts she’d brought with her from Glanmire’s library and ran a finger down the books’ spines. “Here it is. Let’s have a look and see.” Skimming through the words, she found not one but two ideas that might be of use. “According to Mr. Davy, both ammonia gas and water will decompose phosgene. Combining it with the ammonia produces a neutral salt—”

  “That would be easy to deal with.”

  “—and a lot of heat.”

  “That could be a problem.”

  He was trying to be funny, to break the tension that had grown between them, but Sarah didn’t give him the laugh or smile he was looking for. “If the ammonia didn’t kill people first. But decomposing phosgene in water produces carbonic oxide and muriatic acid.” Carbonic oxide gas wasn’t something one wanted to breathe in, but it wouldn’t burn one’s lungs like phosgene had reportedly done.

  Hartland stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankle. “Carbonic oxide can be dispersed easily as long as it’s outside or in a building with windows that open. What about muriatic acid?”

  “It’s a liquid at the temperature of this room. We should be able to neutralize it with a base, as one would when one has a case of indigestion.”

  “Which base?”

  That was a question Sarah couldn’t answer. If anyone had done any sort of experimentation with this particular substance, she didn’t know about it. “Locate some muriatic acid, and I’ll find out.”

  “Know your way around a laboratory, do you?”

  She didn’t think he meant his comment to sound condescending, but it did. And she was not in the mood to be gentle with him. “Know your way around acids and bases, do you?”

  He smiled, but it was more subdued than usual. “Fair point. What shall we do, then?”

  “If you will set up a laboratory space where I can test out different bases and be safe, I will perform the experiments myself.”

  His smile became a frown. He was probably picturing her being ravaged by some horrible chemical spill, as if she wasn’t intelligent enough to think of wearing protective clothing.

  “Will part of my workshop do?”

  “That will be fine.”

  “Would you like to begin your work tonight?”

  He almost certainly wouldn’t be able to procure the muriatic acid so quickly, and Sarah was tempted to take him up on his offer simply to see the look on his face. But there was other work to be done before she could begin experimenting. “Tomorrow will be soon enough. I’ll need to find out what bases are commonly found around the estate first, anyway. A substance does us no good if it’s hard to find.”

  Hartland rose from his chair. “I’ll see to it.”

  Her body relaxed when he’d shut the door behind him, leaving her alone in the study. She was glad that they could still hold a civil conversation with one another, but the effort of doing so was draining.

  Did she have the strength to keep this up?

  ~~~

  Hart moved about his workshop without paying much attention to his actions, clearing an assortment of tools and materials from a table while his mind dwelled firmly upon his wife.

  Sarah had been polite and interested in the discussion, but there had been none of the smiles or casual touches that he’d come to enjoy. When he’d reached for the desk drawer she’d actually stiffened, as if she didn’t want him any nearer to her than absolutely necessary. Was she now repulsed by him?

  “I wish Ollie were here.”

  Talking a situation over with Ollie always helped, whether the issue was criminals or women or which entertainment to attend. What would Ollie tell Hart to do in this instance?

  “He’d tell me to apologize to Sarah,” Hart said to the broken gauntlet he held. “I already told her I was sorry, but Ollie would say that wasn’t enough. He’d say that words are easy for a glib blackguard like me, and if I really was remorseful I’d find a way to prove it to her.”

  Hart stopped beside the table he was clearing and leaned against it, running his hand over the battered surface. The books from her mother’s shop were a good start, but he’d arranged for their purchase and transportation before he started hiding important information from Sarah. The same went for the project he’d been working on for her. He needed to do something now, after he’d transgressed and confessed.

  “I could increase her pin money.” He dropped a box of odds and ends and shoved it across the floor. “That’s too easy, though. And it wouldn’t mean anything to her. She’s barely spent a shilling since we were wed, despite my offer to have a dressmaker, or anyone else, wait upon her at Hartland Abbey.”

  He found a wooden chair in the corner of the workshop and dragged it to Sarah’s table. “What, then, would be difficult for me? What would involve my pain? My humiliation?”

  Hart shook his head. “Ollie would tell me to stop thinking this was about me. It’s about Sarah.”

  And what did Sarah want? What would mean the most to her?

  What had Hart so carelessly taken from her?

  The minute he compromised her at Preston’s ball, Hart had taken control of nearly every aspect of Sarah’s existence.

  “She could have said no when I proposed marriage.”

  B
ut could she really? She’d have been a pariah, no longer respectable enough to even work in her mother’s shop, if the shop hadn’t been closing. And that was another thing she’d had no control over—her mother had let Sarah’s financial security slide away and actively covered it up, determined that Sarah should never know what had happened.

  “Oooohhhh...”

  Yes, that would be perfect. It would give Sarah the control over her own life she’d been denied and cause Hart a great deal of anxiety. That it was difficult for him to do—and that she would know how difficult—would make it even more significant.

  Now, where was she?

  Hart trotted back to the main house and burst in through kitchen door. The place was alive with activity as servants rushed around preparing a meal. Which meal? What time was it?

  “Has anyone seen Lady Hartland?” he asked the room at large.

  All motion and sound ceased, and every eye turned to Hart.

  “I just sent a tray up for her, my lord,” the cook replied. “She should be in her bedchamber.”

  Her bedchamber? He glanced out the window and noticed how much brighter the sky had become since he’d gone out to his workshop. Breakfast, then.

  “Thank you.”

  He left the kitchen and headed for Sarah’s suite, with a quick stop at his own chamber to retrieve the special project he’d created for her. When he arrived at her door, he forced himself to pause for the count of five before knocking.

  “Sarah, it’s Hart.”

  There was nothing but silence for what seemed like an eternity, then she opened the door herself. “What do you want?”

  She was fully dressed—still keeping merchants’ hours, apparently—in a pretty pink gown with little flowers sewn into the material, though the expression on her face was less cheerful.

  “May I come in?”

  She held the door wide for him and gestured with her free hand, eyeing the wrapped package he carried without speaking.

  He set the package down on her bed and clasped his hands together behind his back. “I owe you an apology.”

  “You owe me nothing,” she responded evenly. “I am your wife, and you may treat me however you wish.”

  “My wish is to make you happy and keep you safe. And I haven’t been particularly successful in either endeavor.”

  Was it his imagination or did her face soften slightly? “You have kept me safe, Hartland, even through the attack. If it weren’t for you, I’d undoubtedly be dead by now.”

  “Safe, then, but not happy.” When she didn’t reply he picked the parcel up off her bed and handed it to her. “I know that nothing I say or do will excuse the way I treated you—excuses are for poltroons with no spines.”

  She accepted the parcel, but held his gaze. “And you’re not one of those.”

  “No. Not anymore. Go ahead and open it.”

  She tore the wrapping away with little enthusiasm. “Stays?”

  “Not just any stays,” he told her, stepping closer and turning out part of the garment’s interior. “Armored stays.”

  The entire inside of the corset was covered with small pockets, each one holding a small plate of steel like those he used for his brigandines. He’d reduced the size and added some curve to the plates where he was able so the garment would lay flat against Sarah’s body.

  “If any of the plates need adjusting, if they don’t feel right when you wear it, I can fix them.”

  “You made this for me?”

  “I had a seamstress in Hartland copy one of yours,” he confessed with a sheepish smile. “And your maid sewed the pockets.”

  “But you armored a corset for me.”

  Was she pleased? He couldn’t tell. “I did. It won’t be as easy to wear as a brigandine—though I’ll make you one of those, too, if you want one. But you can wear it anywhere and no one will ever know it’s there.”

  Her eyes widened and she loosened the laces, running her fingers along the rows of stitches holding the pockets in place. “This isn’t something I can get into quickly. I’d need to know in advance when I was going to be in danger.”

  “That’s the downside...and why I’ll also make you the brigandine. But I thought it might come in handy—”

  “—if we went off the property again.”

  “Yes.”

  She examined every inch of the corset from the inside out, then held it up against her body. It was all he could do to from picturing her in it...and nothing else.

  “Thank you.” Sarah lifted her eyes to his. “I’ll have Lucy help me put it on and make sure it fits properly.”

  He longed to make a joke about helping her take it off, but even he knew that now was not the time. Instead, he offered up his own soul. “It comes with an apology, if you’d like to hear it.”

  She crossed to the bed, almost within his reach, and laid the stays down. “I would.”

  “Husband or not, no one should be keeping secrets of such a great magnitude from you. A surprise gift,” he gestured to the corset, “is one thing, but to withhold information about your very life is beyond contemptible. No one would even consider doing such a thing to me, so it wasn’t until you called me out for my behavior that I realized how awful it was.”

  “Called you out?” she asked with a small smile. “Are we to fight a duel?”

  “No.” He took a step forward. “A duel is fought when the offending party will not apologize for his offense, when he will not take steps to make right his wrong. I am so very sorry for keeping things from you, Sarah, and for the pain that I’ve caused you.”

  He took her hands, stroking her skin with his thumbs. “You are the brightest part of my life, and I want to be the brightest part of yours. Can you forgive me for my stupidity?”

  Her blue eyes swept over his face and she squeezed his hands. “I do believe you mean that.”

  “Every word.”

  She was quiet for a long moment before replying. “I am angry, Hartland, and I cannot simply let my anger go because you are repentant. Nor can I reinstate my trust in you as if nothing had happened.”

  “Then I will earn back your trust.” He’d make it his highest priority, after her safety.

  “I hope so,” she said softly.

  “Let’s start with this: we need a plan to apprehend Lady Rebecca. Would you like to put it together?”

  “Me?”

  “You know her better than I do, and you are the one she’s been hunting. It’s only fitting that you be the one to orchestrate her arrest.”

  Sarah withdrew her hands and moved to her dressing table, picking up her hairbrush and toying with the bristles. “Would I be working alone?”

  “If you’d like to. All of the information my contacts have gathered would be at your disposal.”

  She faced him, leaning back against the table. “You’d allow me to work out the whole thing without you?”

  It would pain him more than he would admit to not be the one planning Lady Rebecca’s capture, to let someone else take the lead. But that would be less painful than living with Sarah’s disdain. “If that’s what you want.”

  “What if I need your help?”

  There was a note of suspicion in her voice and he immediately tried to allay it. “All you’d have to do is ask.”

  “And there would be no judgment on your part? No insinuation that I was weak because I couldn’t do it alone?”

  “No more than when Ollie needed help walking after he was wounded.” He slung his arm around the post at the foot of her bed. “I will assist you as I assisted him.”

  There was no greater vow he could make to her than that, and Hart was pleased when she acknowledged that fact with a single nod.

  “Then I will get started today.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Lady Hartland, his lordship has requested your presence in his study.”

  Sarah looked up from the notebook she was writing in to see Richards standing just inside the door of Hartland’s workshop,
several yards from the table she’d been working at.

  “When am I to present myself?”

  “As soon as may be, my lady. He says there is news about a certain situation you are interested in, and someone he’d like you to meet.”

  Richards punctuated his speech with a meaningful look, and Sarah realized he meant her situation. Who was she to meet? What news did this person bring?

  “I’ll be there directly.”

  Richards disappeared and Sarah carefully tidied the area where she’d been conducting her experiments. Her thoughts spun round and round as she hurried across the manicured grass and through the large house. Had Rebecca been caught? Had she bombed another shop? Had the letters to the newspapers been a hoax perpetrated against her?

  Hartland opened the door to the study himself when Sarah knocked, resting his hand against the small of her back as he drew her into the room. “This is the Joanna I wanted you to meet,” he murmured, placing a kiss on her temple. “Don’t say anything about that in front of our other guest, though. I’ll explain it all later.”

  She gave him a small nod, then put on a shy smile for the benefit of the man and woman awaiting them in the middle of the room. “I beg your indulgence for a newly wed couple. Perhaps Hartland will one day be able to introduce me to people without such displays of affection, but not today.”

  The man shifted from one foot to the other, looking noticeably uncomfortable. But the woman was wearing a sly smile in addition to her expensive looking black gown.

  “You have it,” she replied. “It’s nice to see Hartland so happy.”

  Sarah was about to reply, but her husband gave her a little squeeze and ushered her toward the two strangers. “Lady Hartland, may I present to you Mrs. Perkins and Mr. MacDonald.”

  Mrs. Perkins curtsied. “Call me Joanna, please. Hartland does often enough.”