Randolph said nothing and the words hung in the silence.
Joseph swirled the last of the ale around in his glass. He said, not looking up, ‘If you’ll take my advice, sir, you’ll not get involved with Lady Meon or her friends.’
‘I don’t intend to, but I have promised to help Mrs Roffey.’ He saw his man was looking at him gravely and shook his head. ‘Damn it all, Joseph, returning to England, to society, was always going to be a risk. You know that.’
‘Aye, but maybe this society is a mite too dangerous for you, my lord.’
He drained his glass and went off, leaving Ran to his thoughts.
* * *
‘Well, mistress, what did you learn?’ Ruth pounced on Arabella as soon as she entered the bedchamber.
‘We have made a little progress,’ she said carefully.
‘And Lady Meon?’
‘She holds several parties every year and invites young gentlemen.’ Arabella spread her hands. ‘I confess I do not like the woman.’
‘One can never be sure of the gentry in these out-of-the-way places,’ muttered Ruth as she began to help Arabella out of her walking dress. ‘Not at all respectable.’
Despite her cares, Arabella giggled at that. ‘Revesby Hall is an out-of-the-way place, but we know Sir Adam and Lady Roffey are very respectable! However, I am quite ready to believe Lady Meon invites gullible young men here to relieve them of their fortune. I also think she is not above feeding them opiates to dull their wits. Only with George she went too far. The problem is, how to prove it. She is hardly likely to tell me as much.’
‘Perhaps His Lordship can find out more,’ said the maid, shaking out Arabella’s gown and laying it over a chair.
‘I think perhaps we have imposed enough upon Lord Westray.’
‘Never say so, Miss Bella! Why, he hasn’t given you the least indication that he wants you to leave, has he?’
‘No.’ Arabella sat down at the dressing table, staring at her reflection in the glass. ‘But I am here under false pretences. Sooner or later I shall be found out.’
‘I’d let the Earl worry about that. He’ll look out for you, I’m sure.’
Arabella shook her head. How could Ruth be so complaisant? Yet she herself had been happy to live here in the same house as the Earl, pretending to be his wife, sharing everything except his bed.
Until this afternoon in the carriage as they travelled back from Meon House. When he had caught her hands it had come upon her, quite forcibly. The revelation that she was beginning to like the Earl far more than she should. Far more than was safe. From that moment on she had been reconsidering her position.
She had set out to find George’s killer and her determination had blinded her to the risks of accepting help from a stranger. Randolph had rescued her from a dire situation, ridden up like a knight in shining armour and quite literally given her the protection of his name. He was kind, gentle and strong. Even handsome, in a rugged, careworn sort of way. Everything a knight should be.
And she found him dangerously attractive.
The thought chilled her. She was ashamed of it, too, since she had been a widow for little more than four months. What she felt for Ran could only be a pale imitation of the all-consuming love she felt for her husband. Why, she had adored George since she was a child. Yet there was no doubt that when Randolph looked at her, teased her, she was in danger of succumbing to his charm. He made her forget her reason for being here. When she was in his company, there were moments, hours, when she even forgot to think about George.
Arabella looked across at the vivid blue walking dress. She could not lie; she had wanted Ran to admire her, to look at her with a warm smile of approval in his eyes. But why? Nothing could come of it. He was dangerous and not just because of his charm. He was a criminal.
Ruth was pulling out the scarlet evening gown from the linen press and Arabella was tempted to tell her to put it back. She would have preferred to wear one of her black gowns, as befitted a widow, but the rest of the staff thought of her as the Countess and she dare not attract comment by suddenly appearing in mourning.
She compromised by arranging a fine lace fichu around her bare shoulders, pinned with the small gold brooch George had given her upon their marriage. If that did not remind her of where her loyalties must lie, then she was beyond redemption.
Chapter Six
Randolph paced the floor of the drawing room, thinking over his conversation with Joseph. There was no evidence at all that George Roffey’s death was anything but a tragic accident, brought on by his own excesses. Excesses Ran understood only too well. His man was right—associating with the sort of characters who attended the parties at Meon House held huge risks for him, but there was danger for Arabella, too, albeit of a different sort. He knew how much she idolised her late husband, but he very much feared if she continued with her investigations into his death, she would discover that her god had feet of clay. Even more reason, then, to persuade her to give up her quest. Or at the very least to leave it to someone else to investigate.
The door opened and Arabella entered. She was wearing the red gown again. The scarlet silk clung to every curve of her figure, tapering down to her tiny waist before falling softly over her hips, finishing with the embroidered hem swinging gently about her dainty ankles. A froth of cream lace covered her shoulders, but if she thought that made her any less delectable, she was mistaken. It merely drew attention to the smooth ivory of her complexion and he wanted to push aside its soft folds and kiss every inch of skin as he uncovered it.
She hesitated just inside the room, looking tense and unsure of herself. Ran pulled himself together and smiled at her. He waved one hand towards the hearth.
‘Do come closer to the fire and warm yourself.’
‘Thank you.’
She crossed the room, not looking at him, and sank into the chair beside the fire. The same chair she had used last night, when she had described her husband in such glowing terms. When she had felt so at home with him that she had kissed his cheek upon parting. For some reason that easy camaraderie had gone. He had done his best to conceal his desire for her, but perhaps she had seen it in his eyes today.
He said lightly, ‘We have some names now, including the lady’s brother. Are you impatient to go to town and confront them?’
‘It will take a little time to hunt them down, I am sure,’ she murmured.
He lowered himself into the chair opposite her. ‘I have already written to Chislett, asking him to make enquiries. I think we might leave the matter safely in his hands. You can rest assured if there has been foul play, he will discover it and you may take his findings to the magistrate.’
‘Thank you, but that will not be necessary. My own lawyer shall find these men.’ She looked at him then, her face composed, controlled. ‘You have done more than enough, Lord Westray, and I am very grateful.’
‘What is this?’ He laughed. ‘Are you giving me my congé?’
‘We can hardly go to town as husband and wife, my lord.’
‘No, but that does not mean—’
She rose and began to pace, as he had done. He watched her, noting how pale she was, how determined not to look at him.
‘You have helped me immensely, sir, but this matter has nothing to do with you. I cannot embroil you further in my affairs.’
He folded his arms. ‘And just what do you intend to do when you find these men?’
‘If necessary, I can pay someone to act as my escort.’
Ran felt the first stirrings of anger. ‘You would prefer to hire a stranger than accept my help?’
‘We took a risk here, my lord, but it would not do to continue the connection anywhere less remote.’ She sank down on her chair again and folded her hands in her lap. Only the white knuckles indicated she was not as composed as she would have him believe. ‘Your own appear
ance in town needs to be unfettered by any hint of scandal. The—the circumstances of your past have given rise to a deal of speculation already. There will be any number of gossipmongers ready to delve into your affairs.’
‘I know that. I do not deny it, but I promised to help you.’
‘And you have helped me, sir. I am indebted to you, but I think I must make my own way from here. I shall go to London as George’s widow. It is possible that the gentlemen we seek will feel some sympathy for my situation and talk to me willingly about my husband. If not, then I shall know they have something to hide and act accordingly.’
She was dismissing him!
He said, ‘And you have funds for this? You are prepared for the costs?’
‘It was never my intention that anyone else should pay. My family’s property has passed to the Roffeys, but I still have sufficient money of my own. That is,’ she corrected herself, ‘I have what is left of the fortune I brought to my marriage. I shall use every penny of it, if necessary, to find George’s killer and bring him—or them—to justice.’
‘Arabella, your husband is dead,’ said Ran gently. ‘Nothing you do now will bring him back.’
She sat up very straight. ‘I have to do this myself. Do you not see? I cannot rest until I know the truth.’
An iron band tightened around Ran’s chest when he saw the anguish in her eyes. He very much feared the truth would only hurt her more, but the stubborn set of her chin told him she would not be swayed.
The butler’s entry prevented Ran from responding and he could only admire Arabella’s composure as she gave the man a cool smile.
‘Is dinner ready for us, Meavy? We shall be there directly.’
Ran pushed himself out of his chair, saying as the butler went out again, ‘We shall continue this conversation later, madam.’
‘No, there is nothing more to say,’ she replied. ‘I am decided.’
With that she sailed out of the room. Looking, he thought with a mixture of anger and admiration, every inch a countess.
* * *
Dinner was a stilted affair. The presence of the servants prevented Randolph from bringing up the subject he most wanted to discuss, but it was on his mind constantly. If only she could be persuaded that her husband had fallen into bad company, that there was no murderer to be found, she could return to Lincolnshire; they could both leave Devon without anyone ever knowing her true identity. If she continued with her search, there was no knowing where it might lead.
Randolph was not concerned for himself. By the time he came back to Beaumount the scandal of the counterfeit Countess would have died down to a mere whisper, which he could ignore with all the arrogance of the nobility.
He held his peace until they had finished their meal, but when she would have risen to leave him he said, ‘Please stay, madam.’
She sank back into her seat and he waved away the servants.
‘I have been thinking over everything that has happened here, Arabella. After you left us, Miller told me more that he had learned. Things he did not think suitable for a lady’s ears.’
She sat very still. ‘Go on, my lord.’
‘Your description of your husband’s behaviour when he returned from Meon House, the manner of his demise. It was a poison, of sorts, but not administered by anyone else. I believe he was dosing himself with laudanum.’
She shook her head. ‘No. That cannot be true. You do not know what you are saying.’
‘Alas, I do.’ For the first time in many months he wished he had a glass of wine at his elbow. ‘I know the effects the drug can have, on the mind as well as the body.’ When she would have argued he put up his hand. ‘I know it only too well, Bella. I saw it first-hand on the transport ship to Australia.’ He barely noticed that he had shortened her name. She was staring at him, her eyes wide with horror. He continued.
‘From all we have learned here, I think Lady Meon invites a very dissolute crowd to her parties. Gentlemen of means who wish to drink, gamble and indulge in—in other excesses without restraint. There would have been no difficulty obtaining laudanum, if he wished for it. I do not think your husband was lured there.’
‘No. No, I will not believe that! He went because he had promised his friends. He told me so.’
‘Then why did he not take you with him?’
‘You know why!’ She was looking distressed now. ‘He...he said I should find it very tedious. He was t-trying to protect me. Oh, you do not understand! George would not lie to me, or to his parents. He was far too good to deceive us. Why, he never gambled at home and he was never in his cups.’
‘But how long was he with you at any one time—a week, two at most?’
He read the answer in her eyes, but she would not admit it. She jumped up with such force that her chair toppled backwards and crashed to the floor.
‘You want me to think the very worst of George!’
‘On the contrary. I am trying to persuade you to go home and mourn him.’
‘No, you are trying to turn me against my husband,’ she cried. ‘I do not know why you should. It can make no difference to my feelings for you.’
‘Your feelings!’ He reeled back in surprise.
Arabella looked shocked and her cheeks flamed, but she recovered almost instantly.
‘I have none!’ she shot back. ‘I never will have! I am merely furious that you should malign my husband’s name in that way.’
‘I am merely telling you what I believe to be the truth.’
‘But you do not know!’ She dashed a hand across her eyes.
He said gently, ‘I know that too much laudanum plays havoc with the mind, causes periods of euphoria and deepest despair. One becomes very weary and yet restless, unable to lie still in one position for more than a few moments. Only by taking even more laudanum can one find respite. Eventually it will destroy the body as well as the mind.’
‘I will not believe George brought about his own death! If—if—he was addicted to opium it was because someone had fed it to him.’ She leaned on the table, eyes sparkling with anger. ‘My husband was an innocent victim. He told me as much. Why would he lie?’
‘Because laudanum distorts the mind.’ Painful memories surfaced and Ran pushed them back before they could overwhelm him.
‘I cannot believe. I will not believe it. I shall go to London, find these men and confront them.’
‘And if they say the same as I?’
‘I shall know they are lying. I shall persist until they tell me the truth.’
Ran was very much afraid they would do just that. Not just about the gambling and the laudanum, but about the women who frequented the parties, too. Roffey might well have been more interested in laudanum than whores, but Arabella wouldn’t know that. She would be heartbroken.
‘Then at least let me help you.’
‘You cannot help me!’ Her angry gaze scorched him. ‘Your history is already common knowledge, my lord. If it becomes known that I am acquainted with the infamous Lord Westray, it can only harm my reputation.’ She straightened, holding up her head proudly. ‘I am very grateful for all you have done for me thus far, my lord, but you cannot help me any further.’
She stormed out in a shimmer of scarlet skirts.
* * *
Arabella flew up the stairs, scolding herself all the way. How could she, how could she have given him any cause to think she cared for him at all? What on earth had made her speak of feelings? She cared nothing for Randolph. Nothing.
At the door to her bedchamber she stopped, breathing deeply to calm herself before she encountered her maid, to no avail. Ruth took one look at her flushed countenance and exclaimed in horror.
‘Oh, my dear Lord, what is it? Pray do not tell me the Earl tried to seduce you!’
‘No, nothing like that. We quarrelled because I will no longer accept
his assistance.’ She put up a hand. ‘Pray, do not say anything now, Ruth. I am far too angry to speak!’
The maid’s eyes narrowed and she maintained an offended silence while she undressed her mistress and helped her into her nightgown. Arabella then dismissed her, declaring she was exhausted, but once she was alone, instead of sleeping, Arabella paced the floor, trying to work off the agitation of her spirits.
An hour passed. The fire died and her bare feet grew icy as the room became colder, but still she paced, trying to make sense of the emotions churning around inside her. Her love for her husband was as strong, as pure as ever, but there was a darker force at work within her now. She had conceived a passion for Randolph, a frighteningly dark and lustful passion that threatened to overwhelm her.
She stopped and gave a sob, covering her face with her hands. What a pitiful, wanton creature she must be, to forget her sainted husband so quickly.
‘Bella?’
She froze when she heard Randolph calling softly to her. She ran to the connecting door. The key was still in the door and it was turned, securely locked.
‘Bella, talk to me.’
She placed her hand against the panel, imagining Randolph standing on the other side.
‘If I have upset you, I beg your pardon,’ he went on. ‘It was not my intention.’
She leaned her forehead against the cool wood. ‘I know that, my lord.’
He was silent. Then, ‘Will you open the door for me?’
‘I c-cannot do that.’
‘Why not—are you afraid of me?’
‘No.’ I am afraid of myself.
She put her fist to her mouth to stifle a sob.
‘You are crying. Bella, let me in! Just let me talk to you.’
‘Please, Randolph. Please, go away.’ She sank to her knees. ‘I l-love my husband. I will not dishonour his memory.’
Silence. She drew a breath.
‘I m-must leave here. Tomorrow.’
‘As you wish. Is there anything I can do for you?’
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