The Genuine Article

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The Genuine Article Page 12

by Patricia Rice


  Marian would wait and pass judgment on that later. What she wanted to know was the precise location of Mr. Mon­tague while all this was going on. It seemed highly suspi­cious that the noise hadn’t aroused him.

  But she was left to wonder as her mother and Lily wan­dered down, followed by Darley’s valet. There were fires to be stirred and water to be heated and breakfast to be made. Chasing thieves had become men’s work, apparently.

  By the time a breakfast of sorts had been put together, Darley was back with two hares and a quail, but no thief. He slung the game sheepishly on a pantry table, set the shotgun against the wall, and cleansed his hands in the basin Jessica brought for him.

  “What happened?” she asked eagerly. “Did he dash over a cliff?”

  Marian raised her eyebrows slightly at her sister’s sud­den boldness, but Lord Darley was answering Jessica and not looking in her direction, so she held her tongue.

  “The hounds were just out for a romp. They weren’t on anybody’s trail. I don’t know where the thief got to.” His disappointment was so evident that no one could chastise him, not even Marian.

  “That means he could still be on the grounds,” Marian answered thoughtfully. It wouldn’t do to worry her mother, but she wished to get her hands on O’Toole and personally wring his neck. She set down her pitcher and casually glanced at the door that Darley had just entered.

  “Step one foot further in that direction. Lady Marian, and I will personally haul you back to London so fast your head will spin.”

  The voice roared from the doorway behind her, and she spun around to glare at Montague. “How dare you speak to me that way!”

  Having achieved next to no sleep and spent the past hour attempting to locate some semblance of a magistrate only to be told he was away, Reginald wasn’t in any humor for argument. He slapped his hat and riding crop down on a cabinet and glared back. “He’s my bloody valet and if any­body goes after him, it will be me. You’re a damned sight better off not witnessing his capture.”

  He strode through the kitchen and out the door, leaving his audience open-mouthed behind him.

  Lady Grace was the first to recover her aplomb. Reach­ing for a heavy frying pan, she said, “He must be a bit peckish without having had breakfast. Jessica, do you think you could find the ingredients for those little muffins we used to make?”

  Flushing, not knowing how to excuse his friend’s behav­ior toward her, Darley gave Marian a tight smile and hastily followed in Montague’s path. When he was gone, she threw a pewter sugar bowl at the door. She was tired of holding her tongue. One of these days she was going to let them all have it, bound and gift-wrapped.

  * * *

  Chapter 14

  The men returned some time later, muddy, hungry, covered with straw, and irritated beyond speaking. Lily hurried to pour their tea while Darley’s valet relieved them of their filthy coats.

  Lady Grace attempted to send her daughters out of the room while the gentlemen were in their shirtsleeves, but even quiet Jessica would have none of it. Without waiting to serve in the formality of the dining room, they set plates and cutlery on the trestle table in the kitchen and began setting out the meal while demanding to know what happened.

  Darley looked disgusted. “If I did not know better, I’d say there was an army troop out there this morning. After all that rain, there shouldn’t have been so many footprints.”

  Reginald drained his teacup first, then began folding his bacon into his toast. He was all but certain there was more than one person hiding on these grounds. The bootprints looked to be of different sizes to him, and the one appeared to have an incipient hole in the sole. He bit savagely into his toast and ignored the speculations running rampant around him. O’Toole wouldn’t be caught dead with a hole in his sole.

  “You are being awfully quiet, Mr. Montague. What is your theory?” Marian sipped carefully at her tea. The dark circles beneath her eyes reflected her sleepless night.

  He tried not to look at her. Generally, he didn’t see women until well into the afternoon, when they were ele­gantly gowned and coiffed and prepared for the day. Lady Marian had not taken the time to do more than tie her hair back in a ribbon, and its dark waves seemed strangely thick and luxuriant for one so slender.

  She was gowned only in some frail muslin that apparently had little beneath it to conceal her natural shape. He was having a devil of a time keeping his eyes from straying to discover just how natural that shape was. Instead, he focused on his breakfast.

  “I have no theory. The magistrate is not here to order the roads searched. I have sent someone back to London to fetch a Runner, and another with O’Toole’s description to the toll keepers. I suggest we search the house one more time in day­light. If your cousin does not put in an appearance soon, I also suggest that the ladies return to town while I remain to deal with the authorities. Short of burning the whole damned manor down, I don’t know what else we can do.”

  “I say, Reginald, your language,” Darley reminded him. He threw a worried look to Marian, but she seemed not in the least offended. Jessica was blushing, however. He pat­ted her hand helplessly, and she gave him a shy smile of gratitude.

  “We will have to organize the search better this time,” Marian suggested. “If the thief is still here, he could just stay one step ahead of us and never be found. We must start at the ground floor and drive him upward until there is nowhere else for him to escape.”

  Darley gave her a look of amazement. “That is a capital idea. I wish I had thought of that earlier.”

  “There are many things we should have thought of ear­lier. I fear it is too late for any of them now. The thief has gone outside these walls. What reason is there to think that he will return?”

  Lady Grace daintily poured another cup of tea. “He will need to eat again sometime,” she mentioned calmly. “He has already devoured most of our nuncheon.”

  They all turned to stare at her. Blithely unaware of her audience’s astonishment, she carefully smeared a bit of jam they had found in the larder onto her toast.

  “Mama, do you mean to say that the chickens we cooked last night are gone?” Marian asked.

  Lady Grace looked up with surprise. “Isn’t that what I just said, dear?”

  Reginald scraped his chair back and went to investigate the cold cellar. When he came back, his expression was carefully neutral. “There is naught but the bones of one fowl left. The other is gone entirely.”

  “Ghosts don’t eat, do they?” Jessica asked fearfully.

  Reginald didn’t bother to give this inanity a reply, but Darley reassured her as Marian set her cup down and stood up.

  “I think we need to observe a few precautions. Do you think we could hire some help from the village?” Marian turned to Mr. Montague for an answer.

  “I have already looked into that Most of the men have been hired out for the planting, but there were a couple of old fellows willing to come out for the day. We can station them with the horses. And the innkeeper thought he knew a couple of women who might come out to help for as long as we need them. No one seems to know anything of the marquess’s whereabouts, but they’re all curious to come look the place over. I suspect we’ll have a fair company here shortly.”

  Both Marian and Montague waited expectantly for some sound from beyond the walls, but only Lady Grace re­sponded.

  “I suppose my Gwen has long gone to another house­hold. She used to make the most delicious pastries,” she said wistfully.

  There was nothing much that could be said to that. The gentlemen went off to see to the horses while the ladies cleared away the remains of their repast. Before they were done, there was the sound of a wagon in the stable yard. Mr. Montague’s new employees had arrived.

  As Marian watched her mother fall into raptures over a stout old lady who was apparently the amazing Gwen come back for the sake of old times, she took charge of the bevy of young girls come to help out. As Marian set them to scr
ubbing the kitchen and preparing the game, she mar­velled over Montague’s audacity. This wasn’t even his home, and he was hiring servants. If the marquess actually existed, he must think all this bustle distinctly odd when he returned.

  But the new troops were swiftly organized under Mr. Montague’s direction. The men were left to clean the sta­bles and keep guard over the horses. A pistol was left in their care to shoot as warning should anyone attempt to get away. The giggling girls were sent with dusters and mops and brooms into the various downstairs chambers with the instructions not to leave their assigned rooms without per­mission. If anyone entered their domains, they were to pound their buckets and yell at the top of their lungs, and everyone was to come running.

  The rest of the party trudged upward in hopes the thief would attempt to escape the activity below. Reginald sta­tioned Lady Grace at the stairs with a hunting horn and the sewing basket she insisted on. He only hesitated when it came to divide the party to search the two long wings. The ladies could not be sent off by themselves, but it would not only be improper for them to break up into pairs, but the decision as to who would go with whom was beyond his capacity.

  Marian caught his dilemma at once. “It seems wasteful, but perhaps we ought all to search each wing together. Mother said she thought there might be a hidden passage on this floor. We will need to be looking for that as well as watching to see no one escapes.”

  Darley beamed. “Capital idea. If you will allow me?” He offered his arm for her escort.

  Forcing herself to smile sweetly instead of impatiently, Marian accepted his arm and proceeded at a stately pace to the first chamber to be searched. The task of searching for a thief or his hiding place was going to be tediously time consuming if she had to do it at this snail’s pace, but she needed Lord Darley’s approval more than ever. Without that ruby, they would soon have no home to go to when their London lease was done. She bit her lip to hide her anxiety as the others began pounding walls and doors.

  Reginald sent her strained expression a look of concern, but his mind was on locating the monster of ingratitude who had stolen his pride and integrity, not to mention his fortune. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he would have to find some way of repaying Lady Marian for her missing neck­lace if it should not be found. He just hadn’t found any opportunity to tell her so. Perhaps after the noon meal he could separate her from the others long enough to reassure her.

  The rattle of a bucket below sent the gentlemen careen­ing down the stairs twice before the maids learned not to knock them with their mops. After the second false alarm, the search began to degenerate into a game of hide-and-seek, with the contents of the manor being “it.”

  Jessica discovered that some of the wardrobes still con­tained clothes from an earlier generation. Forgetting her fear of ghosts, she ran from room to room searching out more and more miraculous creations of hoops and petti­coats and ostrich feathers.

  Darley became engrossed in searching the paneling for more concealed cracks to match his earlier success, and he was soon left behind.

  Reginald began mentally cataloguing the value of the art­work and bibelots ornamenting the various chambers and wondering if they could all be included on the entailment inventory.

  And Marian discovered a lady’s library with first edi­tions and illustrated pages that she had difficulty leaving behind. If there were a thief to be found, he had not begun to steal all the treasures lying around waiting to be taken.

  When Reginald discovered her curled in a chair scanning an illustrated version of Gulliver’s Travels, he threw him­self into a matching chair and scowled. “This is not work­ing,” he announced.

  Marian reluctantly drew herself from the adventures in Lilliput back to the present. She looked around, discovering they were in a sitting room adjoining the bed chamber where her father’s portrait hung and there was no one else about. In all propriety, the situation should make her uneasy, but Mr. Montague’s harassed expression did not lead her to believe she was in danger from anything except his temper.

  “No, it is not,” she agreed. “It is exceedingly boring looking for someone who is so obviously not here. If there is a secret passage, he could have moved half the furniture into it by now and fallen asleep. I had not realized how enormous this place is.”

  Since the mansion was scarcely half the size of his father’s ancestral home, Reginald did not have an adequate reply. He merely sprawled in the chair and continued scowling at her. “I will see that you are repaid for every shilling that the necklace was worth.”

  He hadn’t meant to announce the fact so coldly, but it had been on his mind for too long and he wished to be rid of it. He wasn’t even cer­tain how he meant to carry out his promise. He might have to give in to his father’s wishes and marry an heiress to scrape together that kind of blunt.

  Marian simply looked at him with that dark-eyed expres­sion that made Reginald want to haul her into his arms and kiss her until he melted away her false facade.

  “That is generous of you, of course,” she said slowly, “but entirely unnecessary. I risked the necklace every time I wore it. I risked it by taking it to the jeweler. You did nothing that I did not ask you to do. You could scarcely have foreseen that it would be stolen.”

  Yes, he could have. She didn’t know he had a thief for valet, but he knew. Reginald wasn’t in a mood for arguing with her about it. “I’ll speak to your solicitor. We’ll make some arrangement. I’ll not have you marrying Darley just to pay the bills.”

  “I don’t suppose anyone has ever told you that you are an odious tyrant.” Marian closed the book and rose from the chair. She kept her voice pleasant, fearing Lord Darley would enter at any moment.

  He drew himself out of his chair and blocked her path. “And you are a sharp-tongued witch. That does not change anything. You will have the funds as soon as I am able to collect them.”

  He was too close, but to retreat would be a sign of sur­render. Marian held her place and glared up at him. She was of an average height and had not ever considered her­self small before, but he made her feel helpless. She did not like the sensation at all. It was quite unnerving to have this man glaring down at her as if she were a gnat he could swat. But something in his eyes told her it wasn’t swatting that he had in mind. She clenched her fingers into fists and tried not to retreat. “You will remove yourself, sir.”

  The tension and frustration of the day had been too much for him. Reginald knew full well the danger of rosy lips and slender curves, even when they were armored with a mind and tongue equal to his own. He could think of no other ac­tion other than to reach for her. A brief wish to shake her passed through his mind, but it wasn’t Reginald’s mind in control now. His fingers clasped her arms and pulled her to him.

  Marian felt the harshness of his lips across hers before she fully registered what he meant to do. She was twenty-two years old and could count the number of times she had been kissed on the fingers of one hand, and not one of those times had in any way resembled the ferocity of Montague’s kiss. She could taste the experience on his lips, in the way they molded to hers, forcing her to relent and kiss him back. She shuddered as she did just that.

  He was hard and warm and his fingers were strong as they held her to him. She feared there would be bruises where his hands held her, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away. Her hands came to rest on his chest, and she re­alized vaguely that she wasn’t wearing gloves. “How im­proper” murmured through her head, while her mouth grew soft and moist and parted slightly at his insistence.

  The sound of Jessica calling her name brought them both abruptly back to the moment. Reginald dropped her arms, and Marian backed away, and they both stared at each other as if lightning had struck between them. Jessica’s arrival forced them to turn away.

  “Look at this! Do you think I might be introduced at court in this?” She swirled around in a gold velvet cloak with a gold band of ostrich feathers wrapped about her
hair.

  Marian slid her hand over her cheek, tucking her hair be­hind her ears, tentatively touching the place where a rough beard had chafed her. She didn’t look at Montague as she watched her sister’s posturing. “It is rather—” she stumbled for words—”quaint,” she managed.

  Her insides were still shaking. She needed to sit down and recover herself, but she couldn’t let him see what he had done to her. She didn’t want to appear an inexperienced young miss. She would brush this off as if nothing had ever happened. Nothing had happened. It was just the strain they were all under.

  “Montague, where the hell are you? Come here, would you? I want you to look at something.” Darley stumbled into the room and stopped. Uncertainly, he glanced to his friend’s stiff posture, to Jessica’s pretty smile of welcome, to Marian’s nervous fiddling at her hair. With a shrug, he went back to his original intent. “There’s something behind this wall. I just can’t find how to get at it.”

  He crossed the small sitting room and knocked at the far wall. The sound was oddly hollow. “See that? It shouldn’t sound like that.” He went to another wall and knocked. The resulting sound was more of a thud. “That’s the way a solid wall sounds. There’s something back there, I tell you.”

  Marian gratefully turned her attention to this new discov­ery. She pounded high and low on the wall, getting the same hollow sound as Darley. She tried it on either side of the same wall, with no difference. Reginald left the sitting room and his steps could be heard in the room adjoining. Soon his knock could be heard on the wall on the other side.

  “Still hollow!” he called. “And this is the end of the hall. If there’s a passage, it can’t go any farther.”

  They all immediately descended on the pretty bedcham­ber to renew their exploration.

  * * * *

  Behind the wall, the marquess unfolded his lengthy frame and crept back the way he had come earlier. It would be a damned nuisance losing his hiding place, but he had other things to think about right now.

 

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