A Notorious Proposition

by Adele Ashworth

  “Indeed,” he agreed, taking a sip of his tea.

  Uneasy, Ivy stared into the contents of her cup, scolding herself for feeling so irrationally relieved. Who would care if he was married? She certainly didn’t.

  “And what of you, Lady Ivy?” came the deep voice from her left. “Are you married? Betrothed?”

  The fact that Garrett would ask such a question of his former lover, in front of others, startled her. He undoubtedly knew she’d never married, but she found it almost insulting that he would expect her to answer. And she had to answer. Mrs. Rodney watched her with thoughtful eyes and a curious expression.

  Planting a firm smile on her mouth, she drew a long breath and turned to face him, her gaze flat as it met and held his.

  “Neither,” she replied, her tone cool but pleasant. “I’ve never had the fortune, Mr. Burke, nor the opportunity. I’ve yet to meet an appropriate gentleman who…meets my needs socially.”

  For the tiniest second, she could have sworn she saw a flicker of…something cross his features. Annoyance? Doubt? Frankly, she hoped both.

  Mrs. Rodney cleared her throat, and they both looked back at their hostess. “Well, yes, as a member of the peerage, you’ll need to marry someone of your station, with your brother’s approval.”

  With Ian’s approval.

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “And where is your brother…Ian, isn’t it?”

  That guarded question came from Garrett, whose composure had hardened just the slightest.

  “I believe he’s still on the Continent,” was her very vague reply, covering the worry in her voice as best she could. “But we expect him home in Stamford by spring.”

  “Then perhaps,” Garrett returned at once, reaching for a second plum cake, “you’ll be betrothed to someone of your preference by summer.”

  Her preference? Meaning someone of her class, she supposed. He goaded her purposely, she was sure, because he had to know marriage for her now was completely out of the question. Even if she could ignore the fact that he had taken her innocence through lies, she could never forget how he’d ruined her ability to trust another man with her heart, at least for any foreseeable future.

  Smiling, she lifted her teacup to her lips, and said across the brim, “Although past experience has made me wise about such things, Mr. Burke, alas I fear I may be too old for marriage.”

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. Rodney countered with a wave of a hand, adding nothing, however, as if that one word explained everything.

  An uncomfortable silence followed. Ivy shot a quick glance at Garrett, who stared at his tea as if he were reading leaves and telling fortunes. Then swiftly, he swallowed the contents, placed both cup and saucer on the tea table, and inhaled a deep breath.

  “As you’re aware, Mrs. Rodney,” he said congenially, sitting back again and tenting his fingers in front of him as he returned to the point, “I’m employed by an architectural firm in London and we’re very much interested in the construction of old country estates. I’m curious about the former Rothebury estate, or should I say, the Rye estate, and was told by the Countess of Eastleigh, that you are the one resident in the village who knows the most about its history.”

  The older woman smiled quite proudly, bunching her shoulders as she held her cup and saucer in her lap. “Yes, I suppose that is true. The house itself is very old, some say by several hundred years. I can certainly understand why architects would be interested in the various changes that have been made to it during that time.”

  “What kind of changes?” Ivy asked, feeling Garrett’s eyes on her and refusing to glance in his direction.

  Mrs. Rodney sighed. “Well, it’s been restructured and remodeled many times through the centuries. Wings were torn down and rebuilt, rooms added. I don’t think the family kept a record of the changes, either, at least none that I know of. It could possibly take weeks to uncover all the vast secrets inside that house and on the property.”

  “On the property?” Garrett repeated. “You mean the grounds?”

  “Yes, indeed,” she revealed with bright eyes. “Long ago, someone from the Sharon family dug a tunnel that leads from beneath the home, or just outside of it, well into the forest, apparently for the purpose of smuggling. Although I’ve never seen it, and it has since been sealed, I’ve heard it extends nearly all the way to the docks at Portsmouth. Baron Rothebury was caught using the tunnel to smuggle untaxed opium into the country, for which he was consequently arrested nearly two years ago.”

  Silence ensued for an awkward moment, then Ivy said, “It sounds so very intriguing. Have you been inside the house recently?”

  Mrs. Rodney shook her head lightly. “No, sadly not since the Winter Masquerade of two years ago.” She raised her cup took a quick sip of tea. “It wasn’t long after the ball that the authorities took Lord Rothebury to London to stand trial, and the property was locked and the regular staff discharged. As far as I know, it remained vacant until just a few weeks ago, when Benedict Sharon, Richard’s younger brother, returned unexpectedly and took up residence.”

  Garrett’s chair creaked as he readjusted his body, spreading his right leg out so that he conveniently pushed the toe of his shoe under the hem of her gown. She didn’t move, pretending ignorance lest he think to fluster her again by that somewhat intimate action.

  “What did you think of his return?” Garrett asked, speculation in his tone.

  The older woman delicately frowned. “Nothing really, aside from a bit of surprise. He’d been gone for so long the town had all but forgotten about him.” She cleared her throat. “Of course when a member of the family is…detained by the police, it becomes quite a scandalous affair for everybody. But then he kept to himself. I don’t think I spoke to him once in the few short weeks he was in Winter Garden.”

  “I suppose it didn’t seem unusual for him to stay somewhat secluded,” Ivy remarked, acknowledging how very brazen Benedict’s return had to seem to the local gentry. A family disgraced couldn’t possibly expect to entertain or accept social invitations.

  “No, and since he hired only a minimal staff,” Mrs. Rodney replied with pinched brows, “I got the distinct impression that he wouldn’t be staying long.”

  “Perhaps just long enough to sell the property?” Garrett offered lightly.

  Mrs. Rodney lifted her teacup and finished the contents in a swallow. “Perhaps, though his disappearance was just as mysterious as the purchase by the new owner.”

  “The Marquess of Rye,” Garrett said.

  Ivy sat forward a little, a sudden thought occurred to her. “Have you met the marquess, Mrs. Rodney?”

  The older woman chuckled and shook her head. “Good heavens, no, and what a mystery he is,” she maintained, leaning forward to place her cup and saucer on the tea table.

  “A mystery?” Garrett probed. “How so?”

  Mrs. Rodney patted her the corners of her mouth with her linen napkin, stalling, Ivy was certain, for effect.

  “Well, it’s been said in…circles that the man is either an invalid, or a rake of the most clever and notorious kind. It would explain why he’s never appeared in public, or chosen to introduce himself to Winter Garden’s polite society. It’s also been rumored that he rarely visits his home in Rye, which is not so very far from here, but spends most of his time in London.”

  Ivy remained quiet for a moment, trying to absorb the information. But before she could respond, she felt the slightest stirring of the toe of his shoe just above her leather-booted ankle, a gentle, up-and-down caress on her stockinged calf that both surprised and horrified her. It was a shocking, despicable, sensuous movement that flooded her mind with memory and her body with heat. Quickly, as daintily as she could, she jerked her leg to the side and adjusted her bottom in the chair, her skirts over her knees and around her ankles, noting with barely contained ire that Garrett looked quite relaxed, as if he didn’t even notice the discomfiture he had purposely caused.

  “So why do you s
uppose he bought this particular property?” he asked in a low, thoughtful voice, keeping his attention squarely on their hostess.

  Ivy wanted to scream and box his ears. Instead, she smiled pleasantly, folding her hands in her lap as she awaited Mrs. Rodney’s reply.

  “That’s the greatest mystery of all,” came the soft answer, the woman’s tone now quite conspiratorial. “Why buy a house in Winter Garden when he doesn’t live on the estate he owns, has never been here to my knowledge, and spends his time in London, either as an invalid, or…charming the ladies?” She paused to reach for a third plum cake with dainty fingers, then added before nibbling, “But of course everything about this gentleman is rumor.”

  “Perhaps, Mr. Burke, he purchased the estate because of the many rooms and hidden tunnels the house is purported to have and simply wants to amuse himself by discovering them one by one,” Ivy interjected, turning a little so she looked at Garrett for the first time since they all began talking. “As an architect, it’s why you’re interested in it, is it not?”

  If he thought her inquiry was a bold attempt to undo his remarkable composure, he didn’t show it. In his usual dashing manner, he locked his gaze with hers and smiled with a mockery only she could detect.

  “Naturally, that’s why I’m interested in the property, Lady Ivy,” he replied easily. “But if Lord Rye purchased it for the same purpose, wouldn’t he be here to investigate as well?”

  She had no idea how to answer that without acknowledging the obvious—that one would think so—which she didn’t consider when she asked him the question. Offering a most pleasant smile, she ignored that striking fact, and asked instead, “So how long do you intend to be in town, Mr. Burke?”

  His dark eyes bored into hers. “I’m not at all certain. My employer wishes a thorough report, though, so I shall give him that.”

  “I see,” she replied, eyeing him speculatively. “A thorough report of what, may I ask?”

  His features never changed. “Of the various changes on the property. Apparently the new owner wants a complete account of them.”

  “So your London firm has been hired by Lord Rye?”

  His chair creaked beneath him. “Apparently. Or at least that’s what I assume.”

  He had an answer for everything, she mused with annoyance. Just as a good investigator should.

  “Suppose,” Mrs. Rodney interjected, “the marquess had this planned all along.”

  They both turned to look at their hostess, whose gaze now focused on them with a shrewdness not seen before.

  Ivy feigned ignorance. “I beg your pardon?”

  Garrett just watched the older woman in silence.

  Mrs. Rodney tapped the tips of her fingers on the edge of her china plate. “Well, it does seem to be a rather strange sequence of events, don’t you think? The house has been abandoned for nearly two years when suddenly Mr. Sharon arrives and disappears, causing a flurry of speculation in Winter Garden. Then at almost the same time, you arrive to research the property, Mr. Burke, and are soon followed by Lady Ivy, who was summoned by the marquess to investigate the house for ghosts.” She paused for a moment, shaking her head negligibly, then added, “It just all seems very unusual. Almost…planned.”

  Oddly planned. Suddenly Ivy realized that Mrs. Rodney had drawn these conclusions without any knowledge of the Martello diamonds. If one considered the jewels, their being drawn together became more than a hunt for strangers, ghosts, and secret passageways within an old house. It became a dangerous game of cat and mouse, all of them used as players, including her brother, for a reason unknown. The chilling thought unnerved her.

  Garrett straightened in his chair, finally pulling his leg back, his foot decently removed from beneath the hem of her gown, which he no longer seemed to notice.

  “Unless it’s all just coincidence,” he countered with a grin and a sigh, lightening the mood.

  Mrs. Rodney smiled in return. “Yes, I suppose it’s been my experience that things are only as they appear.” With delicate hands, she lifted the teapot. “More refreshment, anyone?”

  Darkness had fallen as they left the Rodney home, and even as he made her nervous by walking beside her, she was more disconcerted by his behavior at tea. They hadn’t said a word to each other since leaving, but with every crunch of their shoes on the gravel pathway, the irritation within her increased. She kept her pace steady until they reached the inn, then gradually slowed to a standstill.

  “Thank you, sir, but I can walk the rest of the way by myself,” she said matter-of-factly.

  He gazed down at her, his hands shoved into the pockets of his twine coat. “Of course,” he maintained, “but I would be remiss in allowing your wishes to overrule Mrs. Rodney’s, who might then find disappointment in my gentlemanly behavior.”

  “Garrett—”

  “Don’t argue, Ivy,” he grumbled. “It’s dark and cold, and I have no intention of touching you in any unseemly manner.”

  Her mouth opened to offer a snide reply, then she shut it again. Turning away from him, she began walking once more. “Interesting to hear you say such a thing after what you did in Mrs. Rodney’s home.”

  After a moment’s pause, he repeated, “What I did?”

  She cast him a fast glance. “Do not act as if you have no idea what I’m talking about.”

  He continued to walk a half step behind her, staring down at the footpath. “If you’re referring to accidentally touching your ankle with my toe, then yes, I have an idea. But I assure you, it was completely innocent.”

  “You’d really have me believe that caressing me like that was accidental?” she asked in feigned sweetness.

  Dropping his voice, he leaned in to whisper gruffly, “Why wouldn’t you believe me? Because I’ve caressed you like that before?”

  The intimacy implied made her heart flutter and her stomach twist in knots yet the way he said it, as if what he’d done meant nothing, made her furious, if irrationally so. She simply couldn’t answer him, and she wasn’t certain he even expected her to.

  “How did you know I’d be at Mrs. Rodney’s home for tea?” she asked, changing the subject as she stopped walking once more.

  She expected him to laugh and reply that he’d warned her he’d be watching and lurking, but he didn’t do either. Instead, he inhaled deeply and cocked his head to the side minutely, his eyes scanning her face in the darkness.

  Finally, voice lowered, he replied, “I don’t suppose you’d believe we met there strictly by chance.”

  “No,” she answered through a shiver. “If I had to guess, I’d say you paid someone at the Rye estate to inform you of my every move.”

  He shrugged and glanced over her head toward the lake. “If that’s what you believe, then there’s nothing more I can say.”

  She should have expected such an evasive response from him. He refused to admit that he had prior information concerning her whereabouts this afternoon, and yet they both knew he did. He had to. Garrett was an organized investigator and had a detailed plan for everything he did. She had learned that about him the first day they met.

  “If you’re here in Winter Garden to carry on your search for the Martello diamonds,” she continued, thinking aloud, “why are you following me? You said you know I don’t have them.” It was a forthright question, and he didn’t deny that he had an ulterior motive for doing so. She waited, rubbing her hands together in her muff, noting a certain hesitation in his demeanor.

  At last, he replied, “Benedict Sharon had the diamonds when he disappeared, and now you’re living in his home. You were also there when I tried to secure them in London two years ago. I find that curious.”

  She hadn’t been anywhere near the diamonds, she had been in his bed, awaiting his return, which never came. But she wouldn’t mention such a thing because he very well knew it.

  No, he wasn’t only being evasive, she realized, he was hiding something. Something important. And he wasn’t keeping information to himself
simply to have an upper hand in the investigation. For some very specific reason he wanted her involved, or expected her to lead him either to the diamonds or to the person who had taken them. Yet how did he know she’d be looking for them herself? If it were any other person, she’d assume he was guessing. But Garrett relied on facts. That was how he worked.

  He gazed down at her again, silence surrounding them but for the breeze whistling through the trees that lined the lake. He’d grown contemplative, his handsome features barely discernible from the distant light at the inn. For a second, just the smallest second, she felt the strangest urge to confide in him, to tell him what she knew and ask him to help her. But the notion quickly passed. She simply couldn’t trust him again, with anything. And with Ian in danger, his whereabouts unknown—

  “I’m cold, Garrett, and would like to return to the house,” she said, deflated suddenly and hoping he’d sense her reluctance to be near him, her obvious dismissal. She needed time to think.

  He said nothing for a moment longer, then, “I can’t let you walk around the lake and into the forest by yourself, you know that.”

  She couldn’t summon a suitable reply.

  “You walk, I’ll follow,” he added.

  She shook her head. “Really, Garrett, it’s not—”

  “Necessary?” he cut in, his tone a bit lighter. “Of course it’s necessary. The least I can do is offer you my gentlemanly protection for a few more minutes.”

  It all seemed so strange to her, to be near him like this. And for the first time since he came back into her life, she truly acknowledged how very much his presence stirred her, emotionally and physically. Accepting such a truth meant that, above all things, where Garrett Burke was concerned, she would need to remain very, very careful until they parted for a final time.

  He lightly grasped her elbow, and she shivered again, this time not from cold, but from the mere innocent contact.

  Be careful…