by Sara Bennett
The strange thing was that she’d recently given up on any more affairs of the heart. She was, she’d told herself, too old for the highs and lows of passionate love. These days a warm fire and comfortable slippers had become far more important than a man’s companionship.
But even while she was preparing to make her bed and lie in it, she’d admitted that she missed the feel of strong arms about her, and the exquisite physicality of a masculine body pressed to hers. It wasn’t even as if the act of connection mattered greatly to her anymore; it was the being close, being stroked and loved, and the feeling that she wasn’t alone.
And then, quite unexpectedly, she met Jasper and found everything she’d decided to give up on.
He matched her intellectually as well as physically, and he made her smile. She looked forward to his company. She even felt the aches and pains of old age less since they’d become friends. Lady Bethany was feeling young again, like a girl in the throes of her first passion.
She closed her eyes in the shadow of her hat, enjoying the moment. Because for a woman of her years every positive moment was important and must be thoroughly enjoyed.
Valentine was asleep, or so he thought. In his dream he was resting in Marissa’s arms and she was stroking strands of his hair back from his brow, her fingers gentle and soothing. She murmured his name and then kissed him lightly on his lips. It felt so perfect he told himself he didn’t want to wake up, but it was already too late.
He opened his eyes.
She was looking down at him, her dark hair loose about her face, her dark eyes wide in her pale face. She smiled, but even so he sensed her tension.
“I missed you,” she said. “I know we cannot be together in the way I want, not yet, but I thought it wouldn’t matter if we slept in each other’s arms.”
Valentine knew what he should say.
Doubt took away her smile and her lashes drooped. “I’ll go. I’m sorry.”
In answer he pulled her down, tightening his hold on her, drawing her in close against his shoulder, feeling the soft relaxing of her body against his. She was, he couldn’t help but notice, wearing a white nightgown with long sleeves. It was virginal and would act as a reminder to behave himself.
“I prefer you stay,” he admitted, his breath warm in her hair.
“I prefer to stay, too,” she whispered with a sigh.
“Von Hautt—”
She placed a finger across his lips and shook her head, her hair tumbling around them. “Don’t let’s talk about him.” Her gaze was pleading. “Let’s forget about him, just for now.”
He kissed her fingers, and took them in his own. “Are Jasper and your grandmother back yet?”
“Not yet.”
He lay back and closed his eyes, and she snuggled into his arms with obvious pleasure. He held her, forcing his mind away from carnal thoughts, enjoying the closeness. How long was it since he’d held a woman like this?
Too long.
He’d been alone for so many years he’d forgotten the joys of having someone to share his bed and his life with, remembering only the negatives.
She tugged the covers up over them, her limbs tangling with his, her cheek upon his pillow, and smiled sleepily. “What would Morris think if he saw us like this?”
Valentine gave a mock shudder. “Nothing, probably. His expression would be enough to send you screaming back to your room.”
“Morris doesn’t frighten me. He’s very loyal, isn’t he?”
“He’s been with me for a long time. Since my father died. I don’t know how I’d manage without him; he’s like one of the family. There isn’t much about us that Morris doesn’t know.”
“You don’t think Morris could be your spy?”
The idea was shocking. Morris? In cahoots with Von Hautt? It was like suspecting George, and Valentine found he couldn’t do it. He shook his head. “No, not Morris.”
She murmured a reply but he could feel her growing limp as she drifted into sleep. Her breathing deepened. He watched her, sleepy himself, pretending just for a moment that he could have her beside him every night, that this was the beginning of a lifetime with her as his companion. The fantasy wasn’t as difficult to visualize as he’d thought. He’d reached the point where his son was smiling up at him with Marissa’s eyes and he was instructing him in some piece of botanical science, much to Marissa’s disgust, when commonsense put a stop to it.
There was the rose to find and Von Hautt to defeat.
If Morris isn’t the spy, then who?
Doubting his faithful retainers made him feel grubby and he closed his eyes and returned to Marissa instead.
Soon he had followed her into sleep.
As far as finding the rose went, the purpose of their journey had been a waste of time, although on a personal level Jasper and Lady Bethany had enjoyed themselves immensely. The manor of the de Turville family had been destroyed by fire many centuries ago and what remained was then taken by the local farmers to build their barns and byres and houses.
Jasper made a careful search across the overgrown patch of ground where the manor once stood. Lady Bethany refused to help him, saying she valued her skin too much, preferring to watch him from the safety of the carriage as he cursed and thrashed his stick through the weeds and brambles.
But it was all to no avail, and after Jasper declared that if the rose had ever existed here then it existed no longer, they turned for home.
“That leaves William Beauchamp,” Lady Bethany said, after ticking the list of crusaders’ names off on her fingers. “He is our last and final hope.”
Jasper looked morose. “Poor Kent. He thought he had a real chance of finding the rose. I don’t know what he’ll do if this fails.”
“He’ll keep looking, surely?”
“Oh yes, he’ll keep looking, my dear. But he knows, just as I know, that there is the distinct possibility it no longer exists. That no matter how hard and how long he searches for the wretched thing he’s never going to find it.”
“Is he the sort of man who’d become embittered?”
Jasper considered the question seriously. “I wouldn’t have said so, although lately he seems to have become rather desperate about the whole thing.”
Lady Bethany waved a lazy hand at an insect that had decided her chip straw bonnet would make a nice home. “You do realize, Jasper, that my visit is coming to an end.”
He turned to her with a startled look. “Good heavens! You’re leaving, my dear?”
“You know Marissa and I must return to our home in London, Jasper. And who knows where we’ll be this time next week! Probably in the wilds of Sutherland, hunting for mosses in knee-deep snow. My son-in-law is relentless when it comes to his chosen field.”
“Good heavens,” Jasper repeated, clearly shocked at the prospect. “We can’t have that. I’ll have to come and rescue you, my dear. Carry you off on some romantic tryst, eh?”
Lady Bethany smiled a little smile. “I would like that,” she said. “It sounds very agreeable.”
“Should I rescue your granddaughter, too? Or do you think she’ll be all right?”
“Oh yes, I think so,” she said. “If I am right, Jasper, then we’ll have a wedding to attend before too long, and I will be able to boast to all my friends that I was instrumental in bringing it about.”
“And were you, my dear?”
“I played my part, Jasper. I intend to claim the credit anyway.”
He laughed, and she laughed with him.
After a moment he grew serious. “I’m an old bachelor, my dear. Set in my ways. I never thought I’d…well, I’ve no idea what I’d be like as a husband at my age.”
Lady Bethany patted his hand, where he held the reins. “I don’t want another husband, Jasper. I’d much prefer a good friend.”
“Would you?” He seemed struck by the thought. “I thought all women were keen on bagging a husband.”
“Not all, I promise you.”
“Frie
nds then,” Jasper said. “Very good friends.”
They drove on in silence, both very content with the future they envisioned.
Chapter 24
The door opened a fraction and Augustus Von Hautt’s heart began to speed up. Sometimes lately his heart beat so hard that it hurt his chest, and he had to put his hand over it, to hold it in. This was one of those moments.
“There you are,” the familiar voice said, and the door closed again. “I was worried.”
“You told me to come here when I needed to.”
“Of course I did. Are you hurt?”
He shook his head, shivering a little. He’d lit the fire but the chimney was full of soot and wouldn’t draw properly.
“Look. I have some food for you. Eat up and you’ll feel better. You always feel better when you’ve eaten.”
It was true, he did feel better on a full stomach.
“Why did you frighten Lady Longhurst?”
He met those familiar eyes and looked away. “She deserved it. My mother…”
“Augustus, you can’t go about punishing people because they remind you of your mother. You loved your mother, you know you did.”
“I hardly knew her.”
“Well, she loved you.”
He finished the food and pushed back his chair with a sigh. He did feel better now. But so weary; his eyelids were drooping.
“You’re the only one who has ever loved me, Bo-bo,” he murmured, using the old childhood name, the sound of it comforting him.
He could hear the fire being stoked, the warmth spreading through him as he dozed. He knew there were things to do, important things. He had to find the rose, but that could wait until tomorrow, when Valentine set off after the final name on his list.
Beauchamp.
Was it fate? Or just luck? Well, whatever it was, Augustus was pleased things had worked out this way. The end was coming.
Soon he would have completed his life’s work and he would finally be able to rest.
Chapter 25
Valentine hadn’t visited the town of Bentley Green before, and he found it an industrious little place. Bentley Green was a market town, and because it was market day there were numerous people about, competing with the noise made by the farm animals penned in the market square. Stalls had been set up, selling eggs and cheeses and other farm produce, while children played at tiggy around the barrows and carts. Marissa laughed at a farmer who stood with his booted feet apart, discussing the weather and shouting encouragement to his flustered wife, as she chased an escaped goose through the melee.
They left their horses and carriage at a stable and set off to find what information they could on the Beauchamps. Before too long George declared he was hungry.
“We should have bought another picnic basket,” he added. “Why didn’t you think to tell Mrs. Beamauris to pack it, Valentine?”
“I have more important things to think of than your stomach, George.”
“Nothing is more important than my stomach,” George declared.
Marissa giggled.
She seemed happy today and he played at being happy, too, although he was beginning to wonder if he’d ever find the Crusader’s Rose. The rose had filled his life for so long that he didn’t know what he’d do without it, and yet, strangely, the idea did not fill him with despair. Not when Marissa was by his side.
There were two taverns in Bentley Green: the Fox and Hounds, which had a private parlor, and The Crosskeys, which didn’t. They chose the former.
At first the landlord of the Fox and Hounds was reluctant to hire the parlor out to them.
“We have plenty of so-called gentlemen willing to pay to seat themselves in here away from the common folk,” he said suspiciously, looking Valentine up and down. “Why should I let you have the whole parlor for only three persons when I can fit a full dozen in there?”
“Because I am Lord Kent and I do not want to share,” Valentine said in a cold and haughty voice.
The man returned his stare, and then gave a respectful nod. “Fair enough then, Your Lordship. This way.”
Valentine caught George’s grin at Marissa as they made their way down the narrow, musty passage. “Valentine is an approachable fellow most of the time, but don’t ever forget he’s a lord of the realm.”
“Being a lord of the realm comes in handy,” Valentine retorted, “as you may find out one day.”
“Never,” his brother said firmly. “I am not hanging out for your title, Valentine. That is yours to pass down to your son.”
Caught by surprise, Valentine’s gaze slid to Marissa and quickly away again. She was looking down, her face in shadow, but he was certain he saw the curve of her mouth, and her dimple, and wondered what she was thinking.
The parlor was shabby but at least they were able to eat their meal in peace, and the food was well-cooked and plentiful. The landlord followed the serving girl in and asked if all was to their liking. From his change in attitude it was obvious he’d made inquiries about Lord Kent and, liking what he’d heard, hoped to do further business with him.
Valentine took the opportunity to question him about the Beauchamp family.
“Beauchamp? Aye, I know them. What do you want with them, if I may be so bold, Your Lordship?”
“That’s none of your business. Answer the question.”
The landlord of the Fox and Hounds seemed to respond well to Valentine’s autocratic manner. “They used to live in the great house about two miles south of Bentley Bottom, but one of the Beauchamps had a liking for London gambling tables and they went bust and lost it, oh, probably two generations ago. Now and then the place gets leased by visiting gentry, but it’s been empty for a year or more. Too big, you see, and in need of too many repairs.”
“And what happened to the family after they lost the house?” Marissa asked.
“Some of them still live in the village but now they’s as poor as church mice. The rest are scattered far and wide.”
“And this house…it was definitely the only one owned by them?”
“Used to be owned by them. Aye. There was another house on the same land before that one, but it was pulled down to make way for this present one. At the time the Beauchamp lady wanted everything bigger and better—she even had the flower beds and the orchard dug up, so’s she could plant a garden in the new fashion. Ten years later they lost everything.”
Grimly Valentine nodded his dismissal.
“She had the flower beds dug up?” Marissa repeated, when they were alone again. She didn’t need to say more; they were all thinking it.
Is there any point in looking for the Crusader’s Rose?
“We have to make certain,” Valentine said. “Even if it is not the original building the land has been in the family for centuries. The rose may have seeded into the new garden.”
Once more he was clutching at straws and he knew it, but he couldn’t afford not to be thorough in his search. If he missed something and then Von Hautt found it, he’d never be able to live with himself.
Back in the market place, the stallholders were beginning to pack away their wares and the farmers were loading up their carts and preparing for the journey home. The weather had been fine for days, but now the summer sun had disappeared beneath a bank of cloud, and there was a distinct smell of approaching rain in the air.
It didn’t take them long to collect their equipage and horses and set off to the south. Bentley Bottom was a scatter of cottages, soon passed. None of them spoke as they headed along the road, fields on one side and a thick copse of trees on the other. As they left the shelter of the trees Marissa suddenly made a little sound in her throat, and Valentine turned to see what was wrong.
She was staring to her left. “How utterly horrible,” she said with a shudder.
The house was like a great dark bird, glaring down at them, and even Valentine, who was usually not susceptible to atmosphere, felt a prickle of dread.
“Good God.”
“Is that it, do you think? The Beauchamp house?”
She sounded as if she hoped not, but he pointed out the faded name attached to one of a pair of crumbling pillars flanking a narrow lane. Beauchamp Place. They turned up the lane and drew closer to the house. There was a depressing decrepitude about the brick façade, and several windows were boarded up.
“No wonder it is unoccupied,” he said. “I can’t imagine anyone choosing to live here.”
“It’s like something from a fairy tale,” Marissa said, managing a lopsided smile. “One of the more unpleasant ones.”
“The garden doesn’t appear to have been touched for a hundred years.”
Marissa followed his gaze and her face fell. “Oh dear.”
A ramshackle wooden gate barred their way, and beyond it brambles grew rampant across what were now only memories of pathways and borders and arbors that must once have been neatly trimmed.
George stared. “How are we going to search this place? We need a team of helpers with scythes and shovels and—and pickaxes.”
Valentine waved a hand dismissively. “I know what I’m looking for,” he said, with far more confidence than he was feeling. He glanced at Marissa again. She looked cold and downhearted and he wanted to put his arms about her and hold her until she was warm. Instead he said, with polite diffidence, “Do you want to wait in the carriage, Marissa?”
She seemed surprised, and then pulled a scornful face. “No, of course not,” she declared. “What a poor creature I’d be if I did that. I’ve been to worse places than this, believe me.”
“But not with me,” he said, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “This isn’t the sort of place I would ever willingly bring you to.”
Thankfully George was busy trying to open the gate and hadn’t overheard him. But Marissa was watching him, her dark eyes seemingly trying to see inside his head and discover what he was really saying.