“Kill myself. Or make the French kill me, which is the same thing.”
Tristan went white. “Robert,” he whispered.
“I couldn’t see any other way out of Chateau Pagnon, and I couldn’t stand to be there any longer. I couldn’t stand it, so I…convinced them to shoot me to death. Except that the Spanish resistance found me before I could crawl off to die.”
“You wouldn’t…”
“Try it again? No. Not voluntarily. But that’s why I can’t explain to anyone else about Pagnon, and that’s why I have to take care of this, because it is my fault, and because if any of you get caught doing something to help me, I…couldn’t stand it. For God’s sake, Tris, you’re going to be a father in a month.”
Tristan grabbed his arm. “I know that,” he hissed. “And I want my child to have an uncle.”
“He’ll have at least three uncles.” Robert tried to wrench free, but Tristan wouldn’t let him go.
“Yes, but I want him to have one who has some common sense and intelligence. And that’s you.” With a growl, the viscount let him go. “All I’m trying to say is, don’t exclude me—or any of us—because you think it’s for our own good. Let us decide that.”
“I’ll consider it.” He closed his eyes for a minute, because he knew he could never include them. It wasn’t that he thought it was for their own good; he knew it. “Just so you know, Dare, the Horse Guards are having me followed.”
“What? How—”
“I lost them in Piccadilly. They’ll be back here any time now.”
“Sweet Lucifer,” Tristan swore. “Is there anything else you’d like to tell me today? Because I’d really like to have a drink first, if there’s more.”
“That’s all I can think of at the moment.” Except for Lucinda, of course, but Robert didn’t think he could put that into words any more than he thought Tristan would be able to understand his obsession.
After the horses were saddled, he boosted Edward up onto his mount and watched them trot down the drive. A groom followed behind, his horse laden with fishing poles.
“Anything else, sir?” Gimble asked as he led Tolley into his stall.
Robert patted the gelding’s neck, receiving a nuzzle on the shoulder in return. “No, we’re fine.”
“Very good, sir.”
He needed to think, but he knew he made the grooms nervous when he hung about the stable, so he wandered out to his rose garden. The plants amazed him; two weeks ago they’d been sticks with a few leaves and thorns, dead-looking but for the faint green in the leaves. This afternoon new shoots and leaves sprouted everywhere, and on one of the larger plants he swore he could detect the beginnings of a bud.
A few more weeds had managed to spring practically full grown out of the soil as well, and he squatted down to yank them out of the ground. It would have been nice if villains were as easy to find among his fellows as were weeds among roses, but since he’d spent three years looking and feeling rather like a weed himself, he supposed—and hoped—that the analogy wouldn’t work.
And of course there was the extended metaphor of the impossibility of a tranquil existence for him, once again as the scrawny, half-dead weed, and Lucinda as the blooming, blushing rose—but that didn’t help much, either. Not that it mattered; he’d held her in his arms, told her his deepest secret, and she still planned to marry Geoffrey Newcombe.
Geoffrey Newcombe. Robert had never thought much of him, and since Lucinda had named him as her matrimonial mate of preference, the indifference had become dislike. Now with this disaster before him and Geoffrey looking like the portrait of a young patriot while Robert’s own appearance seemed to become more foul each day, it wasn’t even dislike any longer. No, Robert realized, as he dug out the last of the weeds with his fingers, it wasn’t dislike. It was hatred. He hated Lord Geoffrey Newcombe with a passion that surprised him.
Robert slammed his fist into the earth. And what was he supposed to do? Sit there in the dirt and let Lucinda settle for someone else simply because the other fellow was amiable? Who, though, if not Geoffrey? Himself? He snorted. Him, marrying. And not just anyone—Lucinda Guinevere Barrett. As if he could, even if he wanted to, with a hangman’s noose practically around his neck for treason. If nothing else, he needed—wanted—to prove everyone wrong about that.
“Bit, are you punching earthworms?” Georgiana’s soft voice came from behind him.
He jumped. “No. Just thinking.” Unclenching his fist, he dusted the dirt off his knuckles.
“About what?”
“About how I might obtain a piece of paper I’m not supposed to have access to from a place I’m not permitted to go. While I’m being watched by men I’m not supposed to know are lurking out there in the shrubbery.”
“Oh. Have someone else get it for you, then.”
He swung around to look at her. “That would mean involving someone else in this mess.”
She pursed her lips. “Well, I could state the obvious, that other people already are involved. Or I could say, why don’t you ask and see whether any of your family or friends might be willing to help?”
“And how could I possibly ask—”
“Why, yes, I’d love to help. Which piece of paper did you say you needed?” she interrupted.
“Georgiana, you can’t—”
“Too late. I’ve already volunteered.” She smiled, humor and a surprising determination in her eyes. “I dislike seeing people I love accused of things they didn’t do. It irritates me. Which piece of paper?”
Robert stood. All of the Carroways’ lives had changed when Georgiana had moved into the house, his perhaps more than anyone’s but Tristan. If nothing else, her coming had brought Lucinda into his small, dark world, and blasted it into the sunlight. “It’s a page from the sign-in book for visitors at the Horse Guards. I need to know who was there last week.”
“And where is this book located?”
“Just inside the front entry. It’s manned by a sentry.”
“Do you think it’ll still be there? With an investigation going on?”
He nodded. “From everything I’ve heard, they suspect a robbery by a stranger, not by someone who was an accepted, regular visitor.”
“Good.” She glanced down the front drive. “Are men actually lurking in the shrubbery?”
“They came back about five minutes ago. I…have it on good authority that they’re here to watch me.”
“When this is over, General Barrett and I are going to have a little chat,” she said, her eyes glinting. “Very well. You stay here in the garden until I leave.”
“Leave? You’re not—”
“I never thought I’d say this to you, Robert, but be quiet. This is women’s work. Now I have a quick note to write. Remember, don’t return to the house until I’ve gone.”
Apparently she was more annoyed by this than he’d realized. He lifted an eyebrow as she stomped back inside. A footman charged out a moment later and hailed a hack. Robert fetched a watering can, deliberately turning his back on the house and the carriage drive. Whatever she had planned, he wasn’t going to complicate it any further.
Ten minutes after the footman vanished, a coach rumbled onto the drive. He managed a glance in that direction as he pretended to pluck an insect from a leaf. The red-and-yellow St. Aubyn crest glinted on the carriage door. Whatever Georgie had written, it had been effective.
She strolled out to the coach and climbed inside with ample assistance from her maid and Evelyn, and the two ladies, along with the servant, departed in the conveyance. Robert finished watering and returned to the house. Whatever she had planned, he was going to have to wait.
“Lucinda!”
Lucinda started, nearly tripping as she descended from her father’s coach to the ground. “Geoffrey?”
He pulled his bay to a stop and jumped down, striding up the drive. “I need to speak with you.”
Lucinda glanced toward the house, where Ballow had already pulled open th
e door in anticipation of her return. “I’ve just returned from luncheon,” she stammered. She should have felt guilty; twenty minutes earlier she’d been kissing Robert Carroway. Her first emotion as this man took her hand, however, was annoyance. She needed to figure out how to obtain a list of Horse Guards personnel without alerting her father, and she didn’t have time for a row with Geoffrey. “If you’d care to wait in the sitting room for a few mo—”
“No, please, walk with me. I need to see you now.”
Geoffrey wrapped her fingers around his arm. She’d never seen him so passionate about anything. Beginning to feel a little alarmed, she nodded, gesturing toward her rose garden, where at least they wouldn’t require a chaperone. “A brief walk.”
Their pace as they rounded the side of the house was closer to a trot, and she pulled back against his arm to slow him down. He merely changed his grip to her hand, towing her to the stone bench at one side of the garden.
“There,” he said, gesturing for her to take a seat.
“Geoffrey, what is going on?”
“Sit, please.”
She complied, but he continued pacing back and forth in front of her. Until this point nothing, including her snapping at him, had elicited anything stronger than an apology from him. What could have upset him?
“Geoffrey, whatever it is, please tell me.”
He came to a stop in front of her. “I followed you,” he said.
Ice ran through her heart. “What?”
“I’m not blind, Lucinda. I’ve seen the way you look at that…at Robert Carroway. And since we argued this morning, I thought you might…go to see him. So I followed you to St. Aubyn’s residence.”
For a moment she thought her heart would pound right through her chest. Oh, no. If her father found out that she’d gone behind his back yet again, he would never forgive her. “I didn’t know he would be th—”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re a female. I understand your kind’s penchant for taking in stray dogs and wounded birds.” He sat beside her, grasping her hand again. “I told your father I would wait until this mess is settled, but I find that I’m not that patient.”
Lucinda fought the abrupt urge to run shrieking into the house. This was what she wanted, she reminded herself. This was why she’d selected Geoffrey for her lessons. Be calm, be calm.
He reached out with his free hand and slowly tilted up her chin. Leaning in, he touched his lips to hers. Back in the stable she could hear the low chatter of the grooms, while closer by, a phaeton rolled down the street and a pair of crows cawed at each other up on the roof.
After a moment he sat back, smiling and much more in control. “You see, we are suited for each other.”
Lucinda studied his face, the confidence in his straight shoulders. How odd, that she’d felt more moved when her father had accepted her word correction on one of his manuscript pages than by handsome Geoffrey’s kiss. If this was what Robert meant by an amiable existence, she wasn’t certain she liked it all that much.
Geoffrey slid off the bench and sank to one knee. “Call me forward, or accuse me of impropriety, but I need to know, Lucinda—will you be my wife?”
“My friends are in trouble, Geoffrey. You can’t expect me to forget about that in favor of something else.”
“We don’t need to marry tomorrow. I only want to know if you will do me the honor. When this is over, if you prefer.”
All she had to do was say yes, and her father would be happy, she would have a secure, comfortable future, and Geoffrey would have his major’s command in India. Heavens, if she wanted to, she could even join him there. The general would probably travel with them as well. Still, she couldn’t rid herself of a vision of someone else’s eyes, someone else’s voice, someone else’s touch. “I’m not certain yet,” she said slowly. “My mind is…my concern is elsewhere right now.”
He gazed at her for a moment. “I’ve just asked you to marry me, and you’re telling me you’re too busy to consider it?”
“No! For goodness’ sake, no. It’s just that you and I can have this discussion tomorrow, or next week, or next month. Robert Carroway needs help now, or it will be too late.”
Geoffrey straightened. “I have to admit, I do admire your loyalty,” he murmured, sitting beside her again. “For your own sake, though, I hope you’ve considered one very small possibility: that Robert Carroway might be lying to you.”
“He’s n—”
“If he took those papers, do you think he would admit to it? To you? You’re General Barrett’s daughter. Who better to have on his side than you? I would imagine that over the past week or so he’s gone to great pains to ingratiate himself with you, Lucinda. You are his best, last, and only real hope.”
“You shouldn’t say such things,” she said, dismayed that her voice was as shaky as her nerves. The problem was, she realized, that Geoffrey was right. Guilty or innocent, she was Robert’s best chance of escape from this.
“I know I shouldn’t, and I don’t want to upset you.” Taking a deep breath, he stood again, pulling her up after him. “I have asked you a question. Let it remain that way, while you consider. And I want you to know that whatever might happen with your friend, I will not abandon you.”
“Thank you, Geoffrey.” She forced a smile. “I do need to do some thinking.” What was wrong with her? She’d been offered everything she wanted, and she needed to think about it? And people said Robert was mad.
“Take all the time you need, my dear.”
With that, he took his leave, this time placing a more chaste kiss on her cheek. Lucinda sank back down onto the bench and lowered her head to her hands. What a mess. What a disaster. This was precisely what she’d wanted to avoid: entanglements, questioned loyalties, complications. All she needed to do was say yes to Geoffrey, and with the wave of a magic faerie wand, her life could be simple and amiable again.
She blew out her breath. At least she still had a little time.
When Geoffrey rounded the house, out of Lucinda’s sight, he cracked his riding crop so hard across his thigh that the flimsy thing broken into two pieces. He cast it into the shrubbery and collected his horse. He hated complications. Nor was he very fond of Robert Carroway.
The front door of Carroway House opened. Before it could close again, Robert dashed out the library door. Bradshaw and Andrew stood in the foyer, handing over their hats and coats to Dawkins.
“Damnation,” he muttered.
Shaw looked over at him. “Hello to you, too.”
“Hello. Apologies. I’m waiting for Georgie.”
“Ah. And would you know anything about the pair of men hiding in the bushes across the way?”
“They’re spying on me,” he answered.
“Not very well, I have to say. Shall I go roust them?”
Robert shook his head. “I’d rather they know where I am.”
Bradshaw frowned as he dumped his gloves into his hat. “Well, I feel the need to thrash someone.” He looked sideways at Andrew. “Up for a game of billiards?”
“Very amusing.” Andrew snatched the stack of letters Dawkins handed him. “Fortunately, I still happen to have friends who don’t know anything about what’s going on in London.” He glanced at Robert, a half-apologetic, half-angry look on his face. “I need to write them back, and see if I can keep it that way.” He stalked toward Tristan’s office.
“Andrew,” Shaw snapped at him. “That was uncalled for.”
“Leave him be,” Robert said. “This affects him as much as it does you.”
“Which would be about a quarter of how much it affects you,” Shaw returned, climbing the stairs. “Play billiards with me.”
Robert decided that he might as well, and followed his brother. He’d read the same page of Frankenstein nine times in a row, and still couldn’t remember what it said. “It’s funny,” he said, pulling down a pair of cues and tossing one of them to Shaw, “now that I’m not supposed to go anywhere, I find myself wishing
that I’d spent more time outside.”
“You’re not going to prison, Bit. I won’t allow it.”
“That’s little self-important of you, wouldn’t you say?”
Shaw shook his head as he lined up the balls. “I don’t know if you’ve realized it, but you’ve taken on a rather frightening resemblance to the Robert I used to know, say five years ago. I like having him around again.” Leaning down, he aimed and took his shot. “And just to keep you informed of current events, my ship is about three days away from being finished with its refitting in Portsmouth.”
Robert’s heart lurched. “At least you’ll be clear of this, then.”
“You misunderstand me. I’m taking another few weeks’ leave, until this idiocy is resolved. What I meant to say is that if it should prove necessary, I’ll have clear sailing to the Americas, on a ship their President would no doubt be happy to add to his navy.”
For a long moment Robert stared at his brother. “Bradshaw, you can’t be serious.”
“I’m deadly serious. No one’s taking you to prison, Bit. Not after what you went through at Chateau Pagnon.” He paused. “I ran into Tristan in Hyde Park. He told me about…what you told him this morning. But don’t worry, Andrew and Edward don’t know.”
“No.” Robert shook his head. “Promise me you won’t throw your career away for me. No matter what happens.”
“The Runt always said I should turn pirate, anyway.” He grinned. “It’s your shot.”
Before he could decide whether Shaw had merely said that to throw off his billiards game or because he actually meant it, he heard female giggling coming from the stairs. Thank God. At least Georgie and Evelyn hadn’t been arrested on his behalf. Everyone was going insane. And it was a sad state of affairs when, out of everyone in the group, he made the most sense.
“Bit?”
“We’re in here,” Shaw called.
The two ladies marched through the gaming room doorway and then collapsed on the chairs along the near wall. Both of them were laughing, and Lady St. Aubyn in particular seemed close to collapse.
England's Perfect Hero Page 24