Her bedchamber had been set up for their wedding night, lush bedding turned down, a covered tray upon the table, an open bottle of wine breathing next to it. Francisca pushed through the dressing room door with her customary scowl.
He snagged a biscuit from the tray. “We will not need you, Francisca. You may return to Reina.”
Gracie sent him a glare and went to the bedside drawer. “We must return downstairs,” she said in Spanish. “Here it is.” She quickly hugged the maid. “I shall be all right,” she said, and headed for the door.
“She will be.” He took two steps and grasped the maid’s bony hands. “I will take care of her.”
He would. By God, he would. Tonight, he would get her through this next discovery.
Chapter 27
A little while later, Charley was seated next to Gracie at the library table, watching as Kincaid took the tiny book apart.
“Never liked a book for messages,” Kincaid said. “I much preferred script hidden in a cane or saddle pommel or a boot, or a coded open letter.”
She bristled next to him, ever defensive of her father.
“But I do admire resilience and adaptability.” Kincaid had noticed her reaction, the wily old trickster. “What do you suppose, miss, he might have written here?”
“I do not know.”
She was telling the truth. He glanced at his father and Farnsworth.
A few worn pages held handwritten words, notes by Gracie’s mother, words of love in her father’s writing. No code in those.
Kincaid’s beefy hands were as deft and as delicate as a diamond setter’s.
Farnsworth, on her other side, leaned closer. “I should not like to bring up painful memories, but whatever you can remember will help us. Did Captain Kingsley say anything more about your mother’s death?”
Charley touched her shoulder, feeling her tense and sent the old spies a warning glare. There was more, he was quite sure, but now that her first secrets were out, she needed time to face this. She needed more time to trust.
Lord Shaldon ignored him. “What Lord Farnsworth means, is, it might help to understand the motive, my dear.” His voice was gentle. “And that might help us in our search for the killer.”
“You do mean to search?” she asked.
“We shall do more than search,” Charley said. “We’ll find and bring to justice.”
She sent him a quick glance, as if realizing he was still there, and blinked, unseeing, frozen to her seat. “Money?” Her gaze went to the window. “Is it not always money that is the cause in these disputes?”
“Sometimes ’tis love,” Kincaid said without looking. “Or a need to silence someone who knows the truth.” His razor slid through a stitch and he inhaled sharply.
As much emotion as Charley had ever seen in him.
“Clever,” Kincaid muttered. With the tiniest of tweezers, he withdrew a folded paper. He slipped on a pair of cotton gloves.
“Let me.” Gracie pushed back her chair and stood. “It is mine, after all.”
Father nodded, and Kinkaid yielded his seat at the table. Charley went to look over her shoulder.
The filmy paper was so thin, it might have been transparent, but it was new, fresh, and stable. She worked with care, her small hands unfolding the document.
The writing was too tiny to read from here, but he could see handwritten lists marching down the paper in even rows.
She peered closely. “If these are dates, they go back to before I was born.”
His father’s eyes lit, and Charley’s gut clenched. This was a code of some sort.
Codes were not his area of expertise. Codes required analytical precision, and only agreed upon irregularity. “Father, when you have deciphered this, Gracie must know what it is.”
She looked up. “You think it is a cipher?”
“Yes.” Shaldon pinched his brows together. Charley knew that look. It was the spymaster reflexively holding back from sharing. Father hated revelations, unless they were someone else’s. “I met your father years ago. He became a Spanish citizen with his majesty’s blessing, though he would have done so anyway to win your mother. He sent reports whenever he could, and we had a code that we worked with. I believe we can work this one out. But Graciela, will you tell us everything he told you about your mother’s death? Every piece of information will help.”
She dropped her gaze, her long lashes hiding her eyes. “We lodged in a small house in the center of Veracruz and waited for Father’s return. And then the fever came and Mother fell sick first. When our friend, Consuela—there were five of us, six with Reina in the small house—when Consuela became ill, we made Francisca and Juan take Reina away, out of the town. My mother, she began to recover. She was so very weak, but the fever broke and she was able to get up and to help with Consuela who by this time was very, very ill. And then the sickness struck me.”
Charley crouched by her chair, took her hands, and began chafing them. She had gone cold, trembling as if the fever and chills were still upon her.
“Mama put me into her bed in the tiny bedchamber. Consuela was on a pallet in the parlor and neither of us could move her. How many days passed, I do not know. Mama came in and out, and then Captain Llewellyn was there, and then Papa. He stayed by my bedside and when the fever broke, he told me Mama and Consuela had died. Of the fever, I assumed. He buried them, sent for Reina, Francisca, and Juan, carried me onto his ship, and we left.”
The parts she was leaving out, her grief, her father’s anguish, were tearing her up inside. Her turmoil churned inside of him.
“Before he left England to return to Mexico, he told me the truth. Captain Llewellyn had arrived in the port hours before Papa and had gone right to Mama’s to tell her the ship would follow closely and to check on them. Captain Llewellyn had surprised a man. He found Mama and Consuela dead.”
“Who was he?” Father exchanged a look with Kincaid.
“I don’t know. Captain Llewellyn killed him. Papa saw that body also. He said he didn’t recognize the man. He would say nothing more.” She glanced down at Charley. “I wanted to question Captain Llewellyn about this."
“We will do that,” Charley said.
“Papa trusted him, Charley, like he trusted your father.” Her forehead crinkled. “He is leaving soon. So much happened tonight, I’d almost forgot he said that.”
“He won’t be leaving until he talks to us.” His heart hurt. He wanted to wrap her up and take her to bed and show her that he was her champion now. Whatever was to be uncovered from this code, other men would do it. His job was taking care of her.
The three other men might not have been there, they waited so quietly. Not ones to rush their fences. It had kept them alive for this long.
A distant watchman called the hour.
Father sighed audibly.
“What happened after you left Veracruz?”
Farnsworth’s gently prodding question was the third crowing cock.
Gracie’s face twisted with anguish. She turned her hands and gripped his. “We left in as great a rush as possible. Papa careened all over the Caribbean, hitting this port and that. He wouldn’t say why, and I was too weak to press him, and...shut out. He was grieving and so very angry.” She choked in a breath. “He had always been jolly with us. Losing Mama...” She looked up at Father. “Losing his wife, in such a way...We were headed for Spain when we stopped in the Azores. He went off to meet someone, and came back, and we changed course for Portsmouth. Then Papa took us to London, and then to Lord Kingsley’s country estate. He went back and forth to London, and one day, he pulled me aside and told me what had really happened to Mama, and that he was l-leaving.”
She looked at the men. “Then he gave me the prayer book and showed me the blade hidden inside and reminded me—he had already taught me some things—he reminded me how to use it properly.”
“We should get the prayer book back also,” Kincaid said, “On the chance the Captain had a backup. Did you leave anything else
behind, miss?”
She shook her head. “Only clothing and brushes. I brought my jewelry and the money I’d hidden.”
He caught Father’s nod.
Charley would go to Kingsley House tomorrow to demand his bride’s things. With any luck, the Kingsleys would be out, and he would simply push the servants aside and take them.
“Will you promise to tell me what you uncover?” she asked, “Even if you think the knowledge is not good for me. Will you promise to tell me, on your honor as gentlemen?”
All three agreed, their reluctance palpable.
Charley raised her hand to his lips. “I promise you will know everything I know.”
She expelled a long breath, pulled her hand away, and reached for the book.
“We will need that,” Kincaid said. “If there’s a code, it will likely relate to the pages and writing inside. I shall keep it safe, and repair the loose stitching. I promise that.”
Graciela closed her eyes for a moment, fatigue settling over her like another suffocating fever.
“You had better, Kincaid.” That was Charley’s voice. He had stood. He would want to take her to bed, to consummate their marriage.
She longed for his arms, for his comfort, for the pleasure he stirred in her.
She could not let him think he had won her over. She must see the results of Kincaid’s analysis, she must see Llewellyn’s report, and speak with Llewellyn.
She must check on Reina. The need to see her little girl gripped her. The whole world knew now that Reina was hers.
“Very well. I will go up.”
Charley’s hand closed on her elbow. “Good night, Father, gentlemen.”
“You may stay, if you wish, Charley,” she said.
“It is our wedding night.” His whisper warmed her neck.
When they reached her floor, she paused on the landing, planning to send him on to bed.
“I’m going with you to the nursery,” he said.
“You may do as you wish.”
What he wished was apparently to stay glued to her side. In the nursery’s outer chamber, Juan jumped to his feet, saluting them. Francisca, he said, was still waiting in Graciela’s chamber. A nursemaid was in with the child.
Her child.
The nursemaid dropped her knitting and rose also. “She’s sound asleep this last hour,” she whispered, and Graciela heard the implied caution.
She put a finger to her lips and went to the small bed.
Her heart swelled and pushed a smile to her lips. Reina curled around the soft knitted shawl that she’d slept with since she was born, her thumb in her mouth, her thick hair spread over the pillow cover. Tiny puffs of breath spelled out her slumber, and a twist of her lip signaled a dream.
Charley touched the tip of one finger to the round cheek and Reina’s grimace relaxed. “She’ll have a good life.” He whispered the promise, his warm breath stirring her.
Graciela straightened the light counterpane, touched a long curl, and let Charley lead her away.
In the outer room she stopped and spoke briefly to Juan. It was right that he should know the truth about Reina. He listened, his face solemn, and then he lifted her hand and kissed it.
She could not speak then. Charley steered her out into the hall.
“It’s good we did not wake her,” she said finally. “You would have had to hold her awhile.”
“I wouldn’t mind, though tonight, I’d rather be holding you.”
“Charley, I—”
“Holding you, Gracie. Holding you will suffice for a night such as this.” He paused at the landing and cast her a wicked grin. “Unless you want to do more.”
She reached for the handrail and started down the stairs.
He quickly caught up. “I shall give her our name, with your permission. Or, if you wish she will be Kingsley-Everly. She will have a good life, with aunts and uncles and cousins, and two grandfathers.” He stopped. “Your father probably suspected the truth, do you not think?”
Had he? She shook her head.
“Will he—”
“Accept her? I don’t know. I hope so. Even in all of his grief, he treated her fondly.”
“She’s part of you, so he will love her also. She’ll have those connections no matter where we take her. And of course, she’ll travel with us. She’ll have two parents who love her.”
Since the moment she fell into his arms, Charley had chipped away at the wall in her heart, and now it threatened to shatter. She breathed in, beating back tears. He could be such a good liar, her Charley, yet she believed these words. Reina believed in him.
It had been right to acknowledge her daughter, and right to bring her under the Earl of Shaldon’s protection.
In the light of a hall lamp, she caught Charley’s unguarded look, determined, thoughtful, and fierce.
No, she was right to bring her under Charles Everly’s protection.
She reached for him and pulled him into a long kiss before breaking away.
“We did not finish our lessons last night because you were being honorable,” she said.
“I was.” His hand slid around to her breast and began exploring. “And if you’re too tired, I won’t ask—”
“I’m asking.” She smiled up at him.
She wanted that lesson, and then she had more answers to pry from him.
Chapter 28
When they entered the bedchamber, Francisca cast Charley a steely-eyed gaze.
He would lock all the damn doors tonight, he would. They would stay abed until at least noon.
He released his hold on Gracie’s arm, went to the table, and poured two glasses of wine.
Gracie went to Francisca and a whispered conversation ensued, Spanish flying between the two women. The older woman’s stolid gaze softened, and as her questions were answered went stony again.
The servants had indeed not known about Reina’s parentage. How remarkable.
Juan’s interest had been heartfelt and circumspect. Francisca wanted answers, so many that Charley was pouring himself a second glass, and both women were crying.
And hugging. Francisca fell into Gracie’s arms, and they clutched each other as if both of them had just survived a catastrophe.
It was an entirely un-English maneuver.
Then the wiry maid was gripping his hand, perilously close to hugging him.
He bent over the thin hands and thanked her for her loyalty to Gracie and Reina, and promised to protect all of them, including Francisca and Juan. Francisca whispered back, apologies, best wishes and promises of service, patted his shoulder and disappeared from the room.
He met Gracie’s stunned gaze. In the lamplight, her eyes glowed with tears.
“Well,” he said. “She took that gracefully.”
She inhaled deeply, and let her breath out, her shoulders sagging.
“It’s a night for truth-telling,” he said.
Gracie straightened and a smile touched her lips. “Yes.”
“And, apparently, hugging.” Charley opened his arms. She flung herself into them.
The hugging was brief. She pulled his head down, pressed her lips to his, and then her hands went to work, pushing his coats off, untying his neck cloth, unfastening his fall.
Need filled him and drove him, his hands on her clothing clumsy. He heard fabric rip and her dress shimmied to the floor.
She turned in his arms. “Get these stays off me, Charley.”
He loosened her lacings, raked his fingers through her hair, letting the pins and combs fly, and turned her around again.
They were down to chemise and shirt and stockings.
She moved close and slid her hand between them, gazing up wickedly. “I shall hold you tonight.”
He gasped, and clasped his hand over hers. “Stop.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, searching for a distraction, something to slow his passion. “Else I will pop like a schoolboy before we’ve even begun.”
“Like you did last ni
ght?” she asked, grinning.
Delectable. Beautiful. His.
He pulled her hand away, shed the rest of his clothes, picked her up, and carried her to the bed.
Small hands tugged at his shoulders, surprisingly strong, pulling him in for another kiss. Her hands found his back, caressing him everywhere, teasing him.
He flipped onto his back taking her with him. Her hair veiled them, her breasts plumped on his chest.
“Tonight you must finish the lessons,” she said.
“I assure you, the lessons will take more than one night.”
He rolled her again and explored her body, finding the spots that brought laughter, those that brought pleasure until she was gasping and he was ready to burst.
“Now, Charley.” Her legs came around him like the twin arms of a nutcracker.
Crushing his cock between them. “Wait.” He pushed her legs down, positioned himself, and studied her face.
She nodded.
He eased in a bit and watched her.
“It does not hurt.” She smiled encouragingly.
He eased in more.
“Still good.”
He pulled out and plunged in, halfway. She gasped and said, “Oh,” a smile spreading over her face.
With his next thrust she pivoted against him and he filled her. And then he began to move in her, meeting her, matching her, waiting, listening for her until she shattered. Only then did he explode deep inside her.
Graciela stretched on her side and watched a beam of sunlight dance over the carpet. It was surely already late morning.
At the same time fingers tickled her side, trailed a path around to her breast, tapped a message that unfurled warmth from her heart to the overheated spot between her legs. As if having him pressed against her backside was not enough.
Charley had awakened, and it was, by her estimation, based entirely on her woman’s intuition, a good time to question him.
She grasped the hand planted on her breast. “Charley?”
“Mmmm.”
His fingers drifted over her, and she forced her mind back to her mission.
“Who is the traitor? We never truly got to that question tonight.”
The Rogue's Last Scandal Page 23