by Mary Balogh
But there was that other, too. He must talk with her. He would have done it that morning, but had not wanted to risk doing anything to spoil the day Pamela had been so looking forward to. He must talk with her the next day.
“Did you kill anyone, Papa?” Pamela asked.
“In the wars?” he said. “Yes, I’m afraid so. But I’m not proud of it. I cannot help thinking that those men had mamas and perhaps wives and children. War is a terrible thing, Pamela.”
She nestled her head against his chest. “I’m glad no one killed you, Papa,” she said.
He hugged her to him with one arm.
The carriage was drawing to a halt on the terrace as he and Pamela walked from the stables.
“Miss Hamilton,” he called as she was about to disappear through the servants’ doors.
She stopped and looked at him inquiringly.
“Attend me in the library immediately after breakfast tomorrow if you will,” he said.
She turned a shade paler. Perhaps she had heard that he had a tendency to conduct any unpleasant business in the library.
“Yes, your grace.” She curtsied and continued on her way.
Perhaps he should have said nothing, he thought, staring at the closed servants’ doors. Perhaps he should have just summoned her when he was ready for her. Probably she would worry all night about what she had done wrong.
“Tiny will be sad,” Pamela said, tugging on his hand. “She has been without me all afternoon.”
“Let’s go and see how happy she is to see you, then,” he said, smiling down at her.
THE DUCHESS HAD TAKEN to her bed in the middle of the afternoon after a prolonged coughing spell, with chest pains and a fever. She blamed the ride she had taken that morning with several of her guests. She did not ride very often, considering it a dangerous and generally unhealthy activity.
Lord Thomas Kent let himself into her bedchamber an hour before dinner and dismissed her maid. He sat on the side of the bed and took her grace’s hand in his.
“How are you, Sybil?” he asked.
“Oh, better,” she said, smiling at him. “I am just too lazy to get up. I will come to the drawing room after dinner.”
He raised her hand to his lips. “So beautiful and so delicate,” he said. “You do not look one day older than when we were betrothed. Will you look as young the next time I see you, I wonder.”
Her eyes flew to his face. “The next time?” she said. “You are not going away, Thomas? Oh, no. This is where you belong. You can’t go away again.”
“I have promised Adam,” he said, kissing her hand again and smiling gently at her.
“Promised Adam?” She gripped his hand. “What have you promised?”
“That I will leave within the week,” he said. “I cannot really blame him, Sybil. It is not like the last time. You are, after all, his wife.”
“His wife!” she said scornfully, sitting up and looking directly into his eyes. “I am his wife in name only, Thomas. I have never let him touch me. I swear I have not. I am yours. Only yours.”
“But in the eyes of the law you are his,” he said. “And there is Pamela to consider. She must never know the truth. It would be too hard for her to bear. I have been ordered to leave, Sybil, and leave I must. In all conscience, I must leave.”
“No!” she cried, gripping his hand even harder. She turned her head aside to cough. “Or if you must go, take me with you. I’ll leave him, Thomas. I cannot be away from you ever again. I’ll come with you.”
He drew her against him and kissed her lips. “I can’t take you,” he whispered against her ear. “I would not expose you to that sort of scandal, Sybil. And you could not leave Pamela without either of her parents. We must be brave.”
She wrapped her arms about his neck. “I don’t care,” she said. “I care only about you, Thomas. Nothing else matters to me. I am going to come with you.”
“Hush,” he said, rocking her in his arms. “Hush, now.”
And as she quietened down he kissed her again and fondled her breasts through the satin of her nightgown.
“Thomas,” she moaned, sinking back against her pillows. “I love you.”
“And I you,” he said, slipping the satin down over her shoulders and lowering his head to kiss her throat.
He straightened up when a tap at the door was succeeded by its opening.
The Duke of Ridgeway closed the door quietly behind his back. “You are feeling better?” he asked, his eyes on his wife. “I just heard from Armitage that you have been ill again this afternoon.”
“Yes, thank you,” she said curtly, turning her head away from him.
“You will wish to dress for dinner, Thomas,” he said. “You are in danger of being late.”
His brother smiled at him and left the room without a word.
“I have sent for Dr. Hartley to call on you tomorrow morning,” his grace said. “I can send for him to come immediately if you wish.”
“I have no need of a doctor,” she said, her face still averted.
“You must see him anyway,” he said. “Perhaps he can give you some new medicine that will cure you of that troublesome cough once and for all.”
She turned her head suddenly to look at him. “I hate you, Adam,” she said vehemently. “How I hate you!”
“For caring about your health?” he said.
“For not caring about me at all,” she said. “For ordering Thomas to leave again. You know we love each other. You know we always have. I hate you for ruining our lives.”
“He told you that I have ordered him to leave?” he asked.
“Do you deny it?” Her voice was sharp.
He looked at her for a long time, at the woman whom he had loved so passionately once upon a time and whom he could now only pity.
“I suppose that is what my words to him amounted to,” he said.
She turned her head away from him again. “I am going with him,” she said. “I am leaving you, Adam.”
“I doubt that he will take you,” he said quietly.
“You know him well,” she said. “You know that he would not hurt me for worlds. But he will take me when I have finally convinced him that I will be far more miserable here with respectability and you.”
“I doubt that he will take you,” he repeated. “I think perhaps this time you will have to face the truth, Sybil. I am sorry. I shall make your excuses to our guests for this evening. I shall come to see how you are later.”
“Don’t,” she said. “I don’t want to see you, Adam, not tonight or ever.”
He pulled the bell rope next to the bed and waited in silence until the duchess’s maid appeared.
“Her grace will need you, Armitage,” he said, and left the room.
FLEUR STEPPED INSIDE THE LIBRARY WHEN A footman opened the doors for her without either knocking or announcing her. The man closed the doors quietly behind her.
His grace was writing at the desk, though he put his pen down immediately after she came in, blotted carefully what he had written, and got to his feet. He looked at her with that piercing dark gaze that she always found so disconcerting.
She stood very still, her chin held high, her shoulders back. And she wondered, as she had wondered all through a disturbed night, if he was merely going to reprimand her for some unknown offense—but then, why the formal summons to the library?—or dismiss her or try to seduce her again. Or perhaps there was nothing momentous about the occasion at all. She waited.
“The Honorable Miss Isabella Fleur Bradshaw,” he said very quietly, “of Heron House in Wiltshire.”
Matthew had taken her seriously two days before after all, then. He had told everything. She raised her chin a notch higher.
“Jewel thief and murderer,” he said, “or so the suspicion goes. Every suspected criminal is innocent, of course, until proved guilty.”
Her eyes did not waver from his.
“Are you?” he asked. “A thief and a murderer, I mean?�
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“No, your grace.”
“Neither?”
“No, your grace.”
“And yet your cousin’s most costly jewels were found in the trunk that you were to have taken with you had you succeeded in leaving as planned.”
“Yes, your grace.”
“And there was a death.”
“Yes, your grace.”
“You fled,” he said, “when your cousin caught you in the act of committing the murder—to London, with nothing but the clothes you were wearing. A blue silk evening gown and gray cloak. And in London you hid and survived in any way you could.”
“Yes, your grace.”
“But you did not steal there?” he said. “Or even beg?”
“No.”
“You sold only what was yours to sell.”
“Yes.”
He came around the desk and crossed the room to stand a few feet in front of her.
“Will you tell me your story?” he asked. “We might be here all day if I have to ask questions and have monosyllables for answer.”
She continued to stare at him.
“Why not?” he asked.
“I will not be believed,” she said. “When all this is told in a court of law, Lord Brocklehurst will tell the version he has told you, and he will be believed, as you believe him. He is a man and a baron. I am a woman and a governess—and a whore. It is not worth my while to waste my breath.”
“I have learned nothing from Brocklehurst,” he said. “All I know, I have learned independently. I heard him call you Isabella. You yourself called your former home ‘Her—.’ I sent Houghton to Heron House to find out what he could about an Isabella.”
“Why?” The word was whispered.
He shrugged. “Because your past has always been shrouded in mystery,” he said. “Because I knew, unfortunately too late, that only extreme circumstances could have forced you into becoming what you became in London in my company. Because I saw the terror in your face when you first set eyes on Brocklehurst in my drawing room. Because both of you clearly lied about the degree of your acquaintance. Because I care.”
“Perhaps it is as well,” she said. “You have tried to make a liar and a thief and a murderer into your mistress.”
“Is that what you believe of me, Fleur?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Even though I sent you to bed rather than accompany you to your room that night for fear I would not be able to let you go?” he said. “Even though I have not come near you since, except to apologize?” He passed a hand over his brow and sighed. “Come and sit down.”
“No,” she said.
“Fleur,” he said, “will you turn around and open the door?”
She looked at him warily and did so.
“Close it again,” he said. “What did you see?”
“The footman who let me in here,” she said.
“Do you know him?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “He is Jeremy.”
“Do you know him well? Do you like him?”
“He is always friendly and courteous,” she said.
“He is to stand there,” he said, “until you emerge or until he is summoned or until I send him away. If you were to scream, he would rush in here to your rescue. Come and sit down.”
She preceded him straight-backed to two upright chairs close to the window and sat down on one. She folded her hands in her lap.
“The man who died was your cousin’s valet?” he said, taking the other chair. But he did not wait for her answer. “Did you have anything at all to do with his death?”
“Yes,” she said. “I killed him.”
“But you do not call yourself a murderer,” he said. “Why not?”
“He was a great strong man,” she said. “He was going to hold me while Matthew ravished me. I pushed him as he came up behind me. He must have been off-balance, as we were very close to the hearth. He fell and hit his head.”
“And died?”
“Yes,” she said. “He died instantly.”
“Had your cousin expressed his intent?” he asked.
“He said that before I left the house again no other man would ever want me,” she said. “I believe I was screaming and fighting. I saw him nod to Hobson.”
“His valet?”
“Yes. And then he came up behind me.” She caught sight of her hands, which were twisting in her lap. She stilled them.
“Brocklehurst’s mother and sister had left for London?” he asked. “Why did they leave you without a chaperone?”
“They do not care for me,” she said.
“You were going to the rectory,” he said, “to stay with Miss Booth. Why did you leave it until the evening?”
“You are well-informed,” she said. “You appear to know everything.”
“Houghton is a good man,” he said. “But it is the whys that still puzzle me.”
“Matthew was expecting guests,” she said. “They would have played cards and got drunk. I could have slipped away unnoticed. But they did not come. It was the day his mother and sister left. I suppose he planned a night alone with me.”
“But you tried to leave anyway?” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “He caught me. I think he knew and was waiting for me.”
“You did not steal the jewels?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “I knew nothing of them until he mentioned them to me here.”
“And so you fled,” he said, “with only the clothes you were wearing. No money?”
“A little in my cloak pocket,” she said. “Very little.”
“Why did you not go to the Reverend Daniel Booth?” he asked.
She looked at him and bit her lip. “Daniel?” she said. “They would have come for me there immediately. Besides, he would not have harbored a killer.”
“Not even if he loved her?” he said.
She swallowed.
“How long did it take you to get to London?” he asked.
“About a week, I think,” she said. “Perhaps longer.”
He got to his feet and stood looking out through the window for several minutes, his back to her.
“I would guess that Brocklehurst is prepared to make a trade,” he said. “Your body in exchange for your life. Am I right?”
“Yes,” she said.
“What is your decision?” he asked. “Have you decided?”
“It is easy to be heroic in one’s imagination,” she said. “I am not so sure I will be a hero when it comes to the point. I told him two days ago that I would not marry him or be his mistress or have anything more to do with him, and yet when he gave me a few more days to make a final decision, I did not have the courage to repeat what I had just said.”
“And yet,” he said, turning to look at her over his shoulder, “you are capable of great courage, Fleur. I have seen proof of it, if you will remember—in a certain inn room in London.”
She felt herself flush.
“You might have asked for my help, you know,” he said. “I would have given it. And even if I had said no, I could hardly have done worse to you than what I did. But you had the pride and courage—and foolishness—to sell what was yours rather than beg.”
She lowered her eyes from his.
“It is not always like that, you know,” he said quietly. “When coupled with love, it can be a beautiful experience, Fleur—for the woman as well as the man. Don’t be afraid of all men as I know you are afraid of me.”
She realized she was biting on her lower lip again only when she tasted blood.
“Now,” he said, “what are we going to do about your situation? It is not as hopeless as you seem to think. There are several defenses that can be made.”
She laughed.
“Will you allow me to help you?” he asked.
“There were no witnesses,” she said, “except Matthew and me. And my maid was the one who discovered the jewels in my trunk. There is no defense except th
e truth, your grace, and the truth will sound lamentably false when set against the word of Baron Brocklehurst.”
He bent down suddenly and took both her hands in his. She had not realized how cold hers were until they were enveloped in the warmth of his.
“You are not going to hang, Fleur,” he said, “or languish in prison. I promise you that. You have been living with that terror for weeks, haven’t you? Why did you not come to me sooner? But of course, I am the last person you would come to, am I not? For today and perhaps tomorrow I want you to stay with Pamela during lesson times and with Mrs. Laycock at other times. If Brocklehurst tries to speak with you, it is my order as your employer that you keep away from him. Understood?”
“You cannot help me,” she said.
He stooped down on his haunches and looked up into her face. His hold on her hands tightened. “I can,” he said, “and I will, though I know that you do not trust me. Do you really believe that I brought you here to be my mistress?”
“It does not matter,” she said. She was looking at his hands holding hers. And feeling that she should pull away from them. And wanting to grip them as they gripped hers. And wanting to lean her head forward until her forehead rested on his shoulder. And wanting to trust him and forget about everything else.
She looked up and saw the dark, harsh, scarred face that had hovered over her in her nightmares for weeks and that had more latterly kissed her in her dreams and made her yearn for tenderness and love. She bit her lip again as his face swam before her vision.
“It does matter,” he said. “Fleur, it has never been my intention to make you my mistress. What has happened here between us has happened unexpectedly and against my wishes. I am a married man and cannot establish any relationship at all with you. And if I were not married, it would certainly not be as my mistress that I would want you.”
She drew blood from her lip again as he raised first one hand and then the other to his lips, his own eyes never leaving hers. And he released one of her hands in order to brush away a tear that had spilled over onto her cheek.
“I will do this for you,” he said, “perhaps to atone in some small way for the harm I have done you. And then I will send you away, Fleur. If you must wait for your fortune, I will find you a good position in a home I never visit. I will set you free and never come after you. Perhaps in time you will believe me and trust me.”