Earth, Air, Fire, and Water 04 - A Treacherous Proposition

by Patricia Frances Rowell

  Diana declined this offer with a shake of her head. Vincent helped himself to two more and spread them liberally with jam. He took a bite and then stared into the middle distance while he chewed. “This is rather difficult,” he murmured. Another long pause ensued.

  Finally he turned to her. “But I agree you deserve an explanation. So… On my last visit to Ashwell—I cannot even remember why I was there—I followed my usual pattern for the time. I drank until I could hardly stand. I accosted young Abby. When she would have fended me off, I seized her, and we both stumbled over a chair. I did not actually strike her, but she fell and suffered a black eye. When her father and the tapper came to her aid, I fought. The men I called friends at the time—I wonder now how even they tolerated me—finally restrained me and got me upstairs to a room where I did more damage before I fell into a drunken stupor.”

  “But…but why?” Diana set down her cup, her brow furrowed. “You are nothing like that now.”

  “Am I not?” Vincent considered the statement with narrowed eyes. “I wish I could be sure.”

  Chapter Six

  Merciful heavens! Diana fervently wished she could be sure. Was it possible that the wary man in whose hands she had placed her family might suddenly turn on her? Become the drunken beast he had described? She had never seen him drink to excess, but if that were his history…

  She had been so wrong about Wyn. How could she trust her judgment now? Vincent was gazing at her steadily with…was that a hint of defiance? But to what end? She was hardly in a position to chastise him. All she could say was, “I see.”

  Hardly adequate to the occasion.

  They ate without speaking for several more minutes. At last Diana decided that, there being little she could do at the moment about the question of his lordship’s reform, she would approach the subject of even more sinister potential—his use of a false name.

  “My lord, there is another matter that I hope you will explain.”

  He looked up from his plate guardedly.

  “What made it necessary to purchase this property secretly?”

  Once again his brows drew together. He took a deep breath and let it out again. “I told you, Lady Diana, that I would be as frank as I can. However, I am not at liberty to discuss certain subjects. That is one of them. Suffice to say that I am very happy this morning that I did so.”

  “Indeed.” Diana studied the dregs of her coffee. He poured himself another cup from the silver pot on the table and offered to pour for her. She shook her head and he looked away. Now what? She wanted to know more—a great deal more.

  She opened her mouth to speak and he turned a forbidding gaze on her. “Further interrogation, my lady?”

  Diana checked, momentarily nonplussed. Apparently his patience had worn thin.

  But so had hers.

  She summoned her resolve. The safety of the children might depend on his answer. “One other item, my lord.”

  He looked at her silently, his face set.

  “From whom are we fleeing? My enemies or yours?”

  His expression became thoughtful. At last he said, “I am not perfectly sure. I suspect they may be one and the same.”

  Diana was tired. She had lost her toleration for guessing games. She said, with considerable asperity, “In that case, my lord, as I have no idea who mine are, would you be so kind as to acquaint me with yours?”

  A bark of laughter escaped him before he became solemn again. He shook his head and reached for her hand. “Forgive me, Diana. I am afraid that anything I tell you may endanger you further.”

  Diana withdrew her hand and crossed her arms over her chest, gazing at him seriously. “Then, my lord, am I and my children more or less safe in your company than we would be alone?”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Again, I cannot be perfectly sure. Some of your danger may, in fact, come from your association with me.”

  “Then why have you brought us away to this isolated place?”

  He sat silent for a long moment. Finally he stood. “I believe, my lady, that it is because I very much wished to.”

  Vincent rose hastily and left the room before she could react. Now why the bloody hell had he said that?

  Beside the fact that it was true.

  He had very much wished to see her in his own place, his own house. At his own table. In his own bed. Now that she was here, would he be able to muster the honor to leave her untouched?

  But that would probably not come into question. He had, in all likelihood, frightened her completely—if not with his last remark, then with the tale of his past depravity at Ashwell. She would probably not let him come within arm’s reach of her again.

  He hoped not. It would be easier. More painful, but easier.

  She had not let him take her hand.

  Vincent shook himself and went in search of Throckmorton. He found his new henchman in the stable, helping Aidan Cobbs groom the horses. “Morning, me lord.” The boxer straightened and bowed. “You needing me?”

  “Aye.” Vincent motioned toward the stable door and Throckmorton followed him out. “You’ve had breakfast?”

  “Oh, aye, me lord. Mrs. Cobbs filled me right up.”

  “Best not call me ‘me lord’ while we are here. I am simply Mr. Greenleigh.”

  “Oh, to be sure, sir.”

  “Are you up to another ride—an hour and back? I think we will both be able to sleep tonight.”

  The big man grinned. “I could ride all day, need be, sir.”

  Vincent nodded. “Good. Need may be someday, but not this one.” He leaned against the stable door. “I want you to ride into the second village east of here and call for the post.”

  “Hmm.” Throckmorton rubbed his jaw. “Easy enough. What name?”

  “Not mine, nor Greenleigh, either. Ask for Mr. or Mrs. Egbert Johnston.” Vincent didn’t like the man knowing so much. He still could not be sure of his loyalty, but he didn’t want Cobbs to hear the alias or to be seen asking for the post in that village. And he didn’t want to leave Diana and the children. “And, Throckmorton.” Vincent gave him a stony look. “If anyone at all were to hear of this, I would be most displeased.”

  “Mum’s the word, me—sir.”

  “Very well. Take the bay hack. He should be fresh. I’ve not been here for quite a while.” Vincent nodded and went back to the house through a side door.

  Coming from the light into the dimness of the small entrance way, he did not immediately see the figure coming from the other direction. It took a heartbeat to recognize Diana. She stepped hastily aside to avoid a collision, moving back into a corner of the cramped space.

  “My lady! I beg your pardon. Did you wish to see me?”

  “Uh, yes, my lord.” She glanced about for a way out of the corner.

  The wariness in her eyes brought out something bitter in Vincent. Damnation! Had he done anything to alarm her? No. He had been the epitome of honor. Had kept his hands—and most of his thoughts—to himself. For months the desire had been building in him to add his strength and courage to hers, to protect her vulnerability, to take in her in his arms and shield her. And now she feared him. She had no idea what the effort was costing him. Vincent moved slightly, taking a perverse satisfaction in completely blocking her in. He crossed his arms over his chest and raised one eyebrow inquiringly. “Yes?”

  For a moment Diana fought the impulse to bolt. He was so tall, so intimidating, so…so close. She could smell him. Could feel him—even though he was not touching her. She tried to back up, but found herself stopped by the wall.

  But of course, he intended to intimidate. He did not wish to answer any more questions. But Diana had no intention of being intimidated. She wanted answers.

  She looked up into his inexpressive face. “My lord—”

  “Not here. Do not call me ‘lord.’”

  The interruption once more deflected Diana’s purpose. Confound him. She took a deep breath. “Mr. Greenleigh… Oh, the devil with i
t! Vincent, what did you mean when you said you wanted to bring me here? Surely these alarms have not been contrived to that purpose?” His expression changed, but to what she could not say.

  “No.” He spoke firmly. “No, they have not. Even I would not do that. I believe the danger to be very real. My hope is that by staying here awhile, we will confuse the pursuit. We are too vulnerable on the road. Sooner or later they would catch us. No one but you and Throckmorton knows who I am here.”

  “How long must we stay?” Diana sensed a softening in his stance, but he did not move back.

  “I am not sure of that, either. I have arranged to receive messages that will help me decide. We must eventually go to Inglewood to identify our pursuers and deal with them. Without a doubt, they will be watching for us there, but in time they will become less vigilant. Then we may be able to reach shelter without their being aware of it.” His crooked smile flashed briefly. “They cannot possibly watch every way into the estate. I assure you I know ways in and out that they would never think of.”

  Diana considered this plan. Apparently she was to remain in his lordship’s company for some time. She had to know where she stood with him. “Vincent, I still need to know the meaning of what you said earlier—about wanting to bring me here.”

  He looked into her eyes for a long moment. Finally he let out a breath. “Forgive me, Diana. I should not have said that. It is better that I do not try to explain it. Please be assured that you are in no danger from me. I am not St. Edmunds.”

  “I—I did not think you were.” Had she? Had she thought for a moment that his purpose might be the same as St. Edmunds’s? She had certainly wondered, but now… “It is just that I am very confused.”

  “I know. Try to believe that I mean you no harm. My chief desire is to keep you and Bytham and Selena safe.” He touched the scrape on her cheek and for a second his touch seemed to tingle against her skin. Then he turned her face to the light and frowned. “That spot looks red. Is it healing?”

  “I haven’t really looked.” Diana lifted her own hand to the spot, only to find Vincent’s still in place. His fingers closed around hers. She studied his face, trying to read his thoughts.

  She could not.

  He released her hand and stepped back. “Let us ask Mrs. Cobbs for some ointment.”

  He offered her his arm and she took it.

  With more questions raised than answered.

  Later that afternoon, after a morning nap in a curtained bed, Diana enjoyed a romp on the lawn with Bytham and Selena. Eldritch Manor was a beautiful, very old house, with warm, rich brick-and-stone terraces. Across the rear, French doors opened from several rooms onto the widest terrace. The lawn stretched the length of the back of the building and a pleasant woodland could be seen at its border.

  For an hour she put all the unanswered questions and future fears aside and simply played with her children. Once she thought she saw Vincent watching from a door, but he did not come out to join them. When they had all tired, Fanny had taken the youngsters upstairs for a wash and a rest before feeding them dinner. Thank heaven for the sweet girl. How wonderful to have someone to help her. Now Diana might have another rest herself.

  She was just crossing the entry on her way to the stairs when Throckmorton came in the side door. “Good afternoon, ma’am.” The big man bowed. “I’ve just been to pick up the post. This one says ‘Mrs.’ so I suppose it is for you.”

  “Indeed?” Diana turned the letter over. Written in a vaguely familiar hand, it was addressed to “Mrs. Egbert Johnston.” “I do not believe it could be for me. I know no one by that name.”

  The footman winked. “His lordship do have some right puzzling ways. But that’s the name he sent me after.” He bowed again. “If you’ll excuse me, ma’am. I’ve need to speak with him.”

  “Of course. Thank you.”

  What in the name of heaven could Vincent be about? An uneasy feeling stirred in her stomach. She would not read the message here. Diana put it in her pocket and hurried up the stairs. Not until she had locked her bedroom door did she withdraw it and break the seal.

  An icy hand closed around her heart.

  Inside were two notes—one from Helen, asking after her welfare and explaining that she was forwarding the other that had arrived at her house for Diana. Diana knew instantly from whom the second one came.

  Stifling the impulse to cast it into the fire unread, she broke the second seal with trembling fingers.

  Ah! Most fortunate Lady Diana—

  Who could have foreseen such an advantageous situation arising from your husband’s demise? Who would ever suspect that his death might open the door for the affluent Lord Lonsdale? Surely no one, unless of course, they know you as I do.

  But I am discreet. I would not dream of suggesting anything to the authorities, especially as now you are in a position to return my past favors.

  I desire you to observe his lordship for me. That should be simple for you in your present situation. Write down anything out of the ordinary that he says or does—anything at all, anyone he mentions. No detail is too small.

  I’m sure you will be happy to provide this trifling service. Especially since your future and that of your charming children depend on it. I doubt even Lord Lonsdale would overlook your past offenses. I’m certain he values his own health.

  You may send the information to George Ellison in care of the postmaster of the City of London. I will receive it, just as I am confident this message will find you—as, you may rest assured I will, no matter where you go.

  Your faithful confidant—

  Deimos

  Dear God! And she had thought that matters could not be worse. Now the blackguard intended to accuse her of Wyn’s death. But he could not do that. There had been witnesses. Wyn had been stabbed on the street. Vincent had been there. And Justinian Sudbury and St. Edmunds. A choking wave swept over Diana.

  They had all been there when her husband was killed.

  Diana sank down onto a footstool, her eyes closed.

  They had all been there.

  At the tap on the door of the library, Vincent turned from staring out the window and called, “Enter.”

  Throckmorton opened the door and came in, several letters in his beefy hand and a grin on his abused face. “I dunno who this Egbert Johnston may be, but he gets a deal of mail.” Vincent grunted and held out a hand. His footman passed over the letters. “His wife got some, too.”

  “Did she now?” Startled, Vincent glanced into the big man’s face. “You gave them to Lady Diana?”

  “Aye, sir. She was in the hall when I came in. Should I not?”

  “No, no. That is all right. They were addressed to ‘Mrs. Johnston,’ I collect?” Vincent propped both feet on the desk and leaned back in his chair.

  “Aye, sir.”

  Vincent nodded and thought about that bit of information. He had arranged for Adam and Helen to be able to communicate with them, but somehow he had thought that only Litton would write to him. Another disturbing realization occurred to him. His new henchman understood covert arrangements all too well. He even knew to question the propriety of giving Diana her own mail.

  He must watch the man.

  “There’s another thing you’ll be needing to know, sir.”

  “What’s that?” Vincent squinted up from his chair.

  “The news everywhere I passed is that a way south of here three men were found tied to trees with their throats cut.”

  “The devil you say!” Vincent’s boots slammed to the floor and he leaned forward across the desk.

  Throckmorton shook his head. “That’s the word, sir. Thought you would like to know.”

  “Of course, I want to know.” Resuming his thoughtful pose, Vincent returned his feet to the desktop. “They don’t much value their people, do they?”

  The boxer said nothing, but his expression turned grim.

  Vincent rubbed his chin. “Or is someone else in the game?”
r />   Throckmorton maintained his silence. Vincent hoped that was because he didn’t know what game they played.

  “I should have done it myself, but… Did you say anything to Lady Diana about this?”

  “No, sir. I didn’t want to overset her. But the Cobbses already know, so expect she will hear about it soon enough.”

  “At least she won’t be able to lay it at my door.” The degree of relief he felt surprised Vincent. He did not want Diana to see him as a brute—even if the shoe fit.

  “Will that be all, sir?”

  “Yes. Yes, thank you.” Vincent’s mind had already returned to the question of the untimely demise of the last night’s assailants.

  “One more thing, sir.”

  “Oh?” Vincent’s wandering attention jerked back to the footman.

  “She didn’t seem none too happy about that letter.”

  Diana pulled her shawl more tightly around herself against the cool of the early summer night and found a seat on a stone bench near the balustrade at the edge of the terrace. Tired as she was, she knew she would not sleep. The turmoil in her mind would not allow it.

  The full moon hung in a sky lit silver, dimming the stars and painting the landscape in stark black and white. If only the tranquil light could pour into her mind and erase the fear and suspicion. If only decisions could be as clearly marked as the shadows of the trees against the grass.

  What was she to do? For years Diana had relied only on herself. It had not taken long to learn that she could not lean on Wynmond Corby. How could she have been such a fool as to have married him?

  A young fool. A young, love-struck fool. A fool barely eighteen years old. One with no parents.

  What more answer to that question did she need? She had thought that all men were like her father—responsible, dependable, a steadying influence in her life. When he died… Diana shook her head. If she had been seeking to replace him, she had failed miserably. And in so doing, had failed her children. They would never know a father such as hers.