by Lily Maxton
Willoughby stopped, investigated the plate of meat tentatively. Once he’d circled it and sniffed at it, he began to eat, quick, delicate bites.
Once he was finished, he stalked away, and Robert and Ian followed at a distance. They had no idea how close they could get, so they were cautious, staying at least thirty paces back and not speaking. They followed the cat down halls and up and down stairs for so long that Ian wondered if they weren’t being toyed with.
At some point, Willoughby slipped under the cat door and went outside. Ian and Robert paused at the entrance to the outer courtyard, looking out at a world that was different shades of black and gray and silver. It was a cold, windy night, and clouds moved across the sky quickly, covering and uncovering the moon and stars. “Where did he go?”
Ian suddenly made out a slinking shadow, heading toward the abandoned dovecote at the far corner of the outer courtyard. As they watched, the cat stretched up on its hind legs and pawed at the doorknob.
After three attempts, the door pushed open and the cat stalked inside.
Ian and Robert stared at the open door and then at each other. It appeared that Willoughby could, in fact, open doors.
And then, not sure what else to do, they walked across the lawn of the courtyard toward the cylindrical stone building.
Robert stepped over the threshold first, and Ian followed. From high above, silvery moonlight drifted in from the opening at the ceiling, faintly illuminating rows upon rows of square recesses where birds used to nest. He didn’t see Willoughby.
And then he noticed a crumbled part of the wall that created a dark alcove a few feet off the ground, and metallic eyes glinting at him from within. Ian startled.
Robert noticed the eyes at almost the exact same time and yelped.
Willoughby leaped down gracefully from his hiding spot with a hiss. He stared at Robert warily.
While Robert had a standoff with the cat, Ian moved past them to peer into the alcove. If there was anything back there, it was too far back to see. He reached in tentatively, and his hand brushed something cool and metallic and then something soft and smooth. He made a sweeping gesture, pulling all of the objects toward the front of the opening.
His breath caught.
It was like a pirate’s treasure trove, though most of the things were worthless. Willoughby seemed to hoard anything glittery that caught his eye—discarded nails, paste jewels that must have fallen from bracelets and necklaces. And cloth—there was a mountain of cloth, and Willoughby had a taste for silk.
Ian rummaged through it. It was all there. The bracelet, the glove, the handkerchief. There was more there, and Ian wondered if people all across the Highlands were missing their possessions.
He snorted, wondering how one little cat could cause so much trouble.
…
“Well?” Robert asked.
Ian handed him the small pile. “It’s all here.”
His hand passed over the soft fabric of the handkerchief and gloves before it clenched around the biting metal of Miss Hale’s bracelet, which he’d more or less accused her of misplacing on purpose. Good God, he felt like a cur.
“Willoughby, you rotten scoundrel.” He glowered at the cat.
Willoughby seemed to realize Robert’s lack of goodwill toward him, because with ears flattened against his head, he streaked from the dovecote, fleeing across the lawn.
Ian frowned. “You scared him.”
Robert realized he was still holding Miss Hale’s bracelet in a clenched fist, and he probably would look threatening to an animal, but damn it, it wasn’t as though he was the one at fault. “That cat is a thief. What are we going to do with all of this?”
“Would they believe ye if ye told them the truth?”
Robert thought of Worthington’s increasing frustration and suspicion toward him. “I doubt it. Maybe if they caught Willoughby in the act. Otherwise, Worthington will probably just think I’m trying to make a fool of him.” But catching Willoughby in the act didn’t seem an easy feat—he was aloof on the best of days, and Robert had just scared the cat away with his anger. He’d probably be even more skittish now.
“I think we need to put everything back,” he decided. “Somewhere in their rooms. Maybe somewhere unintuitive, so they’ll think it was misplaced when they unpacked.”
“It might work,” Ian allowed. Though he didn’t sound entirely convinced.
“I don’t have any better ideas, do you?”
Ian shook his head.
“We’ll ask for Georgina’s help in the morning,” Robert said.
Robert felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Once this was resolved, he could go back to focusing on Ian. They could spend time together without anything hanging over their heads.
Without anything immediate hanging over their heads. There was still the matter of his brother’s return, which was something they didn’t talk about. Robert didn’t think anything would have to change, but he wasn’t sure how Ian felt about it.
A life together wouldn’t be easy anywhere, but Llynmore presented its own challenges. When Theo came back, if he suspected there was something between them…Robert wasn’t sure how he would react, or what he might do. But Ian’s livelihood was at Llynmore, and if he wanted to stay, then Robert would stay. They would simply have to be careful.
Even if he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the situation, if the alternative was not seeing Ian, he’d pick it every time.
He would tell him that, he thought. They would settle the matter with the Worthingtons, and then they would talk about the future they envisioned for themselves. And Robert would force himself to be honest, even if it terrified him—he would let Ian know that all of the visions he had of the future included Ian, included them, together.
They left the dovecote, so close when they walked that their shoulders brushed now and then. On impulse, he reached out to take Ian’s hand and threaded their fingers together. In the corner of his vision, he glimpsed the curve of Ian’s mouth. Warmth filled his chest, and he tipped his head back to look at the stars. Thanks to Ian, he could find the North Star now, every single time.
The guiding star. The binary. Two stars that shared the same orbit.
He always felt peaceful when he found it. Hopeful.
Like everything he worried about might just fall into place.
Chapter Seventeen
While Georgina led the guests on a walk, Ian left the bracelet in Miss Hale’s room, and Robert put the stockings in the Worthingtons’. He was headed toward Miss Worthington’s room with the gloves and handkerchief when the sound of voices stopped him.
Ian came out of Miss Hale’s room, his brow furrowed. Robert took hold of his elbow and pulled him around the corner to hide, just before Georgina’s loud voice came from the stairwell.
“I feel quite dreadful about this. Do accept my heartfelt apology.”
“Keep your voice down.” That was Mr. Worthington, who sounded tense and was speaking nearly as loudly as Georgina. “My daughter is in pain.”
“I’m fine, Papa,” Miss Worthington answered, clearly exasperated.
“You were nearly sucked into a bog!”
“I think you’re exaggerating,” she said. “And I did step off the trail. It was my fault.”
“Does your ankle feel better?”
There was a pause.
“No,” she said. “Still swollen.”
“It must be a sprain. A few days of rest will be just the thing. I’m sure it will be good as new as long as you keep your weight off it.”
Robert stared at the items still clutched in his hand, and then at Ian, his heart sinking. A sprain? She might be confined to bed for a week or more.
“It’s fine,” Ian said, though that little notch between his eyebrows spoke otherwise. “We’ll put it back when she’s better.”
They went down to the other end of the hall and separated. Robert watched him fade into the shadow of the stairwell, stomach tight and uneasy.
The more Robert thought about it, the more he realized it would be a mistake to wait so long. For one thing, the longer they waited, the more likely Worthington would get the sheriff involved, if only to save his own pride for threatening such a ridiculous action in the first place. And for another, Robert was now in possession of the gloves and handkerchief, and he certainly didn’t want to get caught red-handed with them.
And perhaps the biggest consideration, the thing that finally spurred him into action, was Ian’s worry. Robert could tell he was troubled by the delay, even if he didn’t say it, and the knowledge was like a punch to the gut. That strange protective instinct that seemed to be spurred on by the other man roared to life inside him. He wanted Ian to be able to depend on him. He wanted to show him that he could.
He would take care of it now, he decided. Tonight. Robert would settle the matter and Ian wouldn’t have to trouble himself with it at all.
Which was how Robert found himself creeping into Miss Worthington’s room in the dead of night, clutching a pair of silk gloves and an embroidered handkerchief.
If he ever saw that cat again, he would be tempted to strangle it.
Though he admitted he was a bit concerned about Willoughby. The cat hadn’t returned to Llynmore that day, and for some reason, Annabel loved the troublesome creature. He hoped searching the moors for a missing pet didn’t become the next task to occupy his time.
In the doorway, he paused, listening to the deep sound of Miss Worthington’s even breathing. A light drizzle tapped at the window, and the room was quite dark, with no moonlight or starlight creeping in.
Robert allowed a moment for his eyes to adjust and then stepped inside.
They’d been putting the other items back in less obvious places, but for the sake of convenience, he decided to simply slip everything into the armoire. The drawer opened with a rattle, and he paused, wincing at how loud the sound was in the near-silent room.
He waited until he heard Miss Worthington’s deep breaths and then shoved the gloves and handkerchief under some clothes before easing the drawer shut.
He stepped back, ready to leave, when a startled exclamation nearly made his breath stop.
He turned just in time to see Miss Worthington—or rather, Miss Worthington’s shadowy outline—fling a vase at him.
The glass hit the wall with a heavy thud, missing his head by a mere inch or two.
“Stop,” he whispered frantically. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
There was a beat of silence. “Mr. Townsend?”
“That’s correct,” he said stupidly.
She stepped toward him gingerly. “What is the meaning of this? What are you doing in my bedchamber?”
She took another step, and then faltered. “Oh, dear,” she said, voice faint. “I moved too quickly…my head is spinning.”
And then she simply…collapsed.
Robert reached forward, grabbing her awkwardly before she hit the ground. He heard a tear, and his hand came away with a handful of fabric, though he managed to hold her up with one arm around her waist.
She came back to her senses after a second or two, pushing herself upright against him.
And that was when Robert heard the sound of footsteps and then a flare of light as someone entered the room with a candle.
“What in God’s name is going on here?” a voice barked.
It was Mr. Worthington, who, in a rare display, lapsed into stunned silence.
When Robert was a child, there’d been a large pond near his parents’ house, with a tree whose branches overhung the water. After spending days working up his courage—and investigating the pond to make sure it was deep enough and there were no obstacles he might hit (he’d been inclined to worry even at a tender age)—he’d leaped from the branch, falling at least fifteen feet into the water below. It was the strangest sensation—his stomach dropped so quickly it felt like it had fallen right out of his body, and then cold, numbing water had closed in over his head.
This felt exactly liked that moment. Except there was no thrill in it, only a sick churning.
He took in the scene the other man was viewing. Miss Worthington, who was dressed only in a chemise—whose chemise had, in fact, torn at the shoulder and slipped down to reveal her breast—was clutched tightly in his arms…in a bedchamber…in the middle of the night.
This couldn’t have looked worse unless they’d actually been in bed together.
“Wait,” Robert said, as numbness wore away and panic flooded his chest. “This isn’t what you think.”
More footsteps. Mrs. Worthington. And then Miss Hale. Georgina. Mr. Hale. Trickling in one by one.
He could picture it with startling clarity—Mr. Worthington must have woken from the thud of the vase against the shared wall of the two bedchambers, and then everyone sleeping nearby had heard his angry shouting.
He wondered—but no—Ian was closer to the servants’ quarters, and this castle was expansive. He probably wouldn’t have heard anything.
He didn’t know why that seemed important. It wasn’t as though he’d actually transgressed with Miss Worthington.
But it looked like he had.
Suddenly, he remembered talking to Mr. Hale about confidence—it doesn’t matter if you believe it if everyone else does. That rule cut both ways.
He realized his arms were still around Miss Worthington. She was unsteady on her injured ankle, so he led her to the bed, where she sat down, clutching at her tattered chemise.
“This isn’t…we weren’t…” But he faltered. What reason could he possibly give to be in Miss Worthington’s bedchamber? The truth wasn’t much better than what everyone assumed.
Miss Hale giggled, the sound loud and abrupt.
It seemed to snap Mr. Worthington from his shocked silence. “Don’t take me for a fool, Townsend.”
“Father,” Miss Worthington said, “he’s telling the truth…we weren’t—”
“You would lie to me, too?” he asked.
“I’m not lying!”
“Be silent,” Worthington said harshly, and his daughter flinched. “You will do the right thing.” It was strange—the phrase he directed at Robert lilted toward the end, but it didn’t exactly sound like a question.
The right thing?
He meant—
Robert felt his skin grow cold. No, he couldn’t. No. Not when…
“Surely that isn’t necessary,” he began. “I doubt you would choose me for a son-in-law, and if no one speaks of this—”
“I can’t say that I like you, exactly,” Worthington admitted, voice strained. “But you are the brother of an earl. You are his heir, are you not?”
“Until he has children of his own.”
“Your financial situation? Is it secure?”
Robert swallowed. It was. Even without the income from Constable Whitley, which was no small sum, he had a decent settlement from his brother. “That is beside the point.”
“The point being that you have ruined my daughter? How long has this been going on? How long have you both—” He broke off, clenching his fist.
Mrs. Worthington moved to stand by her daughter, touching her shoulder gently. “I think it is best if we discuss this after we’ve all had time to calm down.” She looked at her husband pointedly.
Mr. Worthington stalked from the room, and Robert heard his bedchamber door slam shut not long after. Mr. Hale drifted out, too, looking dazed and a bit sick.
Miss Hale left, her face flushed as though she’d never experienced anything so exciting in all her tender years.
“Robert,” Georgina said softly.
He straightened, took one last glance at Miss Worthington, who was silently leaning against her mother, and followed his sister into the hallway, closing the door behind them. He’d barely made it more than ten steps before he faltered. His back hit the wall, hands pressed to his face.
“I don’t know how to undo this, George,” he said.
He
would have to marry her. It didn’t matter if she was actually ruined or not—everyone in her family believed she was. Honor demanded that he marry her.
“Why were you there in the first place?” Georgina asked. “Were you putting the gloves back?”
He nodded miserably. He’d done this himself. He’d been too impatient. He should have waited. Or at least thought of a better plan first.
He just…he’d wanted everything settled. He’d wanted to be competent, for once. He’d wanted to take charge like Theo would have if he were here and have everything the same for his brother as it had been when he’d left. And most of all, he’d wanted to get back to Ian, problem solved, so they could start thinking about their future. Start discussing what shape it might take.
Instead, he’d ruined everything.
“Nothing has been decided yet,” Georgina said. “And you didn’t actually ruin her, Robert. We’ll think of something.”
She touched his shoulder, and he was comforted by the confidence in her voice. A little.
They parted ways. Robert hoped Georgina was right; he hoped there was a way to resolve this without marriage. But all he could think about as he returned to his bedchamber was how he would face Ian in the morning.
Chapter Eighteen
The first thing Robert heard when he stumbled downstairs late the next morning, head foggy from troubled sleep, praying that the night before was only a dream, was the sound of an argument in the drawing room.
When he drew closer, he realized it was the Hales.
“Why on earth would you do such a thing, Catherine?”
“It was too exciting not to mention. And you assume that our darling cousin is not perfectly content, being ruined by the brother of an earl. I daresay it’s a better match than she would have made otherwise. Maybe she planned it.”
“She did not plan it.”
“How would you know?” There was a pause and a clank—Robert assumed Miss Hale had returned her attention to her breakfast. Then, she said, “Oh, in all the excitement I nearly forgot to tell you, I found my bracelet.”