Swear by Moonlight

by Shirlee Busbee

  "You loved him very much, didn't you?"

  "Oh, yes, I did. I still miss him horribly. I suspect I always shall."

  Patrick took one of her hands in his and pressed a kiss to it. "Do you know, I think we shall name our first male child after him. It will not bring him back, but I rather think that I would enjoy having a son named Tom."

  "And I!" Thea exclaimed, her smile so dazzling that Patrick blinked at its brilliance.

  "Perhaps we should go upstairs and commence work on the project?" he murmured, a carnal smile suddenly curving his full bottom lip.

  Thea could not help the blush that stained her cheeks, but her eyes soft and shining with love, she leaned forward and brushed her lips across his. "Do you know, I can think of nothing that I would enjoy more."

  Taking her to her feet, Patrick put her hand on his arm and began to escort her from the room. "Well, never let it be said that I am a tyrant of a husband. Of course we shall do precisely as you wish."

  Thea giggled and thought her heart would burst with all the love she had in it for him. "Oh, Patrick, I do love you," she said, her feelings evident in her face.

  At the door, he stopped and caught her close to him. The normally cool gray eyes warm and caressing, he said huskily, "But not, my sweet, as much as I love you—remember, I have sworn it by the moon."

  Chapter 18

  Monday morning came all too soon for Thea. She and Patrick had thoroughly enjoyed their first hours as man and wife, and it wasn't surprising that she had not thought once of the approaching meeting at Edwina's house.

  But it was now eleven o'clock on Monday morning and Thea knew that in less than an hour she would be confronting Yates—a bully and a most unpleasant fellow. She was dreading the meeting for two reasons; it was bound to be ugly, and, more importantly, she was going to have to lie to Patrick.

  Not for the first time she considered the notion of laying the whole of it at her husband's feet and letting him take care of the problem. Wandering around a small saloon at the rear of the house, Thea's nose wrinkled. Letting Patrick shoulder the entire burden seemed so, so, so very cowardly and she pushed that solution away. Yates's threats and Edwina's troubles were not something she felt she could share with her new husband at this time. They might be married and, wonder of wonders, in love with each other, but the fact remained that they had not known each other very long, and she had no way of predicting how her very new husband would react to the situation. No, it was far better that she kept to her original plan. She would, she told herself virtuously, explain everything to him... after the fact.

  Thea had already withdrawn the seventeen thousand pounds she would need to pay off Yates—she had done that before her marriage, while her fortune, she thought with a wince, was still hers to command. The money was currently packed in her largest reticule, just waiting to be put in Yates's hands.

  Which meant, she thought unhappily, that in just a short while she was going to have to think of an excuse to leave the house—alone. That was a real problem, because any errand she could concoct, Patrick would no doubt either suggest sending a servant to do it or, just as bad, accompany her.

  Fate, in the form of a message from Lady Caldecott, intervened. Patrick entered the room just then, a note in his hand and a frown upon his handsome face. Looking across at her, he said, "It is the most damnable thing, but my mother wishes to speak with me. Now." His mouth pulled at the corner. "She apologizes very prettily for interrupting me at such a time, but she has a matter she most urgently wishes to discuss with me. Will you mind if I leave you alone for a while? I should not be gone more than an hour."

  Thea fairly beamed at him. "Why, no! In fact, it will give me an excuse to visit with Modesty and see how the packing of the rest of my things is coming along."

  Patrick's face cleared. He had not known how his bride would react to his abandonment and was cheered that she was proving to be understanding. He would not have blamed her if she had rung a peal over his head—not married forty-eight hours and already he was leaving her alone. His face twisted. To call upon his mother.

  "Shall I meet you there when I am finished?"

  "Oh, no!" she exclaimed, horrified at the idea. Gathering her wits, she said more calmly, "I mean that won't be necessary. I don't know how long I shall be and you would be bored watching us go through piles of feminine fripperies. You wouldn't enjoy it at all. No. Take your time at your mother's, and I shall meet you here at home, oh, say, shortly after one o'clock?"

  Crossing to stand in front of her, he kissed the tip of her nose. "I am fortunate to have such an understanding and thoughtful wife. Have I told you what an exemplary bride you are?"

  Suppressing the shaft of guilt that went through her, she put her arms around his neck and brushed her lips against his. "Hmm, I don't remember you saying precisely that, but I do believe that you indicated very ably last night that I gave you great satisfaction."

  His eyes darkened, and his voice grew husky. "Indeed you did, my love. So much satisfaction in fact that I can hardly wait to show you again." The note fluttered unheeded to the floor as he took her into his arms and kissed her hungrily.

  Feeling as if she were drugged, Thea sagged against him, returning his kiss. Passion and desire entwined and rose between them. For endless moments they were locked in each other's arms, and the world faded away.

  With an effort Patrick lifted his mouth from hers. A febrile glitter in the gray eyes, he muttered, "You are a witch! I have to leave you now, but when I return..."

  There was both promise and warning in his voice, and Thea shivered with anticipation. Oh, the things he would do to her. She giggled. And she to him!

  She bid her husband farewell and not fifteen minutes after he had left was on her way to Edwina's. She had let Chetham tenderly escort her into the carriage and tell the coachman where she wished to go. It had been simple, a moment later, to countermand those orders, giving the coachman the directions to Edwina's less fashionable address.

  Arriving at her sister's narrow-fronted house, after the footman had helped her down from the carriage, she smiled and said, "Come back for me at one o'clock, if you please."

  The green-liveried young man bowed and rejoined the coachman. Thea glanced up and down the street at the row of houses, a slight frown marring her forehead. Though the address was an acceptable one, there was a shabby air about the entire street, and she was even more determined to get Edwina away from this place. Her mouth curved unhappily. Once Edwina's widowed state was discovered. But in the meantime, there was Yates to be dealt with. Her shoulders ramrod straight beneath the purple pelisse, she took a deep, calming breath and marched up the few steps to Edwina's door. She would deal forthrightly with Yates and before anyone ever knew that she had called upon her sister, she would be home and in her husband's arms—where she would tell him the whole tale. Resolution strong, she rapped smartly on the door.

  But Thea was incorrect in believing that no one, except Modesty, knew that she was at her sister's house. She was intently watched by another pair of eyes as Edwina's door swung open and she disappeared into the interior of the house.

  Not two houses down the street, John Hazlett was just stepping down from a hackney when Thea went inside Edwina's. Thea! What the hell was she doing here? Not that it really made any difference—his task still had to be accomplished. Thea was an added complication that he'd hoped to avoid. He'd been counting on her marriage and Blackburne to keep her well away from Edwina just now. He sighed. Obviously he had made a mistake. For several minutes he stood there frowning as he considered the situation, uncertain whether Thea's presence at her sister's house was a good thing or a bad one. Finally, he shook his head and motioned to another hackney clattering down the street. Well, there was only one thing he could do and it was what he should have done in the first place. Trust Thea, he thought, as he leaped inside the vehicle, to bungle a perfectly good plan.

  Unaware of her cousin's scrutiny, Thea stepped into the m
ain hallway of the house Edwina shared with Hirst. She was astonished to discover that it was her sister and not a servant who had opened the door for her.

  "Edwina!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing answering the front door yourself? Where is your butler?"

  Edwina smiled wanly. "I told you that we were in desperate straits—there are no servants—except when Alfred is winning—then we have servants aplenty, but only until, of course, the money is lost again. It is either feast or famine with us." Her expression wry, she added, "Mostly famine. I managed to ferret enough away from his last win to pay for a cleaning woman twice a week and a woman to cook most nights. But as for anything as grand as a butler..." She gave a bitter laugh. "The money for a butler or any other luxury has been squandered on the gaming table by my dear husband."

  Thea didn't quite know what to say. She could hardly try to comfort Edwina by telling her that she didn't have to worry about her husband frittering away future funds—he was dead. But she was appalled to discover just how bad things were for her sister. Modesty was going to feel terrible for having said that Edwina might be exaggerating her situation. If anything Edwina had underestimated the depths her husband had brought her.

  Despite Edwina's claim of a twice-a-week cleaning lady, Thea noticed the slovenly air about the house. Nothing specific and nothing as obvious as filthy floors and dust-covered surfaces, but simply a feel of general untidiness.

  Shoving aside her impressions, Thea put on a bracing smile, and said, "Are you ready for our meeting with Yates? After we have taken care of him, I am sure that you will feel much better. And perhaps I-I-I could lend you enough money to make things a bit easier."

  Leading Thea toward the back of the house, Edwina glanced over her shoulder at her. "Do you think so? I wonder if your new husband would agree to spending money supporting another man's wife."

  Thea bit her lip, wishing she had at least broached the subject with Patrick. She did not want to give Edwina false hope and make promises she could not keep. Patrick, she thought with a frown, had better prove to be as charming about money as he was about everything else. A soft smile lit her eyes. He would be generous to Edwina, she decided a second later, certain that she could not have fallen in love with a clutch-fisted tyrant.

  Somewhere deep in the interior of the house, a clock chimed out the quarter hour. Realizing it was already eleven-forty-five, Thea said, "Where are we going? Shouldn't we be waiting for Yates? Noon was the hour set for his arrival, wasn't it?"

  Edwina shrugged. "Don't worry about him. The important thing is: Did you bring the money with you?"

  "Yes, I have it right here in my reticule. I will be glad to be rid it—even in broad daylight and in my own coach, I have been terrified of being robbed or of something dreadful happening."

  Showing Thea into a small, stale-smelling room, at the very back of the house, Edwina murmured, "With your fortune you could always replenish it, couldn't you?"

  "Well, yes," Thea replied, a little taken aback. "But seventeen thousand pounds is a small fortune—more than most people can ever expect to see in their lifetimes. My banker was most unhappy that I insisted upon such a large withdrawal. I am quite certain he thinks the worst."

  "You are right, of course, it is just that I have known Hirst to lose that much or more during one night of gaming—once he lost fifty thousand pounds on the turn of a card. After a while, you tend not to think of it as an immense sum of money."

  "Fifty thousand pounds!" Thea squeaked, aghast at the notion of throwing away a huge fortune in one night.

  Seating herself behind a small cherry wood desk, Edwina looked up at her sister. "I don't see why you are so shocked—you knew he was a gambler before you let me marry him."

  Sinking down into a balloon-backed chair covered in faded gold tapestry, Thea muttered, "I didn't let you do anything—you were determined to marry him."

  Her blond curls framing her lovely features, Edwina fixed her big blue eyes on Thea. A mulish slant to her cupid's bow mouth, she argued, "But wasn't it your duty to protect me from fortune hunters like Hirst?"

  "Edwina! I did everything in my power to stop you from marrying him," Thea protested. "You were determined—you ran away with him, remember?" An embarrassed flush stained her cheeks. In a low voice she said, "It is well that you actually married him—none of us wanted to go through a situation like mine again."

  "It always comes back to you, doesn't it?" Edwina complained. "I have always been forced to stand in your shadow, always been made painfully conscious that you have a fortune much larger than mine and that the family is always ready to run to rescue 'poor Thea'—even if I am the one who needs help. They are all so anxious about you that not one of them would care if I dropped off the face of the earth. It is always "Thea, Thea, Thea!' I'm sick of it!" A hard cast to her blue eyes, she added tightly, "If it weren't for you, I would have been able to make the grand match that I deserved. It is your fault that I have to put up with a profligate husband and that I am reduced to almost hiding in my own home to avoid being dunned on my very doorstep."

  Thea stared at her sister. She had never realized how very much Edwina resented her and blamed her for every misfortune. Perhaps Modesty was right and she had been too lenient with Edwina. Too willing to overlook her tantrums and wild accusations and blame herself for Edwina's misfortunes—misfortunes her sister often brought on herself.

  Meeting Edwina's accusing stare, Thea said quietly, "I am sorry that you feel that way. I cannot change the past, but before I leave England with Patrick, I shall do what I can to set things right for you. It is perhaps best that I shall be living across the ocean from you—with me no longer around to ruin your life, mayhap you will start taking the responsibility for your own decisions. When misfortune strikes you will no longer have me to blame for it."

  Edwina gasped and could not have looked more surprised than if Thea had bitten her.

  Ignoring Edwina, Thea stood up and began to wander around the shabby little room. The house seemed very quiet, deserted, but Thea thought she heard a noise at the front of the house.

  Looking at Edwina, she asked, "Did you hear that? It sounded like someone at the front door. Could it be Yates?"

  Edwina cocked her head and they both listened. Silence enveloped the house. "You are mistaken," Edwina muttered, her blue eyes sullen. "Besides, I told Yates to come to the servants' entrance at the back of the house."

  Thea listened intently for a few minutes longer, but hearing nothing else, continued her perambulations around the room. Running a finger idly over the top of a glass-fronted bookcase that sat against the wall, she observed the layer of dust that collected on her finger. There was a small gilt clock placed in the center of the bookcase, and, looking at the time, she realized that the hour of twelve o'clock had come and gone. It was now several minutes after the hour. Frowning, she glanced back at Edwina and murmured, "Shouldn't Yates have arrived by now?"

  Edwina looked at the clock and nodded. "Yes, he should have. I wonder where he is?"

  * * *

  Yates's absence was not the only one being noted at that time. Whistling cheerfully as he left his mother's house, Patrick had been in a pleasant frame of mind. The news that Lady Caldecott had imparted had been excellent. There was no longer any threat of blackmail; the letters had been returned to her by, of all people, her husband! Patrick shook his head, smiling at the shifts Lord Caldecott had been put to in his endeavors to win the heart of his lady. What we poor men will do for love, he thought ruefully, trying to picture the elegant and suave Lord Caldecott crouching ignobly in a dark alley.

  The meeting with his mother had not taken long and on a whim he had decided to ignore his wife's wishes and meet her at Modesty's. The news that greeted him at Thea's former home left him frowning.

  Staring at Tillman, he demanded, "What do you mean Miss Bradford is not at home? My wife was to visit with her."

  Tillman looked perplexed. "I cannot say, sir. I only know that Miss B
radford left, almost half an hour ago, on an errand." He cleared his throat. "She, uh, did not say where she was going or when she would be back." A flicker of anxiety in his eyes, he added, "As for Miss Th—er, Mrs. Blackburne, she has not called here today." He hesitated, obviously struggling with himself, took a deep breath, before offering, "Er, would it be of any use to know that Mr. John Hazlett called here not five minutes after Miss Bradford had left? He seemed quite put out that she was not at home."

  Patrick thanked him for the information and, hiding his unease, headed for his own house. There was no reason, he argued with himself, to feel such alarm. No one had any reason to harm his wife. Hirst was dead. Ellsworth was dead. The blackmail had ceased. He had no reason to feel such panic just because Thea was not where she had said she would be. She could have changed her mind about visiting Modesty and was even now waiting for him at their house. The tight knot in his chest vanished. Of course, that had to be the answer. His good mood restored, he hurried home.

  But at the Hamilton Place house he was greeted with the news that his bride was not in residence. That she had left shortly after he had to visit with Miss Bradford. His face grim, Patrick stared at Chetham.

  Chetham coughed and at Patrick's glare, murmured, "There is a gentleman, sir. In the library. He was disappointed to find you gone. He is, I believe, writing you a note. A Mr. John Hazlett."

  With a sharp thank-you thrown over his shoulder, Patrick strode off in the direction of the library. Entering the library, Patrick found Mr. John Hazlett writing him a note.

  Pleasantries, brief to the point of curtness, were exchanged. Rising to his feet from behind the desk where he had been seated, John said, "I am glad you are home. I have bad news"—he glanced down at the note he had been writing—"not the sort one wishes to impart in writing."

  "What is it?" Patrick demanded, the knot of fear in his chest blooming once again. "Has something happened to Thea?"