Chasing Scandal

by Leslie V. Knowles

  "No. But then, you know that, don't you?"

  "Ravencliffe's note gave few details, only that the crowded ballroom gave you great distress.”

  That startled a short bitter laugh from her. "I suppose you could say that.” She shifted her gaze to the wall behind him. "A young woman making her debut does not push her way through the other guests screaming at top voice that she needs air. Nor does she collapse into a sobbing heap on the balcony when she finally breaks free of the ballroom doors.” She returned her gaze to his. "I suppose I should have known such a spectacular and cowardly display would take more than five years to fade from social memory.”

  "Do crowds still frighten you?"

  "I find them difficult,” she admitted. "Though I hope I would not panic as before. The ballroom was over-crowded and it was as though I had no control over where I moved. The musicians played a frolic and the dancers surged in my direction. It was like the great crowd that swarmed around my family before Beatrice pulled me out of sight of the beasts who slaughtered the rest of my family.”

  She blinked and took hold of her emotions. "It was long ago. I prefer not to dwell on the past.” She shifted her stance and faced him. "Must I endure another night in your bed – or might I be allowed my modesty and privacy at last?" Her face flamed when she spoke of modesty and he knew she was painfully aware that it was she, and not he, who had crossed the quilted barrier that morning.

  "You will not attempt to leave or take Alice from my protection?"

  "You still doubt my motives?"

  "My orders are to keep you here until further notice.”

  “At least let me notify my household and let them know I am well and will return. They will be frantic.”

  “Out of the question. Someone might trace the messenger and put Alice at risk.”

  She bit her lip and looked away, then back again. Her stance finally easing, she promised, "I shall not leave Alice. Nor shall I spirit her away in the middle of the night.”

  Tristan nodded. "Then I believe we will both be relieved to establish different sleeping arrangements. I suggest you take the chamber next to Alice.”

  He stepped around her and returned to the kitchen. The change of bedchambers relieved his guilt, but the agreement left a hint of disappointment behind.

  CHAPTER 13

  For the first time since encountering Julia Dorsey on the road to Surrey, Tristan awoke refreshed. He scratched an itch on his bare chest, grateful that he’d not had to spend another night fully clothed. He sat up and swung his feet to the floor. Ravencliffe’s note had raised his hopes that he would no longer need to act as Julia’s jailor.

  How did Julia sleep? Had she been plagued by nightmare again? He sincerely hoped not. Until yesterday, he’d been unsure of her claims of innocence, but he’d known her night terrors were real.

  No hardened traitor blushed so easily.

  He smiled.

  She hated those blushes for revealing her vulnerability. And she was vulnerable. She presented a calm, practical and unflinching presence no matter that her crimson cheeks betrayed her inner conflicts. Anger, frustration, embarrassment, or awareness—every emotion brought color to her complexion. He thought it rather endearing. Endearing? Good God, where had that word come from?

  Endearing implied affection. She intrigued him, she aroused him, but they were little more than strangers. Affection did not rise to the wary companionship they had shared in a single week’s time. Amusing. That was it. Her blushes amused him with their naiveté.

  As soon as Ravencliffe confirmed her identification, he would suggest that Julia go to her cousin’s townhouse in London if she was still concerned about her abrupt disappearance. People would think nothing of her paying him a familial visit, especially if he was as ill as he’d heard.

  He wished he could send them both to London and make them Ravencliffe’s problem, but he couldn’t be sure Alice would be any safer there. Until the culprits were exposed and in custody, Goodwin was still at risk for blackmail. So Tristan would have to harness his impatience until Ravencliffe sent a replacement for their protection. Perhaps Julia would remain with Alice. He paused in the act of pouring water into the washbasin. The thought pleased him more than he liked to admit.

  He finished dressing and went downstairs where he was startled to find Julia already in the kitchen, slicing bread. Her chamber door had been closed and he’d not checked her room. It disturbed him that he’d not heard her passage in the hall.

  "Good morning, Mr. Sheffield. Did you sleep well?"

  "Quite well, and you?"

  "Remarkably well.” She kept her attention focused on her task, but he caught the slight acerbic bite in her words. "One rests so much better when not bound hand and foot.”

  "True.” He knelt and loaded several pieces of wood into the firebox. "Just as one rests so much better when not obliged to share one's bed with an encroaching enemy.” He didn't need to look behind him to know he'd irritated her. "I am sure we are both thankful such measures are no longer necessary.”

  Now if only Ravencliffe would free him to locate the blackmailer. Only Ravencliffe knew Tristan was not alone at the house. Not even the courier who watched for chimney smoke and message signals. Unless the traitor was part of Summerfield’s staff and learned of their location when he responded to Ravencliffe’s inquiry, they were safer here than in London. The deadline set for Goodwin to disclose the shipping dates and supply routes was at hand. Until Tristan succeeded in discovering the traitor, Alice remained in danger, and time was running out.

  He arranged several thin wooden shavings then used a flint to kindle a fire before rising and putting the kettle on the hob. He took two cups from the shelf and set them onto the table. When she looked up, he said, "Now that I am no longer obliged to treat you as a prisoner, I shall not require you to accompany me to the river this morning. I propose to replenish the fish larder while you and Alice remain at the house. Isolated as it is, I prefer you both to remain out of sight as much as possible.” He gave her a wry grin. “And fish bite better without a child tossing pebbles into the water.”

  Their gazes met. Her lips twitched. "I suspect you are right.”

  Before arriving at the riverbank an hour later, Tristan surveyed the perimeter of his property to reassure himself they remained unobserved. Hartford Manor was isolated, but not impossible to find if one knew who to ask. He shifted his position and admitted he’d left the house against his better judgment, for until he knew who had attacked Goodwin’s family he must remain vigilant.

  He finally settled at the riverbank a quarter of a mile beyond the spot where he'd fished the first day. Now that he didn't have to worry about Alice falling into the deeper water, he could fish from the deep pool his father had shown him the only time they'd come to Hartford Manor alone together.

  That same day had been the only time his father ever spoke to him about his mother and he’d finally come to believe his father might truly have married his mother if he'd known of her situation, despite the scandal it would have caused. After all, the duke had ignored similar scandal to make Tristan part of his legitimate family. But, of course, His Grace hadn't married her, and nothing could change that fact.

  Tristan cast his hook into the river and sat on an exposed boulder. With no other distractions, his thoughts returned to the delicately slender woman whose sultry voice and green eyes kept him half aroused night and day. He'd missed their game of chess the night before. He'd also missed knowing she slept beside him, though her absence was the reason he'd finally managed a decent night's sleep. He needed the distance to ease the disturbing effect she had on his concentration. He hoped Ravencliffe would not insist they remain together much longer.

  Sunlight filtered through the early morning cloud cover as a slight breeze whispered through the trees and made the tall grasses sway and rustle. Tristan absorbed what most people called the silence of the country. It was not silent. True, the rattle of carriages or the shouts of venders d
id not fill the air here. Sounds did not bounce back against the walls of buildings, nor did the air vibrate from the constant motion of life.

  He had to admit he’d enjoyed the fresh air and soft breezes when Alice had made daisy chains and he fished for their dinner the first day. He’d been charmed by Alice’s giggles when she tried to hide among the shrubs and trees along the riverbank. What would it have been like to spend his childhood running free in open fields instead of dodging bullies in the mean streets of London’s rookeries?

  That question disturbed Tristan's city sensibilities while the never-ending flow of the river caused his eyelids to droop. Thankfully, each tug on his fishing line broke the spell and kept him aware of where he was and of how much time had passed since he'd cast his line into the water. Isolated they might be, but he did not feel comfortable leaving his charges unguarded for long.

  After he filled the bucket with his catch, he gathered his pole, picked up the bucket and headed back to the house. The grassy bank sloped up to a stand of trees and he stepped into the light at the same time as he heard a branch snap. Then a burst of pain exploded across the back of his head and everything went black.

  "NOW STITCH ALONG THIS edge here,” Julia instructed Alice.

  They sat in the downstairs parlor by the window piecing together scraps of cloth to form the folds of a doll's nightrail. After having her hair brushed and braided, Alice had decided that Harriet needed sleep clothes in addition to the walking dress she already wore. By using four handkerchiefs, Julia had fashioned pieces for gown and sleeves that she now showed Alice how to sew together.

  She had picked up two more pieces to match together when a movement outside the window caught Julia's attention. A carriage and four approached the house down the gravel drive. Alarm sent her pulse racing. Tristan had made it clear no one but his superior and the courier who supplied provisions and correspondence knew anyone was here. So who was this? Should she hide with Alice and let whomever it was think the house abandoned? Should they slip out the back and warn Tristan of the strangers?

  Julia rose, thinking to shepherd Alice into the kitchen, when she noticed that the outriders looked familiar. As the visitors drew closer, she recognized her cousin’s burly head footman, Ned Smith, and Tom, Renard’s less bulky and slightly shorter second footman. Though she didn’t recognize the coachman who drove the carriage, she let out the breath she hadn't realized she held. Cousin Renard had come for her.

  When Julia opened the door, she saw that the men expected to be met with resistance. Both Ned and Tom held pistols at the ready.

  "You may put those away, Ned. All is well.”

  She peered around him. "Does Renard need help to come inside? He shouldn't strain himself.” Her cousin suffered from consumption and his letters of recent months had indicated that his condition had worsened until he'd been forced to cease his work with the Foreign Office. He had visited her only once in the past five years, so she had assumed he was too ill to travel.

  "He couldn’t come himself. He sent us to fetch you. Where is the fellow who stole the child from you?" Ned spoke in a low voice, again making Julia wonder if they expected Tristan to attack.

  "Down at the river fishing for our dinner,” she told him. "You need not whisper. We’re not prisoners.” At least, not any more.

  The two men looked at each other, and Julia noted that they seemed to communicate some message silently. Tom tipped his cap and retreated from the doorway. It was clear they'd assumed Tristan was the threat her cousin warned her about when he’d written her that the carriage accident had been a kidnapping gone wrong.

  "Mr. Sheffield misunderstood the situation when he stole her away. He’s a friend of Lord Goodwin, who sent him to keep Alice safe.” Julia stepped back to allow Ned to enter, then turned to lead him into the parlor. "He didn’t know that you rescued Alice from the crash site, but believed she'd been carried away by kidnappers. He even suspected me until he learned who I was.”

  Ned's lip curled and he studied her in a way that made the hair on the back of her neck rise. "Treated you with a bit of disrespect, did he?"

  There was no way she would reveal details of her time here to her cousin's footman. She had never quite liked him, finding him to be coarse and insolent, though he was absolutely loyal to her cousin. "Mr. Sheffield is an honorable man and has treated me as a lady at all times.” At least, most of the time... he had, after all, averted his eyes and apologized for binding her hands and ankles each night.

  "Well, you’re to come with us now.” Ned stepped into the parlor and motioned to Alice. 'Come along, child. Time to go.”

  Alice looked up from her sewing. "Where?"

  "London. Now, come along with me.” He reached out to take her hand, but she quickly put it behind herself and scooted away from him.

  "Mr. Sheffield said I am to stay here until my Papa says I may come home.”

  Julia followed Ned into the room. "Ned works for my cousin, Lord Summerfield, Alice. He was one of the men who found you that day. Do you not remember?"

  Alice studied the tall man but Julia thought it unlikely that she remembered much beyond the shock of her injured arm and her fears for her mother and baby brother. She turned her gaze to Julia and asked, "Does Mr. Sheffield know?"

  "Tom will take care of him,” Ned said before Julia could reply. "We must be on the road immediately. Now come.” This time he caught her hand and tugged her forward.

  "Wait,” Julia protested. "Let me gather her clothes—”

  "His lordship said not to bother with anything but you and the girl.” He caught her arm with his other hand and propelled them both to the door. "There be lap robes in the carriage if you get chilled.”

  Alice turned, and tried to pull her hand from Ned’s. “I want Harriet!” She protested.

  “I said come, girl,” Ned tugged her harder and shoved Julia forward.

  “Ned, don’t be in such a hurry. Let her bring her doll,” Julia tried to draw her arm away, but he held fast. The set of Ned’s jaw alarmed her and she stopped resisting. In a matter of heartbeats, she and Alice were bundled into the carriage.

  Confused by Ned's blunt manner and his rush to be gone, Julia wondered if her cousin knew something Tristan didn’t. She remembered her early assumption that Tristan had betrayed his friend and was guilty of the scheme. Yet within a few days she’d come to accept his explanations though she had only his word that he’d fulfilled his friend's request. Had she accepted his explanations too easily? Was he guilty after all?

  Cousin Renard will explain when we arrive.

  Tom came around the corner of the house and Alice called, "Does Mr. Sheffield know we are leaving?"

  "I found 'im.” Tom said as he climbed up to sit beside the coachman. "All's clear.”

  Ned shut the carriage door firmly, then mounted his bay gelding. The carriage lurched and wheeled them away from the manor. They were off for London.

  CHAPTER 14

  Awareness returned in the guise of throbbing pain at the base of Tristan's skull. When he moved his head, the agony expanded through his temples and into his forehead. The pulsing waves threatened to overwhelm him, he struggled not to lose his breakfast. For a moment, he lay still and breathed in the scent of crushed grass and damp earth. Grit pressed into his cheek. The riverbank. He'd been about to return to the house with fish.

  Moving with great care, he managed to roll to his side and sit up. Only then did he try to open his eyes. The hazy sunlight sent another stab of pain ricocheting around his brain. It did not surprise him to discover that he could not focus properly. He closed his eyes again and swallowed hard, still fighting nausea.

  Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself onto his feet, then stood swaying until he found his balance and sorted his scrambled thoughts. Betrayal. Julia has Alice. Danger.

  He reached up to touch the back of his head, sending another wave of pain through his brain. He encountered sticky, drying blood where he'd been struck. He winced as mu
ch from the mortification of betrayal by a woman he’d been foolish enough to trust as from the raw wound. Julia must have followed him and stuck him down. The moment he'd been foolish enough to leave her alone, the damned woman betrayed his misplaced trust and undoubtedly escaped with the child. She kept her word not to carry Alice off into the night, then acted by day instead.

  He called himself every kind of fool for ignoring his first assumptions about her. Experience had warned him not to trust his gut or that instinct driven part of him lower down. He'd shown her ways to avoid being noticed. He should have remembered how plain and mousey he'd thought her in Portsmouth. He taught her nothing she did not already know.

  He stumbled, caught his balance again, and staggered back to the house. How long had he been unconscious? He tried to assess the shadows. Longer, but not much longer. Julia must have packed and taken Alice as soon as she had rendered him unconscious. With every determined step his thoughts sharpened until he was able to ignore the pounding agony in his head.

  The front door hung open. Anger shifted to unease. Julia would not leave the door open. It made their escape untidy. She might be many things, but she was not careless. She needed control and order.

  In the parlor, he found the doll, Harriet, lying on the settee along with scraps of cloth and sewing supplies. Alice had been engaged in making clothing for her doll, but had not been allowed to take it with her. That, too, did not fit. No matter what threats Goodwin had received, Julia had treated the child kindly. She would have permitted the child to take the doll no matter how quickly she made her escape.

  A pattern of dirt on the carpet caught his attention. A man's dirty footprint. Someone else was involved. That explained the open door, and his aching head, but did not answer the question of Julia's role. Was the man her partner, her paramour, or her captor?