Barons, Brides, and Spies: Regency Series Starter Collection Volume Two

by Mary Lancaster

  He smiled faintly, taking the coat from her. “My dear Miss Muir, I cannot be seen leaving your house when you’re supposed to have been here alone without your aunt or brother all this time. I’ll go back along the tunnel.”

  “Just to try and win your wager?” she couldn’t hep mocking. Even though he’d had more than one kiss on advance already.

  He took her hand and kissed it gallantly. And then, being the wicked baron, he turned it and pressed another warmer kiss on the inside of her wrist, just over her galloping pulse. “I like to win. Good night, Miss Muir.”

  “Good night,” she said faintly when he dropped her hand. Then she watched him stride off across the cellar chamber and vanish into the darkness of the tunnel, the glow of his lantern swinging with his arm.

  *

  Lord Wickenden managed to reenter the castle by the same side door he’d left by, and to change into fresh clothes with the aid of his trusty valet who, however, expressed dire misgivings about the speed of the operation. Ignoring him, as he frequently did, Wickenden went downstairs in time for the tail-end of the ball.

  Lady Serena abandoned her partner with unseemly haste as soon as she caught sight of him. He headed her off by nodding reassuringly. He was more interested in seeing who was not present, for he doubted Gillie’s abduction had been spur-of-the-moment opportunism.

  “Everything well, old chap?” Braithwaite asked, coming up behind him as he quartered the ballroom.

  “Of course.”

  “My mother does this every year,” Braithwaite observed. “I’ve wriggled out of it the last couple of years, but I might be more cooperative in the future. You should come again, if you can bear it.”

  “Most of my country time is spent on my own estates,” Wickenden said abruptly, “but thanks.”

  Braithwaite leaned back against the nearby pillar and smiled slyly. “Unprecedented waltzing with provincial beauties. Wicked, old chap. I never thought you’d go so far in your apology.”

  “Apology?” Wickenden drawled. “My dear Braithwaite, can’t you see I’m at the lady’s feet?”

  Close by, since he hadn’t troubled to lower his voice, Kate Crowmore turned her head toward him. Wickenden smiled angelically and strolled away.

  Chapter Six

  Thursday, the day after the ball, was not a card party evening, so Gillie felt entitled to be a little lazy. Having played down her early departure from the ball so as not to worry her aunt, she did, after much thought, decide to take Bernard into her confidence.

  She discovered him in the dining room eating breakfast – a rare enough occurrence to make her stop dead in the doorway. “Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?”

  Bernard grinned good-naturedly. “Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted.

  Gillie walked over to the table and poured herself a cup of coffee. Bernard had heaped ham and toast on to his plate but didn’t appear to have eaten any of it. As she sat down and buttered a slice a toast, his eyes glazed over and he stared off into space, a rapt expression on his face that she couldn’t recall ever seeing before.

  “You should eat,” Gillie observed.

  “I’m not hungry,” Bernard replied, though at least his eyes came back into focus on her. “I can’t stop thinking about her.”

  “Who?” Gillie asked, bewildered.

  “A lady I met last night,” Bernard said, just a little sheepishly. “She is perfect. Immeasurably above me, and yet she danced with me.”

  “It was a ball,” Gillie murmured.

  “I’ve never seen such beauty, such playfulness, such…I can’t find the words.”

  Gillie, who had the sisterly urge to laugh at her brother in love with–or at least entranced by–a lady for the first time, swallowed her mirth and asked, “Who is this beauty?”

  “Catherine,” Bernard said reverently.

  “Catherine Winslow?” Gillie said in surprise, hardly recognizing their neighbor’s daughter in Bernard’s euphoric description.

  “Of course not!” Bernard exclaimed, clearly affronted. “She’s a child! An annoying one, too,” he added with a frown of memory.

  “Not anymore,” Gillie argued. “She must be seventeen years old and she was definitely at the ball for we were in the same set together. Which Catherine then?”

  “Lady Crowmore,” Bernard said in awed tones.

  Gillie, with a flash of memory from last night, couldn’t prevent her dismay. But at least she knew better than to show it. “She is certainly very beautiful and very fashionable,” she allowed. “Though a little older than the females I imagined would catch your eye.”

  “She dazzles me,” Bernard said simply.

  “Well, I wouldn’t be too obvious about it,” Gillie said uneasily. Thank God the castle guests would be gone soon, with their hosts. Including Lord Wickenden, but she wouldn’t think about that. “People can be unkind. Now, would you please stop daydreaming and listen to me? I had a different kind of adventure last night that you need to be aware of.”

  As she told him all that occurred after she’d gone outside with Lady Serena, leaving out the intimate and distinctly scandalous passages with Lord Wickenden, Bernard’s jaw dropped quite gratifyingly. He even sat up straight and stared at her until she finished with everyone’s arrival home.

  “Wickenden did that?” Bernard said, clearly clinging to the part of the story that had made the most impression upon him. “Well, I heard he spars with Gentleman Jackson himself. And they say he can kill his man with swords or pistols, so I suppose it’s not as amazing as all that. Except that he troubled. Especially after you barred him from the house!”

  “I apologized for that,” she said as calmly as she could. “As indeed did he for the misunderstanding.”

  Bernard frowned at her, clearly deep in thought. “Tell you what I think, Gillie?” he said at last. “I think he likes you.”

  In spite of herself, s flush rose to her cheeks. “Hardly.”

  “He danced with you at the ball–apparently he never dances–and rescued you from those villains. Seems to me, if you just play your cards right, he might be the answer to all our prayers.”

  “Oh don’t be so horrid and mercenary,” she exclaimed, her cheeks burning with a distress she was at a loss to account for. “I’ll not deny he was most kind last night, but he would no more consider offering for me than for Mattie! He’s just bored in Blackhaven.”

  “Well, I did hear he’d only come here because his friends bundled him out of London after his last duel. If his man dies, he’ll have to go abroad for a while. Though where, I don’t know, with Europe at war. There’s America, I suppose, only aren’t we still officially at war with them too? India, then…”

  “Bernard, keep to the point,” she interrupted with severity. “Which is that these men who tried to abduct me are dangerous and looking for something. It strikes me they might go after you or Aunt Margaret, too. Or any of the servants. Danny can take care of himself, of course, but what of Charles and Mattie? And Dulcie!”

  “Dulcie never leaves the house, so she’s fine,” Bernie said, scratching his head. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

  “No, it doesn’t, but I’m going to tell Charles and Mattie not to go out alone for the time being. Nor you, Bernie. Take Danny with you.”

  She could tell that he wasn’t convinced but at that moment, Charles appeared, with the news that a gentleman had called and was in the parlor with Miss Muir. Gillie and Bernard exchanged glances of sudden horror. The men had come here last night, failing to get passed the redoubtable Danny, but the easygoing Charles could have let any plausible villain in.

  As one, Gillie and Bernard bolted from the dining room, rushed across the hall and upstairs to the parlor.

  They arrived together, all but exploding into the room, breathless and no doubt wild-eyed. Aunt Margaret sat in her usual chair, her needlework in her lap, peering over the top of her spectacles at them with an expression of mild surprise.

  Opposite
her, sat Lord Wickenden.

  He rose to his feet, bowing slightly from the waist. As groomed and elegant as ever, he bore little trace of the man who’d knocked two brutes unconscious, clambered over rocks in his shirt sleeves, and kissed her so…well, like that.

  Bernard made a small, inarticulate noise in his throat and bowed nervously in return.

  “Gillie,” Aunt Margaret uttered in tones of despair. “Did Charles not tell you his lordship was here?”

  Self-consciously, Gillie touched her roughly pinned hair. Her hand itched to smooth the dull, everyday gown, but she forced it to be still. This gown’s appearance was well beyond a mere brush to improve. So, she simply walked forward and civilly held out her hand to Lord Wickenden.

  “How do you do?” she murmured.

  He took her hand, and she couldn’t help the way her pulse raced under his cool fingers. Even though there was no warmth in his equally cool eyes.

  “That’s what I came to ask you,” he murmured. “I heard from Lady Serena that you’d been taken ill.”

  “Did you?” she said wryly.

  A spark of humor lit his eyes and she realized with relief the part he was playing for the benefit of her aunt and brother.

  “I told Bernard,” she murmured. “For his own safety.”

  Bernard all but shoved her aside in order to shake hands enthusiastically with the baron. “Most grateful for what you did last night,” he said earnestly. “Forever in your debt.”

  “Nonsense,” Wickenden said briskly, retrieving his hand. “But I think you do need to take precautions to keep your sister and your household safe.”

  “Absolutely.” Bernard nodded sagely.

  “I’ve taken the liberty of asking Lord Braithwaite’s people to find out who these men were. They’d vanished from the beach by the time I got back there.”

  “How did you get back?” Gillie demanded. “Was the tide not too far in to get round?”

  “I climbed up the path from Black Cove and walked up the road. I don’t suppose your smuggler is talking yet?”

  “He’s fevered,” Gillie said. “But you’re right. I’m sure Jack can shed some light on this. Do sit down.”

  As she turned to the sofa, Bernard hissed in her ear, “You told him about Jack?”

  “He saw Jack. He isn’t stupid.”

  “Thank you,” Wickenden murmured in tones of amusement. “Or deaf.”

  Fortunately, Mattie brought the tea tray in then. Bernard spent a few minutes trying to talk sport with Wickenden, until the baron said casually, “There will be a few of us at the long field for curricle racing this afternoon. If you like sport, come and watch.”

  Bernard flushed with pleasure. “Truly, sir?”

  “Truly,” Wickenden said, turning to make civil conversation about the weather with Aunt Margaret.

  Gillie was glad of the invitation, since it pleased Bernard so much and might, besides deflect him from the charms of Lady Crowmore. She wondered if her brother knew of the rumored connection between the lady and the wicked baron. In fact, now that she thought of it herself, she couldn’t help wondering if Lady Crowmore’s presence at the castle hadn’t been the main attraction for Wickenden.

  Hastily, she shook off such thoughts of matters which were not and never would be any of her business. Instead, remembering the paper she’d picked up in the tunnel, she rose with a murmured excuse and went to fetch it from her bedchamber. By the time she returned, Wickenden was already taking his leave of her aunt.

  “Oh, you’re going,” Gillie said from the doorway, forgetting to hide her disappointment. “I meant to show you this.”

  “Walk with me to the front door,” he recommended. “What is this?”

  “It’s the paper we found in the tunnel last night. Look, there’s blood on it.”

  He halted at the top of the stairs and took it from her, eying the bloodstains with disfavor. “Your smuggler’s?”

  “I don’t think anyone else was bleeding. I think Jack must have dropped it there. It doesn’t seem to make any sense in English or in French, though these words might be names, do you think?”

  “English names,” Wickenden said thoughtfully. “In code.”

  “They’re probably his customers,” Gillie said.

  “Possibly.”

  Gillie stood on tiptoe to peer over his arm. His gaze lifted from the paper to her face and remained there, unblinking, reminding her how close to him she stood. Her breath seemed to be trapped. For an instant, the walls, the stairs, even the bloodstained paper all faded as if there was only him in the world.

  Then he dragged his gaze free and began to walk down the stairs. “Would you know any of these names?” he asked calmly. “If they are indeed customers.”

  She shook her head. “I might, but we don’t really talk about such things. I suppose you could go round the neighborhood tasting everyone’s brandy.”

  “I’ll bear it in mind for the long winter months,” he said sardonically. “May I keep this?”

  “Of course.”

  “And if you get any sense out of your smuggler, send me word through your brother.”

  “You are in a hurry,” she observed as he scooped his hat off the table in the hall and strode on toward the door, where he paused. He would expect, she thought, a servant to open it for him.

  He glanced back over his shoulder, a faint smile hovering on his lips. “I’m being good. I just can’t keep it up for very long.” He opened the door and was gone.

  And for some reason she was smiling at the closed door, her spirits soaring without permission.

  *

  Gillie was taking her turn nursing Jack, to give poor Dulcie a rest, when Bernard stuck his head in the door to say he was off to see the curricle racing in the long field up by the castle.

  “Take Danny with you – discreetly,” she ordered. “And listen. On your way back, I think you should call on Jack’s wife, make sure all is well with her.”

  Bernard frowned, very briefly distracted from his pride in being invited anywhere by the wicked baron. “You think these thugs might be looking for Jack?”

  “Or just for anyone who knows the tunnel. They’re strangers, so they’re unlikely to know who does and doesn’t know such things. They’d have to pursue only those they’d be sure could tell them.”

  “Well, after their botched work last night, they’d flee the country if they’d any sense,” Bernard said cheerfully. “But just in case they’re stupid, I’ll make sure Charles keeps the door locked and doesn’t let in any strangers.”

  During the afternoon, Jack’s fever finally broke and Dulcie, brought in for her opinion, pronounced that he would live. Gillie had her doubts, for the man still seemed weak and listless, and barely opened his eyes, but taking her old nurse at her word, she left the bedchamber and went to take tea with her aunt as usual.

  When Aunt Margaret’s friends, the Misses Derwent joined them, as they often did, it came to Gillie that few other ladies called any more. The officers’ wives and local ladies including the squire’s wife and the vicar’s daughter had used to call quite regularly. Looking back, she couldn’t quite recall exactly when the change had begun, but surely it had been after her father died. If she’d thought of it at all, she’d put it down to respect for her mourning, but it was six months now since he’d died.

  Maybe the countess was right. Maybe no one regarded her as respectable anymore. It was stupid and unfair but it could well be true. In which case, at least she’d win Lord Wickenden’s wager, for her plight would be beyond the scope of his polite and respectful favor to fix.

  But there was no real reason to care for that kind of reputation. She very much doubted she’d ever want to marry anyone who was actually prepared to marry her.

  At least Major Randolph arrived a few minutes later to cheer her up. “How are you?” he asked Gillie after greeting the older ladies in his polite manner. “I heard you left the ball early last night.”

  “Yes, it was
quite annoying,” Gillie said lightly. “I felt unwell and had to come home – which unfortunately spoiled my aunt’s evening too – and Bernard’s, although to be truthful, he hadn’t wanted to come in the first place.”

  “He seemed happy enough by the end,” Randolph observed. “Most taken with one of the Countess’s London guests.”

  “So I believe! Do you know her?”

  Randolph shook his head. “She has a somewhat scandalous reputation.”

  Gillie wrinkled her nose. “But because she is married, she is received everywhere.”

  “That and I expect she retains just enough discretion. But I do not wish to talk about her. I was hoping nothing that occurred at the ball upset you enough to force you to leave. I did see Grantham quarrel with you.”

  She waved that to one side. “I suppose I was indiscreet to make such a fuss,” she said contritely. “I should apologize to him for that if for nothing else.”

  “Well, that must be between you and Grantham. So long as it was not your next dancing partner who drove you from the ball.”

  Although she tried to remain calm, she couldn’t prevent the flush seeping into her face. “Lord Wickenden? Of course not. He is most entertaining.”

  “He has chosen to single you out a couple of times now. I just want you to know that if you and Bernard need a friend, I am here.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “We have always regarded you so.”

  All the same, she was glad of the opportunity to break off the conversation to rise and fetch the tea poured by her aunt. Her hackles rose at the idea he imagined she needed friends to stand with her against Lord Wickenden. Besides, if Randolph had noticed the baron’s attentions, so had the rest of the town.

  Randolph had only just departed when Mattie appeared in the room with a quick curtsey and sidled up to Gillie. “Miss, Jack’s wife is here, with all four of her bairns. Should I take them up to Jack?”

  So much for keeping the smuggler’s presence from the rest of the household. Gillie hesitated, then rose to her feet. “Let me speak to them first. Excuse me,” she added civilly to her guests who barely noticed her departure.