The Price of Temptation

by Lecia Cornwall

  Well, perhaps not so faithful after all, since he was pointing one of Philip’s own dueling pistols at his master’s chest.

  “I can see that, Starling. Give me the gun at once and tell me where she is.”

  Starling shifted, obviously uneasy about disobeying a direct order. “There are men outside, my lord, watching the house.”

  Philip felt his stomach clench. He’d taken too great a risk in coming here, and hadn’t expected to find disobedience and mayhem threatening him in his own household. He forced himself to sneer at the threat.

  “Should I ask them where my wife is?”

  “She’s out. Gone to a party,” Starling replied stiffly. “If you don’t leave, I will summon the watch.”

  Philip chuckled and took a step toward the spindly butler. He snatched the gun from Starling’s hand before the servant could even react, and gripped his throat. “How will you summon them? With your last breath?”

  He felt the butler swallow. To his surprise, Starling pulled a massive kitchen knife out from somewhere. He put it against his chest. Philip could feel the point through his waistcoat. By the light of the single candle, he read hatred in Starling’s eyes. “All I have to do is cry out, my lord. The window’s open. They’ll come running, but they won’t reach this room before you’re dead.”

  Philip let the butler go, giving him a shove that knocked him off balance, and strode past him toward the door.

  “My wife has something I want, Starling. A banner. Do you know where it is?”

  He shook his head, still holding the knife.

  “Then you may tell her I’ll be back.”

  Starling sagged against the banister as the front door slammed. He crossed to the bedroom window and watched Philip Renshaw leave in a plain coach. He scanned the darkness, wondering if there truly were men out there. He’d been bluffing, and now that it was over, he realized he was shaking. He tucked Mrs. Cooper’s knife back into his waistband.

  Picking up the candle he walked along the upper hall. He put his ear to the door of the back bedroom. There wasn’t a sound inside. Lady Evelyn was asleep. He let go a sigh of relief.

  Starling wasn’t surprised she was in this room. She had slept here for weeks, and he was well aware she hadn’t been alone. At first he’d been shocked, but Sam was a good man, discreet and dependable, and he made everyone feel safe while he was here. Starling touched the handle of the knife, realized his hand was still shaking. He was too old for this kind of thing.

  Philip Renshaw would be back.

  Starling had never known a more ruthless man. He shivered, and sat down in the hall outside the door, placing the knife beside him on the floor, settling himself for the night.

  Much as he hated to admit it, Lady Evelyn needed Sam Carr more than ever.

  They all did.

  Chapter 41

  “Lord Westlake explained why it wasn’t possible for you to come and visit me, Sinjon. Dreadful charges, and not a one of them true,” Countess Elizabeth said to her son in Westlake’s drawing room. Marianne had shown the countess in, and then withdrawn to give mother and son privacy. He had no idea what Westlake had told his wife, but she’d been the perfect hostess.

  “You look well,” his mother said. “Even Caroline said so.”

  “I am pleased to see that you have recovered from the shock I gave you.”

  She waved the apology away. “I am glad to see you alive, Sinjon. I’ve missed you, feared you were dead. I have been in London for weeks, hoping for news of you, and you were scarcely a mile away. You might have written to me, or sent word to Caroline.”

  “Father disowned me. He sent a man to London before I sailed for Spain to tell me not to come home again. I thought you knew.”

  “Of course I knew, but I did not disown you, Sinjon. You are still my son, and your father will come to his senses.” She blinked away maternal tears and he gave her his handkerchief.

  “I have a letter for you. Your father received it some months ago. He tried to burn it, the stubborn old fool, but I rescued it from the grate. I had to have news of you, you see.”

  Sinjon’s skin prickled. “Who sent it?” Would Creighton dare to write to his mother?

  “It was badly singed, I’m afraid, but I believe it’s from someone you knew in Spain. Do you owe him money, perchance?” she asked. “I can lend you some, if it will help. There was another letter enclosed as well, in a feminine hand, written in French. I thought you had come to an understanding with Caroline before you left.”

  Sinjon stared at her. “Who wrote the letter, Mother? Was his name O’Neill?”

  “I don’t know his last name, Sinjon. That part was burned away.” She opened her reticule. “Here, see for yourself. I have carried this for weeks, my only connection to my youngest son.”

  He looked at the charred envelope in his mother’s hand. The melted wax seal was like blood, and the blackened edges looked like battle scars. He took it, his stomach tightening.

  The scrawl on the front, what could be read, was unfamiliar. It was not from Creighton, then. He opened it. The first sheet bore the same hand.

  —afraid for my life. I barely escaped alive from Major C, who has proven himself an enemy to both of us. I wish to make amends for my sins, and be of assistance to you in the matter that has seen you brought low under false charges. I will gladly do what I can to make this right for you. You are as fine an officer as I—

  The rest of the text was burned away, but part of the signature was visible: Sergeant Patr— Sinjon stared at it, his heart in his throat.

  “Who is the lady who wrote you?” his mother asked, looking over his shoulder at the second note. “That’s obviously a woman’s hand.”

  Sinjon rose and crossed to the window to read it, pretending he needed better light to make out the words, but in truth wanting a moment’s privacy.

  I am sending this to your family home in hopes it will find you. The soldier who wrote the letter enclosed came to me in fear of his life. He asked me to help him, and to help you. I have not forgotten your kindness to me, and to protect your friend I have brought him here to my farm in Normandy. He is afraid to return to England. If you can find a way to come to us, you will be most welcome, treated as a friend and a guest.

  It was signed by Marielle d’Agramant. Sinjon felt a shock run through his veins. Whatever the service he had done her, he was still an enemy to her husband and her country.

  “Well?” his mother asked.

  “She’s a lady I met in Spain, a colonel’s wife.”

  Relief flooded her face. “I see. Then you will marry Caroline?”

  Did Caroline truly still expect him to propose? “No,” he said, and watched her face fall.

  “Is there someone else?”

  Evelyn’s face filled his mind, but he shook his head.

  “Then when can we expect you to come home?” she asked.

  “Mother, have you heard the charges against me?”

  She sniffed. “Of course! London gossip is full of two topics, and you seem to be part of both. I don’t understand how you came to be working as a footman for Lord Renshaw’s wife, but I know that you would never commit rape or treason. I would more quickly believe it of your brother than you.” She patted his cheek. “Perhaps I should have named you Gabriel, or Angel, so they could never call you Sin.”

  He felt like a child of six again. He squeezed her hand gently. “I’ll come home when I can face Father without these charges hanging over my head.”

  “Then I suppose I’d better go back to Chelton and prepare him.”

  “It could take some time.”

  She smiled with a mother’s confidence that he’d have no difficulty proving his innocence. “Do let me know where you are from time to time.” She looked pointedly at the letters on the table. “Whatever you plan to do.”

  He picked up Marielle d’Agramant’s letter and looked at the address, smeared by the melted wax. Normandy.

  It seemed he’d have
to go to France if he wanted to prove he wasn’t a traitor, for his parents, for O’Neill, and especially for Evelyn.

  Chapter 42

  Adam Westlake woke at dawn, when his wife poked him in the ribs.

  “Do you recall the Somerson’s ball, and the gossip about a lady and a footman embracing on the steps?”

  “It’s too early for gossip,” Adam mumbled. “Can’t this wait for breakfast?”

  She pulled the covers off him. “No, it can’t! Do pay attention.”

  He unwillingly opened one eye. His wife was beautiful in the morning, with her hair loose, her nightgown lost somewhere on the floor with his. He instantly found himself in a state that ruled out listening. He reached for her, and frowned when she slipped away.

  “I think it was Evelyn, Adam. And Captain Rutherford.”

  “Come back to bed and stop talking nonsense. He’s a footman. A lady like Evelyn would never—”

  “But he isn’t!” Marianne said triumphantly. “I agree, it would be most shocking if he were truly a servant, but he’s an earl’s son.”

  “But she didn’t know that until last night.”

  His wife mulled that over for a moment. “Still.” She shrugged. “It’s very romantic. Is he innocent?” Adam squirmed inwardly.

  “How would I know that?”

  Her eyes sparked. “You wouldn’t have invited him to stay if he were guilty of rape and treason. I assume you’re being noble, and trying to help him prove his innocence.”

  “Come back to bed, Marianne,” he murmured, hoping to distract her, but as she slipped back under the sheet, she grinned that knowing smile of hers, the one that suggested she knew everything and he didn’t have any secrets she hadn’t already discovered.

  He’d hurried to Rutherford’s room as soon as his wife had breakfasted and headed upstairs to the nursery, in case she had the same idea and came looking for something to prove that Rutherford and Evelyn were—

  “Impossible,” he muttered to the footman’s coat in Rutherford’s closet. Or was it?

  Marianne’s theory offered one reason for Rutherford to keep the gonfalon. Love made men do ridiculous things. There were a number of ways the flag could benefit the good captain.

  He could sell it back to the French for a fortune. He needed money. He might also sell it to Philip Renshaw for the same reason.

  He could be using it to blackmail Evelyn into sleeping with him. How much, Adam wondered, did he truly know about the man’s honor?

  Rutherford might simply surrender himself and the gonfalon to Horse Guards, bypassing him entirely, in return for exoneration of the charges against him. The army would do almost anything to own their enemy’s prize possession.

  None of these ideas pleased Adam. He looked around the room, at the few personal items it contained. Sinjon Rutherford was a man without a home or a family. All he had was trouble.

  And the gonfalon.

  He shut the closet and left his guest’s room. He had no choice but to trust that Sinjon Rutherford was indeed an honorable man. And if he turned out to be as craven as most men, well, Rutherford wasn’t going anywhere without his permission.

  All he had to do was watch him, and wait.

  Chapter 43

  “Sam! My apologies— I mean my lord,” Starling said as Sinjon entered the salon. He sketched an awkward bow.

  Sinjon looked at the man’s haggard face, felt his gut tighten in apprehension. “Is Evelyn all right?”

  “Yes, and no,” Starling sighed. “Lord Renshaw came to the house last night.”

  “Did he hurt her?”

  “He didn’t find her. She was sleeping in the small bedroom at the end of the hall,” Starling said. “You know the one.”

  His meaning was clear in his eyes, and Sinjon swallowed. Did that mean the rest of the staff knew about their affair as well? For a panicked second he wondered if it would help if he denied it, but Starling shook his head.

  “I’m not here to judge. All that is between you and the lady, but she is married, and her husband is a very unpleasant man. I saw him off, but he said he’ll be back.”

  “What did he want?” Sinjon asked.

  “I don’t know exactly. A flag, he said, but what would a traitor want with a flag? I can’t recall ever seeing a flag around the house.”

  Sinjon sat down in the nearest chair to prevent himself from running for Renshaw House to see for himself that Evelyn was safe. “Does she know he was there?”

  Starling puffed like a bantam cock. “I made sure she didn’t, but he’s still the master of that house. I left John Coachman sitting in the kitchen armed with one of his lordship’s dueling pistols. I doubt he knows how to use it, Sam—er, sir. I must get back before he shoots himself in the foot, or wings Mrs. Cooper.” He bit his lip. “I know you did not part on good terms with her ladyship, but we—the servants—need your help to keep her safe. I can hide you in the attic. You could keep an eye on things from there.”

  Sinjon’s spine prickled the way it used to before a battle, a warning of bad things to come. Even if she was in danger, Evelyn would not welcome his protection now. If he hid in her attic, he’d be one more of the unseen watchers she loathed. He’d kept enough secrets from her.

  “No.”

  Starling’s jaw dropped. “But what if Lord Renshaw returns?”

  He pictured Evelyn snatching the pistol from the coachman and using it to defend him from Philip.

  He got up and paced the room. The safest thing, of course, would be to get her out of Renshaw House, and out of Philip’s reach.

  “My lord?” Starling prompted after a few minutes of silence.

  The butler’s face was drawn with worry. He would do anything for Evelyn, regardless of his personal safety. So, Sinjon thought, would he.

  “I believe I have an idea, Mr. Starling.”

  Chapter 44

  “I’m going to France.”

  Adam watched Sinjon Rutherford pace the carpet in his study for a moment before replying. “I can’t see how that will be possible. I read your letters, of course. O’Neill may be right across the Channel, but we are at war with the French. It would be a fool’s mission. You’d be shot as a spy if you were caught, and you realize, of course, I could not be of assistance.”

  “I could as easily hang in London, and Creighton would shoot me if he knew where I was. Other than hiding me, you haven’t been a lot of assistance here, my lord.”

  Adam studied him. Rutherford wasn’t afraid. He looked like a man who believed he was doing the right thing, the only thing. He wasn’t going to be dissuaded by anything less than arrest and imprisonment. Whatever Adam said or did, Sinjon Rutherford intended to go to France. Admiration swelled in Adam’s breast.

  “How will you get there?” he asked. “Swim?

  “I’ll rent a boat. I used to sail when I was a boy.”

  A small boat on the English Channel. Why were heroes always so rash? Apparently the more honor a man had to his credit, the further he’d risk life and limb to defend it.

  “I’ll provide the transportation,” Adam said, and the captain’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “Why would you do that?” Rutherford asked softly. “What’s your price? You always have a price.”

  Adam smiled, trying to look easy, friendly, kind. By the frown on Rutherford’s face, he knew he’d missed his mark. “I’m simply trying to be helpful. One of my ships is making ready to sail. Later today, in fact, and a discreet stop on the French coast wouldn’t be impossible.” His ships frequently made the trip to spy on the enemy, but Rutherford didn’t need to know that. “Come now, I’m doing you a favor.”

  If Sinjon Rutherford was a traitor, he was offering him enough rope to hang himself. If not, he might prove worthy of greater trust, more responsibility, a job doing important tasks for the Crown on a regular basis. His men would keep a close eye on Rutherford, report on his activities.

  “Is that all you want? Gratitude?” Rutherford asked, as Adam
took out his pen and wrote a quick note to the captain of the Edmond.

  “Not at all. I want the gonfalon as well.”

  Sinjon’s lips pursed.

  “Is there a problem, Captain? You did say you have it, didn’t you?”

  Rutherford looked away. “Did you know that Philip Renshaw came home last night?”

  Adam’s brows rose. He hadn’t known. He wondered where his agents were.

  “Starling saw him off, but he’s promised to return.”

  “For Evelyn?” Adam asked. Sinjon shook his head, and Adam’s chest tightened. So Renshaw had come for the flag.

  “He’ll kill her when he discovers the gonfalon isn’t where he left it, Westlake.”

  “I’ll set extra men to watch the house, make sure he’s caught if he—”

  “No,” Rutherford growled.

  “Then what do you suggest, Captain? Especially since you plan to be out of England for a few critical days.”

  A crafty, sinister smile bloomed on Sinjon’s face, and Adam wondered if he’d missed something, or had played into the captain’s plans.

  “I want Evelyn out of that house when Renshaw comes back, in fact out of London would be even better. With her absent, you can fill every room with all the agents, spies, and assassins you’ve got. When Philip comes again, you’ll have him.”

  Adam wished he’d thought of it himself, but he kept his expression bland, since it was his job to point out the flaws. “There are other people watching Evelyn Renshaw, not just you and I. She can’t leave London. She’d face immediate arrest, and they’d seize every bit of Renshaw’s property. She could stay with her sisters, I suppose. I’m afraid I cannot invite her here with you in residence. It would be improper, given the circumstances.” Rutherford colored at the implication, and Adam marveled again at his wife’s perception.

  “She’s coming with me.”

  “To France? Are you mad?” Adam demanded. “If she cannot leave London, then going abroad is most definitely out of the question. Renshaw has lands in France, a French title. Think how that would look. We’d both hang.”