Mary Blayney

by Traitors Kiss; Lovers Kiss

  It took awhile to warm the bed and to allow Olivia to sip her broth, but before long all were waiting to hear the story.

  Olivia told them an interesting version of what they had agreed on. “I was walking down from the castle on my way to see you today.” She nodded at the vicar. “I was thinking I would do my own inspection on the way and see what damage the storm had done. I decided to stop by the river to see if there were any mushrooms. I have been thinking of making a soup of varying kinds of mushrooms and am still trying to decide what proportion of each would be best.”

  “It sounds intriguing, Lollie,” Mrs. Blackford patted her hand. “So you were thinking about the ingredients and became distracted as you walked along?”

  “Yes.” Olivia’s sigh was all apology. “I heard someone and looked up to see Mr. Garrett and his horse moving along the path. I took a step without watching where I was going, slipped on a wet rock and fell into the river. I think I could have saved myself but Mr. Garrett insisted on rescuing me.”

  All four looked at him.

  “I could hardly sit my horse and watch while Lady Olivia struggled.”

  “He held up his greatcoat for privacy while I took my clothes off. Removing my clothes was my idea and not his,” she hastened to add. “I was already shivering.”

  “Where are your clothes?” the reverend asked, scanning the room as though they should be there somewhere.

  “Left by the river. I think we both just forgot them in our hurry to find someplace warm.”

  Michael was satisfied with the improvisation. He thought it likely that her clothes had been taken to be used in some part of the plot she had foiled. Busy mulling over that idea, he did not at first notice the silence.

  “The vicar asked why you were on that road. What were you looking for, Mr. Garrett?” The housekeeper seemed more than curious. She had already cast him as part of the plot.

  “I was looking for the road to Manchester.” Honesty made that answer simple.

  They looked skeptical. The housekeeper was fingering her keys, the vicar had his fingers steepled, a searching look in his eye, and Miss Drummond was patting her mouth with her fingers as though trying to keep words inside. The “rescuer of lost sheep” had suddenly become the devil.

  The vicar’s sister could not keep quiet any longer. “Mrs. Blackford, you commented on a new face in town.”

  Mrs. Blackford nodded. “Yes, your horse is unmistakable. You spent the last while at The Fox and Hare, did you not?”

  “I did.”

  They waited for more. Very well, he would tell them the truth.

  “I had a letter of introduction to the Duke of Meryon and was considering seeking employment. It did not take me long to decide that my temperament is better suited to city life.” The truth made him feel uneasy. More vulnerable. He hoped it did not show.

  “Aha.” Mr. Drummond slapped his knee. “You see that work in Manchester was not meant to be. You understand that, do you not? The good Lord found a way to turn you back to Pennsford.”

  “So it would appear, sir.” He could hardly disagree since he’d had the same thought himself.

  Miss Drummond moved closer to Olivia, stopped short and cried out, “Oh no! What happened to your hair, Olivia?”

  Olivia’s hair! They had forgotten to prepare for that detail. He kept his face bland and realized that honesty was not always found in words.

  Tears welled up in Olivia’s eyes and she buried her face in her hands.

  He would have been annoyed if he thought she was trying to hide from answering. No, her tears were real.

  “It was caught on a branch,” he said. “I had to cut it to free her from it.” How many lies was that now?

  The women nodded without question. The vicar eyed Michael with less conviction. “You stupid Galatian, why did you not simply cut the branch?”

  “I did not think of it. My only concern was to get her from the water before she drowned.” The priest had just called him a Galatian. The verse from Acts came fully to mind. It was translated as “foolish” not “stupid.” Foolish he would readily agree too. He had been foolish in more ways than one.

  “It is actually very charming, Lollie.” This from Mrs. Blackford. “Those lovely loose curls draw attention to your pretty face.”

  Olivia wiped her eyes on the bed linen. Though she did not appear convinced, it was clear that she wanted to believe it.

  “I do think you are right, Mrs. Blackford. I never noticed how green her eyes were before.” The vicar stood up and came closer to Olivia and smiled. “Just lovely. Now you remind me even more of your mother.”

  That was it. Olivia smiled back at him and then wrinkled her face as if embarrassed that she was so pleased by the comparison.

  Miss Drummond nodded. “A blessing in disguise.”

  “Can Lady Olivia stay with you while I go to her brother and have him send a carriage for her?”

  “Of course she will stay. Perhaps she should stay overnight so that she is not exposed to the elements again.” Annie Blackford smoothed the covers over her charge.

  “That sounds a wise idea,” the vicar agreed.

  Miss Drummond clapped her hands. “Company. We will be having company.”

  They nodded, even Olivia. No one bothered to clarify that it was far from company to have an unwell neighbor use a bed.

  “I know you must be very tired.” Mrs. Blackford moved toward the door purposefully. “We will leave you to rest and bring you some dinner later.”

  “Before he leaves, could I please speak to Mr. Garrett?” Olivia asked

  Reverend Drummond nodded. “Mrs. Blackford will be your chaperone.”

  With the vicar and his sister gone, Annie hurried back to Olivia’s bedside. Olivia watched her, mortified by her loving concern. Annie Blackford, her dearest friend, deserved the truth.

  “It is a very credible story, Lollie, and well told. But you were gone for two days and the storm only happened last night. The vicar and Miss Hope are easily satisfied, but others will have questions.”

  “Yes.” Olivia sighed with relief. “To you, Annie, I will tell the truth.”

  “Why not just announce it to the world, Lady Olivia?” Michael Garrett came closer as he spoke. “I beg your pardon for the insult, Mrs. Blackford, but if one person knows, how long before two or three do, and after that the entire town?”

  “I assure you, sir, that I have been trusted with secrets far more damaging than whatever it is Olivia may tell me.”

  Olivia nodded, wondering if that admission was wise. “I will tell her, Mr. Garrett.”

  When Garrett did nothing but shake his head in resignation, she began.

  She did her best to sound practical but Annie’s dismay was obvious, and when Olivia reached the part about her escape and rescue by Mr. Garrett, Annie actually went to him and took his hand.

  “Thank you so much, sir. How would she have survived without you? The storm was not so bad here, but most who have come to town today have tales to tell. I do not know what I would have done if something had happened to Lollie. We have been like sisters all our lives.”

  “Annie’s mother was our governess. Matilda Elderton.” There was so much more to it than that but Mr. Garrett did not need to know any of it. “Trust me in this, sir, she will be my sole confidante.”

  “As you wish, my lady.” He bent over Annie’s hand and Olivia could have kissed him for that generous gesture. Kissed him better than he had kissed her, that was for sure. She finished her story with a yawn.

  “I am tired, Annie, but will you stay with me?” She yawned again, a real yawn this time. She was tired. Amazingly so.

  Mr. Garrett took his leave with a gentlemanly bow. The room felt much emptier when he left. Annie stood up with her knitting.

  “Annie, sit down.”

  “I’m not leaving, Lollie. I was only going to move closer to the fire.”

  Olivia shook off her fatigue and sat upright in bed. “There is one more
thing I need to tell you.”

  Annie sat back down slowly.

  “As I was falling asleep after the dose of laudanum…” She shuddered at the memory of the sickly sweet stuff. Brandy would have worked just as well. “They—the kidnappers, that is—seemed so elated that their plan was going to work.” Olivia leaned close to Annie and whispered, even though the door was closed, Mr. Garrett had left and the vicar and Miss Hope could not hear well at all. “One said to the other, ‘Her brother will give us the land on a silver platter.’”

  Annie’s expression was part shock and part dismay. “The land? Your land?”

  “Mine? No, not at all. I think they were using me as a threat to Jess. I think they were sent from London by money-lenders to hold me in order to coerce him into paying up. With his land.”

  “Oh no.” Annie was obviously appalled but she thought about it for a minute and nodded. “Yes, I see it could easily be that. Your brother plays deep.”

  Olivia watched Annie’s expression soften when she mentioned Jess, and harden as quickly at the mention of his gambling.

  “I know it hurts for me to tell you that, Annie, dear; you are so much a part of the family. But I fear it is the truth.”

  “Did you tell Mr. Garrett? Will you tell your brother?”

  “Why should I tell Mr. Garrett? He is not staying. He is going to have someone come for me and be off to Manchester to make his fortune. He is just passing through.”

  “You will tell the duke.”

  Olivia heard the command, and it pained her to ignore it. “I know you hate secrets, but I cannot tell him. You know why as well as I do. He will withdraw and be angry and come up with some way to punish Jess that will drive them even further apart.”

  “You must tell someone.” Annie had given up all pretense of knitting.

  “I’ve told you, and I am going to write to Jess and tell him he must come home immediately.” Her yawn was part moan and she could not fight the fatigue any longer.

  She was asleep before Annie could answer, off into a dreamworld that was surprisingly free of evil. In it she was debating with a cabbage and a cauliflower. If she were to wheedle one more kiss from Mr. Garrett before he left, would that mean she truly was a tease?

  18

  MICHAEL DID NOT NEED directions to Pennford Castle. It was on a rise north of town, impossible to ignore. The descriptive “castle” suited it perfectly. It had probably been sited on the rise to protect the land that made up the baron’s domain. Those barons might have been Pennistans for all he knew.

  The castle consisted of two buildings attached to each other but significantly different in age. The original keep, which faced the town, was round, surrounded by a moat that was now more of a lake. A square building was attached to the back of the keep where it met the land. The newer part had the same crenellation on a similar flat roof, with several turrets as opposed to the single one in the old castle. The bricklike stonework was comparable, but the stone of the square building was newer, with many more windows.

  While the exterior of both buildings was well maintained it was easy to see that the original keep was no longer in use. It was dark, with few openings. Those had no glass reflecting the last light of the day.

  The newer square building was bold with light on all levels. The duke’s flag flew over the castles, an old tradition, and it made Michael decide then and there that the duke valued the old ways and was not inclined to change.

  Michael turned from the road that led to the new building. Lady Olivia was safe, but he would still make his own reconnaissance of the area and see what he could find.

  He took a trail that led south around the moat, effectively approaching the occupied part of the castle from the blind side. The water in the moat was currently covered with bits of leaves and twigs. He imagined someone would be about to clean it when more important damage had been dealt with.

  The trail was littered with small branches, but he could see beneath the storm’s mark that someone on horseback had used it. The hoofprints were old and hardened, so they had not been made recently.

  Once he rounded the old building and moat he was sure that he was unobserved. Michael passed through a stand of trees that were carefully tended to look as though they had been allowed to grow wild. The hand of an artist was at work here. None of it had been compromised by the storm.

  A doe, full with fawn, moved across the path and into the trees, following her own trail.

  Nudging Troy off the path, Michael found a huge tree that would hide him and most of Troy. He dismounted and waited to see if anyone else was afoot. Speed was the enemy of a successful reconnaissance. His old colonel’s voice echoed in his head. Michael had never agreed with that. To his way of thinking each scouting mission called for its own pace. He was in a hurry, but not such a hurry that he would ignore precautions.

  It was not a friendly evening even though the rain held off and the sky was clear. There was a breeze building to a wind. Again. He pulled his gloves from his pocket and remembered who had last used them.

  Lady Olivia and Mrs. Blackford made a handsome picture. Olivia’s fairer hair and pale complexion were as effective a contrast to Mrs. Blackford’s silver-streaked black hair as was the housekeeper’s tall thin frame compared to Olivia’s small compact body.

  Every time he held her he was reminded of the lovely curves he had done his best to ignore as he brushed the dirt from her flesh and folded his greatcoat around her.

  That was hardly a memory to be entertaining moments before seeing her brother. It would be wiser to use this time to consider what version of the truth to tell the duke. How to frame it so that it would best serve Olivia.

  No matter what kind of brother the Duke of Meryon was, Michael felt certain that his sister’s reputation would be a concern. Whether the duke saw her as an asset in his pursuit of alliances, a nuisance to be married off or a half-forgotten sibling, the idea that men would use a woman under his protection in their own game would be seen as a test of his power.

  Far down the list was the chance that the duke loved his sister, and cared about her enough to be worried for her well-being solely because of it.

  Michael pulled off his glove and did his best to wipe the fatigue from his face. With a pat on Troy’s neck and promise of “dinner soon,” he mounted.

  If no one had found him lost in thought and half into a doze, there was no one about but him.

  Michael came up the circle of the drive from the west as it wound around the hill and his mental games were displaced by the scene before him. The castle was lit by the rapidly setting sun.

  The old stone was lit golden, the glassed windows reflecting the light like jewels. It was at once welcoming and mysterious, the way he felt when he claimed a lover: At last, at last, this woman could be the one that filled the emptiness, the one that made him forget the others. But it was never true. No woman had ever come close.

  The sun slipped behind the peak and Michael Garrett was sure this palace of pleasure and power would be no more his saving grace than the woman he had held in his arms. He pressed his fingers to his mouth and laughed a little at the memory of that smallest of kisses.

  There was a gatehouse, but the mammoth stone-supported wrought-iron gates were open so he saw no reason to stop.

  At the end of the rising drive the castle loomed. The sunset moment of golden glory was gone, replaced with a forbidding gloom that would convince a nervous man to forgo his business. Michael left his horse and a coin with a groom who came running from one of the outbuildings and went to the door.

  The word door did not do the opening justice. Like the gates, the entry was oversized, great wooden panels large enough to admit a man on his horse.

  He raised the knocker and let it fall. Immediately a servant came out of a small opening to the right of the ceremonial entrance. This door was made to blend in with the stone and was barely noticeable.

  “Michael Garrett to see His Grace the Duke of Meryon.”
>
  “Your card?” The fellow was surely no more than a porter but spoke with all the arrogance of the estate steward.

  “No card.”

  “His Grace does not receive callers at this hour.” The man stepped back through the door and closed it firmly.

  Michael used a few words that Lady Olivia would definitely not approve of and turned away. No point in knocking again. He knew this type, one of those petty tyrants who wielded his power when it did not matter and was too easily overcome when it did.

  It did matter now, but Michael was trying to be discreet, to spread as little gossip as possible. To that end, he began to circle the building. The sun was gone but he had grown used to the dark and could find his way easily.

  Michael moved slowly, careful not to make a sound, watching for a night guard patrolling the grounds. If there was one, a fact he doubted, the guard’s circuit around the buildings would take the better part of an hour and be easy to avoid.

  A place this size should have one, but there had been no guard at the gatehouse, so it was possible they had only the night porter at the door with some minion to walk the halls inside.

  A mistake. If the duke relied on his name and power to protect him, he had not read the papers during the French Revolution. Position gave power, but it also made one a target for thieves, murderers. As well as kidnappers.

  With no sign of a guard, Michael moved along the wall of the castle, checking the windows of the darkened rooms. He found one unlatched on his third try. That made the porter lazy as well as arrogant.

  Pulling off his greatcoat, Michael leaned through the open window to drop it onto the floor inside. He followed it, pulling himself up on the ledge and working his way through the two-foot opening. The floor was carpeted, and he fell onto it in complete silence. Nice to know that lack of practice had not lessened his skills at entering illegally.

  He was in some sort of nondescript parlor, and made his way into the hall without seeing a soul. He was walking purposefully to nowhere when a maid carrying a basket came along. Her screech was understandable. The hallway was lit only every twenty feet or so.