by Lily Maxton
He peered down at her, her arm still tucked in his, and amusement welled in his chest. “I believe that’s the first vulgar word I’ve heard you say. I’m quite proud.”
She grinned, a brilliant flash of white, and he felt as if he’d been handed a pile of gold on a silver platter. Two of her lower teeth were crooked. He wanted to run his tongue across them. Instead, he drew her away from the alley behind the blacksmith’s shop and they walked along the main road, back the way they’d come.
“I don’t know how I could avoid picking up a vulgar word or two, being around you,” she said. “One would think you a common dock worker, the colorful language you use.”
“I enjoy language,” he said. “Every facet of it, even the indecent bits.” He paused. “Especially the indecent bits.”
But he did have to admit, he didn’t speak so freely around anyone else. He couldn’t imagine swearing in front of Lady Jane or Lady Emily, even if they were alone together. There were distinct layers to interactions, like clothes. Around Cassandra the layers began to peel away, down to a heart he’d begun to suspect was more vulnerable than he’d ever assumed his could be. Than he’d ever wanted it to be.
Cassandra glanced at him, a smile playing around her lips, a glint of that well-hidden mischief in her eyes. And again, that odd sensation of the last piece of himself falling into place gripped him, followed almost immediately by a jolt of fear.
Cassandra said she’d be leaving soon.
Soon, he told himself, not yet.
Which meant he still had a little time to figure out just what the hell he was going to do about her.
Chapter Thirty-Six
While the ladies chatted in the drawing room, the men were in the dining room drinking port. Mr. Thornton and Lord Washburn were having a heated discussion about Parliament that Henry wasn’t really paying attention to. He nursed his port, only sipping from the sweet, strong liquor every few minutes as he stared at the fire blazing on the other side of the dining room table. The flames cast moving shadows on the crimson painted walls and gilded portraits of distant Eldridge ancestors. He grimaced as he imagined his own stodgy portrait hanging there in decades to come.
He’d considered ending the house party, now that he’d made his decision. But there were only a few days left. He might as well struggle through it. If he ever convinced Cassandra to marry him, she’d have enough to deal with without him being rude to members of the ton.
Lord Appleby, who was seated next to him, leaned closer. “My cousin can talk about Parliament for hours and hours.”
“Will he run for the House of Commons?” Henry asked, not really interested in the answer.
“I daresay he wants to,” Lord Appleby said. “It shouldn’t be difficult with my support.”
Henry took another sip of his drink and gave a sort of grunting assent. The good thing about being around his male houseguests was they didn’t care how eloquent he was—if he wanted to brood and grunt and stare at the fire, they were quite happy as long as they had a steady supply of port. Of course, he didn’t particularly like to watch Lord Washburn, who must have a bladder the size of a rabbit’s, pull out the chamber pot every fifteen minutes.
He supposed there were different advantages and disadvantages associated with either sex.
“I took a stroll around the village this morning while Thornton was busy selecting a hat,” Lord Appleby said with a grin. And then— Good God, did the man just wink at him? Henry liked the earl enough to invite him regularly to Blakewood Hall as a guest, but then, the earl had never winked at him before.
“Is there something in your eye?” Henry asked mildly.
Appleby chuckled. “I stumbled across two people in flagrante delicto. They looked quite a bit like you and that buxom housekeeper of yours.”
Henry’s hand tightened around his glass. “Indeed?”
“Ah,” Appleby said, tapping his nose conspiratorially. “If your future wife is under your roof, it’s best she doesn’t think you were dallying with the servants while you were courting her. Then you can continue with the chit as long as you like.” He patted Henry’s shoulder. “I’ll keep silent for you, my friend.”
Henry wanted to grip the man’s hand and squeeze until he heard something break. He was suddenly rethinking his friendship with Lord Appleby. Knowing he’d transgressed with Mrs. Davis had clearly made Appleby think they had something titillating to discuss and bond over. Henry didn’t want to bond with the man—his stomach was churning just sitting next to him.
With difficulty, he hid his thoughts behind a lazy smile and lifted his glass.
But Appleby had to keep talking. “She’s a fetching creature, isn’t she? Not beautiful perhaps, but that body! Say, if you get tired of her, send her to me, won’t you?”
Henry’s free hand clenched around Appleby’s cravat, making the man’s eyes pop wide. Red-hot fury tangled in Henry’s chest. He barely restrained himself from shoving Appleby’s head into the chamber pot and holding it there. Committing murder by piss-pot drowning probably wouldn’t improve his reputation any.
“You aren’t fit to kiss the ground beneath her feet,” he hissed. “If I ever see you so much as look at her—”
The statement dangled. Lord Appleby lifted up his hands. “I apologize!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t realize she was your mistress.”
Henry let him go abruptly. “She’s not.”
“But…but if she’s only a dalliance, why are you so upset?” The man looked sincerely confused.
“She’s neither,” Henry said, forcing back the urge to do violence. “She’s a woman I greatly respect. And you would do well to remember it.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Appleby said on a shaky exhale. Though he still appeared baffled, he must have possessed a modicum of sense because he fell silent, his gaze darting away from Henry’s face.
Henry realized that silence filled the whole room. He glanced toward the end of the table to find Thornton and Washburn staring at him, frozen in mid-conversation—Washburn gesturing widely with his hands, Thornton leaning forward on the table.
“Our debate about Parliament became a little heated,” Henry explained through a clenched jaw.
Thornton nodded sagely, in a manner that said he understood how a discussion about Parliament could cause a man to grab someone’s cravat and hiss threats at them, and perhaps had done it himself a time or two.
Washburn rubbed his face, looking a little pale. “Good Lord,” he muttered. “I have a weak constitution, you know. I thought you were going to ask him to name his seconds.”
“No need to worry, Washburn,” Henry said. If he needed a second, he’d definitely pick someone else. Judging by how pale he looked now, the man would faint before he could be of any use.
Henry gave himself a mental kick. This was ridiculous. Practically dueling over the woman.
Something had to be done.
And soon.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Henry was walking past the entry foyer later that evening when he saw his butler and Kitty speaking in a corner of the hall, nearly hidden from view behind a marble bust of the goddess Diana.
Their voices were low and their heads bent together.
Servants were supposed to fade into the background and go unnoticed, but Henry had found himself noticing them more and more lately. He hadn’t seen Kitty at all in recent days.
Whatever they were speaking of seemed important. Kitty gestured wildly while the butler kept his intent gaze on her.
“Kitty,” Henry said, his voice short.
She jumped and spun to stare at him aghast. Even this far away he could see the whites of her eyes. “Yes, my lord?”
“I wish to speak to you.” He nodded to Taylor. “Leave us.”
Taylor looked reluctant, but he bowed to Henry and removed himself silently.
Henry moved closer to Kitty, stopping a few feet away, and took note of the dark circles under her eyes. “Are you ill?” he asked bl
untly.
She shook her head. “Just tired, my lord.”
“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off,” he said, which, based on Kitty’s startled glance, surprised her. It surprised him, as well. He couldn’t recall a time when he’d given a servant the day off because they didn’t look well. But then, he couldn’t recall a time when he’d actually noticed a servant didn’t look well.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said.
“First, I have something to ask you.” He paused. What in God’s name was he doing? Did he truly want to know who Cassandra’s former—hopefully former—lover was?
Yes.
Yes was the emphatic answer. He wanted to know what kind of man she would choose to let into her bed after Robert was gone. “This stays between us,” he said solemnly.
She nodded. “Of course, my lord.”
“Have you ever seen Mrs. Davis with a man?”
“With a man?” Kitty blurted out in shock.
“Yes, Kitty, that’s what I said.”
She blushed profusely. “You mean in an…unchaste way?”
“That is exactly what I mean.”
She studied him, her arms clasped around her chest. “Why?”
This was what happened when one was nice to one’s servants, he thought, frustrated. They assumed they had some sort of right to nosy, pointless questions. “Because I’m curious,” he answered stiffly.
“This won’t get her into trouble?”
He leaned forward at that, intent on her face, his senses prickling. “No. I promise.”
“I…” She looked at him, then. Really looked at him. “Oh, my,” she said wistfully. “You’re really in a tangle over her, aren’t you?”
“Kitty,” he said with deceptive calm. “Just answer me.”
She straightened. “Yes, well, this was only once, and quite some time ago. A year and a half maybe? Two years? I saw her leaving Mr. Radcliff’s cottage one night.”
“Adam Radcliff?” Henry asked, his lips barely moving.
She nodded. Something in his face must have startled her because she hurried off, and he stood in the middle of the entrance hall, staring at the bust of Diana, at her lifeless, watchful eyes.
Once, when he was a child, he’d taken a tumble into a mill pond in the early winter. Luckily, the surface hadn’t been frozen yet, and even more luckily, he knew how to swim. But at first, as the water had swept over him, he’d remained motionless, suspended in time. The iciness of the water had shocked him, and then a great, consuming numbness had enveloped his entire body.
He felt like that now.
He knew it was ridiculous. He knew he couldn’t be angry at Mrs. Davis for something she’d done so long ago. Before he’d as much as glanced at her twice.
But a question beat in his head, harsh and relentless—why?
Why?
Of all the men in the world, why the hell did it have to be Adam Radcliff?
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Cassandra was in her bedchamber when chaos erupted. She heard a scream that pierced the quiet of the night and yanked her abruptly from slumber. It had sounded close, so close. Her heart hammered as she wrapped a dressing robe around herself, and somehow managed to light a candle in the dark with the flame from the few coals still burning in the fireplace.
She held the candle out in front of her as she padded down the corridor, and nearly dropped it when Kitty came barreling out of the bedchamber she shared with Mary, almost colliding with her.
“Kitty! What in heaven’s name—” She broke off, still trying to right the candle without burning herself, when Lord Appleby appeared in the doorway.
She took him in with one sweep. His nose was bleeding and his cravat was untied, revealing a patch of pale chest lightly spattered with hair. His normally sculpted brown curls were despondent and scraggly, and he breathed hoarsely.
He wiped at his nose. “Mrs. Davis,” he said as though they’d encountered one another during the day, under perfectly normal circumstances. He waved his arm. “I trust you won’t mention this to anyone, especially considering your own circumstances.”
Her own circumstances? What was he talking about?
Did he know there was something between her and Henry?
Was he threatening her?
She drew herself up to her full height, refusing to be cowed. “I will say whatever needs to be said, Lord Appleby.”
Mary and another two maids who had bedchambers along this hall, crept out to see what was happening. Why hadn’t Mary been in the bedchamber she shared with Kitty?
Lord Appleby was a tall man, and he loomed over Cassandra now, suddenly vastly more threatening than by daylight. “You won’t say a thing,” he hissed.
Kitty gasped when his hand shot out, snaking around Cassandra’s wrist. He pressed down so hard that pain jolted through her entire arm. “Let me go,” she said, struggling to keep her voice from trembling.
Kitty surged forward. “You don’t touch her!” she cried. She clawed at Lord Appleby’s arm, hanging on like a hissing cat, until he wrenched away from her.
Henry suddenly appeared, like a silent phantom. He calmly stepped past Kitty, and then he was on Lord Appleby, his hand wrapping around the other man’s throat, pushing until the back of the other man’s skull hit the wall with a heavy clunk.
“You touched her,” he said with eerie calm. “Remember what I said?”
“Riverton!” Appleby gasped, his face turning red and splotchy. “She’s just a maid.”
Henry’s eyes slid to Cassandra first, and she instantly knew he hadn’t been talking about Appleby touching Kitty. Heat swept her whole body.
When Henry’s eyes did finally land on Kitty, he snarled, a low, rough sound.
Kitty flinched, and Cassandra turned to the girl, her hand coming up to her own mouth to stifle a cry when she saw what Henry had seen, what she hadn’t noticed in the excitement before. Kitty’s lip was swollen and bleeding, and the skin around her right eye was bruised a dark blue.
Cassandra became aware of a gurgling sound and she darted her gaze back to Henry. His grip had tightened around the other man’s throat, and Appleby was turning an alarming shade of purple. She stepped forward, touching Henry lightly on the back of the shoulder, through his dressing gown.
Immediately his stance eased. Appleby coughed and gasped, his hands coming up, scrabbling, to break Henry’s grip.
“You have to let him go,” she told Henry.
“Must I?” he said, flashing her a wide, evil grin.
She should have been alarmed. Nearly strangling a man was no laughing matter, and Henry had a malevolent spark in his eyes that spoke to her of pagan conquerors and bloodshed and burning villages. Fire and vengeance. Smoke and wrath. Made all the more potent by his disfigured face. But, madly, her own lips curved up in response. What was wrong with her? She quickly forced her expression to smooth into something sane.
“We need to find out what happened,” she said, flicking a concerned glance at Kitty.
Henry followed her gaze, and finally stepped back, the feral smile fading. “Do you need a physician?” he asked Kitty, completely ignoring Appleby, who’d sunk to his knees on the floor as soon as Henry had released him.
“No, my lord,” Kitty said, her voice sounding very small. “It’s only a few bruises.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded.
“Mary,” Cassandra said sharply, causing the other maid to glance up with wide eyes. “Where were you?”
The blood rushed from Mary’s face. “I’m sorry Mrs. Davis…I didn’t realize.”
“Where were you?” she repeated.
“Lord Appleby gave me a few shillings to sleep elsewhere tonight.” Her next breath stuttered as she struggled not to cry. “I didn’t know! I thought Kitty wanted his attentions.”
“Why would you think that?”
“She…” Mary glanced at Kitty, then fell silent.
“Perhaps,” a new voice s
aid, and they all turned to look at Mr. Taylor, who had joined their ragtag group silently, “it is best to take this discussion somewhere more private.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Five minutes later, Lord Appleby was locked in a nearby room while Mr. Taylor, Kitty, Cassandra, and Henry stood in Henry’s study. No one was in the mood to sit down. Mr. Taylor stood by Kitty, looking over her bruised face with the concern of a worried father. Henry stepped close to Cassandra.
“Will someone tell me what in bloody hell is going on here?” Henry asked irritably, propping his hip against his desk.
Cassandra noticed his hair was rumpled, and she curled her fingers into a tight fist when she felt the impulse to smooth it down with her palms.
“I should have told you before, my lord,” was the ominous way Mr. Taylor began, after Kitty nodded at the butler, her mouth set in a thin line. “Kitty and Lord Appleby were…on intimate terms…the last time he was here.”
“Just before the fire?”
Mr. Taylor nodded.
“That should have been reported to me,” Henry said.
“I’m sorry, my lord. I stumbled upon them in an embrace one afternoon. I confronted Kitty later and told her that her behavior needed to stop, but I… Well, I took pity on her. I knew she would be dismissed if I reported on the matter. I also knew Kitty didn’t have any family to turn to. So, I stayed silent.”
Cassandra folded her arms tightly across her stomach. She should have realized…even if she hadn’t known they were carrying on the first time, she should have known something was wrong when Kitty had taken ill as soon as the houseguests arrived. She’d been too caught up in her own worries to truly pay attention to Kitty’s situation. Guilt clenched in her stomach.
Henry’s chin jerked toward Kitty. “Was it just the once?”
Kitty studied her feet and gave her head a small shake. “I thought he truly loved me. He made me feel…wanted. We began to meet in the mistress’s chambers at night. It has that fancy bed and I knew it was never used. We made sure to keep quiet.” She flushed a deep, almost painful-looking red. “But after Mr. Taylor confronted me, I started to feel guilty. I told Lord Appleby we needed to stop meeting in secret, that we could see one another on my half day off and simply enjoy each other’s company.”