London Gambit

by Tracy Grant

  "He loves Roxane and Clarisse like they're his own," David said. "You'd never guess they weren't, seeing him with them."

  "No. But this time they're starting together from the first."

  "Like—"

  Simon shot a look at his lover. "Like we are?"

  David flushed. "I know you never asked for this."

  "Nor did you, if it comes to that. It doesn't mean I'm not enjoying it."

  David's eyes widened.

  "Is that so surprising?" Simon asked. "You know I've always liked children. It's surprisingly agreeable not to have to hand them back after an hour or so."

  David continued to watch him. "I never thought—"

  "Rather nice after ten years I can still surprise you."

  They had reached the Brook Street house. David studied Simon for a moment in the muted glow spilling through the fanlight over the door. Then he gave a smile, faint but of the sort that shot straight through to Simon's heart. Without further speech, David, turned, climbed the steps, and unlocked the gleaming front door.

  A single lamp glowed on the console table in the entrance hall, casting shadows over the marble-tiled floor, the mahogany-railed staircase, the velvet benches, the gilt-edged mirror. The air was thick and still, holding only a faint whiff of the recently extinguished candles in the wall sconces.

  David pushed the heavy door to. Odd, considering they'd shared a home for a third of their lives, to feel awkward walking into his house with him. Or, if not his house, the house where he lived. And Simon didn't. "Bridget appears to have got Jamie to sleep," Simon said, and then wondered if he'd spoken too loudly.

  "Yes." David pocketed the keys.

  "If this goes on, you'll hardly need me at all." Simon kept his voice light.

  "Damn it, Simon, you know—" David grabbed him, pushed him against the door, and kissed him.

  Simon's arms closed round his lover. Family pressures, social realities, competing loyalties fled away. "Just in case," he said against David's cheek a few moments later, "let's—"

  He broke off and went still. A sound. From within the house. The sound made by a footfall on a squeaking floorboard. One of the servants? One of the children who had wakened? In an instant, David was out of Simon's arms. He snatched up the lamp from the console table and moved to the stairs. Simon followed. After all, he could simply have come back with David to have a last drink.

  Silence hung over the house again. Odd. If one of the servants or children were awake, why should they go still? Then Simon sensed, more than heard or saw, a rush of movement. He raced up the stairs past David to see a shadowy figure running up the next flight to the second floor. Lamplight bounced behind him as David followed. The shadowy figure rounded the landing on the second floor and made for the third floor. The nursery.

  Propelled by an energy he didn't know he could possess, Simon launched himself in a flying tackle and caught a leg and a kid shoe at the third-floor landing. He and the intruder both crashed to the floor.

  A foot caught Simon in the eye. David raced past him, but the intruder was already at the end of the passage. Something whizzed through the air. David staggered and let out a cry. Wind whistled through the passage from an open window. Against the starlit sky, Simon saw the intruder drop to the ground.

  Behind the closed nursery door, Jamie began to scream.

  "Sound asleep, all three of them." Blanca smiled at Suzanne, Malcolm, and Laura across the Berkeley Square library. "It only took three stories."

  "And two songs." Miles Addison sat on the settee beside his wife, his arm round her shoulders. Laura smiled as she settled back against the velvet sofa cushions. A year and a half ago, when she first joined the Rannoch household, Addison would not have dreamed of showing his (quite obvious) affection for Blanca in front of their employers, and if he'd spent an evening helping in the nursery he wouldn't have been so open about it. Laura wasn't the only one whose role in the household had changed in recent months.

  "Jessica likes Miles to sing to her." Blanca grinned up at her husband. "She has good taste."

  Malcolm got to his feet and moved to the drinks trolley. "Stay for a drink?"

  Blanca shook her head and stifled a yawn. "The little one isn't even born yet and he or she makes me sleepy."

  "It should get easier soon," Laura told her. "I was amazed at how much energy I had in the middle months." Odd now to be able to look back on her pregnancy with equanimity, even flashes of happiness. It made all the difference that the result of that pregnancy was tucked safely in bed upstairs.

  "Blanca with more energy," Addison murmured with a grin. "Difficult to imagine."

  Blanca pulled a face at him. "You can stay."

  "I wouldn't dream of it," Addison said, tightening his arm round her. "Another time."

  "I'd give a lot to hear Addison singing to children," Malcolm said softly, as the door closed behind the couple.

  "By the time the baby's born, I expect you will," Suzanne said. "Amazing how people can change. Speaking of which," she added, turning to Laura, "I'm so glad you came with us. I keep saying that, don't I?"

  Laura smiled as she unwound the silver gauze folds of her shawl. She could still hear the buzz of conversation round the table at Rules and feel the pleasant afterglow of the champagne. "It wasn't nearly the ordeal I feared. And the play and supper were heaven. Though I feel as though I'm going to have to immerse myself in your quartos and folios to keep up. Did you both grow up on Shakespeare?"

  "Just about." Suzanne undid the ties on her evening cloak. "My parents were both actors." She shook her head. "Odd to be able to say that so openly."

  "And I had my grandfather and O'Roarke." Malcolm put a glass of whisky in Laura's hand. "You're being modest, Laura. At Christmas, you knew the source of the quote O'Roarke and I were arguing about. And you more than held your own tonight."

  "I've always liked Shakespeare. We put on a lot of amateur theatricals in India." She could hear Raoul's voice in the Berkeley Square garden three months ago, just before he left for Spain. But shall I live in hope? And her own, capping his quotation, All men, I hope, live so. Richard III and Anne Neville were not perhaps the most auspicious couple to have been quoting, but somehow it had felt right. She hesitated a moment, fingers curled round the glass Malcolm had given her. Aware something more was required but not sure how to address it. "It was nice to see Will Cuthbertson. Though the time I knew him seems like a different world."

  Malcolm gave a glass to Suzanne. "It can be complicated, seeing someone from one's past. Even a friend."

  Laura took a sip of whisky. "I'm not the woman Will knew. Of course, the woman Will thought he knew was much nicer than the actual Jane Tarrington."

  Suzanne met her gaze for a moment in understanding. Was that the way her friend felt about herself? Laura wondered.

  "We seemed to get by with the cover story, though," Laura said. "And Will has a keen understanding."

  Malcolm picked up the glass he'd poured for himself and dropped down on the sofa beside Suzanne. "Half the key to making a cover story work is repeating it with absolute conviction. You have formidable skills to pull that off."

  Laura stretched out her feet in their satin evening slippers. "God, it's a relief not to have to pretend. I don't know how you did it so long, Suzanne—not having any moments you could be yourself." She bit her lip. Even among the three of them it was hard sometimes to know what they could and couldn't say.

  "She's a marvel," Malcolm said in an easy voice. "But then, you did the same for four years."

  Laura shuddered. "Governesses don't tend to have confidants in any case. I suppose that made it seem more natural."

  "I at least had Blanca to confide in," Suzanne said.

  "And O'Roarke sometimes," Malcolm added in the same easy voice.

  Raoul's name hung oddly the air. "Wherever he is, I hope he has someone he can talk to," Laura said.

  She thought of the letter she had sent off to him, the letter Suzanne had sent
. She wouldn't have wished whatever trouble had caused Suzanne to send for him, but she couldn't deny the rush of delight she felt at the prospect of seeing him. She had no doubt he would try to return when he received the letters. If he received the letters. If he was safe.

  "Raoul's been taking care of himself for a long time," Suzanne said. "If—"

  A rap fell on the door. "Forgive me." Valentin entered the room. He'd waited up for them, thanks to the recent attack, but Malcolm and Suzanne had told him to go to bed when they returned home. "But Lord Worsley's footman just brought a message. Someone broke into the Brook Street house."

  Simon was sitting in a wing-back chair in the Brook Street library with two-year-old Jamie draped over his shoulder and Amy, six and a half, sitting on his knee. David sat on the sofa across from them, Teddy and eight-year-old George on either side of him. They looked like a family, Malcolm thought, as the footman showed Suzanne and him into the room. Perhaps one good development in the midst of all this.

  Simon, David, and the four children looked up as Malcolm and Suzanne stepped into the room.

  "Uncle Malcolm," George said as the footman closed the doors. He had a mop of fair hair and inquisitive blue eyes. "Aunt Suzanne. Are you going to find the people who broke into our house?"

  "Are they going to come back and murder us?" Amy asked. Her eyes were wide in her pale, freckled face, but she sounded more curious than frightened.

  "No one is going to murder anyone." David pushed himself to his feet. "Thank you for coming. The intruder's gone—and not coming back"—he glanced at the children with a smile both firm and reassuring—"but I thought you should look at the house as soon as possible."

  "'Truder." Jamie turned his head from Simon's shoulder.

  "Excellent, old chap." Simon kissed the little boy's hair. "We got a new word out of this."

  Amy twisted one of her long fair plaits round her finger. "The person jumped out of the window by the nursery. Maybe they wanted to kidnap us."

  David turned to smile at his niece. "No one would dare kidnap you, Amy. They'd know they'd have me to deal with. And Uncle Simon."

  Amy actually giggled, snuggling against Simon.

  The library door opened again, and the footman showed Jeremy Roth into the room. "I came as soon as I got your message," he said to David, then surveyed the children. "I hear you were very brave."

  "Uncle Simon was brave," Teddy said. "He tackled the intruder."

  "Good work that," Roth said to Simon.

  Simon smoothed Jamie's hair. "But unfortunately I wasn't quite quick enough."

  "If we'd woken up sooner we could have helped," George said.

  "And I have no doubt you would have," Simon said. "But in some ways perhaps it's as well the man got out the window. I'm not sure we have enough rope in the house to have tied him up."

  Amy frowned in consideration. "We would have used the window cords."

  "You have the makings of an investigator, Miss Craven," Roth told her. "But, with any luck, the intruder left behind some evidence for us to discover."

  "I'll show you where it happened," David said. He turned to the children. "Keep an eye on Uncle Simon for me."

  Amy and George grinned. Teddy was frowning at the toes of his slippers, but even he gave a fleeting smile. Jamie swiveled round in Simon's lap and waved at Malcolm and Suzanne.

  "They're taking it well, all things considered," David said, when he, Malcolm, Suzanne, and Roth were in the ground floor hall. "Unfortunately they woke up to the sounds of us trying to tackle the intruder. I think he just ran up to the nursery level trying to escape, but it's still concerning."

  "A parent's nightmare," Roth said. "Did—"

  He broke off as the library door eased open and Teddy slipped out. "Uncle David. I told Uncle Simon I had to talk to you. He said it was all right." His gaze shot from David to Malcolm to Suzanne to Roth and then back to David. "Is it my fault?"

  "Your fault?" David moved towards the boy. "Why on earth should it be your fault, Teddy?"

  "The man who broke into the house. Is it because I went into the warehouse?"

  "Teddy, no." David put his hands on his nephew's shoulders. "Your going to Whateley & Company has nothing to do with this."

  Teddy released his breath but watched David with steady eyes. "But someone breaking into our house might have to do with someone breaking into the warehouse, mightn't it?"

  "It might," Malcolm said. "But not because of anything you did. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

  Teddy gave a slow nod. "Is it because of my father? I mean, it was his warehouse, his and Uncle Eustace's, and this was his and Mama's house."

  "It seems likely," Roth said. "But we can't be sure of anything."

  Teddy nodded again. "Thank you. Thank you for telling me. For not lying and saying it's all in my head."

  David lifted a hand and ruffled Teddy's hair. "We'll try very hard never to lie to you, Teddy. Do you think you can help Uncle Simon with your brothers and sister?"

  Teddy straightened his shoulders and nodded.

  "You're good at this," Roth said to David when Teddy had gone back into the library. "Took me years to master the right tone with my sons. Assuming I have mastered it."

  David shook his head. "Most of the time I feel hopelessly out of my depth."

  Malcolm clapped him on the shoulder. "Welcome to parenthood."

  David gave a wry smile.

  "Is anything missing?" Suzanne asked.

  "Not as far as we can tell. It was an efficient search, most things put back as they were. But it looks as though he started in the study." David's gaze moved from Suzanne to Malcolm to Roth. "Teddy's right. It seems someone is looking for something of Craven's. So whatever was hidden in the warehouse wasn't what they really wanted? Or they're after something else?"

  "Difficult to say," Roth said. "How carefully did you go through the house when you moved in?"

  "Depends on what you mean by 'carefully,'" David said. "I went through all Craven's papers and Louisa's. The servants packed up all their clothes. But I didn't pry off the molding or tap on the mantel looking for hiding places."

  "No reason for you to do so," Malcolm said.

  "Whoever the intruder was," Suzanne said, "either he was singularly lucky in his timing or he knew you enough to know you'd be at Simon's play and out late tonight."

  David nodded. "Anyone who made a few inquiries about me could surmise I'd be at Simon's opening, perhaps that I was likely to go out afterwards. But it would take inside knowledge to know I'd told the servants not to wait up. Do you think—"

  Roth touched his arm. "Don't start suspecting your staff yet. If the intruder did know, it's possible one of them let something slip inadvertently. But we can make a few inquiries."

  David nodded. "I could well have come home alone." He drew a breath.

  Malcolm could guess what it had meant for Simon to come home with David, what a step it had been for them, what a night together would have meant to them. "Just as well Simon was here," Malcolm said. "Though it wasn't the night either of you planned on."

  David led them up the stairs to the first floor. "We first saw the intruder up here. He made for the stairs. I think because he realized he'd been discovered."

  "Did you get a good look at him?" Roth asked.

  David shook his head. "Slight. Not too tall. But it was too dark to see more than that."

  Malcolm, Suzanne, and Roth examined the floor and the stairs in the light of lamps they carried. No traces of mud, no convenient threads or hairs. They followed the intruder's path up to the second floor and then to the third floor and the nursery. "Simon tackled him near the head of the stairs," David said. "He broke free and threw a paperweight at me. He must have snatched it up on his search. Then he went out that window."

  "It looks as though there's some blood on the carpet," Malcolm said. "He may have bloodied his nose when he fell." Which was interesting but wouldn't help them trace the m
an.

  They moved to the window at the end of the passage where the intruder had escaped. Malcolm eased the sash up and was rewarded by a dark hair, surprisingly long, caught against the window ledge. He reached lower, scraped a few black threads from the stone.

  "A dark-haired man in a dark coat," he said. "Hardly much help in identification."

  Suzanne was kneeling on the floor, a corner of the carpet turned back. She lifted a hand, holding a tangle of gold and red. "A dark-haired man who dropped a carnelian bracelet," she said.

  Chapter 17

  Laura unfastened her blue topaz earrings and set them in their satin-lined box. Her fingers lingered for a moment on the blue velvet of the lid. Raoul had sent the earrings before the ball Suzanne had given in April, the first major social event Laura had attended since resuming her position as Jane Tarrington. They were perfectly matched to the gown she'd worn that night. Had Suzanne told him somehow? Did he have some other source of information? Had he simply guessed based on her eye color?

  Raoul wouldn't have known when he sent them that events would bring him to London and to Berkeley Square the night of the ball. Laura closed her eyes for a moment, remembering his arms round her that night when they'd finally had a moment alone, and the sudden shock of his kiss. Still later that night, lying in his arms. They'd had ten days together. A picnic at Richmond. Mornings in the park with the children. Evenings building block towers on the library hearthrug and playing chess. A night at the theatre. A dinner party with friends at which they'd both been at scrupulous pains to avoid looking like a couple. Amazing how much they'd been able to forge in those few days. Whatever she'd had with Will, it seemed pallid in comparison.

  She unclasped her pearls and laid them in her jewel case. Seeing Will had been a reminder that there were things in her old life she wasn't sorry to remember. But pleasant as it was to know he still cared, it would be much simpler if he didn't. She was going to have to—

  A soft scrape and thud sounded behind her. Laura spun round to see Raoul O'Roarke sitting on her windowsill, one booted foot tucked under him, the other swinging against the floorboards.