“Aren’t you going to stay for at least one drink?” Belvedere asked.
“Not tonight.” It was too early to celebrate, and he was in no mood for it. “I need to see to my horses and remove the travel dust. I’ve been on the road for several hours.”
He arrived home and drove along the lane to his stables. “Hungry, Jim?”
Young Jim yawned. “Not much, milord, tired is all.”
Brendan ruffled the lad’s carroty hair. “I shan’t need you tomorrow. Sleep late if you wish. You make an excellent tiger. I’ve never had better.”
Jim grinned, showing a missing front tooth. “Thank ye, milord.”
Brendan tensed when he found the gate leading into the garden unlocked. Footsteps erupted down the lane behind him. He pivoted, a hand on his pistol.
“What the devil?”
Eugenia, with her cloak flying out behind her, her glorious gold tresses falling down and swinging heavily at her waist. She reached him, gasping for breath.
He took hold of her arm to steady her. “Where have you been, Eugenia!” Had she sneaked out to meet some lover? Young Freddie he’d be bound. Furious and disappointed, he wanted to shake her. “Were you with Lord Whitridge?”
“Yes. But…”
Dismayed, he stood aside and waved her through the gate. “Wait until we are in the house.”
Candlelight burned in the kitchen. Opening the door, he found his housekeeper, Mrs. Connor, in her dressing gown, a white cap on her head. “Oh thank heaven it’s you, milord. I was disturbed to find the door unlocked.” Her lips firmed as her gaze flickered over Eugenia, taking in her disorder.
“Send a snack meal to the library, if you will, Mrs. Connor.
She nodded. “There’s a little ham Sir, and plenty o’ cheese.”
“And a sandwich to young Jim in the stables, along with a tankard of ale.” He turned to his ward. “Come to the library, Eugenia.”
She mutely followed him through the door and up the stairs. He opened the library door for her. Passing through, she stood silent as he lit a branch of candles then went to the fireplace and struck a taper, putting it to the wood laid in the grate. Fledgling flames licked over the kindling, brightening the room.
“So, Eugenia.” He stabbed at the fire with a poker, sending sparks flying up the chimney. The coal smoldered red-orange. “Did you enjoy your romantic adventure? Lord Whitridge might have had the grace to take you to the door. Or did you wish it to remain clandestine?” He tried to quell the bitterness he suffered at the prospect of losing her. Eugenia was like a bright light banishing the shadows that had plagued him. What a fool he was. He’d promised her the world, and she must have it. He would not stand in her way.
Eugenia pulled off her cape and sank dispiritedly onto the sofa cushions. “It was not clandestine, at least I had not intended…”
She had the grace to look guilty, but when she shivered, he went to the side table. “Sherry? You look like you need something to warm you.”
She nodded. “You must think badly of me.” She slipped off her shoes and tucked her stockinged feet beneath the hem of her gown.
He picked up the crystal decanter. “Where did you go with him?”
“I wasn’t planning to go anywhere with him.”
Annoyed with himself at how physically aware of her he was, Brendan handed her the glass. Her slippers were ruined, and her gown stained around the hem. He poured himself a much-needed whiskey. He sat and took a large swig. “Have you two become serious so soon, Eugenia?” He wondered at the throb of anguish in the region of his heart.
“No!” Her head bowed, and her body slumped. “I’ve been a fool,” she whispered. “Freddie promised to take me to Vauxhall Gardens tonight, and I confess that I did agree at first. But I realized it was wrong and went out into the lane to tell him so.”
“Damn cub, Whitridge,” he roared, after she’d described how he’d snatched her up and she’d jumped out of the carriage. “You might have been badly hurt. He needs pulling into line.”
“Freddie is annoying but harmless. It was the Duke of Mortland who worried me most.”
Brendan went cold. He placed the glass on the table at his elbow. “What about him?” he snapped.
Eugenia jumped. She took a sip of sherry then explained how Mortland had insisted on accompanying her on foot through the Mayfair streets.
Brendan listened, gritting his teeth.
She stared down at her glass. “Something about his manner alarmed me, but when he looked at me in the moonlight, it was as if he really saw me.” Her hand shook around her glass. “When another couple appeared in the street, I ran down the lane.” She gave a tremulous smile. “I was so glad to see you.”
“You are Mortland’s legitimate daughter, Eugenia,” he said as relief flooded through him, easing his shoulders. “The duke is aware of that.”
“He said I wasn’t.” She frowned and shook her head. “How can I be?”
“The proof of your mother’s marriage and your baptism is in that parish register. Come and look.” He rose and opened the book he’d placed on the table.
She leapt up. “Mama and the duke were married?”
Standing beside him, she studied the entries. Then her gaze flew to his, her big eyes washed with tears. “It’s true. I can’t believe it,” she whispered.
He smiled and folded his arms across his chest in case he gave in to his maddening emotions and drew her into his arms. “I was able to get my hands on this earlier today in the village of Upper Harbledown. I’ve just been to my club. The truth is circulating through the drawing rooms and ballrooms of London at this very moment.”
She put her hands to her face. “I have been very unfair to you. I thought you didn’t care about me. That you’d just wanted to humiliate the duke.”
“You have been brave, and very patient. Look at me.” He took her hands away from her face, his fingers trembling. “I couldn’t tell you until I was sure.”
“I owe you so much, Brendan.” She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her soft lips to his cheek.
Her warm curves and fragrant scent overwhelmed him, and his Christian name on her lips sent a shudder of pleasure through him.
“Eugenia.” He struggled to gain control of himself and pushed her gently away. “London will be at your feet tomorrow. Eligible men will be lining up to marry you.”
“I don’t want any of them.”
Of course she was overcome and not thinking clearly. It was up to him to keep a cool head and focus on his determination to bring the duke down. Mortland was dangerous and could have easily acted tonight to put an end to his troubles. Brendan wondered why he hadn’t. Had he found a similarity to Eliza in her features? Brendan clasped her arms and eased her farther away. “Freddie is a young jackanapes. You will meet a man you care about.”
“No, Brendan,” she murmured, her gold-tipped lashes hiding her expression. “You have been wonderful, but you cannot tell me what I need.” She raised her beautiful eyes to his. “Only I know that.”
He drew a deep breath. He wanted so much for her to enjoy the safe, contented life she was meant to live. With some man unencumbered by bitterness or driven by a deadly purpose. Silence fell as he fought to hold his course against the hot blood rampaging through his veins.
The door flew open, and Chloe hurried in. “There you are. The news reached the Howard’s soirée! I couldn’t believe my ears.” She rushed over and hugged Brendan. “It’s indisputable?”
He nodded.
She swung around and went to embrace Eugenia. “I am so happy for you, my dear.” She peered into Eugenia’s face. “Are you crying?” Chloe fished a lacy scrap from her reticule and handed it to her. “I do believe I shall cry with you.”
Brendan poured another glass of sherry. “Sit down, Chloe. I’ll tell you how I came by it.”
Chapter Fourteen
A HALF-HOUR LATER, the facts of Eugenia’s parentage had been discussed in detail, but much still
remained a mystery. She could think of little but how her mother had kept the truth from her. “When Mama was dying, she told me a wicked man had ruined her life and the lives of many others. But when I begged her to tell me who it was, she refused.”
“Your Mama would have had a good reason, Eugenia.” Chloe turned to her brother. “What of the duke? Do you think he’ll act on the matter?”
Brendan frowned. “I don’t think anyone can guess what Mortland will do. I know what he’s capable of and would rather Eugenia had nothing to do with him.” He met her gaze. “But that must be your choice, Eugenia.”
She rubbed her arms. “I never want to see him again.”
Her gaze took in Brendan’s dark hair curling at his nape, his generous, well-shaped mouth with those two dimples that appeared when he smiled, and his eyes as blue as a June sky. Did he not know that she loved him? That she yearned for him to hold her and kiss her properly as a lover would do? Her feelings must be obvious. She could no longer hide them. But he was distracted. What Mortland had done to Anne filled his mind with hate and had poisoned his soul. Would he ever be able to let go of the past and love again? She prayed that he would. Even if it wasn’t her he chose.
They had retired very late to bed. It was close to noon when Eugenia came down to breakfast. Lord Beale was closeted with Chloe in the small salon. Brendan had gone out, riding she supposed. Eugenia finished her tea and toast. A footman approached her as she returned to her chamber. He bowed.
“Lady Sephton has called, milady.”
Eugenia stared at him. Was she now to be addressed in this fashion? It seemed strange and rather absurd. She was still Eugenia Hawthorne, a farmer’s daughter, as her mother had been before her. She glanced down at the gold-edged card. Lady Eugenia Sephton.
“Show her into the salon, thank you, Geoffrey.”
When she walked into the chamber, a smartly dressed woman in royal blue rose and took Eugenia’s hand. “We are related I believe.” Bright green eyes smiled into hers. “Everyone calls me Genie. I do hope you will and that we can be friends.”
Eugenia smiled. “Please call me Eugenia.” She motioned to the damask sofa, and they sat. “Would you care for tea or coffee?”
“Thank you no. I apologize for forgetting my manners. But you are family and I couldn’t wait to meet you.” She tilted her head, the feather waving on her blue velvet bonnet, which adorned her fair locks. “Yes. You’re a Montague. There can be no doubt of it.”
“I’m afraid the duke does not think so.”
“Oh I’m sure he does.”
Eugenia sat up straighter. “He does?”
“But he never knew he had a daughter. Your mother failed to tell him.”
Eugenia frowned. “I’m sure she had her reasons.”
Genie raised her brows. “Charles isn’t always an easy man to get along with, but he is your father, my dear. Do you ride?”
“I have yet to do so here in Town.”
“Would you care to join me in Hyde Park this afternoon? I would like to introduce you to my friends.”
“How kind. Thank you. I should love to, but I’m afraid I don’t have a mount.” She wasn’t even sure how long she’d remain in London. Lady Beale would soon return to her family, as Eugenia was sure that Lord Beale insisted she do so at this very moment. When Chloe was gone, Eugenia could no longer stay here with Brendan. She’d caused enough of a brouhaha in his life. Where could she go? She may be a duke’s daughter, but she was as impoverished as ever.
“That’s of no concern. You shall ride one of my horses.” Genie rose with a smile. “Send a note before two o’clock. If you agree, my groom will find a suitable hack. You have my address. I do look forward to seeing you again.”
***
Brendan was shown into Castlebridge’s breakfast room, where his friend tackled sausages, bacon and eggs. “Have you eaten, Trentham?”
“I have, thank you.”
“Coffee?”
“Please.”
Brendan took a seat at the table while Castlebridge’s butler poured him a cup. He took a sip of the aromatic strong brew. “I confess to being curious, Castlebridge.”
“This is worthy of your curiosity, Trentham,” his host said. “I was much struck by the information you provided at the club last night. It fits neatly into what I have learned about Mortland.” Castlebridge cut into a sausage, popped the piece into his mouth, and chewed.
“Yes?” Brendan fought to be patient, wishing his friend would get on with it but aware that Castlebridge enjoyed the moment. Would it turn out to be nothing but a nebulous rumor put about by the scandal sheets?
Castlebridge reached for his coffee cup. “Of course you know of the fire at Mortland Hall that killed the duke’s two young sons.”
When Brendan gave a sharp nod, he continued, “The Bow Street Runner my friend hired had reason to question a criminal in Newgate awaiting the noose. This scoundrel had been charged with some other crime but confessed to the Runner that he’d been employed to not only light that fire but to make sure it began in the nursery.”
Astounded, Brendan put down his cup. “Who employed him? Did he say?”
“The man had little reason not to as he was bound to hang whatever he said. He was hired by the duke, or Charles Montague as he was then. Mortland didn’t want to dirty his hands with the task. Driven by both his uncle’s death and then the nephew next in line, he decided to inherit the dukedom through murder. But he needed to establish himself an alibi so remained at his house in Upper Harbledown.”
“And the man who made this claim?”
“Hanged. Rotting in a common grave and no further use to you.”
Appalled, Brendan swigged down the last of the coffee to kill the sour taste in his mouth. It failed to warm the cold knot of anger in his stomach. “Are there any possible witnesses who can support this? What about your friend?”
Castlebridge shook his head. “I lost contact with him after he returned to Ireland. I can furnish his name and address should you want it. He did say that a local fellow never got over the death of his sweetheart who took care of the heirs. He constantly rails against Mortland around the village. There were plenty who suspect Mortland, but he’s above the law. Everyone’s afraid of him. The duke hears of this slander but he considers himself untouchable and does nothing about it.”
“How many died in the fire?”
“Only a few from the nursery floor. Most escaped.”
Mortland Hall was a day’s ride from London. The fire had been almost twenty years ago, but it was possible that some of the original staff remained. Whether they would confess to any knowledge of it was another thing entirely.
“But that’s not all, Trentham.” Castlebridge beckoned for the footman who’d just entered the room. “More toast, John.” He paused until the servant left again. “Montague believed his former wife knew too much. He hired this arsonist to kill her, after he’d left to take up his ducal responsibilities. But when the man reached the village, the woman had disappeared.”
“Bloody hell!” Brendan’s fury rose to almost choke him.
“I thought you’d find this interesting,” Castlebridge said with a smug smile. “I could never act on the knowledge. But maybe you can?”
“What about the Runner?”
“He was killed not long after in the course of his duties.”
Brendan rose and shook Castlebridge’s hand. “Rest assured I will act on it, my friend. I am in your debt.”
“Take care, Trentham. The man will stop at nothing, as you see.”
Deep in thought, Brendan took his hat, gloves, and cane from the butler. Eugenia’s mother had been right to be afraid. She and Hawthorne had left the village together. Eliza must have kept silent to protect Eugenia, for learning the truth could have endangered her life. But what about Hawthorne? He’d been uprooted too. How much did he know?
As Brendan left Castlebridge’s home, another thought occurred to him. Had the attack in Olverst
on Wood spooked Hawthorne? Why had he considered it necessary to travel into the next county to warn him when he’d learned the men were not highwaymen but hired killers? Was he concerned for Eugenia’s safety? Or was Brendan allowing him finer feelings than the man possessed? He planned to have further words with Hawthorne.
But first, he would take the opportunity while Mortland was in Town to visit Mortland Hall. The duke was even more treacherous than he’d realized. He had to be stopped. As long as he lived and walked free, Eugenia, who was a direct reminder of that part of his life he would never want investigated, could be in danger.
Chapter Fifteen
BRENDAN APPEARED to have gone out for the day, and Lady Beale was closeted with her husband. Eugenia, tired of wandering the house, left a note and donned her riding habit and the smart new hat with the curving feather. Pulling on her kid gloves, she asked the butler to send for a hackney to take her to Lady Genie’s house in Upper Seymour Street.
“I’m so pleased you came.” Genie entered the crimson drawing room where Eugenia waited, rendered awestruck by the walls hung with silk damask, the gilt moldings and the plush sofas, which were every bit as impressive as Brendan’s home. Genie took Eugenia’s arm and drew her over to the mirror. “We share a Christian name, and we also look rather alike, do you not think?”
Genie was in her late thirties, her face thinner, her chin sharper, but her hair was still a bright gold and her eyes the same blue-green, although a different shape.
Eugenia smiled at her in the mirror. “There is a likeness.”
Genie drew her away and frowned. “I am sorry that I didn’t learn of your existence earlier. I still know very little about you. I hope you feel you can confide in me.”
“I should like to, when we know each other a little better,” Eugenia said. She wasn’t sure her history would be met with any degree of enthusiasm. Genie had been raised in luxury. She would never understand the life Eugenia had led. But even so, this kind lady might be able to advise her.
“I look forward to it. Come to the stables. I have the perfect mount for you. A chestnut, which will suit your coloring and bronze habit.” She laughed and smoothed her blue skirt. “I’ll ride the grey. We shall set the haute ton on their ear.”
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