by Allison Lane
Possibly. Particularly if she could make it appear her stop was a side trip between London and Crawley, taken because the Marchgates had departed, but Thomas’s business was incomplete. After all, he would not return for some days yet. She would be back at Crawley before his arrival. It was perfect.
Peace at last descended over her spirit. Issuing the necessary orders for an early departure, she composed a brief note explaining her absence in case Thomas returned early, then went to bed.
* * * *
Thomas awoke to a mild headache from George’s brandy and the familiar fog that had plagued him since Robert’s death. Another day to be endured, one that must start with a confrontation. Hopefully he was right to believe that Caroline would welcome this discussion.
He sat up gingerly, not yet ready to face Cramer. A folded paper propped on the washstand caught his eye, Caroline’s copperplate on the outside. Cold fury washed over him as he read.
Thomas–
I leave for Crawley immediately. Between accidents and attempted murder, London has proven unhealthy. There is no need to rush your business. Worth and Larkin can ensure my safety.
Disturbing your sleep can serve no purpose, so I will content myself with reporting facts. As I walked in the garden just after dawn, a hooded and cloaked man stopped at the mews gate. After watching me closely for some time, he removed a gun from beneath his cloak, deliberately aimed at me, and fired. He immediately raced away. I was unable to discern his direction as heavy fog distorted the echoes of his footsteps.
This time he missed, but his care and deliberation convince me he will try again. I refuse to offer him a chance to succeed. Flirting with death is not my style.
I am making no accusations, Thomas. You care nought for me, as I well know. But I cannot believe you are so lost to honor that you would stoop to murder even to rid yourself of an encumbrance that must daily grate on your soul. Yet the fact remains that someone desires my death. I will not remain a target.
Caroline
He hated her.
Not only did she stand in the way of happiness with Alicia, she was a leaden burden. An encumbrance that must daily grate on your soul... She certainly understood his dilemma. But how dare she imply that he might kill her?
He paced the room, fists clenched in anger. In spite of her disclaimer, she must believe it. Why else would she leave without even waking him? He had every right to know immediately of the shooting. And she had no business making decisions on her own. He should decide whether to send her home.
He again read her infuriating missive. Stoop to murder... She had even relinquished her good sense. Did she have no understanding of honor? Were she ten times as bad – nay, a hundred times – he would never harm one he had pledged to care for. How could he ever accept her after this outrage? He should have found a way to marry Alicia. She would never suspect him of infamy!
His mental bluster continued for some minutes before he admitted in surprise that it was, in fact, bluster. His pacing abruptly stopped. Did he really hate Caroline? He carefully smoothed the crumpled note. Taking a deep breath, he pushed aside the anger at her sudden departure, ignored her hints at his involvement, and reread the message.
Shorn of his emotional response, her words struck terror in his heart. He shuddered. By no stretch of the imagination could the incident be an accident. Was it an attempt to scare her? Injure her? Or was she correct to suspect deliberate murder? Icy shivers marched down his spine.
Who would want to kill Caroline? He rejected the obvious answer, and more forcibly rejected it again, but it would not go away. Someone desires my death...
Grimly he summoned Cramer. Twenty minutes later he strode toward Davies Street, with an open mind for the first time in more than a year.
Memories assailed him from the moment he accepted the unthinkable as a possibility. Images he had long ignored smote his conscience, their juxtaposition revealing truths he had never wanted to believe. A cold hand grasped his heart, squeezing tighter with each blow–
Alicia wantonly pressing against him, hands tearing at his clothes as she begged for his body, explicitly spelling out precisely what she needed, demanding satisfaction but giving nothing in return. No wonder he had come away from the encounter confused and disappointed. Passion was to be shared. But there had been no pretense of sharing. Once his control had snapped, there was nothing but pure, selfish lust... Caroline in their first week of marriage, her inexpert hands eager to learn how to please, discovering ways to arouse him that even he had not known... He groaned.
Alicia’s catty compliments, sly innuendo, spurious sympathy, and vicious put-downs of Caroline, worded, he now saw, to fan his anger and draw him closer to her side... Caroline’s unfailing graciousness and refusal to denigrate anyone, even acknowledging without sarcasm that Lady Darnley was the most stunningly beautiful woman she had ever seen...
Caroline urging him to employ ex-soldiers... Alicia sneering at an outstretched hand and pointedly avoiding its legless owner...
Alicia clad in gowns that, he now admitted, could only be described as scandalous... Caroline’s demonstrated good taste, even the wreckage of Crawley exhibiting charm once her elegant touch was imprinted on it...
The flashes of anger he had never dared identify that crossed Alicia’s face at the slightest opposition to her will... Caroline’s unfailing good temper. The only time he had ever seen her lose control was the night of Eleanor’s ball. And his provocation had been extreme...
Alicia’s selfish, grasping greed. She was much more than the slightly spoiled miss he had admitted... Caroline quietly supporting his family, demonstrating without fanfare the most caring, sharing, loving heart he had ever encountered...
The musicale. Alicia’s face had changed from gloating to fury... He nearly burst into laughter as he recognized the plot and Caroline’s perfect revenge.
Someone desires my death....
How could he have believed Alicia to be perfect? He no longer loved her. The truth stabbed him so painfully that he stopped dead on the street, nearly collapsing in shock.
Oh, God! He had never loved her.
Bedazzled by her beauty, overwhelmed by lust, he had created her character out of his own desire, attributing every virtue to her credit. And ignoring every hint of vice. Another wave of shock set him trembling as with an ague. Caroline embodied nearly every aspect of that created image – and more.
How could he have been so stupid? Another truth slammed through his brain. Alicia had seduced him at Graystone – deliberately and knowingly. Amazement battled chagrin and anger. With all of his own seductive arts, perfected over years of practice, how could he have failed to recognize the same wiles turned against him?
His friends had tried to warn him. Jeremy had more than once prosed on about the dangers of infatuation, describing how he had mistakenly attributed many virtues to Elizabeth that she did not possess. Yet, arrogantly sure of his own judgment, Thomas had never entertained the suspicion that he was guilty of the same mistake. And then there was George, suggesting he remove himself for a period of contemplation. His own voice echoed across their last card game – I should have discarded the diamond, and George’s piercing stare...
He reached Alicia’s house and knocked on the door. In his present mood, he allowed the butler no chance to deny him entry but settled into the drawing room, expecting a lengthy wait, while knowing that she would eventually meet with him. The room was garishly decorated in the latest Egyptian mode. He shuddered in distaste.
For the last time, he recalled every meeting with Alicia, from their introduction at Almack’s until he had called to examine her horses two weeks before. Shorn of editing, the pictures unrolling through his mind appalled him. When had she chosen to abandon her place in the polite world? Before her first trip to London? After she accepted Darnley? When he had unexpectedly surfaced at Graystone? Or had Darnley’s fit triggered her rebellion? He could not relinquish a fear that he was somehow responsible for
her fall from grace. If that were true, he still owed her something. Though never again could he even like her.
Removed a gun... Deliberately aimed... Fired...
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to erase the image. What was Alicia’s goal? Injury as revenge for the musicale? Or the wealth and power that belonged to the Countess of Marchgate? Did she really believe that he would marry her if Caroline died?...
How could she believe otherwise? He had as good as told her that only Caroline kept him out of her bed.
He shuddered.
The connecting door between the drawing room and an adjacent morning room was slightly ajar. Someone entered the morning room, banging the hall door closed.
“What happened to your eye, Rosie?” a voice exclaimed in shock.
“Nothin’.” The muttered response was sullen.
The newcomer snorted in disbelief. “The truth, girl! Nothing would surprise me, you know. I suppose it was her. How bad is it? Do I need to take steps to protect you? You would hardly be the first who needed rescuing.” Cloth rustled and a chair scraped.
“You know what her ladyship’s been like this past month,” capitulated Rosie. “Expected to lure Mr. Mannering into her bed long ago as besotted as the fellow is. His refusal fair drove her mad.”
Thomas stifled a gasp, gritting his teeth through another wave of anger. How many others knew of his stupidity? The entire ton? Servants were the source of much of Mayfair’s gossip.
“True. She threw her breakfast tray at me yesterday. And poor Clara turned up with a swollen jaw last night. I wish I knew how to find a new position without the reference she is bound to refuse me. Ten years serving that bitch and nothing to show for it but threats and abuse.”
“Oh, Giddings, it’s sorry I am to be remindin’ you.”
Thomas now recognized the newcomer in the next room. Giddings was Alicia’s abigail and had usually accompanied her mistress during the Season he had courted her. Rosie was undoubtedly a housemaid.
“Forget it. Nothing will ever change her, and somehow I will escape. I always thought she made a mistake insisting on wedding for a title and money, believing the one she lusted after would fall into her bed anyway. Her parents should never have given in to her tantrums and allowed it. I nearly died laughing when his lordship cut her off with a pittance. He saw through her pious act that first week. What could she have expected, as experienced as he was? Called her a tart to her face, kicked her out of his bed, and informed her that any brat she produced would never be recognized. Put it in his will, too. And left her nothing but her own dowry. If she can’t snare another husband soon, it’s off to a country cottage for her ladyship. Serves her right for being a bad-tempered shrew.”
Giggles.
“Shush. If Potts hears us, we’re both in for it. He fair dotes on her.”
“Right you are, Rosie. And her temper is none too good just now. Mannering refused to bed her after all. Cited his honor. You should have seen her that day. Lucky you were off. But she’s been livid since he turned up heir to an earldom. If she’d played her cards right last year she’d be wed to him all nice and tight. But she’s arranged to rid him of that inconvenient wife of his. That ought to earn his gratitude. He can’t like being tied to such a common wench when his heart belongs to her ladyship. Now let me look at that eye.”
“But that’s why she’s in such a temper this morning. The attempt failed... Ouch!”
“Shush... Somebody’s coming...”
Thomas normally abhorred eavesdropping, but this time he was grateful. The maids’ chatter removed his last shred of obligation. She had tricked him from first to last, pulling the wool over his eyes to an extent he would not have thought possible. All his worries over her nonexistent love were pointless. He felt a fool – a furious fool – not an emotion likely to prompt conciliation or forgiveness. His eyes glinted like green ice when the drawing room door opened.
Alicia made a grand entrance. Dressed as usual in a blue gown with a neckline that barely cleared her nipples, she exuded sexuality. But this time he felt nothing. She looked like a cheap tart, and he frowned in distaste.
“Thomas, my love,” she purred. “Just the person I most wanted to see.”
“I very much doubt that, Viscountess Darnley,” he snapped coldly. “I can no longer address you as Lady, you see. Your criminal activities have stripped you of any right to such a title. In case you have not yet heard, your attempt to murder my wife this morning failed.”
She gasped. “But what can you possibly mean?”
He pushed her hand aside as she tried to caress him. “I mean, you scheming jade, that Caroline is safe. And she will remain so. I guarantee that if the slightest harm befalls her, no matter how accidental the circumstances appear, I will see you in Botany Bay for the remainder of your natural life. From there I have no doubt you will descend straight to hell.”
This time he slapped her caressing arm aside, hard enough to leave an angry red welt on the skin.
“I am no longer affected either by your admitted beauty or by your very practiced wiles, Viscountess,” he declared in a menacing tone. “Nor will I ever again willingly spend time under the same roof with you. Your selfish, wanton behavior and your despicable plotting have erased any desirability you may once have possessed. If you wish to ever grace even the lowliest drawing room in Mayfair again, you had best retire to the country for a few years and hope that your escapades become sufficiently dulled by time that you might be offered a second chance.”
Alicia’s mouth hung open in shock. Completely ignoring her, he turned on his heel and departed. Behind him the sound of smashed glass echoed along the street.
Would Caroline accept his change of heart? He pondered that question as his feet dragged in the direction of Berkeley Square. His behavior for the past year had been abominable, especially since his marriage. Could she forgive him? Or had he alienated her affections for all time? Not that he expected love from his wife, just as he did not expect to fall in love with her. But she was an intelligent and comfortable lady, someone he badly wanted for a friend and partner. Especially a bed partner, he admitted, remembering those few nights early on when they had shared a bed without anger. But would she welcome him back there? The gnawing fear was never far away. Had she given herself to Wroxleigh?
What would he do if she had? After his own neglect, could he blame her for satisfying herself elsewhere? She had no cause to expect solace at home. You care nought for me, as I well know... His fists clenched painfully. How could he have been so stupid? And how could he expect Wroxleigh to bypass such an opportunity? The man specialized in unhappy wives. If she was using him to satisfy the passions that he himself had awakened, he would have to forgive her. But she would never suffer that lack in the future, he swore. It would be harder if she had developed a tendre for her lover. Could they eventually reach an accord that would compensate her for giving up her liaison?
As he approached the house, Wroxleigh himself appeared from the other direction, apparently with the same destination in mind. Thomas fought down his instinctive anger. This was a perfect opportunity to warn the libertine away.
“Wroxleigh,” he said coolly, inclining his head a fraction.
“Hartford,” responded the other. “Is Caroline well?”
“She has returned to Crawley.” Thomas had to work to keep his voice level at the intimacy implied by Wroxleigh’s form of address.
Drew raised surprised brows. “When I spoke with her yesterday, she had no such plans. I thought you were traveling down together.”
“She left early this morning.”
“What did you do to her?” Drew’s face resembled a thundercloud. “I ought to thrash you for the way you’ve treated your wife. No one deserves that kind of contempt. Least of all, her.”
“My relationship with Caroline is none of your business,” he snapped, grinding his teeth in an effort to control his anger.
“I refuse to stand by and watch my
dearest friend made miserable because you are too obsessed to believe facts.” Drew’s fists clenched as his own temper neared the breaking point.
“Friends? I think not. Men like you don’t make friends of their women.”
“You ought to know,” rejoined Drew. “Your reputation is as bad as mine – worse really. I never game to excess. But you are wrong. Caroline is a jewel and it pains me to see her mistreated so badly. You’ve left her in tears more than once, in case you care.”
“How dare you! I ought to call you out for that. And what gives you the right to interfere?”
“Our relationship.” He paused at the fury blazing from Thomas’s eyes. “You honestly don’t know? I can’t believe this. No–” One hand lashed out to keep Hartford at arm’s length. Fortunately his reach proved longer, for Thomas swung anyway. “It’s not what you think. She’s my cousin, you fool! I thought everyone in London knew that.”
“Cousin?” Thomas sagged in shock, his brain completely blank as he tried to assimilate this new idea. He suddenly burst into laughter at his own ignorance and leaned weakly against the railing. “Why did she never tell me?”
“Did you ever give her a chance? But she probably thought you knew. I’m amazed you did not.”
“I might have, if I had ever thought about it. But you can hardly blame me for assuming the worst.” He gestured and led the way into the house, ordering Sam to bring brandy to the drawing room.
“I suppose not, given my reputation. Though you were wrong. Not that I didn’t try at first. But she drew a very firm line the night we met, and I liked her too much to try to seduce her past it. You really do not deserve her, you know.”
“True, though I hope I can make it up to her now. I have discovered the truth you accused me of ignoring, by the way. Caroline left for Crawley this morning after an assassin hired by Darnley’s widow narrowly missed shooting her in the garden.”