Howard addressed him. “I’ve gotten quite crafty at slipping in and out of these rooms undetected. Consider that the staff is abed. They’ll hear the noise, sit up, ask themselves what the devil they just heard. By the time they decide it was a gunshot and spring into action, you’ll both be dead, and I’ll be halfway down the old tower stairs nobody uses any longer.”
Helena saw him glance at her, then run his tongue nervously over his lips. Adam spoke again, diverting Howard’s attention, and that was when she realized what her husband intended.
Howard’s plan was to position them so he could shoot from the correct angle—a detail that was necessary for the deception he planned to explain the murders. He would fire one flintlock near where Adam stood, close enough to make it seem as if Adam had done the murder, then shoot him with the other at close range to simulate suicide. Howard was also trying to get himself as close to the door as possible so he could make good his escape.
And Adam was being cooperative so that he could use Howard’s careful positioning to draw her cousin’s attention from her. When Howard turned toward Adam, he faced away from Helena.
Adam struck a defiant stance and laughed. “You are a fool, Howard. You are forgetting one very important detail.”
Howard’s eyes grew wide with surprise…and concern. He faced Adam, Helena momentarily forgotten. “What? What are you talking about?”
Adam chuckled. “That’s for you to figure out.”
She raised her arm and pointed the pistol.
Oh, God. Oh, God.
A tide of panic swept over her.
She looked to Adam. There was sweat on his brow. He didn’t look at her, but she could tell every line of his body was taut with tension. He was waiting—waiting for her to save their lives.
The room at the inn…
Howard began to turn his head, as if somehow sensing the threat. Adam said something quickly, trying to draw his attention back to himself, but Howard had seen the gun. His face registered fear for a split second before she fired.
The sound was deafening. The smell of burnt powder singed her nose, and a flood of sickness came over her as she remembered that terrible scent from all those years ago.
She fell to her knees, gulping in air. Head tucked in, she grasped her stomach against the waves of nausea slamming into her. Somewhere in the direction of the two men there came the sound of a scuffle, then the hideous crunch of a closed fist meeting bone.
She must have missed. Oh, Lord, how could she have failed?
She must have missed!
Scrabbling on the floor for the other flintlock, she closed her hand around the handle and brought it up in a quick motion.
“Whoa!” Adam barked, holding his hand up to stop her. At his feet, Howard lay unconscious. She could see crimson on the felled man’s thigh.
She hadn’t missed, after all. And she hadn’t killed him, either. She’d shot Howard in the leg.
Coming forward slowly, Adam gently took the pistol from her hand, then knelt down beside her and pulled her into the haven of his arms. “My poor girl,” he murmured softly. “My poor brave girl. I’m sorry, my love. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s over,” she said dully.
He pulled back to look at her. There was a smile on his lips. He seemed surprised to hear her speak so clearly. She touched that sensuous mouth of his and said, “It is over, isn’t it?”
“Yes, love, it’s over. It’s all over. I’ll never let anything like that happen again.”
“I love you.”
“I love you,” he replied, his voice a soft hush of a whisper. “Madly, insanely—oh, that wasn’t a wise choice of words, but there’s no help for it, is there? It’s the way it is.”
She laughed suddenly. Imagine, finding anything funny in this room, freshly snatched from the bony grip of mortal danger and an unconscious Howard lying so close. But then, Adam could always make her laugh. “I suppose there are some acceptable ways for one to lose one’s head. Falling in love is certainly one of them.”
“What here!” a new voice demanded.
Adam twisted and looked at the manservant who stood at the door, a lone candle flickering in his hand. “Jack. There’s Kimberly’s murderer, and very nearly ours, lying on the floor. It is Master Howard. Get him locked up someplace, will you? Oh, and see that his wound is tended. Your mistress has gone and shot him.”
“Master Howard?” the man cried, incredulous.
“The very same,” Adam drawled, turning back to Helena.
His eyes shone with love as they swept over her features. Placing his hands gently on her face, he ran his thumbs over the magnificent cheekbones, down the smooth cheeks, touching gently the delicately formed mouth. Ignoring the sounds of the head footman struggling to drag Howard’s dead weight out of the bedroom, he bent to kiss his wife.
He paused and lifted his head. “Oh, Jack?” he called.
The footman puffed hard as he looked up. “Yes, sir.”
“Make certain that wound is tended.”
“You told me that, sir.”
“In fact, call the village surgeon. And tell him we will need him to specially apply all of his prodigious skills to heal the dreadful bullet hole.”
Wearily, he replied, “Yes, sir, of course…” Jack stopped, then grinned as he got the meaning. More crisply, he said, “Of course, sir. And rest assured the staff will execute each and every one of his instructions with precision…and enthusiasm!”
A pair of other menservants arrived then, and Howard was born out between their brawny shoulders.
Helena tilted her head at her husband as he turned back to her. Adam let loose one of those devastating smiles and laughed with her before he took her in his arms for a kiss.
After a moment, they broke apart. “Why was I so afraid to love you?” he murmured against her lips. The soft texture of his mouth against her flesh sent ripples of pleasure all through her. “I don’t think I truly knew what living was until I met you.”
“Do you feel that way really, Adam?” she asked, surprised. “I rather thought it was the other way around.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled and the bottom fell out of her heart as she lost herself again in his gaze. “Then it’s mutual.” His eyes darkened, becoming deep pools of pitch. “You know, I feel rather a cad, given everything that’s gone on tonight, but you see, I am overwhelmed with the most powerful urge to make love to you right this moment.”
She took his face in her hands. “It wouldn’t be right.”
“No, of course not.”
“Not with Howard, you know…”
“Right.”
“And the constable is bound to come for you soon.”
Adam frowned and scratched his head. “Well, he might be indisposed for a good while….”
“The staff is probably waiting for us to make an appearance, explain the shots they heard.”
“Indeed, I had thought of that myself. That is why I think it wise that we cease this discussion and get things under way as quickly as possible.”
Then they laughed, rose and hurried to the bed.
Epilogue
Mrs. Featherston peered through the lenses of her jewel-encrusted lornette at the couple who had just entered the room. This drawing room was far enough away from the dancing at Helding’s ball that the strains of music were faint, making it possible to converse easily.
Next to her, Lady Whitesby leaned in close and whispered. “Who are they? Why, she’s magnificent. Look at that face, and that hair—when have you seen such a color?” Lady Whitesby placed a fluttering hand over her spare breast. “And him…oh, my. Dark eyes, dark hair. And that smile. Goodness.”
“He looks familiar, although I cannot recall where I’ve seen him before.” Mrs. Featherston frowned. “They could possibly be the Mannions…yes, I’m sure of it now. I had heard all the talk. Well, well…that is the Sleeping Beauty of Northumberland. Even those exaggerated rumors didn’t do her justice.”
Mrs. Featherston sniffed. “Well, new money and all.”
“Of course, of course.” Pausing, Lady Whitesby added tentatively, “And yet he seems most…charming. Look at how he looks at his wife.” Her fan snapped open and began to flutter wildly. “Goodness gracious, he’s absolutely…well, devouring her.”
Leaning forward with impertinent disregard for subtlety, Mrs. Featherston gasped. “Dreadfully unfashionable. Imagine, demonstrating that kind of…affection for one’s own spouse!”
“Indeed, and she’s no better. Why, she might as well be in her boudoir with the way she’s—oh, gracious, Clara, did you see that? Oh, did you?”
“Calm yourself, Irmegard, he merely kissed her hand.” Still, the older woman wrinkled her nose. “Scandalous, certainly.” She cocked her head. ‘Yes, that was what I heard of her…some sort of scandal…oh, yes, I remember now. She was a recluse or something. Her mother had been murdered and she took it so hard, poor thing. Locked herself in the country.” Both women, avid social parasites, paused to shudder at the thought of the slower-paced life outside of Town. “What was her family name? Oh, yes, Rathford. Filthy rich, they were. Old money, quite a distinctive family.” She was completely delighted with her powers of recall, and sat back in her chair with a satisfied expression on her face.
“Oh, poor dear,” the smaller woman fussed. “I suppose he rescued her from that dreary life.”
“They have a son, I believe, and he’s to inherit both fortunes. Imagine the catch he will be when he comes of age. We shall have to warn our granddaughters!”
“Oooh, how delightful. Oh, look, Clara—what are they doing now?”
The larger woman leaned forward, lornette ready. “He’s bidding her to play the pianoforte. And she’s doing it.”
Helena Mannion sat down and placed her fingers on the keys. She looked radiant, with her glossy blond hair piled artfully on her head, a few coy locks curling seductively along the graceful curve of her neck and against that flawless brow. In London only a fortnight, she’d already attracted a few admirers. They were gathered around her now.
Adam didn’t mind the glut of male attention. He beamed at her from his spot off to the side, and never took his eyes from her even when the Duchess of Blenheim came up to speak to him.
At the urging of the men gathered around her, Helena began to sing. It was a sweet song. Over in the corner, Adam spied the two biddies who’d had their heads together since the moment he and Helena had entered the room. One heaved her ample bosom as Helena’s glorious voice gave the song life, and the other dabbed at her eyes.
Adam turned his attention back to his wife. She was truly beguiling, he had to admit. He’d lose patience with these impertinent bucks who flocked around her eventually, but for now he couldn’t say he blamed them.
How very glad he’d be to get home to Rathford Manor. It was home, the place where his whole life was centered. His son had been born there, his friends were there, the growing pack of hounds he had raised were there, already earning him a reputation as a fine breeder. His whole life, which he’d come to treasure. He’d gone looking for treasure, hadn’t he? Well, he’d found it, a wealth beyond imagining.
It wasn’t the same here. Although Helena had been good enough to accompany him on this trip to London for business, their son and staff in tow, she belonged with him in Northumberland, where they’d walk or ride together almost every day. He could see her in his mind’s eye, supervising the restoration of the great house, overseeing large dinner parties or small routs with their close circle, where she could laugh easily and come and tuck herself in the crook of his arm if she liked. Mostly, he liked to think of how she looked with their son, Stephen, defying all convention and caring for the tiny boy herself without benefit of a nurse.
She looked up at that moment and caught Adam’s eye. He smiled, and she gave him that tender, melting look that never failed to make his insides quiver and his body take notice. He’d make her pay for that look, he mused as he sipped his champagne.
With a darting look about, she ascertained that no one was looking and mouthed three words to him: I love you.
He raised his glass and mouthed them back.
Over in the corner, the two biddies began to fan themselves so wildly he feared they might take flight.
He had business to see to with a consortium of men ensconced in the library. When he finally emerged, suppressing his impatience, he headed directly for his wife. He extricated her from her conversation without too much trouble. “Are you having a good time?” he asked.
She turned toward him and inadvertently—or was it by chance?—brushed her right breast against the back of his hand. His entire body stiffened. Lifting her cool gaze to him, she murmured, “Take me home, Adam.”
There was no mistaking the look in her eyes.
They raised a few eyebrows with their rushed farewells, but in the carriage ride home that evening, they most certainly didn’t give it any thought.
ISBN: 978-1-4603-5992-1
THE SLEEPING BEAUTY
Copyright © 2001 by Jacqueline Lepore Navin
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