“Yes, but not in gardens. However, I do not think you would want more tonight, no matter how mildly wicked.” He rolled off her and onto his back. “Not only due to being ravished for the first time. You traveled all day. Sleep is in order.”
He reached for the sheet. In doing so he saw the one on which they lay. No blood from the looks of things, even though he had felt the hymen give way.
He pulled her into an embrace, covered them with the sheet, and got comfortable with her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest.
“This will be very boring if you normally play wicked games all night,” she said.
“Are you saying you are disappointed that I am not going to impose on you again?”
“No. You are quite right about that. I am somewhat tired and . . . sore. I think that you must find me very dull compared to the women you have known. That is all I meant.”
He looked down on her crown, tucked under his chin. Reassurances were in order, but the last ones he had expected her to need. What are you talking about? Hell, fucking you was incredible. No, that would never do. He formed a response carefully. It took some time to pick through the potential ramifications of each word.
“I am not your tenth lover, but your first, Eva. It is a privilege to be so honored, especially by a woman who could have a choice from among many men.”
No reaction from her. Nothing at all. He realized that she had stilled totally. She had fallen asleep. So much for his well-considered declaration.
He drifted too. When on the brink of sleep, he felt her move. He opened his eyes to find her looking up at him with a soulful expression that contemplated what she saw. Then she planted a kiss on his chest, and nestled closer for the night.
CHAPTER 13
Gareth gazed down at Eva’s face and tangled hair. Her expression looked ethereal in the soft northern light. Dawn had broken two hours ago, and he had risen to wash and dress. Fresh water waited for her in the dressing room. He would not have minded staying abed with her until she emerged from her dreams, but he assumed she would be more comfortable being alone in the bright light of day.
He left the chamber and descended the stairs, listing the various matters he had intended to address today. One involved riding back toward Chatsworth, and calling on two local estates near enough to Devonshire’s properties to suggest someone at them might have awareness of the history of the paintings once stored there. At best now he could leave in two days. It might take that long to help Eva put her house back in order and swear information about the intrusion.
The letter to Ives would have to wait as well, but it needed to be sent soon. Ives’s own letter had come yesterday, and his queries indicated someone, or rather Someone, had pressed him in turn for information. Ives had never said the Prince Regent had requested this investigation, but Gareth assumed that was the Someone behind it all. Annoyingly absent from that letter had been any news regarding Lance, the investigation, and status of the inquiry into Percy’s death.
His concentration on duties not being accomplished kept thoughts of the night at bay until he entered the kitchen and found coffee already made. He strode to the garden door and looked out. Harold had come, on his own and without Erasmus, unbidden. He labored on the wall, hoisting stones into place, finishing the work that Gareth had started himself yesterday.
Gareth’s mind snapped to the woman sleeping above.
Damn.
He paced the kitchen, thinking fast. Of course, he should have thought it all through last night, fast or slow, so long as he thought at all. He cursed himself soundly, but even as he did, all the old rationalizations for ignoring the rules leapt forward.
Gentlemen did not seduce innocent ladies, even if those innocents threw themselves at said gentlemen—supposedly. That he could name important gentlemen who had did not matter. That he had been taught this by his own father who had bedded a virgin he could not and would not ever marry made the lesson all the more comical. Not to mention he was not, officially, a gentleman. He was a nonperson, and if there was any benefit to being one it should be that he did not have to give a damn about any gentlemen’s rules.
Yet here he was, with a lady up in his bed, and her reputation in his hands.
He watched Harold. Big, brawny, and blond, Harold moved methodically with the stones. He would probably finish by noon. Harold was supposed to be serving, when he served at all, as a house servant, as valet and manservant, not doing hard labor. Yet there he was, proving his worth at a most inconvenient moment.
Better Harold than Erasmus. With Erasmus, Eva’s name would be on every harpy’s lips by tomorrow. Erasmus’s tendency to gossip had been handy, but there were times when discretion called. Like right now.
He ran his fingers through his hair, and opened the garden door. He mounted the stairs to the garden, and walked down to where Harold worked.
Harold broke off and took the opportunity to wipe his face and hands with a rag tucked in his shirt.
“I did not expect you today,” Gareth said.
Harold nodded. “You said you started to rebuild this yourself. Mentioned it while I served dinner yesterday. I thought it better if I took care of it. No reason for us both to have bad hands.”
Gareth all but smoothed his palm over his face, to see just how bad his hands had become that Harold felt obligated to intercede. Had Eva noticed?
“Good of you,” Gareth said. “I am glad you are here. There has been a small disaster, and I need your help.”
Harold frowned, and set down the stone he had just lifted.
“It requires absolute discretion,” Gareth continued. “I am sure that when you were in the army, there were times when you were called upon to keep silent about important matters.”
“Many times. Not only military matters. My officer had private things I would learn about, seeing as how I served him. I know how to keep my mouth shut, sir, if that is what you are asking.”
“It is. I know you hope to be a valet someday, either mine or another man’s. It is much like with your officer. If a valet’s discretion cannot be trusted, he is worthless.”
“No one will hear of this disaster, sir. Not even Erasmus, who has a loose tongue, if you hear me. He is a good friend, but he does like to talk too much.”
Gareth could only hope Harold was good to his word. “Last night near dusk, Miss Russell returned home to find someone had invaded her home, destroying much of it. The intruder may have still been there. She thought he was. She ran here for protection.”
Harold’s eyes widened. “Miss Russell? Was she harmed? If one hair on her head was touched, I’ll kill the man if I find him. The world has gone to hell, if I may say so, sir, if a woman cannot feel safe in her own home. I am undone, sir, undone by this news. Not a small disaster at all, but a very big and shocking one.”
“Yes, well, it being night, and there being no alternative, she stayed here so she would be safe. She is upstairs in the chamber that has the new bed I just bought. You can see the problem we face, I am sure.”
Of course Harold could see it. Other than one sharp, suspicious glance, he spent the next few minutes ruminating, scratching his head, and staring at the wall.
“I am not one for strategy, sir. No one made me an officer, after all. But I think it best if when she speaks to the magistrate, it not be mentioned that she stayed here. My silence will count for nothing if the magistrate starts talking, and if he does, she can be ruined for nothing more than refusing to risk herself to the criminals among us these days.”
“My thoughts exactly. She took the sensible course, but she will have to pretend she took the stupid one and did not come and inform me of this until this morning.”
“I can go and alert the magistrate. He most likely will not get to her house for a couple of hours, since he lives on the other side of town. If you escort Miss Russell back—”
“That is a fine strategy. Perhaps you should start off now, and Miss Russell will wait for the magistrate at
her home.”
Harold’s expression assumed a military solidity. “Just one thing that might complicate the plan, sir. Miss Russell—will she lie? She might refuse to do that, being the sort of woman she is.”
“I will try to convince her of the necessity.”
Harold headed for the garden portal. Gareth aimed back to the house. Miss Russell had better not balk at lying. Surely she would see the sense of it.
He returned to the bedchamber. Eva was up and he heard her in the dressing room. He left and walked across the house to the only other bedchamber with an actual bed. He pulled back the coverlet, mussed the sheets, and even gave the mattress a few good thumps with his ass to make it look slept on. He mussed a towel in the dressing room, then threw it on the floor for effect. Deciding the chambers would convince Harold that good Miss Russell had spent all her time there, he went looking for the lady in question.
He found her dressed and tidy in the bedchamber. She sat on a chair, looking calm but perhaps a little confused. All the same he thought she looked adorable. Pretty and pert and alluring in spite of herself. She appeared completely capable of deciding she wanted a man and telling him so, which was not the Eva Russell the world knew. It was probably not the Eva Russell she knew.
Lest the awkwardness grow, he strode over, lifted her into his arms, and gave her a kiss. She blushed.
“I trust that is not embarrassment,” he said, caressing her pink cheek. “If so, I’ll not have it.”
“Of course not. No embarrassment and no regrets, just as I promised. I do feel a little strange, as if I am slowly waking up from a vivid dream.” She toed at the carpet. “We were more than a little mad last night, weren’t we?”
“Insanely so.”
“Utterly mad.”
“Yes.”
Her arms angled out in a hapless gesture. “I think everyone should allow themselves to be mad at least once, don’t you?”
“Absolutely.”
She felt at her hair. She straightened her sleeves. “I should return home. I look a fright. I did not even have a brush with me.”
He had not noticed. He did not think she looked a fright at all. The morning light made her skin appear flawless, and her changeable eyes showed as blue right now. She appeared ravishing despite her sensible dress. As for her hair, he could not see it without thinking how silken it felt against his skin.
“I should return home,” she said again. “I need to—do many things.”
“I will take you. I sent Harold for the magistrate. You need to let him see what happened, so he can alert other homeowners to be cautious and try to find the culprit.”
“Harold—” Her gaze shot to the bed.
“It is well he was here. I would not want you to wait on the magistrate alone while I went for him. Have no fear that Harold saw you. He did not enter the house. He does know you stayed here, however, but I believe he will be discreet.”
That appeased her, mostly. Her growing acknowledgment of her danger could be seen in her eyes, however. “If he is not discreet, it will not matter if I stayed in a locked chamber all night or if I ran from my house with a murderer after me. I can bear the scandal myself, but I fear it will ruin my sister’s chances.”
“There will be no scandal.”
He led her down the stairs and left her while he went out to saddle and bring his horse around. She waited outside the front door for him, her reticule in hand. He led the horse while together they walked to the road.
* * *
How odd the day seemed. How strange to be walking beside Gareth in the sunshine, with his monster of a horse plodding behind.
She glanced at him on occasion. Her heart still danced at the sight of him. Perhaps it always would. If she had thought last night’s intimacy would dull that girlish excitement, she had been wrong.
Upon wakening, and seeing where she lay, and remembering the night, there had been one moment of panic. It passed, however, as the memories grew clearer and his phantom body pressed hers. The small soreness still throbbing deep inside provoked a smile, not dismay. While she washed, she wondered if she had become as wicked as he, to partake of pleasure so casually with a man she did not love, then know no guilt afterward.
Wicked. An interesting word. Not at all the same as evil. Far more damning than naughty, though. One could not deny that wicked often carried implications of being a sensual rogue. She supposed she was one now too.
He had said last night that she could have had her choice of many men if she wanted. It had been a gentle kindness that touched her. A generous and thoughtful lie. He, on the other hand, most certainly could have had his choice of many women.
“I am hungry,” she said when they rounded the bend that took Albany Lodge out of sight.
“I should have fed you something.”
“I will find some cheese when I get home, assuming the intruders did not take it or ruin it. Nor could we dally for a breakfast this morning. It would not do to have the magistrate arrive at my house only to find me gone.”
Gareth pushed open the door, which she was sure she had not closed when she ran. Her trunk, canvas, and other things still lay right over the threshold, where she had dragged them. He stepped inside.
“It is worse than you said, Eva.”
She followed, and looked around the front chamber at the destruction that greeted her return yesterday. Gareth walked over and picked up one of her paintings. He stared at it with angry eyes, then set it down. He came back to her and took her hands.
“We will see how bad it is in the rest of the house. Before that, you need to consider what you will say to the magistrate about last night. I think you should say you spent the night here and came for help in the early morning. I know you do not want to lie, but—”
“It is a lie, but one that can be excused. Should the truth ever become known, it will be obvious why I obscured it, and I do not think anyone will blame me.”
He took her face in his hands. “Since I do not think I will have the chance to do this later—” All of last night lived in the kiss he gave her. Then he led her to the reception hall and handed her up the stairs.
She went to her bedchamber and stared at the corner floorboards. Nothing. No one had pried them up. Her coins still hung on that nail. Even more weighed down her reticule. She would survive this destruction because she had some money. She shuddered at the thought of how she would have managed if she did not.
The boards were fine, but nothing else. All the beds up here had been overturned. Cupboards had been emptied, their contents strewn around the space. A storage area behind a low door in Rebecca’s chamber gaped, the door open and the trunks ransacked.
“It looks as if they searched for money or valuables,” Gareth said.
“One has only to enter to know there will be none. We do not even have decent furniture.”
More of the same waited on the next level. There was no furniture up here, but some trunks that held her mother’s clothes and memories lived in one room. Those too had been violated, and on seeing this final assault, she lost her composure.
Weeping, she dropped to her knees and began gathering the old silks and shoes that still held the scents of her childhood from long ago. Even the destruction of her paintings did not hurt as much as this. A murderous rage took hold of her. She held the dresses to her face and cried out her anger and frustration.
Gareth knelt beside her. He took the clothes from her hands, folded them carefully, and placed them back in the trunk. “I do not like the idea of your living here alone.”
“It is my home.” She wiped her eyes with her hand. “I’ll be damned if I will be driven out.”
“Still—”
“I will not be made afraid to live in the only home I have known by whoever did this. I won’t.”
He said nothing more. He stood, and offered his hand to help her up.
They went back to the library and waited for the magistrate.
* * *
; Sir Thomas Pickford appeared to be a competent magistrate. Tall, slender, and still much the officer he had once been in the army, he paced through the house, noting the destruction. He returned to the library and set its one chair close to the divan where Eva waited.
“You did not see them?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “I do not even know if it was one or more.”
“Probably more. Two at least. The chambers above show a careful method. This down here—” He gestured around. “A different mind did this.”
“It is clear she has nothing to steal,” Gareth said.
“True, but they searched just the same, while they had their fun.” He ignored Gareth and peered at Eva. “Is there anyone you have angered? Someone who might want to do this in spite?”
“That is an odd question, Sir Thomas,” Gareth said. The notion anyone would want to hurt Eva was preposterous.
“Not so odd, sir. Look around. We do not see the likes of this in this county, I can tell you that. Oh, there are thieves enough, but this—” He shook his head.
“Well, you have seen it now. I trust you will find those responsible.”
“I will try, but there is no telling who they are or where they are, is there? I will make inquiries, to find out if anyone saw something, perhaps while passing on the road in the evening. We will do what we can.” He turned his attention back to Eva. “It was not wise of you to wait until morning to seek help, Miss Russell. Are you going to be alone here much longer?”
“My sister will return in a few days.”
“Well, lock your doors. I do not think they will be back, but better to be careful.”
Sir Thomas took his leave, riding off. Gareth began setting the rest of the furniture in order in the house. When he came down from the bedchambers, he found Eva wiping paint off the landscapes.
He had felt a bloody rage on seeing the way those two paintings had been ruined. There could be no point in it other than cruelty. Perhaps Sir Thomas was correct and someone had done this out of spite.
Eva noticed him watching her. “I can use the canvases again,” she explained.
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