Which meant Hadrian had to take a hand whether she liked it or not. He was sure she didn’t mean to bed Tatlow; the only reason for that would be something to do with Pilgrim and possibly espionage, which was absurd. Tatlow was too old and foolish for treason, and besides that, the war was over. She had almost certainly encouraged Tatlow to avoid Hadrian’s questions, but the more she tried to avoid him, the more questions he had, and the more he thought about it, the more certain he was that she had abilities like Val’s. This explanation made complete sense of her history and of the dignity that seemed at odds with her wanton past. Why was she so reluctant to admit that she was a succubus and had sent him those dreams?
The dreams raised even more questions. She’d hit him with the second one whilst he slept at his desk just before dawn. He’d never before experienced such longing, such a torment of arousal—and yet she’d cut him off at the last moment, and he’d wakened with a strange combination of emotions—frustration, despair and…and fear?
Of what? And whose fear? Not his, and although he was somewhat frustrated, he wasn’t in despair. Those feelings were hers.
He found a convenient entrance by way of a broom closet to the secret passage that wound its way down the left wing. He set up a pallet in the narrow space behind Lettice’s bedchamber. If Tatlow attempted to reach her room, he would find Hadrian waiting.
Maybe she didn’t need his help, he thought bitterly. Maybe even now she was in bed with Pilgrim, whoever he was. When Hadrian had emerged from the broom closet to fetch some blankets, he’d seen the imposter entering Lettice’s chamber. It had taken all his control to watch the man but do nothing about it.
Now, it took even more control not to creep back into the passage and eavesdrop. He waited and waited, but the fellow didn’t emerge. Hadrian racked his brain, trying to remember what was familiar about Pilgrim. He thought the beard might be false, and for all he knew the spectacles were, too. What was the fellow really doing here at Staves? Hadrian supposed it was his duty to find out, but in this instance his habitual curiosity seemed to have been ousted by jealousy.
Which was ridiculous, and yet he hovered by the broom closet, sulking like a child. Tatlow and the marquis came upstairs and lumbered away to the opposite wing. Lettice probably thought Tatlow too drunk to be dangerous tonight—not so. He had a hard head and a determined libido.
Hadrian gave up on waiting, removed his boots, and crept into the passage in stocking feet. As he neared Lettice’s bedchamber, he paused. Waited. Heard nothing. He set the boots down, followed by the blankets. He crept a step closer…closer…ah, low voices.
And a clear, sad cry from Lettice Raleigh.
“I can’t,” she said. “I’m too afraid.”
~ * ~
“You’ll have to do it sometime,” Colwyn said. “It’s not surprising you’ve developed a distaste for physical love, considering all the blackguards you had to cope with, but Lord Hadrian isn’t like them. He’s not only attractive, but likeable, too.”
Indeed he was. Likeable men were a rarity in Lettice’s experience…but so what? “I don’t have to do it at all. Many women are content to live out their lives as maidens. By what I’ve heard, doing it is nowhere near as interesting to women as to it is to men.”
“That may well be, but you’ll never know if you don’t give it a try. You might even get with child. Wouldn’t you like to have children?” He put up a hand. “Don’t object that you would be ruined. You already are ruined for all intents and purposes, so why not enjoy the freedom it gives you? You have friends who accept you as you are.”
“Yes, but–”
“Come now. Gird your loins to the sticking-place.”
“You’re mixing your metaphors,” she said, “and I am not contemplating murder.”
“You’re giving it as much thought, possibly more. Which reminds me, sleep with a knife under your pillow and a pistol close by.”
“I shall,” she said ruefully, thankful that he had changed the subject. He would never understand.
“If that jackass gets in and you kill him, come and get me. I know just the place to dispose of the corpse.”
“Darling Colwyn,” she said with a tiny laugh. He was a dreadful man and a wonderful friend. “You’d better go.”
He left. Lettice locked the door behind him, set a chair in the way just in case, and finished preparing for bed.
She couldn’t sleep. Most likely, Lord Hadrian wouldn’t make love to her even if she begged him to; she’d done a fair job of disgusting him tonight. And yet, she did have seductive powers–but he had unusual self-control. Would he succumb, or would he mortify her by refusing?
Oh, none of this mattered. What mattered was that desire had broken free from wherever she had buried it, and she didn’t know what to do with it. She completely lost her courage when she considered going to bed with a man. No, she had used up all her courage avoiding it. Colwyn had more than once offered to take care of it for her—and she trusted him more than anyone—but she simply couldn’t do it.
Other questions hounded her as well. What if she steeled herself to get it over with and found the experience unpleasant? What if Hadrian—er, the man in question—therefore lost interest? Worse, what if she became emotionally attached to the man in question—oh, damn! Why was she fooling herself? It was Lord Hadrian or no one.
She couldn’t risk humiliating herself with Lord Hadrian, so it would have to be no one. At last she fell into a tormented sleep peopled with grunting, snarling men, panted curses and violent thuds.
She woke with a start. This was no dream. She thrust the bed curtains aside. In the darkness she detected no movement, yet the curses and thuds continued. She lit a candle and surveyed the room. No one.
She tiptoed toward the door. The sounds must be coming from the corridor…but they weren’t. She listened harder, prowled more. No, they came from elsewhere…from outside? She went to the casement and leaned out, but the sounds were even more muffled outdoors. Now they seemed to come from below her; next, after a series of bumps, they were behind the wall against which stood a massive old cupboard which she knew was empty but for some hats and cloaks. That wall abutted the steep, narrow servants’ staircase. What a dangerous place to fight; someone’s neck could be broken in a fall!
A massive thud shook the wall, followed by complete silence. No one had fallen down the stairs, thank God.
“Damn, that hurts.” It was Hadrian’s voice.
Heart pounding, she called softly, “Lord Hadrian? What is going on?”
“Nothing that matters,” he said. “Go back to bed.”
His voice came from behind the cupboard, which, come to think of it, seemed untidier now than when she’d first arrived at Staves. “Are you injured? Shall I call for help?”
Heavy, booted footsteps approached in the corridor outside her chamber.
“Damn,” he said again. “No, you must feign surprise.” He was almost whispering now. “Pretend to be half asleep.”
A battery of knocks sounded on her door, and someone tried the handle. “Open the door, Miss Raleigh!”
That was Lord Staves, whose bedchamber was in the opposite wing. Why would he wear boots in the middle of the night?
The horrid man must have set a trap to compromise her. “But you’re hurt!” she hissed to Lord Hadrian. “Did you kill him?”
“No,” he growled, “and I’m fine. Shut the cupboard and pretend you just woke.”
“Lettice, dear?” That was Lady Staves, her voice quavering. By the sound of it, someone was fitting a key into the lock from outside. Her own key fell out onto the floor.
“I’m coming,” Lettice called. Swiftly, she shut the cupboard, moved the chair out of the way and made herself yawn just as the door burst open. She held up her candle with one hand and politely covered her mouth with the other. “What’s wrong? Is the house on fire?”
Lord Staves stormed in, fully clothed and carrying a lantern. “Where is he?” His eyes dart
ed to the closed cupboard. He flashed the lantern’s beam around the room.
Lettice blinked and yawned again. “Where is who?”
“Let me hold your candle while you put on your wrapper,” Lady Staves said. By the look of her, she had hastily pulled her own wrapper over her nightdress. Her husband must have dragged her out of bed to come to Lettice’s chamber.
Lord Staves stopped scowling at the empty room and focused his ire on Lettice. “It is all of a piece. No one but a wanton would open the door while dressed in nothing but nightclothes.”
“I didn’t open the door,” Lettice retorted. “You did.” She shoved her arms into the wrapper and closed it tightly.
Beside her husband, Lady Staves grimaced and mouthed, “Sorry.”
“Where did you hide him?” Lord Staves demanded. He opened the cupboard, glanced inside, and shut it again. He bent down to look under the bed.
Lettice wanted nothing more than to slap him, but she feigned incredulity instead. “Hide whom? I don’t know whom you expected to find in here with me, but as you can see there is no one.”
“Come, dearest.” Lady Staves patted her husband’s arm. “Let’s go to bed.”
Lord Staves ignored her. “Then what was all that noise? I heard thuds and moans fit to wake the dead.”
Moans? Lettice hadn’t heard a single one of those. “As well as the living in the opposite wing?” she asked sweetly. “I didn’t hear a thing until you almost battered my door down.” She gave him glare for glare. “Come now, Lord Staves. There’s no need to set a trap to compromise me. If you wish me to leave your house, why not just say so?”
“Oh, dear.” Lady Staves gaped at the marquis. “Darling, surely you didn’t.”
“What an absurd notion,” the marquis said. Even in the dim candlelight, the purple of rage showed in his cheeks. “Miss Raleigh, you are mad to suggest such a thing. You are my guest here for as long as you wish.”
“I’m so sorry we disturbed you, Lettice.” Lady Staves tugged on her husband’s arm. He shook her off and stomped away. She apologized again and hurried behind him.
Lettice took the key from the lock where Lord Staves had left it, closed the door, and locked it. She picked up her own key from the floor, wondering if his lordship had any more copies. She set a chair in front of the door again.
The marquis wouldn’t throw her out unless he had proven her a wanton. If she were inquisitive like Lord Hadrian, she would simply have to know why—but she truly didn’t care. All she wanted was to leave.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Now that his parents had retreated, Hadrian had to get the unconscious Tatlow out of the secret passage. He dug into his pocket for his tinder box and relit the candle that had gone out during the fight. He set it in a niche and propped his pallet against the wall. He hoisted the old lecher by the shoulders and heaved. Tatlow’s inert body moved a few reluctant inches. At this rate, it would take all night.
“Need some help?” drawled a voice from behind him.
Hadrian turned, not particularly surprised. “Since you ask, yes,” he said irritably. “He’s damned heavy.”
“He’s a tooth the lighter, thanks to you.” Mr. Pilgrim reached down to pluck something from under his boot. He edged past Hadrian to take Tatlow’s feet. Something in his laughter stirred a memory in Hadrian’s mind.
“How did you get in here?” Hadrian asked.
“Through the broom cupboard, of course.”
“Of course.” Hadrian hefted Tatlow’s shoulders, disliking the reminder that he’d had to stand outside that very cupboard and watch this spy enter Lettice’s bedchamber as if he belonged there. “That’s the sort of thing you fellows are trained to notice.” Immediately he regretted his words, because they’d held a degree of unwarranted insult. He would never make the mistake of despising a spy.
Pilgrim gave no sign that he cared what Hadrian thought of him. “Tatlow must have come by another entrance. He’s too fat to fit through the broom cupboard.”
Hadrian grunted his agreement, while wishing he needn’t reveal anything to Pilgrim, even something as easy to find as another entrance to the passage. “We’ll take him out through the empty bedchamber a few doors down.” They moved slowly along the cramped passage and descended a half-flight of stairs. At the bottom, they had to put Tatlow down to retrieve the candle. Pilgrim fetched it and passed it to Hadrian, who set it at the top of the next flight and hefted his burden again.
“I adore secret passages,” Pilgrim said, his languid tones utterly different from the fawning ones he had adopted with Lord Staves. “Is this the only one in your charming home?”
“That’s none of your business.” Hadrian’s voice sounded churlish even to himself. They went up another flight of stairs and down the next. “One more set of stairs and we’re there.”
“He must have been told where to find the secret entrance to Lettice’s bedchamber,” Pilgrim said. “It’s well hidden. I don’t suppose he could find it on his own.”
“You suppose rightly,” Hadrian growled, annoyed that Pilgrim had worked everything out for himself. Not that the blasted fellow needed to use a secret entrance to her room when he could waltz in through the door. How dare he call Miss Raleigh by her Christian name?
Hadrian cursed himself for a fool. Pilgrim and Lettice were certainly old colleagues, probably old friends, possibly lovers—although he didn’t think they had indulged in any amorous behavior tonight. All he’d heard, after Lettice’s sharp cry that she was afraid, were more murmurs, then silence.
They moved the candle again and took up their burden once more. “Why have you come to Staves?” Hadrian asked.
“I regret that I cannot tell you, Lord Hadrian.”
“I thought as much. It is my duty, then, to ask if you mean any harm to my family.”
“None at all,” Pilgrim said, “although as I told Lettice, I would rather like to dispose of your father and set the rest of you free.”
Hadrian ground his teeth. Occasionally, he had similarly murderous thoughts of his father, but filial respect didn’t allow him to say so.
Oh, to hell with that. Soon enough, people would realize how little respect he had for the old man. “I too, but unfortunately I have no experience of murdering anyone and probably wouldn’t get away with it.”
Pilgrim grinned. “All it takes is good friends. Just ask Lettice.”
What the devil did he mean by that? Had Lettice killed someone? Or did she merely know of killings in her former capacity as a spy? Yes, that must be it. If he’d had any doubts before about Lettice’s former profession, he didn’t have them now.
“Speaking of my father,” he said flatly, “you wouldn’t by any chance know why he allowed Miss Raleigh to visit Staves in the first place?”
“I do not,” Pilgrim said. One of Tatlow’s shoes fell off. Pilgrim left it where it was.
“Nor why, having invited her, he is now determined to throw her out with as much fuss as possible?”
“None,” Pilgrim said. “I trust he will not succeed?”
“Not if I have anything to say to it,” Hadrian said. “I would have escorted her to London days ago but for a missive she received ordering her to assist you.”
“Ah, yes,” Pilgrim said. “That is most strange, for I am ordered to assist her as well—and no, I have no idea in what way either of us is supposed to help the other.”
“Do your masters—yours and Miss Raleigh’s, and I assume my brother’s as well—always give such obscure orders?”
“They’ve become worse lately.” Pilgrim grinned. “During the war, a certain amount of discretion was de rigueur, and one had to play it by ear, so to speak. I think they miss the intrigue, so now they hatch some for their own amusement.”
They set Mr. Tatlow down again. Hadrian unlatched a door in the wall, revealing a ledge two feet wide and seven feet long. He leaned in and pushed open the panel opposite.
“Not very well hidden,” Pilgrim said.
/> “It’s not supposed to be,” Hadrian said. “It was meant to fool anyone hunting a fugitive priest into believing he’d found the only way in and out.” They lifted the body onto the ledge, squashing Tatlow against one end. His other shoe dropped to the floor.
Hadrian crawled past him, took the candle from Pilgrim and pulled Tatlow through, dumping him on the bare floor. “Thank you,” Hadrian said. “I’ll take over now.”
Mr. Pilgrim crawled through the opening. “I take it you mean to leave Tatlow here.” He brushed off his coat.
Hadrian nodded, motioning Mr. Pilgrim toward the bedchamber door.
“Are you dismissing me?” There was laughter in Pilgrim’s strangely familiar voice. “Ah, you mean to return to your uncomfortable repose in the passage.”
Trust a spy to notice every annoying detail. Who the devil was he?
“Lettice doesn’t need your help, Lord Hadrian. She’s capable with both a gun and a knife and knows various ways of disabling a man. No one has succeeded in raping her yet.”
A shudder of rage ran through Hadrian. “She shouldn’t have to risk that anymore, and God damn it, particularly not in my family home and at my father’s instigation.”
“Nevertheless, I think she would appreciate your protection,” Pilgrim went on, as if Hadrian hadn’t spoken. “Despite her competence, she’s still innocent and fearful in many ways.”
Hadrian bit his lip on a retort. She wasn’t the least bit innocent, but she was certainly fearful, and that fear tugged at him.
“Inside the bedchamber might be more comfortable for you both,” Pilgrim said.
“I doubt it,” Hadrian said on a half-laugh. What was Lettice afraid of? Not of Pilgrim, obviously. Of Hadrian? If so, why?
Pilgrim strolled out, shutting the door softly behind him.
~ * ~
Lettice found the exit through the cupboard without the slightest difficulty. A pile of boards lay at one end, with two hat boxes perched atop them, but the other end was entirely clear and proved to contain a door. She broke a nail prying it open. In the small cavity thus revealed, another door led into a passage within the wall. The servants’ staircase must be on the other side of that wall. Lettice stepped through the opening and held up her candle.
Rakes and Rogues Page 32