by Sara Bennett
Surprised, Antoinette watched as the woman cast her black gaze around and fixed upon the secretary. He seemed to shrink, as if he wanted to disappear, but there was no chance of that now she had him pinned. She came rustling forward and planted herself directly in front of him.
“I want to see Lord Appleby.” Her melodious voice was heavy with a French accent. “I want to see him now!”
Belatedly, the secretary tried to assert his authority. “Madame, I can’t possibly allow—”
“I do not care what you can or can’t allow,” she cut short his attempt, one long finger darting out to poke his chest. “Find him for me.”
He hesitated, but it was clear that in a confrontation with such a formidable woman he hadn’t a hope of winning. With a nod of his head, he trotted off to find his master.
The woman in black tapped her shoe and said, “Psht!” She turned, and now her gaze fixed on Antoinette. For a moment she examined her intensely, until gradually a puzzled expression slipped over her face. The woman’s bright eyes slid down and stopped, and now she was frowning.
Fearing the worst, Antoinette also looked down. Oh dear, the corner of Miss Bridewell’s precious letter was visible above her bodice!
She clapped her hand over it, but it was already too late.
The woman gave a delighted laugh. “Ah, a note from your lover?” She drew closer, as if they were sharing a secret. “I do not blame you for finding a little diversion, my dear. Lord Appleby is so…so…” But a suitably descriptive word escaped her, and she wrinkled her nose instead, her disgust plain to see.
Antoinette didn’t answer, and perhaps that was for the best, because the next moment Lord Appleby spoke from his study doorway in a loud and irritable voice.
“I don’t see anyone without an appointment!”
The woman in black turned and stalked toward him. “You will see me!” she declared. “What do you mean by stealing my daughter’s inheritance, my lord? I will not have it, do you hear me? I will not have it.”
In trepidation Antoinette watched them, expecting Lord Appleby to jump into the attack, for he was certainly no gentleman and would not let his visitor’s sex stop him. But he didn’t. To her amazement he smiled, a smile Antoinette recognized well, as if he knew something he was going to use to destroy her.
“Madame,” he said, rocking back on his heels. “Well, well, what a pleasure it is to see you. How many years has it been?”
“Not nearly enough,” she retorted rudely.
“I would have visited you, you know, but I have a reputation to maintain. If I set foot in your club I’d be tainted.”
“Psht! Enough. Answer my question.”
His gaze slid by her to where Antoinette was hovering near the stairs, her hand still pressed to her chest. “Come into my study and we will discuss this matter privately, Madame Aphrodite.”
Madame Aphrodite? The name was intriguing and Antoinette would have liked to listen to more, but that would mean eavesdropping, and she did not dare. Not now she had the letter.
Up in her room Antoinette sat by the window and hurriedly scanned Miss Bridewell’s words.
My housekeeper friend remembered in great detail what happened in Lord Appleby’s household in 1840, ten long years ago. He paid her to hold her tongue and so she did. But I managed to persuade her by appealing to her kind heart and her sense of duty, to TELL ALL.
Miss Bridewell then proceeded to expose a bizarre and shocking truth, and gave Antoinette the exact address in London where that truth was to be found: a house in Lambeth.
You must visit this house and gather the proof. If you take the story to those in power, then Lord Appleby would be ruined.
The governess really was a marvel. There was still the problem of giving Appleby’s spies the slip, but she would try as soon as possible.
Raised voices caught her attention.
Cautiously, she crept out of her room and into the gallery and peered over the polished ebony railing. Lord Appleby and Madame Aphrodite stood below her.
“Do you really imagine you will get away with this?” The fury in Madame Aphrodite’s voice was audible.
Lord Appleby seemed amused by her emotion. “Why not? You know, Madame Aphrodite, you really will have to learn to get along with me. Remember, I am your partner now.”
For a moment Antoinette thought the woman would strike him across the face. Her hand was raised, while her body quivered like a bow. Lord Appleby’s mouth tightened and he leaned toward her, daring her.
“Do it. But I’m warning you that if you do I’ll close you down by the end of the week. You will be on the streets, where you belong.”
Madame Aphrodite seemed to sag, dropping her hand, turning her face aside. Her voice trembled. “I have friends. They will speak on my behalf.”
Appleby snorted. “You are a courtesan, Madame. Who do you think they will listen to? You or me?”
“Your name is spoken of in the same breath as the Crystal Palace. You are in the public eye, my lord. People recognize you in the street. But such fame is a two-edged sword. There is always gossip, always those who will seek to pull you down.” Her glittering black eyes lifted to his. “It is whispered how your young mistress was in your arms, bold as brass. Soon it will be all over London.” She smiled. “The royal couple do not like men of poor moral character. Do you think they have heard the whispers?”
Appleby gave a scornful laugh, as if he didn’t care. “You are clutching at straws, Madame,” he mocked.
“We will see!” was her parting cry.
Two days later he came back from a visit to Buckingham Palace and called Antoinette down from her room.
“You are going away for a little while,” he said, when Antoinette was standing reluctantly before him, her head held high. “I have a house in Devon. As much as I dislike Madame Aphrodite, she was right. You will stay in Devon until the gossip is forgotten, and when you come back you will marry me.”
“I want to go home. Why can’t you send me home?”
“Because I don’t want you to go home,” he imitated her voice. “I want you where I can keep an eye on you and you can’t get up to any mischief. Remember, I have Cecilia. If you don’t marry me, I will lock you away and take Cecilia in your place. She is quite a beauty, isn’t she, your little sister?”
Shock made Antoinette’s throat close over. Her sister in the hands of this wicked man? She couldn’t allow it to happen. Frustration surged through her. She had the letter, but she was so closely watched, she hadn’t had a chance to use it. And now he was sending her away.
“You will leave within the hour.”
It made her physically ill but she begged him. “Please, my lord, let me stay. I—I can’t bear to be sent away.”
A puzzled frown creased his brow but he wasn’t swayed. “No, Antoinette, it isn’t possible. I can’t risk losing royal patronage, not now. All these years I have worked toward making my fortune, and now I am on the verge of major success. My name will be famous, and orders will come in from all over the world.”
Did he want her to admire him? Congratulate him? Antoinette could only wonder at such single-minded selfishness.
“Now go and pack,” he said briskly, rubbing his hands together. “You have fifty-five minutes.”
She turned and left him, but at the door he spoke again.
“Who knows, my dear, I might come and visit you.”
“And risk the royals finding out?” she retorted with distaste.
“Devon is a long way away.” He smiled, his gaze examining her in a way that made her cringe inside. “Cecilia may be a beauty but you are quite fetching yourself, Antoinette. Odd, I hadn’t realized it. I think we could deal quite well together.”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t think she could. Bad enough that everyone believed her to be Lord Appleby’s mistress, but to be so in fact!
Antoinette made up her mind that she would do anything in her power to prevent it from happening, even if that
meant giving herself to a stranger.
Chapter 11
Mary stood still, watching as Miss Dupre made her way along the upstairs corridor. She’d been following her for more than an hour, and so far she’d been into every room in the manor house. Now, as Mary peered around the corner of the landing, she saw Miss Dupre enter the old nursery. A few more steps and she was at the door. Mary crept closer and peeked inside.
She was opening the cupboards! Going through the contents as if it was her right. Now she’d picked up a small book and was flipping through the pages. A folded piece of paper fluttered out, and she stooped to pick it up, leaning toward the light to read it.
Mary turned and hurried back down the stairs. Miss Dupre was searching for something; something to use in her plan to send Master Gabriel to jail…or to the gallows. Yes, that must be it! A chill ran through Mary, and she knew Master Gabriel needed to be told as soon as possible. Maybe he would make the busybody leave, and then things could be the way they were. Mary longed for a return to the past.
Before Antoinette Dupre came to Wexmoor Manor with her bossy ways and her disapproving stare, Mary had hoped Gabriel might begin to see what was right in front of him. Why didn’t he realize Mary was the perfect wife? They could reside together in perfect bliss, and the fact that Mary was the daughter of a fisherman and Gabriel a baronet’s son would have no bearing on matters at all.
This naïve belief had sustained her for many years, and now Miss Dupre had come along and spoiled her dreams. Just wait until Gabriel heard about her poking and prying in his house. His eyes would be opened and he’d realize that Mary, his ever loyal and loving Mary, was the only one he needed.
Mary hurried off through the woods, confident that soon everything would be just as she wished it.
Antoinette didn’t really know what she was looking for. Some clue that might help her discover the identity of the highwayman or escape Wexmoor Manor, or both? It was either that or sit twiddling her thumbs, and she was never a twiddling sort of girl.
So far she’d found a great deal that made little sense. Wexmoor Manor had definitely belonged to a family previous to Lord Appleby—the Langleys. There were memories and mementos to them everywhere, from paintings and books to schoolroom desks with graffiti cut into the old wood. “Gabriel hates sums” was one that made her smile. So uncompromising. Antoinette had disliked many of her lessons but not to the point of hatred, and she would never have defaced her schoolroom desk to prove a point.
The schoolroom kept her amused for quite some time. She was still there, examining a page of ink-stained alphabet letters, imagining the child who had labored so long over the curve of an “a” and the stem of an “l,” when she realized she was no longer alone.
Her body tensed with the urge to turn and look; it was almost unbearable. But some stubbornness kept her where she was, her head bent over the yellowing pages.
“Do you wish to speak to me, or are you trespassing again?” she said, pleased her voice was so calm.
He laughed softly, and the hairs on the back of her neck rose. The next moment his steps were moving toward her across the scuffed timber floor. “How did you know it was me?”
“I guessed,” she lied.
He stopped close behind her, and she was aware of the scent of him, male and healthy. Still she refused to turn. Turning would give him the upper hand in the game they were playing, and Antoinette was determined not to allow him to see how much he affected her.
“What are you looking for, sparrow? Evidence to use against me?”
“I’m sure Sir James will manage that on his own. He seems to be a competent sort of gentleman.”
His warm breath stirred tendrils of her hair. “Are you afraid to look at me, Antoinette?” he whispered.
“No, I’m not afraid.” Antoinette had no choice but to prove it and turn. He was right behind her. The black mask was startling on first seeing it again, but his mouth was smiling and the pale blue eyes she could see beneath it were warm and wicked. His fair hair curled untidily about his brow, and his broad shoulders blocked her escape.
“Give me what I want, sparrow.”
“You know I can’t.” The words were out before she could stop them, and instantly regretted.
“I don’t see why you can’t. Unless…” His voice changed. “Are you under some sort of duress, Antoinette? Is Appleby threatening you?”
He sounded different, concerned and possessive, as if he was a man she could trust. Her own feelings frightened her into reacting to push him away before he could worm any further under her guard.
“Of course not!”
“The letter—”
“There is no letter,” she retorted stubbornly.
“Antoinette,” and now he was impatient with her, and she couldn’t blame him. “We both know you have the letter. Why not give it to me and put an end to this nonsense?”
Her expression hardened, her eyes narrowed. “It may be nonsense to you, sir, but to me it is…” She bit her lip at the blunder, but he was already on to it like a cat on a mouse.
“You were very nearly frank then, sparrow. Don’t spoil it. What does the letter mean to you? Tell me and I can help you.” His voice was so low and soothing, like a calming hand upon a turbulent sea. But she couldn’t trust him; she daren’t. He was Appleby’s man.
“You’re imagining things. I do not need your help.”
His mouth was still smiling, but now his face—what she could see of it—appeared harder, more intractable. “Antoinette, give me the letter.”
“No.”
With a sound that was a mixture of impatience and frustration, he pulled her into his arms. Before Antoinette could protest, his mouth swooped down to cover hers, and then she didn’t want to. She felt the tension inside her shiver and melt; her hands reached to cling to his shoulders, and her mouth eagerly returned the caress of his lips. Already the heat inside her was rising, the ache low in her belly intensifying.
He pulled away, breathing hard, his chin pressed against the top of her head. “I warn you,” he said harshly, “I am not safe.”
Antoinette leaned back to look up into his eyes. They were bright and feverish. He wanted her. She was playing with fire.
A thrill shivered through her. Her heart began to beat faster. Excitement made goose bumps on her skin. Her body was readying itself for his touch, but that was too easy. Daringly, she reached up and brushed his lips with her fingertips. His face, what she could see of it, registered surprise. Antoinette gave a laugh, and then catching up her long skirts, she turned and ran.
His footsteps followed.
She rounded the desk, gasping, slipping behind a trunk and pausing to look back from in front of the dusty windowpane. He was coming after her but without hurrying, slowly and confidently, like the predator she’d likened him to the first time she saw him.
This was madness, she told herself. She wanted him to touch her and kiss her. And at the same time she was aware of what it might lead to. She didn’t know what was more dangerous, his threats or his concern.
Antoinette darted around a chair and made toward the door. He almost caught her skirt, his hand just catching the cloth, and she squealed as it slipped through his fingers.
Panic spurred her on as she ran to the end of corridor and found the back stairs. Uncarpeted, the varnish worn, these stairs were for the convenience of the servants. Antoinette took them as quickly as she dared, reaching the bottom and finding herself in another narrow passage. There was a door to her left, and she opened it and entered a shadowy room with drawn drapes. Trying to quieten her breathing, she pressed herself back against the wall and waited.
Once again the questions whirled inside her head. Did she or did she not want to be caught? The truth of the matter was she didn’t know. Two Antoinettes were at war within her—the old one, the sensible one, and the newly discovered reckless one. She was afraid that the reckless one was capable of anything.
Steps outside in t
he hallway. Antoinette held her breath. A floorboard creaked. Silence. Another step, and then another.
Waiting and listening were much worse than being pursued. She longed to pick up her skirts and run. But then he’d catch her and…
Suddenly the door opened and closed again, so swiftly that the brief impression of his silhouette against the light was gone before it really registered. Antoinette pressed flat to the wall, hoping the gloom would hide her well enough to escape his notice. Then again, if he moved toward the window, she’d be able to escape.
“I know you’re here.” His whisper made her skin prickle. “I saw your footsteps in the dust.”
He knew, or did he?
“You know what I’m going to do to you when I catch you.”
She did, and God help her, she knew she was looking forward to it. Antoinette hadn’t felt this wildly excited since she was…She had never felt like this, she thought, startled.
“Are you ready for me?” he said huskily. “I’m ready for you.”
Antoinette began to slide along the wall, very slowly, very carefully, inch by inch. If she could open the door without his seeing, then she could be out of the room and running before he realized.
“I’m going to make you scream…with pleasure.”
She took a last step and reached out her hand.
He pounced. In an instant she was spun around and pressed front first against the closed door, her breath leaving her lungs in an oomph. He was against her back, his hands pinioning her wrists at head height, his soft laughter tickling her ear.
“Antoinette, my little sparrow, I have you now.”
His body was heavy, making her aware of every contour and muscle, and then his mouth trailed down the side of her neck, and she realized the true danger. He was tasting her, making her burn, and she made a sound of denial. Or encouragement. He had hold of her skirts, hauling them up with one hand, until his fingers found her stockings and then the bare flesh above.