Indiscretions

by Gail Ranstrom

  “When do you leave?”

  Doyle gave him a curious look. “Trying to get rid of me?”

  Hunt grinned. He hadn’t been very subtle. But he had been curious about the reassignment ever since Governor Bascombe had told him about it. “Not at all. Just wondering. I hope they give you a chance to catch your breath before sending you off again.”

  Doyle relaxed and nodded. “I doubt I’ll be leaving before February.”

  “Did you request India? Or were you content on St. Claire?”

  “I was content, for the most part. But it never pays to get too comfortable. A man could wither and die in a place like St. Claire. Better, don’t you think, to move on, if you want to advance and make a name for yourself?”

  “So you requested a new assignment.”

  “Yes. There didn’t seem to be much point in staying. Despite Bascombe’s credentials, he was perfectly content to sit back and let me handle anything unpleasant or problem-matic.”

  This was interesting. According to Bascombe, he’d requested Doyle’s reassignment. Another piece of the puzzle? “And you did not want to handle the problems?”

  “More than willing,” Doyle explained. “But with Bascombe always in the fore and taking credit for my efforts, it was time for me to move on. If I mean to build my fortune in the diplomatic corps—and I do—then I must be in a position to be noticed, eh?”

  Two men, two different stories, two possibilities. One traitor. “Yes,” he agreed after a moment. “I’d say you’d have to be noticed to advance.”

  “Besides,” Doyle said as he tossed off the rest of his wine, “I always had the feeling that I was more in Bascombe’s way than a help to him.”

  Still two possibilities. Either Bascombe needed Doyle out of the way so that he could conduct illicit business, or he wanted Doyle reassigned to keep him from trafficking with pirates.

  Here was a job for Bow Street. Tomorrow he’d ask one of the runners to look into Gavin Doyle’s background. And just for added interest, he’d ask Eastman what he thought. After all, he was the one who’d suggested that the leak was within the Foreign Office. Eastman would also be able to find out how Doyle’s transfer came about— Bascombe’s request, or Doyle’s?

  “Well, must keep moving,” Doyle said with a touch of regret. “I have a host of people to greet here, and then I promised to meet a friend at Belmonde’s later.”

  Hunt nodded, making a mental note of the notorious gambling hell. If Doyle had admittance to Belmonde’s, he must pay his debts. But how much could he gamble on a minor government official’s salary? Hunt and Charlie would have to drop in later for a hand or two. Meantime, Charlie could help him with another matter.

  Elise held her breath as she watched Charles Hunter slap Barrett on the back and laugh. A moment later, they went toward Lord Carlin’s billiard room. Oh, blessed respite. Perhaps now she could finally find the ladies retiring room.

  “Looking for an escape, madam?”

  Lockwood! She whirled to face him, took two subconscious steps backward and dropped a little curtsy. “Lord Lockwood,” she acknowledged. She glanced toward the corridor where her husband had disappeared, hoping he had not seen Lockwood.

  “You are safe for the moment,” he said. “At least from your husband. My brother has challenged him to a game of billiards. I think we have a few minutes.”

  “For what?”

  He grinned. “Have you seen Lord Carlin’s portrait gallery?”

  She shook her head. What game was this? Is this what he’d meant earlier about taking his revenge a little at a time?

  He took her hand and led her up the stairs and down a hallway to a large gallery at the end. There were no chandeliers to light this room, not even a single candle. The only illumination came from moonlight filtering through a bank of tall windows along one side. The Carlin ancestors were silent witnesses on the other.

  He spun her around to face him and then let go of her. “Why, Daphne? What game were you playing?”

  “Elise,” she corrected.

  “Damn it! You know what I mean.”

  Yes. She knew. He wanted answers. And still she could not tell him the truth. But he deserved anything that would allow him to purge his anger.

  “It wasn’t a game, Lockwood.”

  “Lockwood? What happened to ‘Hunt’?”

  “I think it would be unwise of me to use that name. I do not want my husband upset.”

  “Ah, you haven’t told him we met on St. Claire. Why, Elise? Would he want to know just how well we knew each other? What would he say if I told him we knew each other? In the biblical sense?”

  “Please, leave me alone.”

  “It shouldn’t matter to him. After all, you went from my bed to his. Was I so lacking in skill that I sent you running back to him?”

  “Stop it! You have no right to question me.”

  “I will not stop until I know why. Why did you give yourself to me when you belonged to someone else? Why did you flee the first moment my back was turned?”

  “Hunt, I… I had no choice.” And she still had no choice. She had no doubt that Barrett would carry out his threat to harm William if she told anyone what he held over her head.

  “No choice? The hell you didn’t. You had me. I told you I’d help you. I swore that, whatever the problem, whatever you’d done, I’d make it right.” He paced to a window and back again. The look on his face tore her heart in two.

  He pushed his fingers through his dark hair. “And you could not give me the courtesy of a simple refusal. Instead, you lied. Even then, you lied.”

  “What lie did I tell?”

  “That you loved me, too.”

  The tears she’d been fighting rolled down her cheeks. No, she hadn’t lied. That, at least, had been the truth—was still the truth and would always be the truth. “I… I am sorry,” she whispered. She wished he would strike her, or plunge a knife in her heart—anything that would ease his pain and anger.

  “Sorry? You will excuse me if I cannot believe you, madam.”

  “What can I tell you? What will satisfy you? I had reasons why I could not tell you who I was.”

  “Theft? Kidnapping? Those are minor infractions for someone with your skills in duplicity, Elise. Have you done murder? Treason?”

  “Would it matter?”

  “Not to you, I gather. But then what matters to you more than yourself?”

  You, she wanted to say. And William. There had been more truth and honesty in her years on St. Claire than there had ever been in London. She looked down, unable to meet his eyes—those heartbreaking eyes.

  “Defend yourself, Elise.” He grasped her shoulders and shook her. “Give me reasons, damn it.”

  “I am sorry.” There was nothing else she could say.

  “Sorry?” He tugged her into his arms and she landed with a soft thud against his chest as her shawl dropped to the floor. “How sorry, Elise? This sorry?”

  His kiss was angry and demanding. It was undeniable. She yielded to it with her own hunger. The faint music from the ballroom faded and the laughter of guests below seemed as distant as a summer day. He backed her against the wall and slipped one leg between hers. She clung to him and drew him closer, accepting his tongue as well as the sharp bite of his fingers as they cupped her bottom and drew her against his groin.

  “You are a fire in my blood, Elise. You burn away my memories of your lies and treachery until all I can think of is how you feel, how you smell and taste. Damn you for that, and damn you for your lies. Give me a single reason that I shouldn’t tell Barrett about us.”

  “He would kill me.” And William.

  “Another of your exaggerations, Elise?” he asked, his breath hot in her ear. “He has taken you back, draped you in the very jewels you stole from him and presented you to society in a gesture of acceptance. His actions are that of a man smitten. And you’d have me believe he’d kill you?” He nibbled at her earlobe and she weakened. “Should I thank hi
m for preventing me from making the biggest mistake of my life?”

  She trembled with the effort to separate herself, but her will was not as strong as his. He held her against him and tilted her hips to cradle his erection through their clothes. Her heart pounded and she gasped with a surge of desire.

  He reached down with one hand and swept her skirts up her leg. Before she knew what he intended, and long before she could find her voice to protest, he worked his hand past her garters and undergarments and found her center, damp with her longing. His finger slipped easily past the tender flesh and she trembled with the raw shock of the invasion.

  “Ah, but this doesn’t lie, madam,” he said, slipping his finger deeper. “This much is true.”

  She moaned, whether with humiliation or the intensity of her need, she couldn’t say. Both emotions mingled and she suddenly knew what it was to be shameless. He hated her and wanted to punish her, but she still wanted him, was ready to beg him to make love to her.

  His voice dropped to a harsh rasp in her ear. “But it isn’t enough, Daphne. God help me, it is not enough.” He pulled his hand away and lowered her skirts.

  She leaned against the wall, still trembling with unsated passion as he backed away from her. Cool, unruffled, he turned his back and went to stand by the windows. “Your husband will be looking for you soon, madam.”

  Elise arrived back in the ballroom before Barrett returned. He looked pleased until he saw her, and then came to her with a scowl.

  “Where have you been, madam?”

  She shook her head to deny that she’d gone anywhere. “Where have you been, Barrett?”

  “Playing billiards with Charlie Hunter. I beat him soundly, by the way. Made ten pounds on him.”

  She had forgotten how her husband would wager on anything from a spin of the rouge et noir wheel to how many leaves would fall from a particular tree in one day. And he’d always had the devil’s own luck. He’d built his fortune on the misfortune of others, then used it to buy people, as he’d bought her brother, and thus her. She looked away, doing her best to ignore him.

  “I know you’ve been gone, Elise. Where is your shawl?”

  The portrait gallery! “I must have dropped it,” she muttered.

  “Where?”

  “I…” Telltale heat crept into her cheeks. “I shall go fetch it. I must occasionally…that is, the ladies retiring room provides certain services…”

  Barrett chortled. “So modest, my little tart? Well, next time stay where I leave you. I was not gone long enough to cause you more than a little discomfort.”

  She gave him an angry glance but said nothing further.

  “So you left your shawl in the retiring room? Come, I shall escort you there.”

  He gripped her elbow and began to pull her toward the corridor. She jerked her arm away and narrowed her eyes. “This ends now, Barrett. I have suffered your restrictions long enough. It is absurd that I cannot have even a few moments alone, greet acquaintances or attend to my personal needs. If you think this is making me look foolish, you are wrong. It is making you look absurd. Pitiful. So unsure of your own consequence that you must control your wife’s behavior.”

  “You little—”

  “You are making a laughingstock of us both. If you have meant to demonstrate to society that you do not trust me, you have done so. And now you’d do better to grant me ordinary freedoms before society begins to pity me and see you for what you truly are.”

  For one long moment, she thought he was going to slap her. But it was worth the risk to gain the freedom she needed to find William. Though she’d kept her voice low, they had drawn the attention of couples close to them. Barrett managed to restrain his evil temper but his fingers bit into her arm. Gradually, he eased his grip and forced a smile to his lips for the sake of onlookers.

  “Do not make me regret this, Elise,” he said between gritted teeth. “You will pay for it if you do.”

  She nodded and breathed a tiny sigh of relief when she saw Gavin Doyle headed their way. The look on his face told her that he suspected conflict. Then his entire expression changed to one of open congeniality. This, she gathered, was what it meant to be a diplomat.

  “I say, Barrett, was that not you I saw playing billiards with Charles Hunter? I was not aware you were a gamesman.”

  “I keep my hand in.”

  “Ah, I’ve never been much good at billiards, but I’m a fair hand at cards. Anything from whist to vingt et un. We shall have to have a game. I was just leaving to meet friends at Belmonde’s. Would you like to come along?”

  Barrett shot her a sideways glance. “Not tonight, Doyle.”

  “Any night, then. I am generally there after midnight.” He bowed to Elise and gave her a wink, then inclined his head to her husband before he walked away.

  The onlookers began to wander away, convinced that anything of interest was over. But they did not see Lord Lockwood heading their way carrying her shawl. Barrett followed her horrified stare and suffused with color.

  “’Lo, Barrett. Madam. Did I not see you wearing this earlier?” There was something smug in his voice.

  “It is mine,” she confessed.

  Barrett snatched it from Hunt’s hand. “Where did you get it?” he growled. “Couldn’t have been the ladies retiring room.”

  “No, actually, it was not.” Hunt grinned, watching her reaction. The moment dragged out until Barrett realized Hunt wasn’t going to volunteer the information.

  “Well? Where was it?”

  “On the floor.”

  “Where, damn it?”

  Hunt frowned. “Contain yourself, man. It is not the crown jewels.”

  Elise closed her eyes. Could this night get any worse? “I want to go home, Barrett. Take me home.”

  Both men looked startled by her words. Absurdly, Barrett draped her shawl over her shoulders and guided her toward the foyer while Hunt looked thunderous.

  Pray that would put an end to his taunting. She did not know how much more she could take without telling him the truth.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gathering her heavy woolen cloak closer about her, Elise turned right on Great George Street to cut though Green Park. She’d been shopping longer than she planned and did not want to provoke Barrett’s ire on her first outing alone. Well, alone but for her maid, who undoubtedly reported to Barrett.

  “May we stop by the canal and watch the skating for a moment, ma’am?” Anne asked.

  She nodded, tucking her fur-trimmed hood closer and pushing her hands into her muff. The poor maid was almost as bored as she. Perhaps if Anne were distracted, she would be more inclined to trust Elise, or at least not report her every move. Elise chose the path that led toward the south end of the canal and quickened her pace.

  “Oh, ma’am,” Anne panted, “please slow down. I cannot keep up with you.”

  Elise smiled and waited for the maid to catch up. She took the one small parcel from her and pushed it in her muff so Anne could warm her own hands. She’d purchased a pocket puzzle for William, praying that she would be able to give it to him soon.

  Through the trees, she caught sight of crowds gathered along the canal. Vendors selling hot chestnuts and roasted potatoes called out their wares as they rolled their carts slowly along the path. Laughter and good-natured shouting lifted her spirits and she remembered why she had loved London so many years ago. Before Barrett.

  She found a spot with a clear view of the canal and stopped to watch. Men and women glided effortlessly across the ice and a group of boys played a rousing game of curling with their brooms whisking every which way.

  “Oh, ma’am, I wish I could skate!”

  She turned to the maid and nodded. “You can. I shall hire you a pair of skates and you can twirl and turn to your heart’s delight.”

  “I would be that happy if I could just stay upright, ma’am.” She frowned and looked away. “But we should be gettin’ on home soon.”

  “Perhaps tomo
rrow, then?” Elise wondered if she could ever win the girl’s friendship.

  “Well…”

  She heard a loud roar of laughter and looked back out on the ice. She recognized the object of the teasing. Mr. Doyle had just taken a spill and was enduring the barbs of other skaters. How diverting to find him here.

  “Mr. Doyle!” she called. He turned in her direction and she realized he wouldn’t know her beneath her cloak and hood. She waved and called again, then turned to Anne. “Mr. Doyle is a friend of my husband’s,” she explained.

  “My, what a handsome gent.”

  “Is he? I hadn’t noticed,” Elise teased.

  They waited while Mr. Doyle got to his feet, brushed the snow and ice from his trousers and skated toward them. “Ho, there, Lady Barrett.”

  “Hello, Mr. Doyle. What are you doing here? I thought you’d be bent over a desk studying your history books or practicing your Hindi on some hapless scholar.”

  He laughed. “I was until my instructor urged me to take some fresh air. And you can see where that has got me.”

  “You looked as if you were having fun.”

  “Quite a lot of it, actually. Do you skate, madam?”

  “I used to. Many years ago, now. I rather enjoyed it.”

  “Then meet me here tomorrow afternoon, and I shall take you for a turn around the ice.”

  She glanced sideways at Anne. “Thank you so much for the invitation, Mr. Doyle, but…”

  “I shall ask your husband’s permission tonight,” he said, guessing at the reason for her hesitation.

  “Tonight? Are you seeing Barrett tonight?”

  “Why, yes. He sent an invitation ’round to my club to meet him at Belmonde’s. I believe he intends to take me up on my challenge to a game of whist.”

  Elise frowned and lowered her voice so Anne wouldn’t hear. “Be careful, Mr. Doyle. Barrett is uncommonly lucky. Many former friends will tell you so.” He laughed, and she knew he thought that she was teasing. She was not. “He collects other men’s fortunes like most men collect shillings. He buys people, sir. I pray you will not be one of them.”

  He looked uncertain as to how to respond. In the end, he decided to ignore her. “As the two of you seem to be inseparable, I shall look forward to seeing you this evening, madam.” He bowed and turned back to the canal.