by Gayle Callen
"No, of course not," Meriel said, not looking at Richard and Sir Charles, though it proved very difficult. "Forgive me for not writing— this has been a very busy week."
Miss Barome studied her for a moment, betraying a seriousness that made Meriel uneasy.
"Of course I understand," the woman said. "You'll have to tell me all about it."
Meriel hoped she wasn't blushing, and was relieved when Beatrice pushed a cart with refreshments into the room. They joined the gentlemen, and Meriel poured everyone tea and passed out cakes.
When the topics of the weather and horse breeding had been exhausted, Miss Barome said brightly, "Cecil, do tell us when you plan to host the Thanet masquerade."
"Ah yes," Sir Charles said. "The locals are all atwitter over it." He turned and gazed directly at Richard. "It will be hard to top last year, don't you agree?"
Meriel sipped her tea and was glad she was not in Richard's place. Since he had not been home in many years, he would know nothing about the masquerade.
"I top myself every year," Richard said, sharing a grin with Miss Barome.
Meriel tried to let her breath out slowly, before her lungs could burst.
Sir Charles smiled. "Ah, but that fountain full of performers— surely that will remain the most memorable. Don't you agree?"
There was a pause as Richard finished chewing a bite of cake. The cake might as well have been ash in Meriel's mouth as she waited.
"Charles, it must not be too memorable to you," Miss Barome said, laughing. "Surely you remember that the fountain was the year before."
Sir Charles shook his head, all self-deprecation. "Of course, how foolish of me."
Richard lounged back in his chair, eyes half hooded with amusement. "Charles, last year was the performance of lit fairies in the park at midnight. I was chasing a fairy until dawn."
The men laughed, and Miss Barome smiled indulgently at Richard, as if whatever the duke did, no matter how crass, couldn't be bad.
"Cecil," Sir Charles said, setting down his teacup, "I'd like to see that new horse you bought this year. Care to give me a tour of the stables?"
When the men had gone, Miss Barome rose from her chair and came to sit beside Meriel on the sofa.
"How is young Lord Ramsgate?" Miss Barome asked.
"He is doing well, but then he's an intelligent boy, just like his father."
"Yes, just like his father." Miss Barome frowned down into her teacup. With a sigh, she looked up and said, "Speaking of Cecil, well…I hadn't meant to bring this up but…I don't mean to presume upon our acquaintance, yet— "
"Miss Barome, I've never heard you speak with such hesitancy. Please feel free to tell me anything."
To Meriel's surprise, the woman's face reddened.
"Then I shall be frank and hope for the best," Miss Barome said. "Rumors have reached my servants, and consequently me."
It was Meriel's turn to experience a hot blush, but she remained silent.
"I understand that Cecil has chosen you as his next mistress." Miss Barome covered her face. "Oh dear, that sounds awful. I wouldn't blame you if you simply wished me a good day and sent me home. I was just so worried that he'd somehow…forced you— "
Meriel reached for her hand and clasped it tightly. "Miss Barome, please do not upset yourself. The fact that you cared enough to bring me your concerns moves me deeply. I feel that I have found a friend."
"You have, my dear, you have. But Cecil— in the way of many a peer, he believes that what he wants…he can have. I sometimes wish I could hate him. It would make things so much easier."
There was a wistfulness in Miss Barome's eyes and voice that startled Meriel. Had the woman harbored feelings for the duke for all these years? Even a smart woman like Miss Barome— like Meriel— could lose herself because of the charm of the men in this family.
How must Miss Barome feel about this succession of mistresses?
"You don't need to hate him," Meriel said quietly. "He is not a man to use force with a woman, but his charm is more than adequate." She leaned toward Miss Barome. "I will be honest with you. My family's financial position is poor at best. The money the duke is offering me cannot be underestimated. And all I have to endure is his kindness and generosity."
"Oh, I knew it— he is using force, in his own way!"
"No, that is not how I see it, Miss Barome," Meriel said firmly. "I had a choice, and I made it. I would understand if you think less of me."
To her surprise, Miss Barome hugged her and practically upset both of their teacups.
"Oh good gracious, look what I almost did," the woman said, pulling away and offering an embarrassed smile. "Please, don't ever think I would presume to judge you. A woman alone is very vulnerable."
Meriel felt a threat of tears. "Thank you, Miss Barome."
"Please, will you not call me Renee? And I shall call you Meriel, and I promise I'll be a good friend to you. Now tell me, do you paint?"
Meriel laughed and nodded. "I attempt watercolors, but I fear a horse would be better at it than I am. But a certain six-year-old seems impressed."
* * *
Richard walked silently beside Charles and decided to let him begin the conversation. They passed through the gardens and down to the stables. Richard gave the order to have Cecil's new gelding put through its paces, and he led Charles over to a fence to watch. They both leaned their elbows on it and waited.
Richard was waiting for more than the horse. What could Charles want? Surely he knew that Richard suspected him, after being knocked unconscious in the woods the other day— or maybe not. Maybe it would not occur to him that there was anything to suspect him of.
The gelding was led out, and Charles nodded his appreciation. "Are you going to train him for the hunt?"
"Perhaps. I would naturally consult you for your opinion, as I know you are an expert at hunting."
"How good of you."
Charles turned to look at him, and there was an anticipation in his eyes that Richard knew had nothing to do with hunting.
"Although I'm not sure you'll want much to do with me," Charles said gravely, "after I give you some sad news."
Though tense, Richard kept his smile pleasant. "Ah, Charles, you know I never let sad news worry me for long."
"But this is not the same, I fear." Charles shook his head. "I regret to inform you that Cecil has passed on to a better place."
Richard stared at him, the smile wiped from his face. "You're not making sense, Charles."
"But of course I am…Richard. Please don't think me a fool and deny your identity. I've known from the beginning."
Richard knew he should be plotting, strategizing his next move— but the pang of loss he felt at the thought of Cecil's death was almost overwhelming.
Yet Charles exuded a secret delight behind his solemn expression, and suddenly Richard wanted to put his hands around his throat and strangle him.
"I assure you that I'm not lying about your brother," Charles continued amiably.
He reached into his coat pocket, and Richard tensed, but all he pulled out was a ring. The ducal ring.
"Ah, I see you recognize it," Charles said. "The poor man— he was very ill."
"You could have had that ring stolen from him," Richard said, abandoning any attempt to deny his identity. "He seldom wore it, and didn't even think I needed it. But you covet it."
"The ring? Heavens, no. I want the power it stands for. Right now it's merely a piece of jewelry. But if you'd like more proof than my word about your poor brother, I've brought along his valet, who of course would never be parted from his master— unless there was no more work to be done. See, I've even instructed my carriage to be brought around."
Both men turned to look back at the house, where a carriage was just passing. It pulled up within yards of Richard. At a signal from Charles, the coachman got down and opened the door, and Cecil's valet stepped out. The valet held the door for support, but otherwise looked unhurt.
"Evans,"
Richard said, "is it true about your master?"
Evans pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. "Yes, sir. His Grace is dead."
"That's enough, Evans," Charles said. "When we're done here, my coachman will take you back to your master's body."
The valet disappeared into the carriage, and the coachman climbed up into his box to wait.
"You're not going to harm Evans," Richard said.
"Of course not, my good fellow. Besides, he only knows that the duke is dead, not the manner in which he died. And speaking of the duke, I'll hold on to the body for you until you have a chance for a proper burial."
Richard's heart gave another stabbing ache. If Charles had killed Cecil, Charles would pay a terrible price for that betrayal.
"Do not forget that I stand between you and Stephen," Richard warned him in a soft voice.
"Oh I'm counting on that," Charles said with obvious delight. "What amusement would there be going up against a child? And by the way, you're welcome to go to the police with this little tale. But whom will they believe: a concerned cousin? Or the bastard who's masquerading as the duke, and who might have killed the poor man? Because believe me, I can make it look like you did."
"Why the open threats, Charles? If you're so powerful, why not spring your plan on us unaware?"
"But what challenge would that be, Cousin Richard? First you need to deduce what I'm after, don't you?"
"You've already told me it's the power."
"But there are so many ways to acquire that. Enjoy the little puzzle I've presented." Charles stepped up into his carriage, and the coachman drove away.
After the carriage had disappeared around the eastern wing of Thanet Court, Richard turned back to watch the groom riding the gelding, but didn't really see any of it. He could only think about his brother, dead.
Stephen was the new Duke of Thanet.
Chapter 21
Meriel couldn't discuss Charles's visit at dinner, and it took all her patience to wait until midnight to sneak down the private staircase to Richard's room. She remained fully clothed and vowed to guard against her unpredictable feelings.
She found Richard awake, still dressed, leaning against a window frame and staring at the night sky. She silently stepped beside him and looked out to see a sliver of moon. His face was pensive and sad, and she wanted to hold him, to comfort him. She settled for putting her hand on his arm.
"Are you all right?" she asked softly.
He only shrugged.
"What did Charles want?"
He heaved a sigh and looked down at her, his sad smile worrying her.
"He came to tell me that my brother is dead."
She gasped. "You mean he tried to tell you that you were dead?"
"Not me— Cecil."
After a long pause, she said, "Then he knows the truth about you? But how would he— surely you don't believe him!"
"He had Cecil's valet as proof. I don't see what lying about it would accomplish for him. If he wanted Cecil out of the way, killing him is the easiest way to do that."
"Oh, Richard," she whispered and leaned against him.
When he put his arm around her shoulders, she snuggled in against his body and held him.
"I cannot imagine how you must feel," she said. "If something were to happen to one of my sisters— "
"But this isn't the same," he said, still staring out the window. "Cecil and I were never exactly close, and adulthood further separated us. I maybe saw him twice a year. But…I never thought it would feel this way, to know that he was dead."
With her arm around his back, she felt a little spasm, as if he tried to control himself. When she looked up at him, she saw a tear slide down his cheek.
She whispered his name again and went completely into his arms, holding him tight, wishing with everything in her that she could ease his pain.
He held her for a moment, then gently pushed her away. Turning aside, he brushed at his face, and when he looked back, all his emotion was gone. He looked ruthless, determined— and deadly.
He told her about his conversation with Charles.
"So you don't know how long he's known about your masquerade?" she asked. "He certainly was trying to test you when he was talking about the entertainment at last year's ball."
He shook his head. "Thankfully Cecil always wrote me detailed letters bragging about the masquerade. No, today was all about Charles's love of the hunt. And we're supposed to figure out the target."
"Would that be you? Aren't you the one who stands between him and guardianship of Stephen?"
"That makes sense, of course, but somehow that seems too easy. And we can't forget that Cecil was under his control, for however brief a time. Charles might have forced him to sign a guardianship document."
"But then you wouldn't be in his way, would you?"
His eyes softened. "Now I know why I keep you at my side."
"And here I thought it was for another reason."
She immediately regretted such playful banter, but Richard seemed to appreciate it. Some of the terrible tension went out of him.
He arched an eyebrow. "You mean as governess?"
She blushed. "I'm sorry I mentioned it. So the duke probably didn't name Charles as guardian."
"I don't think so. Perhaps Charles's plan is as simple as guardianship of Stephen, and I'm in his way. He's worried that a sympathetic court might side with me, considering that Cecil and I were raised as brothers. The duke housed and educated me— "
"And Stephen loves you."
He smiled. "I would like to think so. Though my illegitimacy might cost me some sympathy, Charles can't take that chance."
"So how far do you think he would go to eliminate the threat of you?"
Richard's mouth tightened. "If he killed Cecil…then he will dare anything."
"But Cecil was sick; you don't know for certain that Charles killed him."
"No. But if Charles only wanted to get me out of the way, all he has to do is announce my real identity. It will seem like I wanted the dukedom, and killed Cecil to get it. Maybe Charles is just biding his time, waiting to denounce me at the worst possible moment."
"But how do we protect Stephen from him? Heavens, that little boy is now the duke," she said, shaking her head in wonder.
"My first thought was to take Stephen out of England altogether, but it will only look like I'm kidnapping him for my own ends. Hiding him somewhere until this all plays out would mean I'd have to trust someone to protect him."
She studied him. "And trust doesn't come easily to you, I would assume."
He rubbed his hand across his brow. "No."
A part of her felt let down, and he didn't deserve that. She couldn't expect him to trust her unequivocally. She still didn't completely trust herself.
But why was his trust so important to her?
"So we keep Stephen here, and under watch at all times," he said. "The training we've done with the wolfhounds will come in handy now. They'll guard him well."
"Did you train them with this in mind?"
"Not at first, but when the dogs took to Stephen, I realized that they could be invaluable. They're sleeping in his room as we speak. I can't believe Charles will harm Stephen, because power is his goal, and he'll have it by controlling all the estates."
"How can we be certain of that, Richard?" she asked softly. "Just because he told you he wants power, doesn't mean it's true."
"You're right. I really can't assume anything about Charles's goals. But I won't let him harm Stephen."
"That puts you in the most danger," she whispered, startled again by how terrible that made her feel. Was this love— this worry, this want, this desperate need to be with him? She wanted to take all his pain away, to make him— to make both of them— forget for just one night that his own cousin wanted him dead. Her fear of her own emotions seemed meaningless now, with Richard standing before her hurting, but strong and capable and ready to take on a murderer to defen
d a family and a way of life that had treated him badly.
She didn't realize how long she'd been staring at him, or what expression she wore, until Richard betrayed a new tension by just the line of his body and the way his gaze grew hooded as it moved intently down her body. She remembered the bliss of his embrace, the feel of his mouth on her, and she wanted it all again.
"Meriel," he said, his voice husky, "if you wish to remain a virgin, I suggest you find your own bed."