by Allison Lane
“Adults rarely include children in their affairs,” she said with a shrug. “So though Alquist often called on Papa in London, I remained upstairs. When he visited Audley, he and Papa were so engrossed in talk, they forgot I existed. The same was true for Mama and Lady Alquist, though as my godmother, she usually paid a brief courtesy call to the schoolroom.”
Rafe grimaced. He had often wished Hillcrest had allowed Alquist to visit, which could have provided that positive influence in boyhood. But now he saw how pointless that would have been. Alquist would not have taken an interest in his wife’s young nephew, and even slight childhood acquaintance might have diminished the attention Rafe had received as an adult.
It was time to change the subject. “Alquist did mention your guardianship.”
“Really?”
He grimaced at her patent disbelief, then repeated the conversation and his impressions.
“He does seem to have made light of the matter. But he and Papa were more like brothers than second cousins. Perhaps he was grieving.”
“Perhaps.”
Helen sighed, recalling her father’s tales. He and Alquist had always been close – they’d been born only a month apart and attended school together. A joint investment had paid well, making Arthur independent of his father. They had often shared financial information after that, benefiting both of them. So Alquist must have felt Arthur’s death keenly.
“What did the runner report?”
“Steven owes several moneylenders and dozens of tradesmen. His estate is worthless – it was never more than a minor shooting box before he won it. Both it and his town house are mortgaged for more than their value.”
“So he is in worse straits than I knew. We will have to be careful.”
“We will.” When he tried to say more, she laid a finger across his lips, snapping his libido to attention. Helen’s mouth, with its ripe lips and sparkling teeth, moved several times before he realized she was speaking. “What?” He licked her finger.
“Did Alquist’s papers contain anything else of interest?”
“Not yet.”
“Then you’d best look.” But instead of leaving him to his work, she settled into his lap and traced his lips. “That’s why we’re here.”
“True.” He sucked her finger into his mouth.
“Are you trying to distract me?” Reclaiming her finger, she ran it through his hair.
“What do you think?”
“That your reputation as a rake is well deserved.” Helen shifted, smiling as he hardened against her hip. As long as he wanted her, they remained equal. “We came here to find out what Alquist knew.”
“Which I will do as soon as you kiss me.” He covered her mouth.
Her bones turned to mush. Rafe was even better at distraction than Alex. Each kiss drew her further into the sensual world she’d yearned to join since the first time Alex had led her into the shrubbery. Rafe was a master of the sensual arts, eliciting more response with his tongue and teeth than she’d believed possible.
Not that she objected, for she needed distraction. Describing how close her parents had been to the Alquists had shredded a long-held delusion by reminding her how focused they’d been on each other. She’d clung to the image of her close, loving family since the day Alex had left, but in truth, she’d been a distant second in both parents’ hearts. She’d had nurses and governesses and school, but she’d wanted more. Dreamed of more. Unlike her classmates, who believed that love was a vulgar emotion suited solely to the lower classes, she had grown up surrounded by love – but rarely its recipient. So she’d eagerly awaited the Season that would produce a man who could fill the empty places in her heart.
Another delusion. Love played no role in her marriage despite the heat that sizzled from Rafe’s lips. So she must protect herself. Men were adept at using pleasure to mask their secrets and bind women to their wills. She must become equally adept.
She shifted, satisfied at the effect the motion had on his manhood. At least he wanted her physically. If she could reduce him to mind-numbing passion, he couldn’t take advantage of her.
Chapter Eight
A quarter hour later Rafe reluctantly set Helen on her feet when someone rapped on the door. “Enter.”
The butler ignored their flushed faces and heavy breathing. “Lady Alquist requests that you handle these, sir.” He proffered a salver piled with letters.
“Of course.”
“What are they?” asked Helen when they were again alone.
“Probably business letters – Alquist’s secretary is away just now.” He pulled her back into his lap, despite knowing that another kiss might snap his control. “Where were we?”
Helen stared glassily at the desk and tried to think past the sensual fog encasing her mind. Rafe’s kisses were potent. She needed time to strengthen the shields around her heart. “Lady Alquist was telling me about your family.”
Rafe stiffened.
“She mentioned that your grandfather lost his fortune. What happened?”
“Gaming, but Hillcrest never speaks of it.” He brushed her breast.
He was trying to avoid discussing his family. But she had to understand him before taking this further, which meant learning about the people who had molded him. “She mentioned that your mother cared for the gardens.”
“Yes.” His face softened into a smile she’d not seen before, one unrehearsed and utterly without guile. “She adored color and spent most of her time adding masses of flowers to the park. She had a knack for mixing colors you’d swear would clash, yet in her hands they seemed vibrant.” Again he brushed her breast. “You mentioned hiding from Dudley the day Alquist died. Was that a common problem?”
His abrupt change of subject was further proof that he didn’t want to talk about family, not even the mother he’d adored. But perhaps she could elicit openness by being open herself. “Dudley considered us betrothed, though I’d often refused him. When he was sober, he behaved himself, but I rarely saw him sober. For the most part I avoided him, but twice he cornered me. The first time, I knocked him down and escaped. The second time, he passed out before he managed more than ripping my gown.”
Rafe growled.
“Did your mother have interests beyond the garden?” she added, returning to her own questions.
“No. Hillcrest wouldn’t let her leave the estate.” He started to rise, but relented when she traced his brows. He was a rake to the bone, responding with alacrity to any touch – as was obvious to anyone sitting in his lap. “Let’s talk about something else, Helen. Mother has been gone for ten years.”
She nodded, though his assertion was a lie. Lady Hillcrest would not be gone until her husband and son ceased fighting over her.
Rafe rubbed her arm. “What do you know about Dudley? The runner didn’t learn much.”
“Hardly a surprise. He’s been out of the country for years. Papa considered him vicious, but he never mentioned details. Dudley doesn’t care a fig for me or for marriage, but since wedding me will line his pockets, he is willing to do so. He needs money badly.”
“So he stayed at Audley until he could force you.”
She frowned. “Not exactly. Steven actually restrained him from forcing me. If Dudley had had his way, he would have dragged me to London a month ago. He hates the country and was dangerously tense by the time we left Audley. It didn’t help that Steven treated him like a recalcitrant child.”
Rafe nodded. “I know how that feels.”
“But in Dudley’s case, it is deserved. He is stupid, credulous, and uneducated. He plans to sell Audley the moment we wed so he need never leave London again. Despite my explanation of how the trust works, he thinks marriage would hand him everything, but he couldn’t touch more than the income.” That hadn’t come out right, but before she could soften her words, Rafe dumped her on the floor, slamming a fist on the desk.
“I won’t accept even the income!” he spat. “Do whatever you want with it. Ho
ard it, use it, throw it away. But if you spend one shilling on me, I’ll—” He whirled to glare out the window. His hands trembled with his effort to regain control.
Helen retreated to the fireplace, appalled at his outburst. Her first impression was that Lady Alquist was right. He didn’t want her inheritance. Yet his reaction was so shockingly emotional that it seemed contrived. For some reason Rafe was beating her over the head with the notion that he was not a fortune hunter, which revived the possibility that he was. Gentlemen never displayed real emotions.
Alex had exploded into similar outrage the day she’d spotted him sneaking into the house during one of their games of hide-and-seek. Abandoning her hiding place, she had intercepted him on the terrace, only to have him angrily order her away. He’d sworn that being seen together would damage her reputation – a ridiculous charge since everyone at Sir Montrose’s house party had watched them slip away together a dozen times. After he left, she had wondered if he’d used his attentions to cover secret assignations with someone else – a wife, perhaps?
Rafe finally returned to his seat. “Forgive me, sweetheart. That was uncalled for. Going through Alquist’s papers has put me on edge.”
She didn’t believe him, but this was no time to argue. Nor could she continue discussing family, so she nodded, running her hands along his shoulders, then moving behind him to massage his neck. Touching him was becoming a habit. “What will you do about the runner’s report?” She nodded toward the desk.
Rafe sharpened a pen, kicking himself for his outburst. Too much pressure was building in his head, but this wasn’t the way to relieve it. He had vowed to ignore the subject of money until he figured out how to handle it. But fury had exploded before he’d even suspected its presence. Somehow he had to get rid of her fortune – without leaving her bitter.
The precise movements necessary to create a decent point tightened his control. When he again spoke, his tone was acceptably calm. “I hired a runner to look into Alquist’s death. I know you don’t think it’s possible, but this report strengthens my fear that Steven or Dudley is responsible, so I’ll have the runner resume Alquist’s investigation.”
“A good idea. Even if his death was an accident, we need to know more about Steven and Dudley.”
“It was no accident. I’m more convinced than ever that he was murdered.” And Steven was the most likely killer. That he was Alquist’s cousin changed everything. Helen was not just Alquist’s ward. She was family. Alquist would never condone Steven’s plans, so he had to die. But Helen wasn’t ready to hear that. No matter how much she hated Steven, he was family, too.
Helen paced to the fireplace and back, cupping the back of her head as if to confine pain – she was obviously hurting more than she would admit. The glow raised by their kiss had faded, leaving her cheeks paler than when she’d reached the study.
Picking up the report, she sank into a chair. “Suggest that the runner interview Mr. Garrison Waddell. He had a run-in with Dudley six years ago. Sir Harold Atchison might also help. And Lord Bromley.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know, but Papa mentioned them. He had many correspondents and often shared news with us, especially when he was irritated with Dudley.”
Rafe wondered if Dudley had been instrumental in sending Bromley to the country on a repairing lease.
“A thorough investigation will prepare us for the next confrontation,” she continued, tapping the report. “If he is this deeply in debt, he can’t afford to abandon his obsession.”
“I agree. Even if someone else killed Alquist, Steven and Dudley will remain threats.”
“Do you still think Goddard did it?”
“Or Hillcrest.”
“Hillcrest!” She sprang to her feet. “Why would he kill Alquist?”
“He’s hated him since the day we became friends – longer, really. The charge that he led me into dissipation replaced an earlier one that he encouraged Mother’s intransigence – Lady Alquist often urged Mother to visit them in London.” Hillcrest would never accept that Alquist had prevented Rafe from destroying himself.
“Irritation doesn’t drive a rational man to murder.” She shook her head.
“I don’t consider him rational.”
She covered his hand. “Investigate to set your mind at rest, but I will not believe that even a madman would consider that just cause for death.”
“Perhaps not.” Sighing, he pulled out a sheet of stationery. A quarter hour later, he sealed his letter, then pulled Helen into his arms. He needed her warmth to dispel the chill of picturing Alquist murdered. It was jolting to realize how quickly he’d come to crave her. He must be more careful. “I wish we could count on Steven to stay in town. But desperation might push him to pillage Audley so he can flee the country. We’ll leave first thing in the morning,” he murmured into her ear. “You were right. The only way to protect Audley is to be there.”
“No.” She pulled back far enough to see his face. Steven’s fleeing England was the best solution. And it expanded her options. Rafe was so reticent about his family that she could only understand him by seeing them together. And he was so good at inciting passion that she must do it before he snagged her heart. “Audley is important, but it must wait a few days. If Steven steals enough to flee the country, I will rejoice. It’s more important to call on your father.”
“Absolutely not!” Shocked, he whirled away.
“Are you ashamed to introduce me as your wife?”
“Of course not!” He glared at her. “But I refuse to set foot in his house. I can’t escape being his heir, but I won’t subject you to one of his fits.”
“Rafe.” She paused to find the words. His fury increased her determination. If he needed help, as Lady Alquist claimed, she must meet his father. “Hillcrest might be the greatest ogre imaginable—”
“He is.”
“—but that doesn’t change that he is your father. You also owe Miss Pauling an explanation. Whatever your own feelings, she expected to wed you. It is bad enough that she learned the truth from a newspaper. You cannot pretend she doesn’t exist.”
“She won’t have seen the announcement,” he insisted, pacing the room. “She buries herself at Paulus Grange, rarely seeing anyone. With Pauling ill, they have no callers at all.”
“Not even your father?”
He paused with one foot in the air. “Hillcrest is hardly a guest. He spends as much time at the Grange as he does at home. He already considers the place his.”
“And you expect him to say nothing? He might rant at your insult, or he might calmly cancel the wedding, but he cannot ignore our marriage.”
“You don’t know him. He cares nothing for others. I doubt her situation will cross his mind – she is merely one of his pawns. Besides, he is so determined to win, that he might kill you so he can continue his scheme. I don’t want you hurt.”
She strode to the window and back. “I can look after myself, Rafe. A man as devoted to duty as Hillcrest won’t harm even an unwelcome guest.”
“Devoted to duty?” He laughed mirthlessly. “Hillcrest demands duty of others but cares nothing for it himself. Do you know how cold he is? When Mother contracted lung fever, he refused to summon a physician. She thrashed in agony for a week, calling repeatedly for me, but he allowed no one to comfort her. I didn’t even know she was ill until her death announcement appeared in the paper a full week after her burial.”
“My God.” All blood drained from her face. She had to grip a chair to remain on her feet.
“I learned later that he taunted her the entire week, claiming that I was too busy pursuing frivolity to visit a dying woman. He swore that I had denounced her as a failed wife and mother and had cut her from my life. She died with his lies in her ears. So don’t ever tell me that Hillcrest understands duty. I know better. The man is cold, calculating, and utterly selfish.”
Helen was at his side before she even realized she’d moved. No wonder h
e’d gone mad. Gripping his arms, she stared into the desolation and pain swirling through his eyes. “Don’t let hatred poison your heart, Rafe. It will devour the good until you become just like him. Do you want him to win this war you’ve been fighting?”
“No. But I won’t subject you to his malice. Nor will I enter his house again.”
“Then we will stay at an inn. But you must make peace with Alice. I cannot believe that you consider her a pawn.”
“She knows I—”
“What she knows is irrelevant. You owe her an explanation to her face. She is a real person with real feelings. It is not her fault that your father plotted against you. She is as much a victim as you and must already pay the price of being jilted.”
He flinched, confirming that he’d not looked beyond his own quarrel.
She nodded, gratified that he was capable of understanding. Whatever doubts remained about Rafe’s feelings, she could not allow another woman to suffer as she had suffered after Alex walked away. Betrayal was the ultimate weapon, for it left emotional destruction in its wake. And questions. Thousands of questions. How many nights had she cried because she didn’t know what she’d done to kill his love? Might that same flaw drive Rafe away?
She stifled the old pain and focused on making him understand. “A man can recover from a jilt, Rafe, but a woman pays forever. It doesn’t matter if the betrothal was false,” she added, speaking over another protest. “The world believes you jilted her. Shunning her will make it worse. Everyone will assume she is a fallen woman. They will speculate about her liaisons – how many men did she entertain? When? Where? Who? Even why. They will whisk their children out of her path lest she corrupt them, and will drop her from their invitation lists. Every libertine for miles will sniff at her door, seeking his share of her favors. Only by showing your respect and demonstrating your support can you quash such talk.”
He clenched his fists. “Very well. We’ll go to Hillcrest. But you won’t enjoy it.”
“I didn’t ask to enjoy it.” It was clear that she wouldn’t. If Rafe was telling the truth, she would meet an abusive lord, an angry lord, and a hurt girl. None of them would welcome her. But only seeing them with Rafe would answer her questions. All she could do was pray she could live with the results. If Rafe had lied about Alice, Alex’s defection would seem benign. And if he was covering more than an abusive father, she might yet regret this marriage.