“And if he is very well aware of what has happened? What if he deliberately kept Morgana alive and she is some part of his nefarious plans? Have you thought of that?” Stephen asked bluntly.
Lucinda drew in her breath in a frightened gasp. She hated the one-eyed man, feared him, too, but it had never occurred to her that he might be working against her. The one-eyed man was a tool; granted, he was a dangerous one, one who had the nasty habit of occasionally returning to demand more money to keep his mouth shut about what he knew, but all in all, he was useful—if terrifying. “Do you honestly think that he would ...” she began, but the thought was too terrible to contemplate.
Throwing her an impatient look, Stephen snapped, “I have no idea what the hell he would do! But until I am certain that this creature really is Morgana and that it is just sheer bloody bad luck that she has appeared practically under our very noses, I don’t intend to trust anyone. Certainly not the one-eyed man!”
“And the girl? What about her?” she asked urgently.
Stephen fiddled with his meticulously arranged cravat. “I think,” he said slowly, “that Manchester’s new mistress, whether she is Morgana or not, is about to have a dreadful accident.” He smiled coldly at his wife. “A fatal accident!”
CHAPTER 16
As previously arranged, Thomas Grimsly came to call on Royce the next afternoon and the two men settled down in Royce’s office to discuss the various residences that Mr. Grimsly had already inspected and thought might be suitable. Laying down a sketch of a small, but very fine, Queen Anne manor house situated on the outskirts of London, in Hampstead, Grimsly nervously cleared his throat and muttered, “Um, this has been a most difficult task for me ... and while I know of several excellent properties that could be purchased. . . um, the present owners are rather, ah, particular about who would be living in their house.”
Thomas Grimsly was a small, neat man, his stiffly starched linen cravat arranged in precise, if uninspired folds, his brown coat and fawn breeches expertly cut and fitting his slender frame to perfection. He was in his middle years; his once brown hair was liberally sprinkled with gray, and his timeworn features were plain if pleasant. There was an air of deference about him that bespoke his many years of dealing successfully with haughty aristocrats. From his uneasy manner, Royce suspected that Grimsly was searching for a tactful way of telling him that not everyone wanted his previous home turned into a love nest for a rich man’s mistress! Grimsly shot Royce a considering glance, and seeing nothing but polite attention in Royce’s handsome face, he continued cautiously, “Um, most owners assume that their properties are going to be lived in by respectable, wealthy people like themselves ... and, um, not everyone would be pleased to have a um ... um ...”
As Grimsly sought anxiously for a polite way of saying it, Royce took pity on his obvious discomfort and smiled faintly. “A soiled dove living in the neighborhood? A high-flyer taking her ease in what had been their home?”
It was apparent from Royce’s expression and tone that he understood Grimsly’s dilemma, and inordinately relieved that the gentleman was not going to cut up rough about the situation, Grimsly nodded his head eagerly. “Exactly! And because of that fact, it limits the houses and properties that I have available to show you.” He added hastily, in case his client thought that he would be incapable of filling his requirements, “However, I do have a few very nice places that you might like to look at, after I have shown you the sketches and explained their locations and sizes and whatnot.”
Together they reviewed the material that Grimsly had brought with him, and from the half dozen or so properties offered, Royce selected three to view himself. It was decided that the house in Hampstead could be seen tomorrow morning and that another likely property, this one situated in Kew, could be examined in the afternoon. If neither of these two places suited Royce, on Thursday they would ride out to Tunbridge Wells and view another prospect.
Under different circumstances, Royce would have found both of the residences he inspected the next day utterly charming, but while he had almost completely convinced himself that Jacko and Ben had conjured up the one-eyed man for their own purposes, there was a part of him that wasn’t quite ready to dismiss the existence of the villain entirely, and consequently he viewed the properties differently than he would have normally. The elegant little Queen Anne manor house in Hampstead would have been idyllic except for the fact that it sat quite some distance back from a main road in solitary splendor, an overgrown, winding carriageway eventually leading to the house. Glancing around at the shaggy shrubs and trees that seemed almost to hover over the house—making ideal hiding places for someone intent on gaining entrance undetected—Royce immediately discarded any notion of buying this house! The house in Kew was actually one of the newer villas that had been built by the wealthy, but again, Royce didn’t like its situation—it sat at the end of a long, narrow lane, and its nearest neighbor was nearly two miles away. Again, he found himself considering how very easy it would be for anyone to gain entrance to the grounds, and from there, the house itself. Both places were hardly more than an hour’s ride from London, and that, too, made him a trifle uneasy. If the one-eyed man was intent on kidnapping Pi—Morgana for his own black purposes, Royce damn well wasn’t going to make it easy for the bloody bastard! Morgana would have her blasted house, but he was going to make certain that she’d be safe in it!
And so it was that the first Thursday in July found Royce near Tunbridge Wells, and he liked what he saw immediately. The house, actually a cottage ornée designed by John Nash before he had become the Regent’s protégé, was absolutely charming, but it was the setting that appealed to Royce. The building sat in the middle of nearly a hundred acres of rolling woodland, but—and this is what Royce found most attractive—the entire parcel was surrounded by an ancient, thick, impenetrable yew hedge. And there was a gatekeeper’s cottage at the beginning of the only road to the house. Two stout iron gates guarded the entrance, and it was obvious that not just anybody could come wandering onto the property. The road that led to the house was wide and ambled pleasantly along a clear, shallow creek, and Royce was further pleased to discover that the house, built on the site of an old keep, long since torn down, was situated in the center of a walled courtyard.
An earlier owner had expanded the original walled courtyard, and the immediate grounds within the stone walls, liberally interspersed with several pairs of filigreed iron gates, which gave views of the areas beyond the walls, now consisted of nearly ten acres of manicured lawns, tall oaks, and lime trees; several stone-paved paths, delightfully bordered with wallflowers, roses, lavender, and peonies, wandered here and there. A short distance outside the walled courtyard, at the rear of the house, there was even a small lake, in its center a man-made island with an airy white gazebo. While Royce would have found the whole setting absolutely beguiling under any circumstances, what truly impressed him was the fact that anyone attempting to gain entrance to the house had to first get past the yew hedge and/or the gatekeeper; and once those obstacles were surmounted, there was still the walled courtyard to contend with. Taking another long look at the ten-foot-high wall and even considering all the gates that would require locks, he decided that of the properties he had seen so far, this one most suited his needs. The fact that there were some neighbors less than a mile down the road also pleased him, as did the knowledge that the house was situated several hours ride from London ... and the one-eyed man.
The house itself was of stone, six large dormers jutting out from the sloping, thatched roof. Tall, wide French doors lined the long wing of the L-shaped building, and they opened onto stone-paved areas bordered with all manner of blooming flowers and shrubs. Called a “cottage,” it had been built when the desire of the aristocracy and wealthy for the simple life, the bucolic life, had just become fashionable, and it was like no cottage that Royce had ever seen in his life—there was a long library, a drawing room, a huge dining room, a morning room,
the kitchen with its attendant rooms, several other elegant rooms with no particular designation, and ten bedrooms, plus a servants’ wing! Quite the cottage, indeed!
Since most of the morning had been spent traveling down from London, it was late by the time Royce and Grimsly finished their inspection of the premises, and they spent the night at an extremely pleasant inn in Tunbridge Wells. The next morning, in no real hurry to return to London, Royce, with Grimsly at his side, wandered about Tunbridge Wells, finding it an attractive town. Though Brighton was considered the most fashionable of the summer towns, Tunbridge Wells was still sought out by many of those in the ton, and while the number of visitors coming to the town to take the waters had dwindled, it still had a thriving population.
Royce had known yesterday that he was going to buy Lime Tree Cottage, as it was called, but it was not until they were halfway back to London that he informed Grimsly of his decision. A delighted smile on his mouth, Grimsly murmured, “I am very happy that I could be of service to you, sir, and I am certain that you will find the cottage to be everything that you desire. Shall I have the proper deeds and such drawn up after we reach London this evening? I can meet with my principal before dinner and have him sign everything that is necessary—I know he will be quite pleased to learn that his difficulties are at an end.” He pulled a disapproving face. “Gambling debts, you know.”
Royce wasn’t surprised—entire fortunes were known to have turned on the roll of the dice, and there were many among the ton who were wealthy one day and ruined the next. He nodded his tawny head in tacit understanding and answered Grimsly’s question. “Yes, I should like the papers drawn up as soon as possible, if it is not too much trouble. I shall see my banker first thing tomorrow morning and shall make all the arrangements necessary for the transfer of funds.” Royce hesitated a moment, appearing to concentrate on keeping his lively pair of shining chestnut geldings trotting at a spanking pace. There was silence for a few moments as the curricle bowled along the main road to London, and then Royce said abruptly, “I know that I told you that the house would be in the woman’s name alone, but I have changed my mind and I want my name on the deed too.”
Mr. Grimsly nodded slightly and said agreeably, “Of course, sir—it will be no problem at all.”
Extremely satisfied with his activities over the past twenty-four hours, Royce was whistling merrily as he bounded up the steps to the house on Hanover Square a few hours later. If all went well, by this time next week, he and Morgana would be comfortably installed in Lime Tree Cottage, and he was conscious of a leap in his blood when he realized precisely what that meant.... No more lonely nights ... no more violent tossing about, thinking of her sweet charms. In less than seven days, if he could arrange it, he would be sampling the delights of Morgana’s body to his heart’s content.
Not even Chambers’s stiff greeting could dampen his mood, and smiling lightly, he handed his butler his hat and gloves and asked, “Everything go well while I was gone?”
A slight frown marring his forehead, Chambers replied, “Well, not exactly, sir.” At Royce’s suddenly grim expression, he hurried into speech. “It is nothing very bad—it was just that I noticed that several of the locks had been tampered with during the night. No one heard anything out of the ordinary, but it was obvious this morning when I went about unlocking that the locks on the doors were scratched and scuffed, as if someone had attempted to pry them open.”
Conscious of a chill sliding down his back, his belief in the one-eyed man instantly restored, Royce stared thoughtfully at his butler for several moments. Of course, it could have been merely housebreakers—thieves with no connection at all to the one-eyed man—but he didn’t think such was the case, and he consoled himself with the knowledge that no harm had been done ... yet. Not allowing himself to think how he would have felt to learn that Morgana had been snatched away from him while he had been gone, Royce kept his unpleasant speculations to himself, and not wanting to cause any undue alarm, he remarked easily, “I suppose this is one of the hazards of living in London, but since they didn’t get into the house, I shouldn’t worry.” On the surface appearing to treat the matter lightly, Royce smiled and asked, “Anything else?”
Chambers shook his head and said dryly, “No, sir. Everything is just as you would want it.”
There was a note in Chambers’s voice that Royce didn’t like; he realized that the last comment was as close to sarcasm as someone in his butler’s position could come, and was uncomfortably aware of the reason behind it, causing whatever had remained of his good humor to vanish. Striving to keep an even temper, Royce asked lightly, “Is Zachary in?” At Chambers’s curt nod, he added, “Please tell him to meet me in my office, will you? Oh, and would you bring us something to drink? Thank you.”
Hanging on to his determinedly pleasant mood at the sight of Zachary’s scowling features when that young man joined him in his office a few minutes later, Royce inquired politely, “And how have you been these past few days? Still enjoying London?”
Zachary shrugged indifferently and threw himself down into one of the leather chairs. “What did you want to see me about?”
Before Royce could reply, there was a brief rap on the door and Chambers entered with a heavily laden silver tray. There were several bottles of various wines on it, glasses, and some plates piled high with cold roast beef, cheese, and freshly baked sliced bread; with pleasure, Royce spied a large platter of the lemon tarts he enjoyed so much. Having a good idea who had so thoughtfully added food to his original request, Royce smiled faintly. At least Ivy didn’t still consider him a monster of depravity, he thought wryly.
But his smile faded after Chambers left and he turned to look at his sullen-faced cousin. Sighing, Royce sat down behind the large mahogany desk in front of Zachary, and crossing his booted feet, he carefully placed them on one corner. Leaning back comfortably in the high-backed chair, he said resignedly, “Go ahead. Vent your spleen. We might as well get all the unpleasantness over with at once.”
Zachary shot him an unfriendly look. “Is that all this is to you? Unpleasant? You cravenly seduce a young woman who looked to you for protection! How can you excuse that?”
Just about anyone else, Royce would have floored with a powerful right fist, but Zachary was his favorite cousin and he cared deeply about the boy. Controlling his rising temper with an effort, Royce said quietly, “It is a long time since I have made excuses for myself, and I’m not about to start now ... not even for you! I know you are unhappy about the current situation, but giving me killing looks and treating me as if I were a leper is not going to undo what happened.”
Zachary continued to look at him in that unfriendly manner, a contemptuous snort his only answer to Royce’s even words.
Royce completely understood Zachary’s displeasure—hell, he wasn’t proud of what had happened himself!—but there were limits to how much disapproval he was willing to take, and he had just about had enough! His face grim, he said levelly, “I think instead of continuing to cast me in the role of blackest villainy, you need to remind yourself of a few things—such as the fact that I didn’t force her. You didn’t hear her come running or screaming from my embrace, did you? Nor did I set the price or even suggest she become my mistress.” Some of his old hurt and anger at Morgana’s actions came flooding back and he snarled softly, “No, my young man, that was all her connivance! I was just the poor besotted fool who couldn’t keep his hands off of what was offered me!”
Furious for saying far more than he had meant to, Royce sat up violently, the legs of his chair hitting the carpeted floor with a loud thud. “Jesus! Believe me, I wish to hell I had never laid eyes on her!” Standing up, he walked over to where Chambers had set the tray and poured himself a generous glass of wine. His back to Zachary, he muttered, “Get out of here. We obviously have nothing to say.”
While angry and distressed about Morgana’s seduction by Royce, Zachary was finding it hard going to maintain his distanc
e from his cousin. Not only were there years of affection and admiration between them, but London had opened Zachary’s eyes to many things that once would have shocked and repelled him. He had been astonished to discover that very few members of the ton thought that there was anything out of the ordinary about Royce’s actions. Many applauded him, for as his friend Jeremy had said reasonably just the other evening, “What else is a man to do with a lovely wench like that? Waste of fine feminine flesh to keep her as a servant! Besides, if not your cousin, then some other lucky fellow would do the same thing—and he might not be as generous!” Warming to his theme, Jeremy had leaned forward and continued earnestly, “Thing is, delectable little creatures like her either find themselves a protector or they end up in a bordello or on the streets. Think your cousin did her a favor!”
Zachary hadn’t reached that conclusion, but during his time in London, he had become sophisticated enough to recognize that there was a great deal of truth in Jeremy’s statement—no matter how cold and unfeeling it might sound. It was apparent, too, from the steady stream of boxes and packages arriving at the house daily, that Morgana was benefiting greatly from the arrangement, and it hadn’t escaped Zachary’s notice that she had made no attempt to enlist help to escape from Royce, nor had she refused any of the expensive objects that came her way.
Prompted as much by a desire to heal the breach with his cousin as the knowledge, distasteful though it might be, that Royce had acted no differently than would have the overwhelming majority of men placed in his position, Zachary muttered, “Royce, we can’t go on this way... . I-I-I don’t like being at daggers drawn with you.” Taking a deep breath, he added magnanimously, “Perhaps I was too hasty in my condemnation of you—it was none of my business. It is just that I like Pi—Morgana, and I overreacted to what happened between you. It was not my place to pass judgment on you. I’m sorry.”
Whisper To Me of Love Page 26