With all the arrogance of his master, the groom had said, “Milord sends his apologies. He saw the beast on the road and thinking it was the dog that has been killing the hens lately, shot him before he realized it was your old Captain.”
Standing beside his grandmother, Asher’s hands had clenched into fists and he fought back the urge to seek out and throttle Lord Ormsby for his cruelty to an old woman. In his heart he knew that the killing of Captain had been deliberate—not two days previously, to the marquis’s open fury, his grandmother had turned down Ormsby’s latest offer to buy several hundred acres of her land that adjoined his estate. Ormsby had simply killed the dog in petty retaliation. Another example, Asher thought tightly, of Ormsby striking out when displeased and to those weaker than himself.
When the groom rode away, Asher had helped his grandmother into the house. He had then quietly made arrangements for Captain to be buried near her favorite rosebush, a place the old woman and the old dog often sat for hours enjoying the garden and the soft play of light over the trees and shrubs. Watching the dirt fall into the dog’s grave, he swore that Ormsby would pay something for his grandmother’s sorrow. The great lord of the district wasn’t going to walk away unscathed this time.
It had taken Asher a while to come up with an appropriate plan to ensure that Ormsby felt, perhaps for the first time in his arrogant life, the pain of loss that he often inflicted upon the common folk of the neighborhood. Killing him was out of the question—even Asher wasn’t prepared to kill a man over a dog and an old woman’s grief—but there had to be a way to pierce that smug composure.... He smiled in the darkness. The idea, when it came to him, had been perfect: Ormsby loved nothing more than himself and his possessions, so what better way to make him suffer, than to steal his most famous possession, the Ormsby diamond necklace?
What the devil he was going to do with the damned thing now that it rested in his pocket escaped him. He didn’t need the money and selling it was out of the question. The necklace was too famous and the hue and cry once its theft was discovered would make it unlikely that any of his usual contacts would touch it. He could break it up into individual diamonds and have those reset if the whim took him, but he balked at the idea of such wanton destruction. If the portrait was anything to go by, it was a beautiful and uniquely designed piece of jewelry and he had an inherent dislike of destroying something so lovely. His lips twisted. Unless he wished to have his neck stretched on the gallows or face deportation to some godforsaken continent on the other side of the world, he’d have to hide the necklace somewhere it would never be discovered.
Asher slid the drawer shut. He’d bury the bloody thing in the ground if need be and plant a rosebush over it; for him it was enough to know that Ormsby’s pride would have suffered a grievous wound. Bastard. Shouldn’t have shot my grandmother’s dog.
The opening of the door rooted him to the spot. He caught the merest glimpse of a woman’s form in the light from the hallway before she shut the door behind her.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he took a half dozen quick steps backward and melted into the heavy velvet folds of the drapes that hung at the sides of one of the long windows of the library. His back pressed hard against the wall next to the window where the drapes were gathered, he reached for the small pistol he carried inside his vest, but decided against it and his hand fell by his side. Escaping unseen was his plan and that didn’t include firing his pistol; using the pistol would be his last resort. His thoughts scrambling, he listened intently as the female intruder walked swiftly in his direction. Had she seen him? No. He’d been too careful and he knew that no one had seen him slipping into the library. When she opened the door? No. He’d been on the other side of the room, concealed in the darkness well beyond the brief flash of light that had heralded her entrance; she could not have seen him. So why was she here? There was something furtive about her movements and he noted the fact that she had made no attempt to light a candle. What was she up to? Something occurred to him and he closed his eyes in a silent prayer. Please. Not a lovers’ rendezvous.
A moment later, there was a faint ray of light beneath the curtains and, peeking through the drapes, Asher saw that his intruder had lit a tiny candle. Her back was to him and he stared bemused as she hurriedly explored the desk, obviously looking for something. He leaned his head back against the wall. Someone else thinking to steal the Ormsby necklace?
Intrigued, Asher watched as she hastily fumbled through first one drawer, then another. Under other circumstances he might have been amused at the situation, but with the Ormsby necklace burning like a fire red brand against his thigh, he rather wished that if she wanted the blasted necklace, she’d beaten him to it. For a second he wondered what would happen if he stepped from the drapes and gifted her with the necklace. Except as a way to inflict some humility in Ormsby, the necklace meant nothing to him. He considered the idea. No. The silly wench would probably scream at the sight of him and all hell would break loose.
Resigned to waiting for the woman to leave, he had just leaned his head back against the windowpane, when he heard her gasp. He jerked forward to see the cause of her alarm. The door was opening again.
As he had done, she flitted backward to hide amongst the drapes. Instinct more than design had Asher catching her around the waist and pulling her snugly against him at the same instant his other hand clamped over her mouth. Into her ear he hissed, “I mean you no harm—and for God’s sake, don’t scream or struggle.”
The slight form in his arms stiffened and a curt nod was his answer, but Asher kept his arm locked tightly around her and his hand firmly over her mouth. Women were simply too damned unpredictable.
The latest arrival stood for a long moment in the doorway, the light from the large candelabrum he carried flooding the room with a soft glow.
“Hiding, my dear?” drawled the new arrival. When only silence met his words, he added impatiently, “Come now, I know that you are here. Did you really think that I wouldn’t see you slip away? That I wasn’t expecting you to try something?”
Asher’s teeth ground together at the first sound of that rich, mellow voice. Ormsby! Bloody hell! If Ormsby discovered him here in the library, he’d have to shoot the bastard, after all. As for the woman ... Christ! Could this last, simple job get any more complicated?
Loosening his grip on the woman’s waist and praying that she wasn’t going to cause him trouble the moment he removed his arm, he started again to reach for his pistol. The sound of another male voice froze his actions.
“Ormsby! I say, old fellow, what are you doing wandering around back here? Aren’t you supposed to be dancing with the fair Thalia soon?”
Asher nearly groaned aloud. Killing Ormsby was one thing, but a second man as well? His only choice was the tall window behind him and he hoped to God that he sustained no real injury from leaping through it. But if he survived the window and if he could reach the back wall and disappear into the darkness ... A faint, reckless grin flashed across his face. He might salvage tonight after all.
“Ah, thank you, Kingsley,” drawled Ormsby, “for reminding me. I forgot.”
“Forgot!” exclaimed Kingsley. “Forget a dance with the loveliest chit to grace London in decades? My dear man, you alarm me.”
His voice bored, Ormsby replied, “I think you forget that I have watched her grow up. Remember if you will that the Kirkwoods are my neighbors. I am well acquainted with the family.”
“That reminds me of something, been meaning to ask you for weeks—how the deuce could you let such a pretty piece slip through your fingers? I would have thought you’d have sewn her up before she ever stepped foot in London.” Kingsley chuckled. “Losing your touch, old fellow? Her engagement to young Caswell will be announced any day now.”
“Really? I wouldn’t place my final wager just yet, if I were you.”
“You know something the rest of us don’t?”
“There is, my friend, if you will recall,
many a slip between the cup and the lip. Miss Kirkwood is not yet Caswell’s bride.”
“You mean to snatch her out from underneath his nose?” Kingsley gasped. “The gossip says that it is a love match—even someone of your wealth and title can’t compete with love. So how do you propose to change the tide?”
Ormsby laughed, although there was little humor in it. “I play my cards close to my vest but I would warn you not to buy a betrothal gift for the pair just yet,” he said. “Now come along, let us rejoin my guests. I have left them too long.”
Asher watched as the light retreated and Ormsby ushered Kingsley toward the door. But Kingsley seemed in no hurry. “But why did you leave in the first place? Ain’t like you to wander off.”
An ugly edge to his voice, Ormsby said, “I had my reasons. Believe me I had my reasons.”
“Yes, but—”
The door shut and from inside the library there was only the faint murmur of voices as the two men moved down the hall.
Deciding not to wait around to see who else would pay the library a visit, the door had hardly shut before Asher shoved the young woman out from behind the drapes and began urging her toward the French doors that opened onto the gardens. He didn’t have a precise plan; his one thought was to escape the grounds as fast as he could. The woman was a problem. He couldn’t just let her go. Or could he?
He considered the idea. She’d certainly been quiet as a rock while Ormsby had been in the library. Clearly she hadn’t wanted to be discovered either. He didn’t know her reasons for sneaking into the library or for going through Ormsby’s papers, but he knew one thing: she’d been up to no good. And if she’d been up to no good, then she had ample reason not to raise the alarm. Dare he risk it?
His hand still over her mouth and gripping her arm firmly, he pulled her outside. Pushing her ahead of him, they walked through the gardens, Asher not stopping until the back wall loomed up before them and the faint light from the torch over the servants’ entrance pierced the darkness. He still hadn’t made up his mind what to do, but taking everything into account, especially the fact that she had made no attempt to escape from him, it was possible that she might actually keep her mouth shut and not raise the alarm.
He glanced at the wall, still considering. Even if she screamed, he’d be up, over and away before anyone reached this deserted part of the grounds.
His lips pressed against her ear, he asked, “If I let you go, do you swear not to scream?”
She nodded vigorously and against his better judgment, he removed his hand. The moment his hand dropped, she spun around to face him and breathed, “Asher?”
His heart stopped. Christ! Juliana.
Hands on her hips, she demanded, “Asher Cordell, what were you doing in Lord Ormsby’s library? I nearly died when you grabbed me.”
“I think the question should be,” he said quickly, “what were you doing there?”
“That is none of your business!” she answered sharply. “I am an invited guest to Lord Ormsby’s home—you are not.”
“And how do you know that? I am quite respectable—Eton, respectable family and all that. He could have invited me.”
Juliana snorted. “Don’t try to bamboozle me! He can’t abide you and you know it.”
“I know,” Asher said mournfully. “His dislike is a terrible burden for me.” He looked hopeful. “Do you think there is something I could do to make him think better of me?”
She strangled back a laugh. “No! At this late stage there is nothing you could do to change his mind,” she said bluntly. Shaking an admonishing finger at him, she added, “Perhaps if you hadn’t turned the pigs loose in his newly planted field or hadn’t stolen his best bull and put the animal with Squire Ripley’s heifers he wouldn’t think you so ripe for the gallows.” She sent him a severe glance. “And we won’t even talk about the disgraceful way you act around him. Asher, you actually yawned in his face at the Woodruffs’ ball in January! What were you thinking?”
“That he’s a bore?” When she narrowed her eyes at him, he added hastily, “Juliana, I was thirteen when I turned the pigs loose, and you know it was an accident—how could I know the gate would shatter when that old sow charged it?”
She sniffed.
“And I wasn’t much older when the incident with the bull occurred.” He grinned reminiscently. Juliana merely stared at him. “All right, I confess,” he said, “I was a holy terror but you must admit that squire’s calves the next year were some of the finest raised in the district.”
“The squire may think you a fine fellow, but that act certainly did not endear you to Ormsby in the least,” she muttered. Puzzled, she studied him in the dim light. “Why do you go out of your way to annoy him?”
Asher shrugged. “Mayhap if he showed a little consideration of others I wouldn’t be so inclined to treat him so, ah, impolitely.” The necklace searing his thigh, very aware of the passing time and the chance of discovery, he added, “And enjoyable though this little interlude has been, don’t you think you ought to rejoin the guests?”
“After you tell me what you were doing skulking about in Ormsby’s library,” she said firmly.
Despite the tension coiling in his body, Asher leaned negligently against a small tree near the wall. Smiling at her, he said, “Of course. Right after you tell me why you were there.”
She threw him a fulminating look. “You are the most infuriating, insufferable creature I have ever known in my life!”
He straightened up from his languid pose and bowed deeply before her. Smiling impudently at her, he murmured, “One does so try to please.”
Her bosom swelled with indignation. “I’ve a good mind to tell Ormsby that you were in his library!” she threatened, knowing full well she’d face wild lions before she’d betray Asher—even if he was the most insolent and maddening man she’d ever met.
Amusement fled and an expression she had never seen before flashed in his eyes. In all the years she had known him, which had been nearly all her life, Asher had charmed her, shocked her, irritated her and infuriated her beyond reason but he’d never made her feel frightened before. Unconsciously she stepped backward and nervously measured the distance to the house.
Cursing himself, Asher wiped his expression clear of all sign of the violence that he feared had become an integral part of him. Forcing a smile, he flicked a gentle finger along her cheek. “Let us cry pax, Juliana, and go our separate ways and keep our secrets. Agreed?”
He didn’t like it that she flinched when he touched her, but he kept the same easy smile on his lips and resumed his casual pose against the tree while he waited for her answer.
In the shadowy light, she sent him a searching look, then nodded. Without another word, she turned on her heels and marched back to the library’s French doors.
Asher followed a few steps behind her. As she stepped into the library she glanced back at him. Her thoughts jumbled, she tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind.
She almost jumped out of her skin when he touched her on the shoulder. “Run along,” he said softly. “I’ll wait here until I know you’re in the hallway.”
Annoyed, but unable to think of anything else to do, Juliana did just that. Cautiously opening the door to the main hallway, she peeked out and, seeing it deserted, stepped quickly into the hall. Shutting the library door behind her, she hurried toward the ballroom.
Asher waited until he was certain she wasn’t coming back and then walked across the room. At the desk, it took him only a moment to find and reopen the secret drawer and replace the Ormsby necklace. It was a bitter moment. He’d planned this for weeks and now it was all for naught. But he had no choice—Juliana knew he had been here and when the outcry, and there would surely be one, over the theft of the necklace arose, she would know that he had stolen it. Easing into the garden, he grimaced. And she was such an honest little thing, most likely she’d feel honor bound to tell Ormsby of his presence in the library or
nag him to death until he returned the thing. Easier to return it now and wait for a better time.
Despite the outcome, Asher was lighthearted as he scaled the back wall and disappeared into the darkness. He was a great planner. And there would be another opportunity.
Arriving at his rooms near Fitzroy Square, he began to pack. He’d come to town this time without a valet and had traveled light. All of his belongings fit into the one valise and, buckling it shut, he looked around to see if he’d forgotten anything. He hadn’t.
Tomorrow would find him riding back to Kent and the people he held dear. He’d had some reservations that he could settle down to the uneventful life of a gentleman farmer, but tonight’s events insured that there would still be a little excitement to be gleaned. The Ormsby necklace was still out there and sooner or later he’d find a way to snatch it right from under Ormsby’s nose. And Juliana ... what the devil had she been searching for? He grinned. Finding out her secret might make life very interesting indeed....
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 1991, 2012 by Shirlee Busbee
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ISBN: 978-1-4201-2783-6
Whisper To Me of Love Page 55