By Love Unveiled

by Deborah Martin

  Garett didn’t entirely believe the theory he proposed, but once he’d spoken it aloud, he realized how plausible it was. Tearle had always been a likely suspect. And Falkham House was the clearest link between the two men.

  “You cannot think such a thing!” she cried. “Father would never commit such a villainous crime! Never!”

  “Perhaps he feared what Tearle might do if he continued to resist selling Falkham House. He might even have feared for you and wished to save you from Tearle’s dark clutches. He might have done it for you, Mina. ’Tis possible.”

  She threw herself at him, beating her fists against his chest. “Don’t say such things! They’re lies, they’re all lies!”

  The vehemence of her reaction made him feel like the worst runagate alive. He caught her wrists, dragging her body up against his. “Listen to me,” he said as he tried to restrain her. “If your father loved you as much as you clearly love him, he might have done all manner of things to save you.”

  She shook her head. “Not my father. He wouldn’t have committed treason. He would have found another way.” Frustration and anger knit her brow. “If you believe him guilty, you must believe me guilty as well, for I ground every powder and mixed every liniment he ever used. My mother and I, not my father, had the knowledge of medicines… and of poisons.”

  He stared blindly past her, feeling bombarded with information. He could sort out the truth eventually. But in the meantime, she was here before him, twisting his insides with every trembling glance and wordless plea.

  He wanted to believe her. God, how he wanted to believe her.

  Then he thought of his uncle, who he now felt certain was behind the assassination attempt. Tearle was just the type of man to manipulate someone like Sir Henry.

  More cold suspicion washed over him. Tearle was also the type to use a woman to do his dirty work.

  Garett dug his fingers into Mina’s wrists, wanting to trust her and uncertain if he should.

  Her body stiffened, as if she could sense his distrust. “Garett,” she said, her expression turning bleak. “What shall you do with me now?”

  What a question. How could he decide such a thing? It meant choosing between her and his honor. His head throbbed from the choice.

  How he wished he could turn back time. She should have remained the gypsy girl, the woman he could have kept as his mistress forever. Perhaps she’d been right when she’d told him not to ask who she was.

  He forced himself not to think of that. It did no good to speculate about what he should have done, what she could have been. Now he must face the truth and make choices.

  But first—

  “We go to London tomorrow,” he announced. Only there could he find out the truth. A few possibilities remained to be explored, and he would explore them all before he decided anything.

  “What will we do there?” she asked in a tremulous voice.

  He surveyed her ashen face. He knew what she feared, and he hated witnessing her pain. But at the moment he felt incapable of reassuring her, for he didn’t himself know what might happen once they reached London. In his own private hell, some part of him also wondered if her fear might bring forth the truth. Then he hated himself for thinking it.

  “Tell me what you’re going to do!” she demanded, her voice rising.

  “I don’t know.” He tried to ignore the sight of her on the brink of tears. How he wished he could wrench loose the hold she seemed to have on him, for it took all his will to resist the urge to protect her at all costs. “At the moment, Mina, I don’t know a bloody thing. But London’s an excellent place to get some answers, so we’re going there as soon as everything is ready.”

  “London no longer holds any answers for me. So all the answers must be for you. Tell me, Garett, what exactly do you hope to find there? Do you really think you can ferret out the truth when so much time has passed and His Majesty himself has apparently not determined for certain that my father was guilty? What will you do that he hasn’t?”

  Her chin came up as his gaze passed over her face. She seemed resolved to stand up to him, as if only by doing so could she preserve her dignity. For a moment, desire pounded through his blood, making him wonder that she could still make him want her so very much.

  “Devil take it, I told you I don’t know!” He had to get as far away from her right now as he could, before he made a fool of himself and forgot what she’d done. “You’d best hope I find something that vindicates you, since you’re presently in bad need of my help. Though God only knows what there is to find.”

  With that he released her wrists to thrust her away from him. For several seconds she gazed at him with pain in her eyes. Then without a word she squared her shoulders and turned away to resume her packing.

  “We leave early, Mina,” he said with finality, “and you will be going with me.” With that he turned on his heel and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  * * *

  “You might’ve told me,” was the first thing Will said when Tamara opened the wagon door to his insistent knocking.

  “Told you what?” she asked as she dragged her fingers through her hair.

  The gesture seemed to inflame Will, for he grabbed her and kissed her hard before pulling back. “Well, to begin with, you might’ve told me your niece is a damned baronet’s daughter, and that she’s in a fair amount of trouble with the king and his guard.”

  Tamara gave Will a more considered look. “So his lordship knows the truth now, does he?”

  “How do you think I found out?” Will fairly shouted. “He’s acting like a bloody madman. Lord Hampden and his guests were packed off without so much as a fare-thee-well. Now he’s barking commands at the servants to prepare his horses for a trip and stalking the hall with a look of murder in his eye.”

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered, her heart faltering. “Where’s Mina?”

  “Don’t worry, as near as I can determine he hasn’t touched her. Poor girl’s in her room. Alone.”

  “You mentioned a trip…”

  Will frowned. “Aye. He plans to set off for London tomorrow with her.”

  “The devil you say! Is he truly that cruel? Would he see her hanged for something she hasn’t done?” Tamara shook her head. “She told me she feared what he’d do if he knew. But I didn’t listen to her. I urged her to tell him.”

  “She didn’t. I suspect that’s why he’s so enraged, though he won’t admit it. He found out by accident. Some guest of Lord Hampden said enough about Miss Winchilsea to let his lordship put it all together.”

  A chill passed through Tamara. She could easily see how that would infuriate the man.

  “Damn, but I wish you’d told me this!” Will went on. “I might have helped you break it to him more gently.”

  Tamara gave him a critical appraisal, pleased to see he was sincere. Then she kissed him soundly. “You’ve said you love me, Will. ’Tis time to prove you mean what you say. Get her out of that man’s clutches, whatever it takes!”

  Will cast her a cold glance. “So my love is to be used as a bargaining tool? I must earn my lady’s favor with noble deeds? I’m no knight, love. I’m just a poor, scarred servant looking for a bit of happiness. I won’t buy your love, for it won’t mean a whit if you don’t give it to me.”

  She ought to be angry, but she wasn’t. A fierce joy washed over her to witness the depths of his good character. She’d played with enough men to know how easy it was to twist their wills to hers. And when she’d done so, she’d felt a secret loathing for their loss of pride. It was why she’d never remained with a one of them.

  But no matter what game she played, Will remained his same, steady self. Though she might at the moment wish he weren’t so strong, she also reveled in his strength. It would be a boon to them in the coming hard weeks.

  “Very well,” she said softly. “I won’t ask it of you as a test of your love. I’ll ask it of you as a friend. You have my love whether you do it or n
o. But Will, I still ask, please do this one thing for me.”

  With a sigh, Will pulled her to him. “I can’t take her from him even if it was possible. The man’s half in love with her already. If she leaves him again, he’ll hunt her down once more.”

  “Or worse yet, he’ll have the soldiers do it.”

  “Nay! I know he wouldn’t betray her. He’s angry now is all. Give him time to get used to the idea of who she is. Then all will be well. You’ll see.”

  She gazed up at him with narrowed eyes. “I’ll not see her hurt, do you understand? She’s all the family I have left, and I won’t lose her because some man is letting his ballocks rule his brain.”

  Will stiffened. “She has played his mistress, and that has clouded his judgment. But he’ll be fair with her. I’ll see to that. I’m going to London to serve his lordship, so I’ll keep an eye out for her.”

  She flashed him a brilliant smile. “And if you think he means to give her over to the soldiers?”

  “He won’t.”

  “So you say. Still…”

  Will stared at her a long moment before taking her hands in his and kissing them. “If I think your niece is in any danger, I swear, upon the love I have for you, I’ll protect her.”

  “Even against your master.”

  Will looked grim. “Even against his lordship.”

  She threw her arms about his neck with a little cry. He stood there stunned, then wrapped his arms around her.

  “Thank you,” she whispered against his shirt.

  “Anything for you, my love.”

  She drew back from him, her eyes shining. “When you come back, William Crashaw, I’ll be here waiting.”

  “To be my wife?”

  She gave him a little half smile. “To be whatever you wish me to be.”

  He let out a rueful laugh. “I doubt that, for you always were intractable. I don’t expect you to change because I’ve granted you this favor.”

  “ ’Tis a good thing. I’m looking forward to many years of being your intractable wife.”

  “And I’m looking forward to many years of this,” he murmured as he drew her to him and sealed her mouth with his.

  So am I, Tamara thought as she surrendered her body to him. So am I.

  Chapter Nineteen

  How can I live without thee; how forgo

  Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly joined,

  To live again in these wild woods forlorn?

  —John Milton, Paradise Lost

  Marianne’s horse stepped into a rut, jolting her out of her half-drowsy state. Through the slits in her mask, she looked for Garett, relieved when she saw him riding slightly ahead and to the right of her.

  For once she was grateful to be in disguise. Her cloak and mask kept the cold autumn wind from chapping her face and whipping about her body, and they shielded her from the eyes of men. All men, including Garett. It left her free to watch him without fearing he might see the emotions written on her face.

  Surprisingly enough, wearing her mask and cloak again had been his idea. She derived some small comfort from his apparent reluctance to have her identity discovered while they traveled. Didn’t that say something about what he intended?

  Yet she felt certain of nothing anymore, not even his feelings. He’d spoken to her little since they’d risen. He’d spent most of that time preparing for the trip and sending a messenger ahead to alert the London household of their arrival. Obviously he planned to stay in London a while. Did that bode well or ill for her?

  Shortly after noon they’d left Falkham House. Despite their slow pace, Garett had mostly ignored her, which wounded her deeply. And when he did glance at her, his eyes held such a wealth of pain and anger—and grim determination—that she was almost glad he avoided speaking to her. It was as if any soft emotion he’d felt for her had vanished entirely.

  She shivered. That did not bode well for her.

  William called out to Garett from where he came behind, driving the cart that carried their trunks. “Shall we stop in Maywood, m’lord? ’Tis near evening. We won’t be like to find a more suitable town before London.”

  “I’d thought we’d go on,” Garett bit out. “It’s only a few hours more.”

  Marianne kept silent, although her heart felt twisted into a million painful knots. Soon she would know what Garett intended to do with her. The question was, could she endure whatever it was?

  “Begging your pardon, m’lord,” William persisted, “but it’s unsafe on the roads at night with all the footpads and runagates these days. And we’ve the miss with us.”

  Garett remained silent, but a muscle worked in his jaw. Marianne wondered if he was remembering the last time she’d traveled.

  “She might like a rest and some food before we reach London,” William continued. “The house will be in an uproar once we arrive.”

  Garett glanced at Marianne. “Would you like to stop for the evening?” He spoke with such cold formality that she shuddered.

  She nodded stiffly. She would not let him see how much his behavior upset her. She did have some pride, after all.

  “Very well,” he murmured, then barked an order to his men.

  Marianne stopped twisting the reins as the pressure on her heart eased somewhat. At least he cared enough to ask how she felt, even if he did it with the barest of civility.

  When they arrived in Maywood half an hour later, they stopped at an inn William professed to know well—the Black Swan. They’d scarcely come to a halt in the inn yard before servants scurried out to help them dismount and to attend to the horses.

  Numbly Marianne watched the activity—and Garett. This time was so different from the last time she’d approached an inn with him. Then he’d been angry but not cold. Now he behaved as solicitously as then, but it wasn’t the same. What had happened to the fiercely protective Garett? Had he retreated from her so completely that he no longer even cared what the morrow brought?

  Trying to keep herself as remote from him as he was from her, she allowed him to lead her into the inn. But when he began to discuss the arrangements with the innkeeper, she realized to her chagrin that he intended for them to share a room as husband and wife despite the tension between them and his apparent reluctance to speak to her.

  As soon as the innkeeper stepped aside to talk to his wife, she stood on tiptoe to whisper in Garett’s ear, “What are you doing? We can’t… I can’t…”

  “Tonight, Miss Winchilsea,” he clipped out, “you will have to accept my company. I cannot chance your attempting an escape.”

  She flinched, as much from his formal tone as from his reasoning. “You have my word I won’t try such a thing. Please, Garett—”

  “It’s out of the question.” He stared straight ahead, but she thought his expression softened. “You’d be in danger in a room alone without a man’s protection.”

  Had she just imagined it, or had his tone been more than cordial? She had no time to determine for sure before the innkeeper was urging them to follow him.

  Soon they were settled in a spacious room, the best in the house. Once they were alone, Garett sat down on the edge of the large four-poster bed to remove his mud-caked boots.

  With a sigh, Marianne untied her mask and cloak. She threw the cloak across a chair, but she kept the mask in her hand, staring at it sadly. “I used to hate this disguise. Yet here I am wearing it again.”

  He paused to fix her with an unflinching stare. “It’s fitting for a woman with so many secrets.”

  His gaze seemed to cut through to her very soul as she stood there, her blood thrumming in her veins. “I have no more secrets from you now.”

  His eyes darkened, and he looked as if he was about to reply. Then a knock at the door broke the spell.

  When he answered, a servant entered with the meal he’d requested. Both he and Marianne stood silent, watching the servant place several dishes and a flagon of ale on the table. After the servant left, Garett sat down before the t
able. But Marianne couldn’t keep still just now, so she wandered over to the window.

  “Come away from there and eat something,” Garett commanded, his sharp tone reminding her that her face could be seen by anyone watching from the yard. With a shiver, she backed away.

  She glanced at the feast he’d ordered: boiled leg of mutton and roast pigeon, boiled peas and freshly baked bread. There were even apples roasted with cinnamon for dessert. Her stomach growled.

  But her hunger was as nothing compared to her emotional turmoil. She doubted she could eat a bite without having it come back up, so she made no move to join him.

  “You’ve eaten scarcely anything all day,” he persisted, his voice oddly husky. “And little to nothing last night.”

  So he’d noticed. Somewhere in her deadened state, she was surprised and a little reassured that he had. “I was preoccupied.”

  His harsh laugh grated. “Indeed,” he remarked with heavy sarcasm.

  Suddenly she could bear no more. She faced him, twisting the mask in her hands. “Answer me one thing, Garett. If I had told you the truth when you’d first asked, what would you have done? Would you have turned me over to the King’s Guard?”

  For a moment, his composure cracked to reveal raw anguish. But he quickly masked it. “I’m not even certain what I’m going to do with you now. How can I know what I would have done then?”

  That answer wasn’t the least satisfactory. “I wish you’d just make a decision and stop tormenting me. I no longer care what you do with me. Send me to prison, send me to hang, but tell me what you intend or I’ll surely go mad.”

  Pushing back from the table, he rose. “Have you no idea how difficult this is for me? I have a duty to my king and my country.”

  “So you’ll give me over to them without a qualm.”

  “No, damn it!” He strode toward her. “But neither can I just pretend it never happened. If you hadn’t been entangled with my uncle—”

  “Entangled?” Her temper flared. “I wasn’t ‘entangled’ with your uncle, unless that’s what you call his lust for my mother.”