“Then it seems it is Belmont I must repay.” Adding more to the debt she already owed him. She did not look forward to the day of reckoning…when they would part forever.
“Linton plans to travel with us, but since Uncle Sylvester also intends to accompany us, you may be sure we shall be a merry party after all.”
“Your uncle is going to London?” Riki watched the abigail fold away the riding habit. “Excuse me.”
She hurried out of the room. The fact that Sylvester and Linton were both going to London with them was disturbing.
She found Belmont in his library again. He looked up as she entered in response to his call, and the frown vanished from his features. It returned the next moment.
“Is something the matter?”
“I don’t know. Probably not.” She perched on the edge of a large armchair across from him.
He rose and came around to her side, then leaned back so he half sat against the mahogany surface of his desk. “What is it?” he pursued gently.
“Why is your uncle going to London with us?”
A soft chuckle escaped him, deep and reassuring, “Because, my dear…Miss van Hamel, he has, once more, outrun the constable. At frequent intervals, he finds it necessary to bury himself in the depths of the country—at someone else’s expense, of course—until quarter day brings him about again. If we leave, then so must he.”
She nodded, relieved by so simple an explanation. “When Felicity told me that both he and Lord Linton intended to accompany us—” She broke off and shook her head. “I am being foolish.”
“It has been rather unsettling of late for both of us, has it not?” he agreed. “But neither that carriage nor what happened to Hillary can be in any way involved with you. It’s not as if we don’t know who is betraying the British cause. We are just in high fidgets because we have a secret we want no one to guess.”
She nodded, glad of his common sense. “I know. Yet if you told me Sir Julian also had decided to go to London instead of to his home in Brighton, I’d begin to think we were in the middle of some dreadful conspiracy.”
The expression faded from Belmont’s face, leaving his features shuttered. He said calmly, “He has.”
Chapter Eleven
Riki stared intently at the imposing façade of the War Office building in Whitehall, waiting, shivering from the cold as she huddled in the carriage. More than thirty minutes had already crept by, yet still Belmont had not come out of his office—with David. Each time a stately gentleman exited the building, she jumped and her heart beat erratically until she realized it was only a stranger.
She couldn’t sit still. She kept craning her neck, anxious for her first glimpse of her cousin after two years of thinking him dead. She still wasn’t certain whether she would throw her arms about his waist or her hands around his neck. He deserved strangling, but she could hardly wait to see him.
At last, after what felt like hours, Belmont emerged—alone. As he neared the crested town-drag in which she sat, she could see the grim tension of his expression. Her heart sank into her stomach.
“Warwick is not there.”
“What do you mean?” She caught his arm as he opened the door and her fingers clutched his sleeve. “Has something happened?”
“Only of his own doing. It seems he has taken a short leave of absence.” He climbed in beside her and slammed the door closed. “How dare he, when he’d received my message to meet me at the Court? He must know how da—that it’s important for him to see me.”
“Maybe he’s gone to the Court,” Riki suggested.
Belmont stared at her. “I’ll send a messenger at once.”
Probably David and the messenger would cross paths, Riki thought, but prudently held her tongue. If anything, Belmont was even more upset than she.
“We’d better plan our reception of him,” she decided, trying to tease him out of his mood. “Should we throw a party? Or should we solve the whole problem by inviting him on a sailing trip, the date to be determined by prevailing weather conditions?”
To her relief, that brought a slight smile to his lips.
By the time they returned to Belmont House he had unbent considerably, though she still sensed his anger beneath. He jumped to the paved street and reached back to assist her out. She hesitated, holding his hand tightly as she joined him on the flagway.
“Remember your promise,” she begged softly.
“If you can keep yours and get your bloody cousin out of here.”
They entered the house to find Hillary and Felicity engaged in a lively game of jackstraws with a young gentleman of approximately three years. Belmont’s ill temper evaporated upon the instant and he swooped down on his young nephew and swung him up in his arms.
“Is Clarissa here?” he asked as he settled the boy on his hip. A reserved expression settled over his features where a moment before he’d shown only untrammeled pleasure in the boy’s company.
“She’s gone shopping,” Felicity explained. “She was quite put out to find Miss van Hamel from home. She left Nurse here and is giving Mama a chance to see Lawrence—or so she says. I think she wants an excuse to come back.”
Belmont nodded, and Riki sensed he was relieved to find Clarissa gone. Apparently these three were not overly fond of their sister.
Belmont carried the boy over to Riki and little Lawrence instantly buried his pale-blond curly head in his uncle’s shoulder.
“Hey!” Gently, Belmont coaxed the boy to look up, then performed the introduction. Young Master Lawrence Linton bestowed a beatific smile upon Riki.
“How do you do?” she responded solemnly and offered her hand.
The boy giggled and quickly reburied his face, nuzzling into Belmont’s cravat. Riki was charmed, but whether by Lawrence or this new aspect of Belmont’s character, she wasn’t certain.
A middle-aged woman of determined aspect bustled in, carrying a baby. Felicity jumped to her feet to take the infant girl from Nurse.
“This is little Emily,” she announced to Riki.
“Whose sole distinction in life so far,” Hillary put in, “is that she ruined the little season for her mama by forcing her to be confined in October.”
Nurse made a disapproving clucking noise and Felicity laughed. Belmont kept a straight face with a visible effort and drew Nurse aside to discuss her charges’ progress.
Riki slipped away from the delightful domestic scene to run upstairs to the Yellow Room, the large chamber allotted to her, to take off her bonnet. Seeing Belmont with his family proved an enlightenment, and she was loath to break the homey spell for him. I don’t belong in it, she reminded herself. She was an outsider, permitted no more than tantalizing glimpses of his world before returning to her own. The thought brought a pang, which she quickly stifled. There was no point in longing for something she could never have.
She dawdled over straightening her hair, then at last, knowing she could delay it no longer, returned to the morning room.
Belmont, oblivious of his title and dignities, sat on the floor while little Lawrence bounced on his lap, giggling with delight as his uncle tried with exaggerated ineffectiveness to reclaim a jackstraw from him. The viscount looked up as Riki entered and a dull flush crept into his complexion. He tried to stand at once, over the loud protests of the indignant child.
It proved too much for her. Without hesitation or thought for her non-wrinkle-proof clothes, Riki forestalled him and joined them on the Aubusson carpet. Before they could once again spread out the sticks, however, a young woman of about Riki’s own age swept into the morning room, drawing off her gloves as she came. Riki blinked, for before her stood a younger version of Lady Prudence, minus that formidable dowager’s air of enjoyment.
Clarissa, Lady Linton, removed her hat, dislodging the dark-brown tresses that had been carefully cropped short about her face and teased into ringlets. Her eyes were as dark as those of the rest of her family, though lacking the humor Riki had come to welcome.
Her plumpness was of the solid sort that would shortly become stoutness on her meager inches. Another Randall brick wall.
“And this must be Miss van Hamel. How delighted I am to meet you.” Instantly Clarissa went to Riki’s side, taking her hand as she gushed her greeting.
Riki answered politely as she rose from the floor. She experienced the disturbing sensation that her social importance was being assessed.
“How delightful,” Clarissa repeated. “Why, it is almost time for a light nuncheon, is it not? I shall stay, Belmont. Nurse, do take the children upstairs to the old schoolroom. They are the greatest dears,” she explained to Riki, “and of course I simply dote on them, but they make such a racket during a meal, it is simply impossible to think.” She waved an airy hand, dismissing the subject of her offspring.
Lady Prudence marched into the room in time to hear this last and regarded her daughter through glacial eyes. “It is my wish they remain.”
For a moment there was a facing off, then Clarissa gave way with ill grace. They adjourned to the breakfast parlor, where a cold collation awaited them on the sideboard. Clarissa left the tending of the two children to Nurse and Felicity, and concentrated once more on Riki as they settled at the table.
Her knowledgeable eye ran over Riki’s gown and her smile became a shade warmer. “Will you be staying long in London? Linton was not able to tell me.”
“Lord Linton mentioned my visit?” Riki asked, surprised.
Clarissa shook her head, setting her dusky ringlets bouncing about her face. “No, odious man that he is. He didn’t breathe a word of you until I particularly asked him. It is to my Uncle Sylvester I’m indebted for the information. Men can be so tiresome—they never give a thought to important things. I’m holding a salon next Thursday, and you simply must come. As Belmont can tell you, the political world flocks to my door. You will be the rage, I feel quite certain.”
Hence the invitation, Riki reflected dryly. Why, though, had Sylvester spoken of her—and why had Lord Linton not? She cast a perplexed glance at Belmont, but his frowning gaze rested on his sister.
He rose abruptly. “If you have finished, Miss van Hamel? Perhaps we can settle that matter now. If you will excuse us?” He addressed the last to his family.
Riki stood with alacrity. “So many pressing duties when one represents one’s government,” she murmured, shaking her head.
She hurried out of the room. “Business?” she whispered to Belmont as she preceded him into the hall. “Is there something you haven’t told me?”
He closed the door behind them. “There is. My sister is one of the most avid gossipmongers in the ton. I strictly forbade Linton to mention you. I should have known Sylvester couldn’t resist. It was undoubtedly her intention to steal a march on the rest of society by being the first to present such an unusual American visitor, just dropping a hint, of course, that you have business in government circles. In another minute you would have been subjected to a detailed interrogation of your ancestry, connections and anything else that might make you a suitable subject for on dits and loose talk.”
“But…she is Lord Linton’s wife! Surely she must know better than to talk of political events. Can’t you impress on her that I’m a state secret or something?”
“I make no doubt it was Linton’s hinting at just that which brought her around so quickly.”
Riki sighed, then realized he was leading her down the stairs. “Where are we going?”
“My bookroom. It’s the only place we’re likely to get any peace until Clarissa and her brood leave.” He stood back for her to precede him down the corridor.
“Yes, I noticed how you disliked your nephew and niece.”
Belmont chuckled as he ushered her into a comfortable book-lined apartment. Two sofas were arranged at one end of the room, on either side of a blazing hearth. A table had been placed between them and a rich rug stretched beneath. Riki crossed to the hearth and stood before it, looking down.
“What will you do if Warwick won’t listen to you?” The question sounded gentle—deceptively so.
“He will.” She allowed no doubt to sound in her voice.
“And then?”
She studied the flames for a moment. “Then, as you requested, I must get him out of your vicinity.”
“Yes, you must.”
She looked up, startled by how much savageness he packed into those three words. He stood just two steps behind her, his brow lowered, which gave him a ferocious expression. His eyes burned into hers.
“Belmont—?”
“Gil!” He snapped his name at her. “Oh, damn it!” He closed the space between them and dragged her into his arms.
His mouth came down over hers, urgent, a release of his frustration. For a long moment she clung to him, knowing she shouldn’t, that it wasn’t wise. Yet she wanted Gil with a desperation that went beyond reason.
His hands, so gentle for a man of his solidity and strength, caressed her throat, then trailed over her shoulders, making her long for them to explore the rest of her body. The pressure of his mouth became less intense, more seductive, driving any semblance of intelligent thought from her mind. She only felt, and the sensations that coursed through her were unsettling and erratic and wonderful.
Abruptly he released her and took several unsteady steps away. He ran a hand through his already disordered locks.
“That was unpardonable.”
“No it wasn’t.” Her breath still came rapidly and she ached for his arms to fold about her once more. “If you regretted kissing me, that would be unpardonable.”
A rueful smile touched his lips. He strode back to her and cupped her chin between both his hands. “Dear God, what is it that makes you so irresistible? Those adorable freckles?” He drew his finger along the side of her nose and along her cheek. “Or that you’re forbidden fruit?”
She caught his hand and pressed it against her throat. “Not forbidden—only temporary. Just because it can’t last forever doesn’t mean we can’t share anything.”
He pulled his hand free as if her flesh burned him. “You’re not—” With an effort he controlled his voice. “You’re a lady, not a courtesan,” he finished stiffly.
“I’m also from a different time.” She traced the line of his jaw, then tangled her fingers in the thick pepper-and-salt hair that just brushed the nape of his neck. “Women have learned it’s all right to express what we feel.”
He set her from him, gently but firmly. “I haven’t.”
She raised a skeptical eyebrow.
Dull color flooded his face. “Not with a lady,” he snapped. “Damn it, Riki, we come from vastly different worlds! It may be all right for you—” He broke off as if the concept were inconceivable to him.
“We must forget this happened,” he asserted. “We have work to do—the work that brought you into my world in the first place.”
Suddenly—annoyingly—he was his normal efficient self. He turned off his emotions as if they were one of the light switches he’d found so fascinating on her island. She tried to follow his example, but it wasn’t easy.
“David,” she stated. “Why don’t we try to call on him? Even if we don’t find him, we might learn where he is or when he’s expected back.”
Belmont nodded. “I’ll go at once.”
“We’ll go.”
He shook his head. “A lady cannot call at the residence of a single gentleman, even if they are cousins.”
Her face fell. “What will you do? Bring him to me here?”
“No, there are too many people in the house. I’ll set up a meeting place and make it sound so intriguing he won’t be able to resist.”
“Why not just tell him I’m here?”
“I don’t think that’s wise.”
“You don’t think he’ll want to see me?” Even to herself, she sounded hurt.
He hesitated. “If he’s as fanatical as you say, do you think he’ll willingly give up his games-come-to-life?”
Belmont was right. David might well refuse to listen to reason. If that happened—if she couldn’t convince him—Belmont might well call him out as he’d threatened to do. David wouldn’t stand a chance.
Belmont departed, leaving her sitting in the bookroom, staring moodily into the fire. After half an hour of fruitless worry, she roused herself, feeling stifled in the warm chamber. She stood and shook out her skirts, only to stop as she heard a vaguely familiar voice outside the door.
“Don’t fret, man, don’t fret. I’ll just wait for Belmont in here. Have you topped off the Madeira decanter?” The door opened and Sylvester Randall strolled in, leaving the distraught butler standing in the corridor.
He saw Riki and stopped dead. “Miss van Hamel?” His voice came out as a squeak. In a moment he recovered. “How delightful, my dear.” He came forward to take her hand, as if he had not just parted company with her the evening before, after their arrival in London.
“Mr. Randall.” She allowed him to raise her fingers to his lips.
He released her and strolled to the table where two decanters and several glasses stood. He filled one of the crystal goblets for himself and closed eyes as he took a sip. He rolled the wine about his mouth, swallowed and sighed in pure ecstasy.
“Heaven. Absolute heaven, my dear Miss van Hamel. No one could stock a cellar like my late and dearly lamented brother.”
“If you are looking for Belmont, he has gone out.”
“So I have been informed. I merely sought refuge from my niece, whom I already had the dubious pleasure of meeting this morning. Has Lady Linton been here long?”
Riki nodded and bit back a grin at Sylvester’s shudder. “Don’t you delight in your great-niece and -nephew?”
He fixed a disapproving eye on her. “I have no affinity for children. Doubtless I shall like them well enough when Lawrence learns to hold a dice box and Emily can sit a pony.” He refilled his glass and lovingly swirled the contents.
Sensing her presence was de trop and that she was interfering with Sylvester’s tête-à-tête with the Madeira, she made her excuses and slipped out of the room. What to do now? Gossip with Clarissa? She had a much better idea. Belmont had taught her the rudiments of piquet and she intended to improve and surprise him at the next opportunity.
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