Beyond A Wicked Kiss

by Jo Goodman

  "Yes, just arrived."

  "Shall I summon Mr. Blaine? Mrs. Corbell? I do not think they know you have a guest."

  "Do not trouble them. I am uncertain if she will be staying."

  "She?" Finch shook his head, his expression vaguely disapproving. "It is not my place, but—"

  "You are exactly right, Finch. It is not your place."

  The sharpness of West's tone gave the valet pause. He was accustomed to being permitted certain liberties, chief among them being able to speak his mind whether it was his place or not. He clamped his jaw, then decided against such caution. "I had hopes for Miss Ashby," he said quickly. "It would be a terrible shame if you permitted a lightskirt to come between you and—"

  "Damnation, Finch, who do you think is waiting for me below stairs?"

  Finch's eyes actually protruded from their sockets as he gaped at his employer.

  "Exactly my thoughts," West said. "Now, close your mouth, Finch, before I put a hook in it."

  Finch's jaw slammed shut again. He held out West's frock coat and brushed it off once he approved of its fit.

  West turned around and fastened the coat's three buttons. "Do not stray far. I may have need of you. Better yet, sleep with one eye open."

  "As you wish."

  "That does not give you license to listen at the door." West was not fooled by his valet's affronted expression. "If Northam offered you enough coin, you would do it."

  "You insult me."

  West paused, considering the gravity of Finch's tone. "The countess, then," he said, suddenly suspicious. "You would do it for Lady Northam."

  "Well, there you have me."

  * * *

  Ria was sitting on the upholstered bench, staring at the fire, when West strode into the room. The glass of sherry in her hands bobbled a bit as she was brought abruptly back to the present. She had removed her cloak and gloves, and although she was not as bedraggled as she was the first time she had visited his home, the wearing nature of her journey was evident in the creases pressed into her muslin gown and the way the collar lay limply against her throat. There was also a slight downward turn in the line of her mouth that matched the slope of her shoulders. Her eyelids were heavy, the lashes fluttering occasionally to a half-mast position and remaining there for what seemed an inordinately long time.

  In the hallway, a clock chimed the two o'clock hour. One of West's brows raised pointedly at this reminder of the lateness of the evening. His significant look did not go unnoticed. Ria's flush climbed from beneath her drooping collar until it washed her face in pink color.

  "I am aware that you are out of sorts with me," she said with quiet dignity. "There is no need to underscore your feelings with irony."

  "I disagree." He crossed the room to the drinks cabinet and splashed a crystal tumbler with whiskey. "Out of sorts hardly describes it. Could you not have written that you intended to come here?" He glanced out the window toward the street and saw no carriage or driver. "Did you take the public coach again?"

  "Yes, of course. The school cannot spare a carriage for me to journey to London, and Mr. Dobson has more responsibilities than serving as my driver." Her chin came up. "And I did write. I sent word better than a fortnight ago."

  "Just as you knocked."

  "You do not believe me?" Ria's hand trembled with the strength of her disappointment. "I did both, but I will not insist that you accept my word. I have lied to you so often, it is a wonder you allow me to make any explanation at all."

  West saluted her by raising his glass. She had neatly given back as good as she got, underscoring her feelings with heavy ironic inflection. "I received no correspondence from you," he said. "Not in the last fortnight. Not any since you sent Miss Taylor's drawing of Sir Alex."

  Ria frowned. "But that was more than a month ago. I have written at least once each week since then."

  That gave West pause. His brow creased as he considered the implication of what Ria was telling him. "Didn't you find it odd that I repeatedly asked the same question in all of my letters? That is a good indication I was not receiving a reply from you."

  "Your letters? I received none."

  "None?"

  She shook her head, her expression deeply puzzled. Her eyes followed him as he crossed the room and sat, hitching his hip on the upholstered arm of a chair rather than using the cushion. He stretched one arm across the back and one leg out to the side for balance. He looked supremely at his ease—and in every way vigilantly attentive.

  "Since you left Gillhollow, I have had correspondence from the board of governors," Ria told him. "Also letters from Margaret and the children. My great-grandfather, who resides in Greenwich, wrote to me as well. I suppose we can conclude that there is nothing wrong with the post. It is peculiar I would have none of your letters."

  "My thoughts are the same." He sipped his drink. The matter of Ria's ill-conceived journey to London could wait, he decided, until this bit of business was sorted out. "How is the post collected at the school for sending?"

  "All letters are placed in a basket expressly used to collect them. You may have noticed it. It is located on a table in the entrance hall, close to my apartments. There is usually at least one trip each day to Gillhollow, and whatever correspondence there is in the basket is taken at that time."

  "Then anyone might remove a letter."

  "I don't think that is very—" She stopped, realizing that West was making no accusation. It was merely an observation on his part, and one she should be willing to consider, rather than defend. "Yes," she said after a moment. "Anyone might do so."

  "And letters that come to the students and teachers at the school? How is the post managed then?"

  "It is brought directly to me for sorting. When I have removed what is meant for my attention, I give it to one of the teachers to make the appropriate deliveries."

  "Brought to you by whom?"

  "By whomever picked it up in Gillhollow."

  "And that is rarely you."

  It was not a question, but Ria confirmed his supposition. "Rarely."

  "Then you do not really see it first."

  "No, but—" Ria bit her lip, gathering her composure. She did not want to go where he was leading her. "No. I am not the person who generally sees the post first."

  West was not unfeeling of Ria's dilemma, but at the root of this lay what trust they had been able to nurture. If they believed that each of them had written to the other, then some explanation for the disappearance of the letters was necessary. For Ria to place her full trust in him meant accepting that she had been betrayed by someone else.

  "Tell me about the letter I did receive," he said. "Miss Taylor's drawing of Sir Alex... how was it posted?"

  Ria stared at her glass of sherry, thinking back. "I put it in the basket... No, I gave it to Mr. Dobson, who was collecting the letters from the basket."

  "Then it did not have opportunity to be seen by anyone else."

  "No. He took the post immediately to Gillhollow."

  "And it arrived here."

  "Yes."

  "And none of your other post did. Nor any of mine to you. Can we agree the failure does not lie with my staff or the post delivery?"

  Ria took a large swallow of sherry and relished the warmth of it all the way to her stomach. "We are agreed," she said. "Someone at the school is responsible."

  "Do you wish to suggest a name?"

  "No. I cannot."

  "I think we can eliminate Mr. Dobson as the culprit," said West. "Everyone else, I'm afraid, remains."

  "I doubt it is Mrs. Abergast. I cannot recall the last time she elected to go to Gillhollow, and she almost never is the one to deliver the post to me. It must be someone else."

  West finished his drink and put his glass down. "It is probably less important to know who than it is to know why."

  Nodding faintly, Ria's fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. "Before I sent the drawing, there was another letter I wrote. Did you r
eceive it?"

  He tried to catch her eye but failed. "Yes, you sent it by express post."

  Her slim smile was apologetic; she wished she had not asked the question. "Of course. I had forgotten." She glanced up at him. "Then you know I'm not here because of a child."

  "I know," he said gently.

  Ria's eyes swiveled away quickly as she wondered at the hint of regret in his voice. Had she imagined it, or were his thoughts about a child as confused as her own? "My other letters to you... and yours to me... should we assume they were not only taken but read?"

  "I think it is a safe assumption."

  "I see." She hesitated and then plunged ahead in spite of her reservations. "You will probably want to know what sort of things I wrote to you."

  "That would be helpful."

  "I doubt it. You will not find it particularly edifying. It is more of what I wrote in the missive I sent with Sir Alex's portrait. I described the routine of the school and what manner of mischief the girls were devising. I believe I reported in some detail on the health of the teachers, the inclement weather, the success Amy Nash had at learning and reciting the 'quality of mercy' speech from The Merchant of Venice."

  "Impressive."

  "Yes, it was." She had not missed the mocking gravity of his tone but went on as if she had. "Amy is the youngest student ever to have learned the speech."

  "There was a reward, I hope, for such an accomplishment." He caught Ria's small, negative shake and came upon the truth in a flash of insight. "Ah, she was made to learn it in penance for some bit of mischief."

  "How did you know?"

  West grinned with devilish charm. "How do you think I learned it?" He dropped to the cushion of the chair and stretched his legs before him, a posture that declared himself entertained. "What else did you write?"

  As weary as she was, Ria was also not proof against this encouragement. "I informed you of Margaret and Tenley's visit. In fact, they visited several times, and I wrote in great detail of each one. I believe I lamented that our time together was so short."

  "A great change, indeed. You were comfortable in Tenley's presence?"

  "His attentions to Margaret were just as she would desire them, and he was in every way like an older brother to me."

  "You put that to paper?"

  "No." She pressed herself to be certain of that answer, aware again that her most private thoughts had been read by at least one other person. "No, I don't believe I did."

  West nodded. "Did you inquire about my progress with Jane Petty?"

  "Yes. In every letter."

  "And you probably asked why I wasn't keeping you informed."

  "Yes. Most of my questions had to do with Jane, but I also wondered why you did not tell me about the Gentleman Thief. I learned about his apprehension from Margaret and Tenley. There was also no news about Miss Parr. I thought I had given you offense in some way, or that you had reconsidered helping me, or perhaps you thought I had no interest in your friends. I did not know how to—"

  West shook his head, interrupting her. "I wrote to you of the Gentleman and Miss Parr and more besides. Do you believe me?"

  Ria believed it absolutely. "I do." She set her sherry aside and smoothed the folds of her dress over her knees. "I cannot like it that someone else has been privy to what was meant for me. Will you tell me what you wrote?"

  "There was precious little regarding Jane, though Lady Northam confirmed for me that Sir Alex was indeed the gentleman who was with her at the dressmaker's. Jane is not, however, staying at his residence in town. Sir Alex also maintains a home that he uses to set up a mistress. There is no one living there now. It is disappointing, I know. You had hoped for there to be more."

  She nodded. "And what of the rest that you wrote?"

  "The rest?" he asked. "I'm afraid I did not stray far from expounding on a single theme."

  "Oh? That is unlike you. What theme?"

  "Marriage."

  Chapter 13

  "Marriage?" Ria had to swallow hard to dislodge the word from her throat. "Were you advocating or opposing?"

  "I was proposing."

  This time Ria did not try to force a response. She came perilously close to gaping at him.

  "I see that you are not prepared to answer the question I put to you in every one of my letters." Before she could give any indication that this was true, West stood and turned his back on her. He drew a short, steadying breath. "It is just as well," he said, striding toward the bell pull. He gave it two sharp tugs. "I have gone about the thing badly. It deserves a prettier speech, even if I am to be rejected." Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Ria was hardly yet recovered. She looked paler now than at any time since she entered the room. "When did you last eat?" he asked. "Did you make the journey from Gillhollow in two or three days?"

  "Three," she said, shaking off her torpor. "And it does not matter when I ate last. I am not hungry. But I should like to know if you have a pretty speech at the ready."

  "No."

  "Will you not say it plainly, then?"

  "Will you marry me?"

  "That is plain."

  "I believe I mentioned that." He regarded her closely, but for once Ria's thoughts were shuttered from him. "Well?"

  "No," she said quietly.

  "That is also plain."

  She nodded, her smile slightly rueful. "I think I should like to hear the prettier speech."

  "Of course." West opened the door to his valet's knock. "Rouse Mr. Blaine. I want a light repast for my guest. I will also need a cab that can take Miss Ashby to the residence on Oxford Street. Make certain the driver is not deep in his cups and gives a good accounting of himself. Mrs. Corbell should accompany her and see that everything is made ready there."

  Ria started to protest, but West stepped into the hallway and gave the last of his instructions to Finch there. When he reentered the room, Ria was visibly resigned to him having his way.

  "I did not think you would send me away," she said. "I suppose that was foolish of me."

  "I am not sending you away. I am sending you away for what remains of the night. You cannot stay here. There is no suitable chaperone, and you are familiar with the house where the duke lived when he was in town. I have not cared to make it my home, but there is no reason you cannot stay there. In the morning I will send a letter around to Lady Northam. I think she will be willing to accompany you as necessary so that we may meet without rumor attaching itself to us."

  "You are my guardian. There is no reason I cannot be alone in your company."

  "Rumor knows no reason. I have heard so much idle talk taken as fact among the ton that it would fill all the betting books in London if it were recorded. It is necessary to look no further than Eastlyn's coil to be certain of the truth of it. The gossips had it for months that he was engaged, and where did that set him but squarely before the altar?"

  Ria raised one eyebrow. Her tone was wry. "I hope he was happier about the turn of events than you seem to be."

  West gathered the threads of his patience. "I am not unhappy about it, but as you are the one set so intractably against marriage, I am honor bound to put the consequences of rumor before you."

  "That is very good of you, but I sincerely doubt my presence in town will be noted."

  "I think it will. There is a reception in Colonel Blackwood's honor tomorrow evening. The East India Company and certain very happy members of parliament are thanking him for his assistance in raising support for the Singapore settlement. It is East's tinkering, of course, that made it possible, but the colonel is ultimately responsible and will accept the accolades that East cannot. I should like it if you would plan to attend."

  Ria blinked. "Has finding Jane Petty interfered with your receptions and galas and musicales?" She saw a muscle jump in West's jaw but went on without pause. "I suppose that you must honor your obligations to go to such events, but I cannot see that I will have a free moment to do the same. I must prepare for the governor's m
eeting three days from now and do whatever I can in the meantime to locate Jane. I thought that you—" She broke off when his glance became so sharp she thought it might cut her.

  "Go on," he said. "Say it all."

  "I thought that we would search together. I came here with that uppermost in my mind. Even without knowing about the missing letters, it was clear to me that we were found out. Mr. Beckwith did not say as much, yet I cannot ignore the odd nature of his visit to the school. I thought you should know before we are in the meeting together. It could be awkward at best, calamitous at worst."

  Ria took a deep breath. It shuddered through her upon release. "I apologize for intruding upon you. You may well comprehend now that I didn't know I was unexpected. I wrote. I knocked. And I can find my own way out. The hack has probably already been summoned." She was halfway to her feet when he ordered her to sit. "I am your ward, Your Grace, not your subject." She straightened, her chin coming up in the same motion, and started off in the direction of her cloak and gloves. "In the event you decide to offer marriage again—and in the event I decide to accept—know that I am unlikely ever to be a biddable wife."

  West felt as if all the air had been driven from his lungs and the last vestige of reason pounded from his brain. He stepped in front of the door when she approached and blocked her exit. "Until I recover my wits," he said, "a show of force is all that is left to me."

  "Have the courtesy or good sense to step aside."

  He didn't move.

  Ria laid her cloak across her shoulders and began to put on her gloves. "You are being ridiculous."

  "Quite possibly. You will perhaps not credit it, but it does not disturb me in the least. I will also have my say, Ria, and you will listen."

  In her agitated state, Ria was finding it difficult to manage her kid gloves. She pulled on them with clumsy fingers, stretching the leather, cursing softly under her breath when they would not settle smoothly over her hands but twisted uncomfortably instead.

  West enclosed Ria's hands in his, stilling them in a sure clasp. When she looked up at him, bewildered and uncertain, he gave her benefit of his most steady reassurance. He meant to have his way, and he meant her to know it.