“I see it everywhere, these days,” he said, when the pie was safely upon his plate and he had drawn a long breath or two. “Most especially since I have returned home. People no longer care.”
“I care,” Bian returned swiftly. “I care very much.”
“I know,” he assured her, with a smile. “I recognized that in you the moment we met. I think that is partly the reason I—” He looked down at his pie. “The reason I want you to stay in my life.”
There was a thundering noise in her mind and her heart actually ached with hot, hard pressure. Bian could not have spoken even if her life depended upon it. She sat motionless, staring at Stuart as she tried to process his remarkable statement. One thought whispered over and over. Why would a spy, a traitor, ask the enemy to stay with him?
Stuart cleared his throat. “We need mustard,” he declared and put the plate down. “I’ll get some.”
As soon as he left the room, Bian put her plate carefully upon the footstool. She was shaking so badly, the china rattled against the tray and sent cutlery dancing. She used the other hand to stabilize the tray. Then she returned her hands to her lap. She tried to breath but could manage only a shallow panting.
She was upon territory she did not know at all and she was badly frightened. In the last few moments, things had changed irrevocably.
What am I to do? She clenched her hands together and tried to dispense with the slippery emotions that were fouling the issue. For a moment she pushed aside her confusion over loving a man who was a traitor and a spy, yet acted with such devotion to his country and its people. She would have to deal with that later but for now she acknowledged the truth. She loved him. That was the fact.
From there, the alternatives laid themselves out in logical, indisputable, terrible order. If she told Stuart who she really was, he would leave and she would lose the man who was now dearest to her.
If she didn’t tell him who she was, if she didn’t tell him why she was here and went through with completing the duties she had been charged with—the very duties that Stuart himself would insist she fulfill—then he would hang.
And the question whispered itself again. What on earth was she supposed to do now?
Bian covered her face with her hands. She thought she might be sick with very little more encouragement.
The lock at the front door rattled, then there was the distinct click of tumblers rolling. Someone with a key had unlocked the door and was entering the house.
Bian gripped the back of the high sofa and peered over it, her already stressed heart labouring under the shock. She was mortally aware of the state of her dress – or rather, the lack of it – and hoped that Stuart would hurry to meet the newcomer and save her from revealing herself. But Stuart was in the kitchen and further from the front door than she.
There was a dark movement at the corner by the stairs and she realized that whoever it was who had entered was standing at the hallway table, flipping through mail. That was not the action of a servant.
The dark figure, blurred by the bright afternoon sun pouring through the transom over the front doors and windows, stepped past the table and turned into the hallway proper, where the stairs began. The carpet upon which Stuart had first taken her lay across the boards there.
It was Stuart himself.
In her shock, she lifted herself up above the back of the sofa, to see him properly. He was in street clothes. How on earth had he…?
He spotted her then and his eyes narrowed with a speculative, puzzled gleam. Then he smiled and the moment passed. “Well, hello there, my little beauty. Where did you come from?”
As her brain tried to assemble meaning from his unexpected words, there were footsteps and the creek of floorboards from the back passage.
And Stuart—the real Stuart she had seen head for the kitchen for mustard—appeared next to this unexpected mirror image.
“Aiden,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting you back until tomorrow.” He inserted himself between his double and Bian, so that his back was toward her. He was protecting her, even though it was the most subtle of blocks.
She saw the man called Aiden shift his gaze away from her, to Stuart’s face. “Clearly, you were not, brother.”
She almost slithered down the back of the silk lining the sofa, clutching at her chest as her heart banged against her ribs with painful strikes. Her breath wouldn’t come.
Twins. They were most surely twins! But…what did this mean? Somewhere, she knew, there was hope for her. There was a key to unravelling all this, if only she could force her mind to think! But shock was stealing her abilities from her.
The thought that gripped her with an iron hand was rooted in that hope. Perhaps Aiden is the one. Perhaps Stuart is innocent, after all.
But even in the grip of this terrible panic, she knew that was impossible. Richard would not have made such a fundamental error. The circumstantial evidence against Stuart had been complete enough for Richard to send her all the way from China to complete her assignment.
She could hear Stuart and his brother speaking softly in the hallway. A low laugh. Then footsteps—booted feet, this time—and the distant sound of a closing door. The front door, she hoped.
Stuart’s hands were on her shoulders, helping her to sit up. But still her breath would not come easily. She was dizzy with the lack of air and the ache of her heart and that was frightening all on its own. She had been caught by surprise more than once in the past and it had never left her so confused and unable to think.
His hand was on her face, lifting her chin so that she would look at him. “Do not be concerned, Bian. My brother is as liberal a thinker as you and I. He departed only to give you a chance to collect yourself.”
“He is returning?”
“As soon as you are ready. I want you to meet him, Bian. You will be meeting all my family, soon enough.”
“He…you…are twins.”
“Identical, yes. And we’ve pulled our share of pranks over the years but this was truly unintended, Bian. You have my apologies. I would not dream of deliberately placing you in such an embarrassing position.” He kissed her forehead, his lips warm and reassuring. “I think it best if we dressed. I will give you the use of the room first.”
She nodded. Any more words had deserted her. She would take his offer of the room because above all, she need time to think. Breathing space. Peace.
Moving as stiffly as if she were an old woman, Bian let Stuart help her from the sofa.
* * * * *
Stuart watched Bian slowly climb the stairs, trying not to focus on her bare thighs. He sensed she would not appreciate the carnal thoughts right at this moment and pulled his gaze away.
He wanted to curse Aiden’s ill-timed return but did not. He and Bian had managed to steal a small pocket of time and freedom from a world that normally would have them locked into a schedule not of their choosing. It was the height of the Season, and the endless round of balls and affairs, the regattas and dinners, suppers and plays, were as rigidly orchestrated as the gardens in Hyde Park and the rules of etiquette and protocol. One flaunted those rules only if they wanted to risk reputation and family ruin. Stuart knew that both he and Bian had been extraordinarily lucky to have got away with their tryst today. He would try to be content with what they had been given.
He realized that he was still holding the mustard pot. Feeling somewhat foolish, he returned the pot to the kitchen pantry. He would clear the dishes before Mrs. Greenaway’s sharp eyes had a chance to spot the intimate meal for two in his parlour.
He pottered about the kitchen, cleaning and tidying and recalling what had happened upon the table only a small while ago. He realized that he was straining to hear signs of Bain’s return. He wanted her with him. It was that simple.
When he heard the creak of the stairs overhead, his heart jumped a little and he realized he was grinning foolishly and shrugged it off. No-one was there to see him. He dropped the tea towel and headed for the
passage that led to the front of the house.
He was halfway down the passage when he heard the distinctive sound of the front door opening and closing. He frowned. Aiden had agreed to give them one hour. It was just like him to renege in order to gain some sort of advantage.
But when Stuart arrived in the hallway, it was empty of both Aiden and Bian.
Outside the front door, he heard the loud call of a hansom driver and the crack of a whip. Then there was the unmistakable sounds of a hansom cab pulling away from the footpath and crunching all the dry autumn leaves in the gutter.
He threw open the front door and saw the cab bouncing about as it hurried down the street at an almost reckless pace. He knew then that Bian was in the cab, but still he raced up the stairs three at a time and pushed open the bedroom door.
The shirt she had worn hung upon the bedpost. The room was rich with her scent. But it was quite empty.
* * * * *
Patrick ladled out the hot soup and pushed the bowl in front of Bian. “He’s not a fool,” he warned her. “He’ll look for you here as soon as he cannot find you at your townhouse.”
“But you will stand between me and him for as long as I need,” she said, digging into the bowl. She looked up at him, her spoon halfway to her mouth as the horrible thought occurred to her. “You will, won’t you?”
“Of course,” he said sharply. “But tell me again what it is you need, now?”
“A telegraph to Richard in Peking. We need to check on Stuart’s brother, Aiden. Where was he posted?”
“How do you know he was even in the service?” Patrick asked.
“He must be,” she said, although she had nothing but hope to back up her claim. “Stuart said the house had been empty while he was away, so his brother has been away too.” She did not add the final tiny crumb of evidence, the greeting Aiden had given her. It was not the reserved, prejudiced stare of a man who had never or rarely seen oriental features. Aiden was used to seeing Asians and had even called her a beauty. He had spent time in the orient—enough time to assimilate the different features of an Asian face.
Patrick was writing down his instructions with a pencil. “That’s all? Where he was posted?”
“Also, where was he the night the papers were stolen from Richard’s portmanteau…but that will take time to establish. For now, I will be content with simply knowing where he was posted.”
Patrick bit his lip. “You’re implying Richard and the others got it wrong.”
She took a breath. It took courage to speak the word aloud, for it meant she was challenging Richard’s word, something she had never done in her entire life. But she had spent the night tossing in her bed, trying to disassociate herself from her feelings and examine Stuart and the facts coldly, without emotion, the way Richard had taught her to deal with difficult situations. “Yes,” she said, pushing the word out.
“You think Sutherland-Bruce’s brother is the one?”
“Yes. Maybe.” Bian sighed. “I need the information that telegraph will get me. Please, Patrick…will you hurry and send it now?”
He glanced at her. “At once, madam,” he murmured and hurried away.
* * * * *
Backman dripped upon the priceless Persian rug both rain and unspoken repugnance for his task. “The lady in question was not at home,” he said with a deep, sonorous voice that had once announced dinner to six hundred chatting guests and been easily heard.
“Did you ask when she would be at home?” Stuart pressed.
“I did, my lord…but it was also made clear to me that the proper channels for such an enquiry was by letter.” His distaste seemed to drip from his nose, although his facial expression did not change.
Aiden gave a small cough. He was sprawled upon the sofa Bian had recently been perched upon. When Stuart looked at him, Aiden shook his head.
Stuart ignored the advice. “Did you ask where the lady was, then?” he asked Backman. The grey haired man was once Stuart’s father’s butler. He had consented to emerge from retirement for the time Stuart and Aiden were in England and his standards were from another era. His dignity was un-dentable. He looked Stuart in the eye. “As m’lord did ask for this information, I managed to bring the matter into discussion. I was informed that the lady’s location was not a fact I was privy to.”
“Backman, you’ve been handling jumped-up Johnny-come-latelys for nearly fifty years,” Stuart said. “You know how to get around them.”
“Sir?” Backman asked, looking puzzled.
Stuart pushed his hand through his hair. “Damn it, did you bribe him?”
Aiden sat up. Stuart could feel his uneasiness from across the room.
Backman permitted himself the smallest of smiles. “M’lord, I was informed the lady’s location would remain out of my reach, no matter how long a reach I developed.”
Stuart held back the first crude response that rose to his lips. He reached for calm. Backman wasn’t the one at fault here. He had clearly gone above and beyond his natural duties. Even Aidan, who usually had no issue with using his staff for all manner of underhand and inappropriate duties, was uneasy about the thankless task Stuart had set the old butler.
“Thank you, Backman,” Stuart said, relenting. “I appreciate everything you have done and I regret you have been soaked into the bargain. Please help yourself to a large snifter of brandy. It will help you warm up.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Backman inclined his head and left with his nose in the air. The effect was diminished somewhat when he gave an enormous sneeze at the door and staggered a little.
“The brandy will help him,” Aiden assured Stuart. He linked his hands around one knee. “Do you care to share with me what on earth is going on?”
Stuart thought about it, then shook his head. “I already feel like a big enough fool,” he said.
“And the lass has vanished, if I follow your conversation with Backman closely enough.” He grinned. “You’ve lost your edge, brother.”
“Not entirely. There’s one place left for me to look.”
“And if you find the girl? Then what?” Aiden spread his hands. “She ran out on you. Hardly an indication you’ve swept her off her feet and overwhelmed her with maidenly desire.”
Hot protest bubbled at Stuart’s lips. He saw in his mind the memory of Bian perched upon the kitchen table, a tiny crease between her brows as she strove for the peak of pleasure. The memory instantly stirred his nether regions.
She could not possibly have been deceiving him. But why else would she run away? There had been no reason to avoid Aiden—not after he had assured her that Aiden was broad-minded.
“I will know when I see her,” Stuart said at last, aware of the silence lingering in the parlour.
Aiden grinned. “Brother, you sound less like a man who knows where he is than a man hopelessly lost and confused.”
“I’ll know when I see her,” Stuart snapped.
* * * * *
Bian could not rid herself of wicked thoughts of Stuart, of their activities in the big, silent house and the eventful carriage journey. The thoughts stole into her mind every time she let it idle.
And there was time to idle, while waiting for a response to her telegram. Although the telegraph was a miracle of modern science, it still took several hours for a wire to be transmitted, received, confirmed and then hand delivered to the recipient. As Richard was based in Peking and might be anywhere in China, it could take up to several days before he received the telegram. Then the whole process would begin again, as he composed his response and sent it.
So she let her mind idle and contemplated the few short hours she had spent with Stuart: The taste of his flesh and his unique scent. The size of him and how weak and feminine he made her feel when he was close to her.
If she did not allow these distracting thoughts to dance through her mind, she would have to consider, instead, the darker side of Stuart’s nature—the side she had yet to glimpse and that Richard swor
e existed. She did not know what was worse, that Richard might be wrong for the first time in his life, or that Stuart was an undeclared monster.
Please let it be Aiden.
She picked up her pen once more and bent to the letter she was writing. The Vietnamese script came slowly. She was not as fluent in written Vietnamese as she was in the speaking of it. But her old teacher would be touched that she would write to him in his own language. The intellectual challenge was another distraction.
When Patrick’s hand squeezed her elbow, she jumped with a startled shriek.
The inkpot wobbled and Patrick steadied it. “I’m sorry. I did call your name,” he said, sitting on the hard chair on the other side of the small desk she was using.
She put the pen down. “Did I miss the call to lunch?”
“Yes but that was two hours ago.” He grinned. “I’ve asked the cook to make you a round of sandwiches. Sardines and lettuce, yes?”
“Mmm, yes. I love them.” She looked at him, waiting.
“Lord Baring’s houseboy just dropped off a note from Baring himself. I asked him to approach the home office.”
“Patrick, you shouldn’t have. Not for me.” Baring stirring up the home office with unofficial questions about diplomatic personnel might set off any number of alarms. It might also warn Stuart...or Aiden. But, it had been done now.
“When you float about the house looking so pale and distracted? Baring could get the answer almost immediately. Your wire will take at least twelve hours.” Patrick pulled a folded slip of paper from his pocket.
Bian licked her lips. Her mouth was suddenly dry. Her answer was on that paper. It was here already. It wasn’t hours before she had to deal with whatever consequences it would bring. “What did he learn?”
“Aiden Sutherland-Bruce was also posted to the Orient. Taiwan…although he spent almost as much time in Canton, until the war broke out. He returned home just over a week ago—about a month behind his brother.”
Royal Talisman Page 8