London Temptations: Historical Regency Romance Collection

by Joyce Alec

  Lady Knightsbridge looked at him, her eyes dancing. “I certainly shall,” she promised, before turning away and hurrying after Lady Pendleton again. Satisfied, Benedict turned on his heel and made his way to the study, his mind fixed on the note in his pocket. He itched to take it out and to read what was contained within, but he dared not for fear of being seen by someone. It was only when he closed the door and leaned against it that he dared pull it out from his pocket and break the blank wax seal.

  “I am to throw a ball,” he murmured to himself, a little surprised at the note given that his mother had already planned such a thing to be held at the very end of the sennight. “That is not particularly difficult, I must say.” Continuing to read, Benedict’s brow lowered and his dismay rose.

  “I am to leave the cellar door unlocked and ajar,” he said slowly, reading the words again for fear that he had been somehow mistaken. “Can it be so? What would be their purpose in doing so?”

  His heart began to pound as he realized just how vulnerable his house was should the cellar door be left unlocked. He had always bolted it with the thick iron key – of which only one was available. The one he possessed and kept within reach at all times, if it was not given to the housekeeper for her use to fetch something of importance from the cellar. There was no reason for him to give it to anyone and certainly no reason for him to open the door.

  So what reason could they have for wanting him to do so now? Did they intend to invade his house, to make it their own? Did they intend to further it for their own purposes, so that they no longer used only the cellar but other parts as well? Benedict closed his eyes, a sense of dread beginning to fill him. He had to have some sort of plan by the time the ball came, which, he realized, was only a few short days away.

  But just what was he to do?

  Before he could sink further into anxiety, a scratch came at the door. In an instant, he was by the door, opening it to reveal Miss Millerton.

  “You have received the note, then,” she said, her eyes dropping to his hand where he held it still. “I am sorry. What is it you intend to do?”

  Benedict shook his head. “The ball is already planned,” he said, clearly surprising her given the astonishment in her eyes. “My mother was quite insistent that such a thing should occur and thus has already planned one for the last day of the house party.”

  “I see.”

  “But I certainly had no intention of opening the cellar and leaving it open,” Benedict added, wandering back to his desk and sitting down heavily in his chair as he indicated a chair for Miss Millerton to sit also. “I cannot imagine what they would want to do.”

  Miss Millerton’s expression grew thoughtful. “The house will be very busy indeed, will it not?” she asked, and he nodded. “There will be other guests aside from those you have had at the house party?”

  “I believe so,” he said, a little embarrassed. “I confess that I have not taken a great deal of interest in what my mother has suggested. The idea of the house party, in all its entirety, has been solely a concoction of my mother’s.”

  Her eyes twinkled despite the circumstances. “I quite understand.”

  “What with all my difficulties, I did not think it wise to bring guests,” he explained with a shrug. “But I could not share such thoughts with my mother, of course. Thus, I could not find a suitable excuse and she sent out all the invitations without hesitation.”

  “And perhaps they are then using this situation to their advantage,” she mused. “Might I ask, Lord Knightsbridge, what it is that you believe they are doing?”

  Realizing that he had not yet had an opportunity to tell her his suspicions, Benedict drew in a long breath and began to speak.

  “The cellar has a tunnel that then opens out toward the sea,” he said, seeing how her eyes widened slightly as though she already understood what he was going to say. “Given that I have been recently told to purchase crates of brandy—brandy which I did not wish to purchase, I must say—I am certain that they are using the cellar for the purposes of smuggling.”

  “Goodness,” Miss Millerton breathed, still wide-eyed with disbelief. “Why should they ask you to purchase the brandy, however? I do not understand. Surely there are those who are expecting such things?”

  Twisting his lips, Benedict hesitated before he answered. “I confess I do not know entirely,” he said honestly. “Perhaps they feared that they were intercepted, or that there was someone watching their shipment. After all, there are two revenue agents about these parts. One is Mr. Holbrook, the other Mr. Long. They go all about these parts but often come to the coast.”

  “Clearly, then, they have not caught the men involved,” Miss Millerton replied with a shake of her head. “However, this now leaves you with a good deal of brandy that could cause you some difficulty, if it was discovered. Are the revenue agents nearby at present?”

  A sudden thought caught him and he felt the color drain from his face, strength fading from his limbs. “They are. And to have me discovered is, perhaps, precisely what they intend to do.”

  Miss Millerton gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as she realized what he meant.

  “They might be attempting to ruin me,” he said slowly. “They might wish to have someone discover the brandy so that I am thrown from society.” His eyes flared wide. “Whilst the title could never be taken from me, the chances of marriage would become very slim indeed. Most likely, I should die alone and without an heir.”

  “But for what purpose?” she asked, her voice suddenly urgent. “Why should these men wish for that to occur?”

  Benedict closed his eyes tightly. “As you know, Mr. Easthill is my cousin,” he said, feeling a heavy weight on his heart. “As it stands at present, he would inherit the title and the estate should anything happen to me.”

  “And if you should never marry, if you should die without an heir, then Mr. Easthill would…”

  “He would become the Earl of Knightsbridge,” Benedict answered heavily. “Perhaps, if he is working with these men, that is his motive.”

  Miss Millerton said nothing in response, her eyes searching his as she considered what he had said. They remained in silence for some time, each thinking about this new suggestion and the severity of the situation.

  There came another scratch at the door. “My lord?”

  “The butler,” Benedict murmured, before calling him to come in.

  The butler opened the door, a frown on his face as he entered the room. “My lord, I cannot find Mr. Taylor.”

  Benedict’s stomach tightened. “What do you mean? He is not in his room?”

  The butler shook his head. “No, my lord,” he said, a hint of concern in his eyes. “We have looked throughout the house, but we cannot find any sign of him.”

  Benedict glanced toward Miss Millerton, whose face was now the color of milk.

  “I thank you,” Benedict muttered, turning his head back to the butler. “Continue to search for him. And let me know the moment he is found.”

  The butler nodded and withdrew, closing the door behind him. Benedict let the silence envelop him once more, his heart beating painfully in his chest as fear began to grip his very soul. He felt as though he was well behind these men and their plans, as though he was trying to catch up with them but would never quite manage to do so.

  “What has become of him?” Miss Millerton whispered, her eyes huge with fright as she looked straight at Benedict. “Where can he have gone?”

  Benedict shook his head, the answer burning on his lips and bringing fresh pain to his heart. “I do not know,” he answered.

  11

  The following day found Susanna in a state of utter confusion. She was unable to join in with the other ladies’ conversation, her mind entirely caught up with Lord Knightsbridge and the situation that surrounded them both. There were so many possibilities as to why the cellar was to be left open for the ball, which Lord Knightsbridge had announced to the guests only this morning. With onl
y three days left until the ball, Susanna felt as though time was their enemy, working against them as they fought. Their plan had entirely failed, for without Mr. Taylor, neither she nor Lord Knightsbridge knew whether or not Mr. Easthill had the missing documents. And not only that, they did not know where Mr. Taylor was at all, for no one had seen any sign of him. She had seen last evening when Lord Knightsbridge had spoken to the butler and had felt her heart sink when he had caught her gaze and given her the most minuscule shake of his head.

  “Do you have a ballgown, Miss Millerton?”

  Susanna looked up, startled, to see none other than Miss Longleat smiling at her with a somewhat bemused expression on her face.

  “I did not mean to startle you,” she said with a laugh. “Are you quite all right?”

  Susanna forced a smile. “Indeed,” she replied with a small shrug. “I was merely thinking about which gown I am to wear to the ball.”

  Miss Longleat laughed and then gracefully sat down on a chair beside Susanna. “I am certain that every lady here has brought at least one or two ballgowns with them,” she said as Susanna tried to keep her calm smile in place. “Most of us hoped that there would be a ball, I think.”

  “But of course!” Lady Pendleton exclaimed, coming to sit down on the other side of Susanna. “Everyone hopes for a grand ball at the end of a house party, although such hopes are not always fulfilled.” She reached across and patted Susanna’s arm. “Are you not glad now that I insisted we bring them both? Which one do you think you should wear, Susanna? The blue or the yellow?”

  Susanna, who did not particularly care to talk about gowns at this present moment, forced herself to pretend as though she was giving it some sincere consideration. “I shall have to try on both before I can decide,” she said with a small shrug. “I confess, it has been so long since I have had need of a ballgown that I cannot quite recall which one is better suited to my complexion.”

  Thankfully, Susanna did not have to say much more, for Miss Longleat immediately began to describe to Lady Pendleton the gowns she herself had brought along with her thoughts on each one, and Lady Pendleton in turn gave her opinion on the gowns that Miss Longleat had described. Susanna was able to lapse into silence, to allow her thoughts to return to Lord Knightsbridge and Mr. Taylor.

  “The gentlemen are to go out shooting again within the hour, I think,” she heard someone say, and immediately, Susanna’s attention was piqued. “They are all to go.”

  “I did wonder where they had gone,” said another with a sigh. “No doubt they are gone to prepare themselves for such an event.”

  “We must hope that no accident comes upon them this time,” said the first, fanning her face with her hand as though the very thought had made her almost overcome with emotion. “I could not bear to see another gentleman hurt.”

  Susanna bit her lip, wondering if she dared to do what had first entered her mind upon hearing that the gentlemen would be out shooting that afternoon. If she had the courage, could she not make her way to Mr. Easthill’s bedchamber, in search of those documents? Perhaps she might find a clue as to where Mr. Taylor had gone also.

  “Miss Millerton?”

  Again, she started violently as she turned to see Miss Longleat looking at her once more with that same bemused expression she had worn at the first.

  “Yes, Miss Longleat?”

  “You have gone rather pale,” Miss Longleat said, frowning. “Are you certain you are quite well?”

  Grasping the opportunity with both hands, Susanna tried to smile. “I am still a little fatigued,” she answered with a small sigh. “I think I shall retire to my room for the afternoon, so that I can recover myself a little more. After all, I do not wish to be excluded from the evening’s entertainment.”

  “I am sure it will be quite wonderful,” Miss Longleat sighed, looking quite delighted, despite Susanna’s murmur of concern about her fatigue. “I hear it is to be the gentlemen’s turn to entertain us!”

  “I do wonder what they will do,” said another young lady from across the room, as the conversation turned toward the evening’s entertainment. “I am certain that Lord Pettigrew will sing for us.”

  “And he has the most excellent voice,” said another as Susanna slowly rose from her chair and began to meander across the room toward the door. She took her time and did not hurry, not wanting to draw the attention of the others in the room.

  A delighted, expectant sigh came from another young lady, whom Susanna recognized as Miss Allendale. “I must hope that Mr. Easthill reads to us,” she said breathlessly. “He is quite a wonderful orator.”

  “But without any particular prospects,” said the lady’s mother with a warning glance.

  Throwing a quick glance toward her aunt and seeing Lady Pendleton nod, clearly aware that Susanna intended to slip away to rest, Susanna gave her aunt a quick smile and then escaped through the door, hurrying into the hallway.

  She had not gone far when she encountered none other than Lord Knightsbridge.

  “We do tend to keep meeting in the hallway, Miss Millerton,” he said with an easy smile. “Are you quite all right?”

  Susanna took in a deep breath, trying not to allow the quickening of her heart and the flush of heat that rushed through her chest to influence her.

  “Lord Knightsbridge,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her. “I hear the gentlemen are to go out shooting this afternoon.”

  His lopsided smile brought color to her cheeks. “You fear that I might be injured again?”

  “I must hope that such a thing will not happen again,” she answered with a small smile, “but I had a particular thought.”

  A small frown chased away his smile. “Oh?”

  “I thought I might search Mr. Easthill’s rooms,” she said, before he could protest. “I must do what I can to help, to find the documents and perhaps to discover what has happened to Mr. Taylor.”

  Immediately, Lord Knightsbridge shook his head. “No, you cannot. The danger is—”

  “I must do something,” she said, spreading her hands. “I have an opportunity to do so and I shall have to take it.”

  For a few moments, it looked as though Lord Knightsbridge would refuse, but after a moment, he let out a long breath and held out a hand to her. Susanna took it without hesitation, aware that her heart skipped a beat at his touch.

  “You must be careful,” he told her, taking a few steps closer. “Do nothing that would endanger you. I will make certain that Mr. Easthill remains out of doors with the rest of the gentlemen for the afternoon.”

  She nodded. “I will be very careful.”

  Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed it and Susanna dropped her eyes to the ground, not quite certain what to say or do with the swell of emotion that was filling her heart.

  “We will speak again this evening, after dinner,” he told her, letting go of her hands and stepping back. “Please, take great care, Miss Millerton. It would pain me greatly if you were to be in any way…injured.”

  Moved by the compassion and consideration in his eyes, Susanna could only smile up into his face, unable to find the words to express what she felt. It was only when he cleared his throat and stepped back that she realized that a footman was approaching.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Millerton,” Lord Knightsbridge said with a broad smile. “I do hope that you have a very restful afternoon.”

  It was not until Susanna was certain that the other ladies had retired to the terrace that she felt able to leave her bedchamber. The gentlemen had already departed for their shooting and fishing more than an hour ago, but Susanna had not wanted to go in search of Mr. Easthill’s room before the ladies had stepped outside also. She knew full well where the gentlemen’s rooms were, thanks to a note that had been handed to her from a footman written hastily by Lord Knightsbridge. Making her way carefully to Mr. Easthill’s room, she hesitated at the door for a moment, her stomach tight and her hands curled into fists with the anxiety that r
an through her.

  It felt ridiculous but Susanna knocked at the door sharply, hearing the sound echo through the room and down the hallway. Closing her eyes and praying that not even a maid would stumble upon her as she did so, Susanna turned the handle carefully and pushed the door open slowly.

  Her heart was pounding so loudly that she feared someone would hear her. The room was just as she had expected it, although she certainly felt an urge to remove herself from it at once, knowing that it was someone else’s private room. Her aunt would be absolutely furious and ashamed beyond all measure should she ever discover what Susanna was doing at present.

  Do not think of her, she told herself sternly, walking through the room carefully. Think only of what you must do.

  Looking from left to right, she took in everything. The bed was ready and prepared, the dressing table laid out neatly. A heavy screen rested on one side of the room but no clothes lay upon it. Evidently, Mr. Easthill’s valet was very efficient. Her gaze snagged on a large chest of drawers and, whilst she knew that she had to go searching through them, there was still a heavy reluctance within her heart to do it.

  Taking in a deep breath, Susanna reached the first drawer and pulled it open, hearing the scrape of wood on wood and wincing as she looked inside. There was nothing but what appeared to be linen, although she dared not search underneath. The thought of touching Mr. Easthill’s undergarments was too much to bear.

  A small groan suddenly caught her ears and she stepped back, her hands pressed to her heart. Was someone else in the room? A tremor ran through her as she remained entirely still, waiting to hear if the sound would come again.

  It did not. After a moment or two longer, Susanna pushed the drawer closed and made to pull out the next, only to hear another small groan reach her ears. Closing her eyes for a moment, she rose to her full height and looked around the room. She could not see where the sound could come from, and she briefly wondered if there was someone hiding under the bed or concealed in the depths of the wardrobe.