To Beguile a Beast

by Elizabeth Hoyt

He covered her hand with his own, and for a moment they stood thus. His gaze searched hers, intent and confused.

  Then he turned his head away, and her hand dropped. She felt as if she’d missed something in that moment, but she didn’t know what. Bereft, she sat back down on the bed.

  He resumed dressing. “As soon as I was well enough to travel, I sailed for England. You know the rest, I think.”

  She nodded.

  “Yes, well. I’ve lived since that time very much as you first saw me when you came to the castle. I’ve avoided the company of others for obvious reasons.” He touched the patch over his eye. “But a month ago, Viscount Vale and his wife, your friend, Lady Vale…”

  He trailed away, frowning. “I say, how did you become acquainted with Lady Vale? Was that part of your story made up as well?”

  “No, that was true enough.” Helen grimaced. “I suppose it does look odd, a mistress like me friends with a respectable woman like Lady Vale. I confess that I know her only slightly. We met several times in the park, but when I fled Lister, she helped me. We are friends, truly.”

  Alistair seemed to accept that explanation. “Anyway, Vale was one of the men taken captive at Spinner’s Falls. When Vale came to visit, he had this odd story. Rumors that the 28th Regiment of Foot had in fact been betrayed at Spinner’s Falls by a British soldier.”

  Helen straightened. “What?”

  “Yes.” He shrugged and finally laid the shirt aside. “It makes sense. We were in the middle of the forest, and yet we were attacked by an overwhelming force of Frenchmen and Indians. Why else would they be there save that they knew we were to pass that way?”

  She drew a sharp breath. Somehow the knowledge that such destruction of life had been planned—and by a fellow countryman—made it all the more horrible.

  She looked at him with wonder. “I would think that you’d be wild with the desire for revenge.”

  He smiled, fully and sadly. “Even if we catch this man, bring him to trial and hang him, it’ll not restore my eye or the lives of the men lost at Spinner’s Falls.”

  “No, it won’t,” she agreed gently. “But you do want him caught, don’t you? Might it not bring you some peace?”

  He looked away. “I have as much peace now as I’ll ever have, I think. But I suppose it would be appropriate for the traitor to be punished.”

  “And the Frenchman, the friend you want to meet, is somehow connected to all this?”

  He went to the fire and kindled a taper. With it he lit several candles in the room. “Etienne says there are rumors in the French government, but he does not want to commit them to paper—for his safety and for mine. He has accepted a position on an exploratory ship, though. It docks in London the day after tomorrow before leaving to sail around the Horn of Africa.”

  He threw the remainder of the taper into the fire. “If I can talk to Etienne, then perhaps this mystery will be solved.”

  “I see.” She watched him a moment more, then sighed. “Do you want to go down for supper?”

  He blinked and looked at her. “I’d hoped to have something brought up.”

  She began unlacing her stays, and his gaze immediately dropped to her bosom. “I had some food and wine delivered earlier.” She nodded to a covered basket on a chair. “It’s over there. If you think it’ll do, we can stay here and not bother with anyone else.”

  He crossed to the basket and raised the cloth that covered it, peering inside. “A feast.”

  Helen straightened the bodice of her chemise over her breasts, rose from the bed, and crossed to him. “Sit here, before the fire, and I’ll serve you.”

  He frowned quickly. “There’s no need.”

  “You didn’t object to my service when I was your housekeeper.” She rummaged in the basket and found a small plum. She offered it to him in the palm of her hand. “Why demure now?”

  He took the plum, his fingers brushing against her palm and sending shivers down her arm. “Because you’re no longer my servant; you’re my…” He shook his head and bit into the plum.

  “What?” She knelt at his feet. “What am I to you?”

  He swallowed and said gruffly, “I don’t know.”

  She nodded and turned her face to the basket so he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. That was the problem, wasn’t it? They didn’t quite know anymore what they were to each other.

  Chapter Sixteen

  At Truth Teller’s words, the evil sorcerer flew into a terrible rage. He raised his arms and laid a terrible curse on the soldier, turning him into a stone statue. The sorcerer placed Truth Teller in his yew knot garden, among all the other stone warriors. There he stood, day by day, month by month, year by year as birds came to rest on his shoulders and dead leaves settled at his feet. His still face stared, unblinking, at the garden, and what he thought about I do not know. His very thoughts had turned to stone. . . .

  —from TRUTH TELLER

  Helen wasn’t precisely respectable. This thought only occurred to Alistair as they stood on Lord Vale’s front step. He really shouldn’t have brought her along on an early afternoon call to a viscount and viscountess. But then again, she’d said that she was friends with Lady Vale, so perhaps the point was moot.

  Fortunately, the butler chose that moment to open the door. After collecting their names, he bowed and showed them into a large sitting room. Very soon thereafter, Vale himself burst into the room.

  “Munroe!” the viscount cried, bounding up and seizing Alistair’s hand. “Good God, man, I thought it’d take explosives to pry you out of that dratted drafty castle of yours.”

  “It very nearly did,” Alistair muttered, squeezing Vale’s hand hard to keep from having his own appendage crushed. “Have you met Mrs. Helen Fitzwilliam?”

  Vale was a tall man with hands and feet that seemed too large for his body, like an overeager puppy. His face was long, incised with deep vertical lines that in repose made his countenance look perpetually mournful. In contrast, his habitual expression was almost foolish, jolly and open, which lulled many a man into a false sense of superiority.

  Right now, though, Vale’s expression had gone curiously flat at Alistair’s introduction of Helen. Alistair braced himself. He needed Vale’s help, but if the other man chose to insult Helen, he’d defend her and damn the consequences. The tensing of his muscles was instinctive.

  But a quick smile flashed across Vale’s face, and he leaped forward to take Helen’s hand and bend over it. “A pleasure, Mrs. Fitzwilliam.”

  The viscount straightened just as Lady Vale entered the room behind him. Despite the quiet of that lady’s step, Vale seemed to sense his wife’s presence at once.

  “See who has come to visit us, my lady wife,” he exclaimed. “Munroe has abandoned his depressing moors and skipped away to bonny London. I think we should invite him to dinner.” He swung on Alistair. “You will come to dinner, won’t you, Munroe? And you as well, Mrs. Fitzwilliam. I shall expire of disappointment if you don’t.”

  Alistair nodded curtly. “We’d be pleased to dine with you, Vale. But I’d hoped to discuss a matter of business this afternoon. It’s pressing.”

  Vale cocked his head, looking like an intelligent hound. “Is it, indeed?”

  “May I show you my garden, Mrs. Fitzwilliam?” Lady Vale murmured.

  Alistair nodded his thanks at Lady Vale and watched the ladies leave the room.

  When he turned, he found Vale’s too-perceptive eyes regarding him.

  Vale smiled. “Mrs. Fitzwilliam is a lovely woman.”

  Alistair bit back a blunt retort. “Actually, it’s on her behalf that I’d like to talk to you.”

  “Indeed?” Vale ambled to a decanter of liquor and held it up. “Brandy? A bit early in the day, I know, but your expression suggests that we might need it.”

  “Thank you.” Alistair accepted a crystal glass and sipped, feeling the liquid burn as it slid down his throat. “Lister has stolen Helen’s children.”

  Vale paus
ed with his glass raised halfway to his lips. “Helen?”

  Alistair glared.

  Vale shrugged and sipped his own brandy. “These are the Duke of Lister’s children as well that we’re discussing, I take it?”

  “Correct.”

  Vale raised his eyebrows.

  Alistair shook his head impatiently. “The man has no interest in the children—it’s Helen he wants. He’s trying to force her back by holding the children.”

  “And I assume you don’t wish her to return to Lister’s arms.”

  “No.” Alistair gulped the rest of his glass and grimaced. “I do not.”

  He waited for Vale to make some snide comment, but the other man merely looked thoughtful. “Interesting.”

  “Is it?” He paced to a small case of books, staring at the titles sightlessly. “Lister won’t receive me. Helen he doesn’t mind seeing, but I don’t want her anywhere near that bastard. I need to find out where he’s keeping the children. I need to find out how to pry them away from him, and I need to be able to talk to the man.”

  “And do what?” Vale asked quietly. “Do you intend to reason sweetly or call him out?”

  “I doubt very much that he’ll respond to reason.” Alistair glared at the bookcase. “If it comes to that, I have no problem calling him out.”

  “Not very subtle, old man,” the viscount murmured. “You usually have more finesse than this.”

  Alistair shrugged, unable to explain his emotions even to himself.

  “I can’t help but wonder what this woman means to you. Is she your mistress perchance?”

  “I… no.” He turned and frowned at Vale. “Did not your wife tell you she had sent Mrs. Fitzwilliam to be my housekeeper?”

  “It’s quite amazing what a wife will keep from her husband,” Vale mused. “My innocence has been crushed since our marriage. But, yes, she did indeed finally deign to tell me why she was looking so pleased with herself recently.” Vale splashed more brandy into his glass. “The lengths to which you’re prepared to go to please a housekeeper make me wonder about the servant situation in Scotland. Good help must be thin on the ground.” Vale widened his eyes and took a drink.

  “She’s more to me than a housekeeper,” Alistair growled.

  “Wonderful!” Vale slapped him on the back. “And about time, too. I was beginning to worry that all your important bits might’ve atrophied and fallen off from disuse.”

  He felt unaccustomed heat climb his throat. “Vale…”

  “Of course, this means my lady wife will be near impossible to live with,” Vale said to the bottom of his glass. “She does get a trifle self-satisfied when she thinks she’s pulled something off, and I’m sure you’ve realized by now that she sent Mrs. Fitzwilliam to you with a purpose.”

  Alistair merely grunted at that and held out his glass. Women and their mechanisms were no longer a shock to him.

  Vale obligingly refilled it. “Tell me about these children.”

  He closed his eye and inhaled, recalling their small faces. The last time he’d seen Abigail’s face, she’d been red with hurt and near tears. Dammit, he wanted a chance to make that better. Pray God he’d have it.

  “There are two of them, a boy and a girl, five and nine, respectively. They’ve never been away from their mother.” He opened his eye and looked frankly at the other man. “I need your help, Vale.”

  * * *

  “SO THE DUKE of Lister found you,” Lady Vale murmured.

  “Yes,” Helen said. She gazed down into the delicate dish of tea in her hands.

  Lady Vale had ordered a tray of tea and cakes brought into her garden. All around them flowers blossomed, and bees buzzed lazily from bloom to bloom. It was a lovely setting. But Helen had trouble keeping the tears from her eyes.

  Lady Vale laid a hand on her arm. “I am sorry.”

  Helen nodded. “I thought I’d fled far enough away that he would not find me or the children.”

  “As did I.” Lady Vale took a very small sip of her tea. “I think, though, that between my husband and Sir Alistair, there is hope that your children will be returned to you.”

  “God willing,” Helen said fervently. She didn’t know what she’d do without her babes, couldn’t imagine a life lived without ever seeing them again. “Lister has offered to give them back to me if I return to him.”

  Lady Vale went very still, her back straight, her light brown eyes clear and focused on Helen. She wasn’t a beautiful woman—her face was too plain, her color too ordinary—but her countenance was pleasing. Then, too, she had a new serenity about her since the last time Helen had seen her, a little over a month ago now.

  “Will you go to him?” Lady Vale asked quietly.

  “I…” Helen looked down at the teacup in her lap. “I don’t want to, of course. But if it’s the only way to see my children again, how can I not?”

  “What about Sir Alistair?”

  Helen looked at her mutely.

  “I noticed…” Lady Vale hesitated delicately. “I couldn’t help but notice that Sir Alistair has come all the way to London for you.”

  “He has been very kind to my children,” Helen said. “I think he may’ve grown fond of them.”

  “And of you?” the viscountess murmured.

  “Perhaps.”

  “In any case, I think he must have an opinion about the matter.”

  “He doesn’t like the idea, naturally.” Helen looked frankly at the viscountess. “But should that even matter? My children need me. I need them.”

  “But if he can rescue them?”

  “And then what?” Helen whispered. “What kind of life might I have with him? I don’t want to be another man’s mistress and yet there doesn’t seem to be any other way that I can be with him.”

  “Marriage?”

  “He hasn’t mentioned it.” Helen shook her head and smiled slightly. “I can’t believe I’m discussing this so bluntly with you. Don’t you disapprove of me?”

  “Not at all. I did send you to his castle in the first place.”

  Helen stared at the other woman. Lady Vale had a slight frown between her straight eyebrows, and one hand was rubbing her middle. But at Helen’s glance, she looked up and smiled very slowly.

  Helen’s eyes widened. “You… ?”

  Lady Vale nodded. “Oh, indeed.”

  “But… but his castle was so filthy!”

  “And I take it not anymore,” Lady Vale said complacently.

  Helen huffed. “Most of it. There are still corners that I’m not going into without boiling water and good lye soap. I cannot believe you sent me there knowing how awful it was.”

  “He needed you.”

  “His castle needed me,” Helen corrected.

  “Sir Alistair, too, I think,” Lady Vale said. “He struck me as a very lonely man when I saw him. And you’ve performed a miracle already—you’ve got him to journey to London.”

  “For my children.”

  “For you,” Lady Vale said softly.

  Helen again looked at the teacup in her lap. “Do you truly think so?”

  “I know so,” the viscountess said promptly. “I saw the way he looked at you in my sitting room. That man cares for you.”

  Helen sipped her tea, saying nothing. This was so personal, so new and confusing, and she wasn’t sure yet that she wanted to discuss it with another, even someone like Lady Vale, who had been so kind to her.

  For a moment, both ladies sipped tea in silence.

  Then Helen remembered something. She set down her teacup. “Oh! I forgot to tell you that I’ve finished copying out the fairy-tale book about the four soldiers.”

  Lady Vale smiled in pleasure. “Have you, indeed? Did you bring it with you?”

  “No, I’m sorry. I quite forgot in…” She was going to say in worry over the children, but she simply shook her head instead.

  “I understand,” the viscountess said. “And in any case, I need to find someone to bind it for me. Perha
ps you can hold it for me and I will write when I have an address for you to send it to?”

  “Of course,” Helen murmured, but her thoughts had already returned to Abigail and Jamie. Were they warm and safe? Did they cry for her? And would she ever see them again in this life?

  The tea suddenly tasted like bile in her mouth. Please God, let me see my children again.

  “THE EARL OF Blanchard is giving a luncheon party in honor of the king,” Vale said. “And Lister is an invited guest.”

  They were still in the sitting room, and Vale was on his third glass of brandy, though he seemed to show no ill effects.

  “Blanchard.” Alistair frowned. “Wasn’t that St. Aubyn’s title?”

  Reynaud St. Aubyn had been a captain in the 28th Regiment of Foot. A good man, a great leader, he’d survived the massacre at Spinner’s Falls only to be captured and later killed at the Indian camp. Alistair shuddered. St. Aubyn was the man he’d told Helen about—the man who had been crucified and set alight.

  St. Aubyn had also been Vale’s good friend.

  Vale nodded now. “The man who has the title is a distant cousin, a widower. His niece acts as hostess for his parties.”

  “When is it?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Alistair stared down into the empty glass in his hand. Tomorrow was when Etienne’s ship would dock, but only for a few hours. Would he be able to see both the Duke of Lister and Etienne in the same narrow period of time? In all likelihood not. If he went to the luncheon, he faced the real risk of missing Etienne’s ship. Yet, if he were to weigh the children against information about the Spinner’s Falls traitor, the children would clearly win. How could they not? They were life where the traitor was death.

  “Is that a problem?” Vale asked.

  Alistair looked up to meet the viscount’s perceptive gaze. “No.” He set aside his glass. “Are you invited to this grand luncheon?”

  “Alas, no.”

  Alistair grinned. “Good. Then you can do something else for me while I invade Blanchard’s luncheon party.”

  Chapter Seventeen