Kiss Me Lady One More Time

by Deb Marlowe

  “That’s it,” her passenger confirmed. “But listen, you did well enough, outsmarting your cousin. But he’s a bit of a bird wit, ain’t he?” He gestured toward the house. “These people are different. They are not stupid. Nor safe.”

  The carriage pulled to the side of the road several houses away. The scarred brother opened the door and they all climbed out.

  “Looks dark,” Ruby said. “Likely no one is at home.”

  The scarred Curtis spat in the street. “More luck to you.”

  “And you don’t know their names?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “It’s better not to know,” his brother added.

  “Did you deliver the fossil inside?”

  “Yes. They were all prepared for us.”

  “Prepared?”

  “Aye. They have a man, a servant. They call him Samseh, or something like. He made the arrangements with Lycett. He was waiting for us at a back entrance. He took us up a servant’s staircase and to the main floor, to the library.”

  “Except we didn’t leave it in the library. They had an honest to God secret door, behind a bookcase. The room back there was big. It was full of different things. All on display, sort of. They had a place all set and ready for the fossil. All we had to do was hang it.”

  Penelope frowned. “Were they also fossils, the other displays?”

  “No. Not a one of them. Ours was the only one. The others—I could not see how they all went together. There was all sorts of things. Strange things. A fancy book. A sword.”

  “Things that made a shiver go up your back, like the bones of a hand—just a hand.” His brother shuddered.

  “An old stocking, with the ribbon garter still tied. The whole room gave off a bad feeling.”

  “Someone’s coming,” Ruby whispered.

  They all looked. It was a couple, walking close together. Courting, perhaps. As they drew near, Penelope stepped further onto the pavement. “Oh, dear. It looks as if no one is home. Perhaps we have the wrong house?” She looked up at the approaching couple. “Excuse me? Would you know if Lord Moffat lives here?”

  The couple paused and the young man looked the house over. “No indeed, ma’am. A gentleman lives there, Sir Richard Lowell.”

  “Lowell?” she whispered. She staggered back a step. “Lowell!”

  “Indeed, ma’am.”

  “Thank you.”

  The couple moved on, but Penelope stood where she was, her hand at her throat. Lady Tresham had theorized that the theft was a personal attack. And yes, Lady Lowell had set her eye on Tensford as a husband at one time, but it certainly had not seemed as if she cared much about him, just the title and the chance to enter Society. But she’d got all of that with her marriage. Was Tensford’s choice of Hope, instead, enough of a reason to go to all of this trouble? “I don’t understand.”

  “There’s naught to understand, with some folks,” Scarred Curtis said. “They are just twisted, or self-absorbed, or vengeful, or just plain like to cause others pain. That man we dealt with was cold. Nothing behind his eyes, if you know what I mean.

  His brother pointed at the house. “If these toffs have a man like that who works for them—they are likely worse. You’d do best to stay away from them.”

  “We should take our own good advice,” the scarred brother said thoughtfully. He looked her over. “You seem like a better sort of person. A lady who keeps her word. We done what you asked us. We can wait for payment. You can arrange it when you return home, but it’s time we left and got back to Gloucestershire, ourselves.”

  “A very good idea.”

  The voice came out of the dark at the same moment that Penelope felt someone grip her arm—far too tightly. She forgot the discomfort when she felt cold metal press against her throat.

  “Here now! Samseh. What’s all this?” one of the brothers protested.

  “You two should not have meddled.”

  “There’s no need to act like this, now, man.”

  “That’s enough out of you. Get yourselves out of the city by morning or I’ll send you to the ocean, by way of the river.” He jerked her a step away and the knife bit deeper into her flesh. She felt a drop of blood roll down her neck. “I’ll deal with our busy little bee. You two take the carriage. Where’s the other girl?”

  “What other girl?” The brothers looked about, trying for innocent expressions.

  Samseh tugged her again. “Leave. Now!” he barked at the men.

  They scrambled for the carriage and she found herself propelled down the street and into an alley. The servant moved the knife from her neck to her side and guided her to the Lowell house. A servant’s door led them into a dark hall. At the other end there were lighted rooms and the quiet murmur of voices. The servants’ hall, perhaps. If she could get their attention, perhaps—

  “They will not interfere with me,” her captor warned her. “No matter who you are. They know that a sacking is only the first and least painful thing that will happen to them.”

  He dragged her up narrow stairs and into the public rooms of the house. It was dark here and she had only the sense of passing several rooms before he stopped and opened a door. Hustling her in, he shoved her into a chair.

  “Stay there.”

  He lit a wall sconce, keeping the light low, and locked the door. Her first real look at the man did not reassure her. He had a pocked complexion, short, dark hair and a merciless scowl. And yes, she saw what the Curtis brothers had meant. His eyes were . . . hollow. As if no human empathy had ever lived inside of him.

  She glanced around. They were in the library. She ran her hands along the arms of the chair and wondered if she was strong enough to pick it up and toss it at him.

  Standing in front of the door, he aimed that scowl at her. “I knew you would be the one to cause trouble.” He sounded bitter and aggrieved, as if she’d been defying him on purpose.

  She stared—and suddenly understood. “You. You’re the other one. The man who has been following us.”

  “Everyone else was happy to follow the trail to Rowland’s party. But you would not go along. You just had to keep digging after that damned cousin of yours.”

  His hand kept tightening around the knife he still held, before he flexed his fingers and tightened them again. Suddenly he started toward her. She cringed, but held on tight to the arms of the chair, ready to dive away and fling it at him, but he walked on past her.

  She swung her head around to watch him go to the corner bookshelf. He angled his back to block her view of what he was doing, and suddenly the shelf swung inward. Looking back at her, he made a beckoning motion. “Come on, then.”

  She hesitated. She was closer to the door . . .

  “You are welcome to try it,” he said roughly. “It won’t get you anywhere, but I shall enjoy the excuse to take out a bit of frustration.”

  She considered bolting anyway, if only to cause a commotion, but he had the key to the door. No use getting beaten for such a small effect. She stood instead, and took her time, straightening her skirts and her cloak and moving slowly across the room. Surely Ruby had gone for help. If she could stall until someone arrived . . .

  “Come on, come on,” he said, exasperated. He waited and gave her a little push when she drew near enough. She stumbled into the room.

  He stayed where he was. “There is a candle and striker on the table.” He nodded toward the center of the room. “Light it now or I’ll close you in and leave you in the dark.”

  Her fingers fumbled, but she got the candle lit. Without another word, he shut the door.

  She stood alone, trembling a little. How had this all gone so spectacularly wrong? Hope was going to kill her. And Sterne—

  She pushed all such thoughts out of her mind. She could not break down now and she would if she thought of him. She had to think.

  The door seemed a good place to start, but there was no latch on it at all. For a while, she searched the frame and the area around it
for something—a switch or a knob to trigger it—but found nothing.

  Her hands started to shake. She set the candle down and pressed them against the door, breathing deeply and reaching for calm.

  After several moments, she untied her cloak and set it aside. Picking up her light again, she turned to face the room.

  Some sort of countertop or long table sat off to her left. She caught the shine of another candlestick and lit that one, as well. Further on was another, and she went around the room, lighting every candle and oil lamp she found, until she could finally see the whole room.

  It looked remarkably like the rooms she’d seen in the British Museum. Her gaze was drawn immediately to the wall where Tensford’s great fish hung. Three more candles perched beneath it and she lit them, too. “If only I’d known what trouble you’d cause, I would have fallen, that day, without reaching for the boulder to steady myself.”

  Looking around, she saw the objects the Curtis brothers had mentioned, noting also that the ‘fancy book’ was actually a priceless, illuminated manuscript, hundreds of years old. There were numerous other items, including a jar of teeth that made her shudder and a gorgeous tiara studded with amethysts. She was just reaching for it when she heard a noise at the door.

  “Miss? Miss Munroe? Are you all right in there, Miss?”

  “Ruby?” Her heart leapt in gladness, then fell to her feet. “Get out of here, Ruby! I can’t find a way to open the door! You must get away and bring help.”

  “I sent those cursed Curtis men after help. I told them Tensford would have their guts for garters if they didn’t get right back here with Whiddon, Mrs. Caradec and whoever else they could rustle up.”

  Penelope pressed her forehead against the door. “Will they go? Will they do it?”

  “Aye. They seemed convinced Tensford could ruin them at home.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Thank God. Can you see a way to open the door from your side? That wretch didn’t let me see how he triggered it.”

  “I’m trying.”

  She heard the sound of tapping and books moving about, but suddenly it stopped. “Someone’s coming,” Ruby hissed.

  “Hide!” she ordered.

  Soon enough, she heard the voices approaching, as well. And she knew who it was, too.

  She scrambled back to the center of the room and was waiting calmly when Lady Lowell entered.

  Chapter 19

  “Well, this is a disaster,” the woman moaned. She glared at Penelope. “And I suppose it is all your fault.”

  Penelope blinked in surprise.

  The woman turned on the man behind her—Samseh. “And you! You had to put her in here?”

  “She already knew about it,” he said flatly. “And I did not want the servants finding her. I didn’t expect you to return so soon.”

  “No. Nor should I have!” She stalked into the room. “Get out,” she ordered him. “I need to decide what to do.”

  The door closed at once. Penelope drew herself up. “That is easily solved. You will let me out of here immediately and return Tensford’s fossil to him straightaway.”

  “Oh, will I?” the woman scoffed. “Very easy for you to say! You are not in my situation, are you?”

  “Honestly, Lady Lowell, I have no idea what situation we are in.” She gestured at the room around them.

  The baronet’s wife began to walk in circles, her heavy skirts swishing behind her. Clearly, she had just left the masquerade. Her gown was of deepest black with shimmering silver trim—and a curling tail.

  “What to do?” the other woman said, digging her hands into her carefully coiffed hair. “What will he do?”

  This was not the proud, brash, almost offensive woman that Penelope had grown to know over the last couple of years. She seemed almost . . . afraid.

  “Lady Lowell, what is it? What is going on? What is this place?”

  The woman stopped. Stared hard at her. “If I tell you . . .”

  “Tell me,” she urged.

  “I don’t know if I can.” The baronet’s wife covered her mouth with her hand. “It’s all supposed to be a secret.” Looking around, she cringed. “I don’t know what he’s going to do.”

  “Who? Lord Lowell?”

  She nodded.

  Penelope’s resolve grew. No woman should be afraid of her husband.

  “I don’t know how to explain!” Lady Lowell burst out.

  “Start at the beginning,” Penelope told her firmly. “I will help you, if I can. But you must tell me what is happening here.”

  “It’s my fault,” the other woman said, agonized. “I brought it all on myself.” She sank back against the door. “So many men wanted me—but they all wanted my dowry. Forty thousand pounds brought them all out of the woodwork and at my feet. But he—he has an incredible fortune of his own.”

  “Lord Lowell?”

  “Yes. He liked me. He said so. He thought we were the same. And the terrible thing is—he’s right! He is a bully, and so have I been.” Tears started to flow down her face.

  She wiped them away. “I thought he was old, and I’d have a few years of catering to him—and then I would be free, and wealthy. But he fooled me! He’s not quiet and content. He’s a . . . schemer!”

  “Schemer?”

  “Yes. That’s what all of this is.” She gestured impatiently. “When he came to his title, he was given a trunk of family mementos. Trophies, that’s what they were. Prizes obtained by winning, cheating or prying them from an enemy’s hand. He was so delighted by the idea that he made it his raison d’être—his whole way of life! Any rivalry, any slight, and he would plot and plan and slink about behind the scenes, manipulating until his ‘enemy’ was vanquished.” She shook her head. “Some were outright battles, but from what I can tell, a few of them had no idea they were even at war. And he would always take a trophy, symbolizing his victory. They quickly outgrew the trunk, and he created this place.”

  “And has he engaged in such a battle with Tensford?”

  She turned away. “No.”

  Penelope had a sudden notion—and a sick feeling in her gut.

  “He brought me in here, after we were married. He wanted me to join his wargames. He thought it would be the light of his declining years, the two of us, plotting together against our various rivals. He insisted it was the least I could do, considering the riches I would come into. He considered it my main duty, besides giving him another child.”

  “But he has an heir. A grown man, if I recall.”

  “Yes, but Lowell thinks him reckless and doesn’t trust him to see to the furthering of the line. He wants a spare—and he wants him trained up in this . . . this.” She waved a hand. “He insists I am to prove myself worthy to pass on his tradition. He insisted I should name a nemesis. I couldn’t, though! I know who I am, Miss Munroe. I am not a woman who makes friends, as you are. But neither am I someone to collect enemies. But my husband only grew more adamant.”

  She dropped her head. “When Lowell insists, I have learned to acquiesce. And in my turmoil, it kept running through my mind that if only Tensford had cooperated . . . if only he had agreed to a marriage of convenience, then I would not be in this mess.”

  “You named him your enemy,” Penelope said flatly.

  “I had to! And shortly afterward, I received a letter from Mr. Lycett, who was staying with you and attending events at Tensford’s house party.”

  She caught Penelope’s raised brow and answered the silent question. “Lycett was one of my suitors before my marriage. We maintained a . . . friendship.”

  Penelope sighed.

  “He wrote to me of your discovery and how happy the earl was over it. It just seemed to . . . fall into my lap. It seemed so benign. Although, I convinced my husband that Tensford would be furious at the loss.” She sighed. “I knew Lycett had money trouble. Deep troubles. I sent Samseh straight to Gloucestershire with money and instructions. Lycett was desperate enough to comply. That should have been
the end of it.”

  Penelope closed her eyes.

  “Yes, you might well look ill. The lot of you came to London, looking for the thing. My husband heard of it. He decided that my revenge could be sweeter. He heard the rumors about Rowland’s auction and thought all of you could be fooled into thinking the damned fossil was going to be sold there.”

  Penelope sighed. They’d played right into her hands.

  “You came already armed with the suspicion, I know, because others already whispered about it. All I had to do was to take advantage of the rumors, reinforce the belief and arrange for a wide audience to witness Tensford’s despair. I could be there and glory in his utter disappointment as my ultimate triumph.”

  “And was it?” she asked bitterly.

  “No! Sterne rushed them all out of the ball before the unveiling—all because they had to find you!”

  Her heart leapt at this news.

  “I saw the door opened at any rate,” Lady Lowell said in despair. “I suspect they got in there and saw the real piece that was being unveiled.” She sighed heavily. “I know my husband was there tonight. Disguised. Watching. It’s just exactly something he would do. He’ll know already that I have failed. He will be angry. Furiously disappointed.” She started to cry again. “He will be angry at me, but also at you. Especially now that you’ve seen all of this. No one has ever seen his trophies. I don’t know what he will do.”

  The door opened and Samseh entered once more. “We’ve had word from his lordship. He won’t be returning until later. We’re to hold her, in the meanwhile.”

  “Fine,” Lady Lowell breathed. “Bring us tea in the library. We’ll wait there.”

  “No.” The servant stepped forward and grasped Penelope’s arm once more, right where it was sore from his earlier assault. She winced and tried to pull away. “That is enough. Unhand me. I won’t have you manhandling me again!”

  He didn’t even look at her. “It’s too long a wait and she’s a wily one. I’m not taking any chances. I’m putting her in the cell in the basements.”