“No, sir. Thank you, sir.”
A scratch on the outer door had master and servant looking at one another in surprise. The scratch persisted. Tam went in answer to it while Alec threw the banyan over his open-necked shirt and slipped his stockinged feet into the soft mules.
Tam returned with wide eyes. “A lady to see you, sir.”
No sooner had he spoken than Lady Gervais stood in the doorway, an ostrich plumed fan fluttering across her very revealing cleavage.
“Thank you, Tam,” Alec said calmly and dismissed him with a look, saying to his visitor, whose gaze had wandered to the curious assortment on the table, “I think we will be more comfortable in the sitting room,” and ignored the accusatory glance from his valet.
Tam stomped off to the closet. Covent Garden bathhouses were one thing but this was St. Neots House, Miss Emily’s home! He shouldn’t have been surprised or angry with anything the aristocracy got up to, but he hardly expected his master to entertain married females of low repute (and Lady Gervais was that, dressed as she was, or more the point, undressed!) under the Duchess’s roof. Perhaps she had come to talk? Tam gave a snort of contempt. In his anger he had forgotten the tea for Jenny. He returned to the dressing room, collected what he needed, turned to leave, then stopped and listened for voices. Not a sound.
Alec watched Lady Gervais wander about the sitting room. Everything in her manner was suggestive. She reeked of artifice, and yet there was something oddly naïve about her. He ignored the hint to sit beside her. Instead, he leaned in the windowsill. He smiled to himself when she pouted and pretended offense.
“I must confess, I didn’t expect to see you so soon, my lady.”
“It’s Cindy. I told you to call me that. I said I would come, didn’t I?” she said, still a little put out. “Frankly, I didn’t think it would be tonight but Edward isn’t in his rooms and I’m not the least tired.”
“Should I offer you a night cap?”
“Should you?” She smiled from under her blackened lashes. “I know you think I’ve drunk enough already. You’re trying to be nice and considerate. You are, aren’t you?” she said with surprise and giggled. “I never expected someone like you.”
“Like me?”
“To be Edward’s brother. I never knew he had one.”
“I hope I’m not a disappointment.”
“Lord! Do you always talk that way? It’s most entertaining. Won’t you sit by me? I don’t like talking across a room. It’s so formal.”
“Perhaps under different circumstances, but, no, not tonight. I am sorry.”
“You think I’m not beautiful enough,” she said sullenly. “That’s a shame. I was hoping to spend the night with you.”
“I’m flattered, naturally—”
“Don’t imagine Edward would care in the least. My guess is he’s gone off for the evening with that whore Selina Jamison-Lewis. Poor sweet innocent Emily, she really has no idea.”
“No idea?”
Lady Gervais stopped fanning herself and glanced slyly at Alec. “That Selina is Edward’s whore; they’ve been lovers for years. Oh, Selina pretends to dislike Edward. She’ll tell anyone who’ll listen that she simply loathes him, but Edward told me that she only does so in public because she was afraid he would discover the truth.”
“He?”
“George Jamison-Lewis, her husband. He used to beat her, y’know. Regularly, so Edward says.” She shrugged. “Edward says that’s no small wonder because she made no effort to please him. She brought it all on herself really.”
“No female deserves such mistreatment.”
“I suppose not,” she answered on a sigh, oblivious to his flat note of anger, and settled back on the soft cushions and kicked off her muddied silk shoes. “I may not love Gervais but I am mindful that he is my husband and would never do anything to provoke him to strike me. Edward says I have the most perfect feet,” she said with a saucy smile, pointing a small damp stockinged foot in Alec’s direction. “What does his brother think?”
“Do you care what I think?”
“Oh, yes, because Simon values your opinion. Did I tell you Simon Tremarton is my brother? He may be the most twisted person I know, yet, when he plays at being serious he means it. I have suspicions that my little brother prefers his own kind…” She shuddered dramatically. “I can’t think of anything more repulsive!”
Alec smiled crookedly. “Come now. I’m sure you can.”
Far from offending her, Lady Gervais giggled. “Oh! I would enjoy entertaining you! Are you sure you won’t change your mind?”
“Believe me, you are entertaining me,” he responded dryly, watching her stretch suggestively along the sofa. He stared down at his Moroccan slippers. “At dinner you mentioned you’d visited Lady Margaret Belsay yesterday afternoon; that she told you a most interesting piece of gossip about her son.”
“Not about her son. About you.”
Alec was startled. “Me?”
She smiled sweetly. “I only said it was about Jack Belsay because you seemed so interested. And I couldn’t very well tell you what she said over a dish of coffee with all those prying eyes upon us. Especially with Edward not an arm’s length away and staring daggers at me for flirting with you. But I couldn’t let him get away with ogling Selina’s breasts throughout soup, even if they are bigger than mine.” She laughed. “You should’ve seen the way he stomped out onto the balcony after you and little Emily! I’d no idea you’d been out there alone with his silly betrothed until he brought her back inside.”
“You said you saw Jack the day before the duel…”
“Don’t you want to know what Lady Margaret said about you? It’s all over town.”
“First tell me about Jack.”
She sighed impatiently. “Very well. Only if you come over here.” She smiled when he complied but made no effort to give him any room on the sofa. “I saw Jack Belsay in Hyde Park. He was with Selina; they’re cousins, y’know. Then Simon came up—”
“Your brother?”
She nodded. “He didn’t seem to know Selina because I remember watching Lord Belsay introduce them. I remember particularly because I thought it odd that Simon should even know Jack Belsay. Simon knows Edward, y’know.”
“In passing, or something more?”
Lady Gervais looked at him from under her lashes. “Oh, I’m sure not in that way. Edward loathes petit-mâtres.” She traced the intricate pattern on the sleeve of his dressing gown. “Don’t trust Simon. He and Edward have known each other for years; since before you went to—to—The Hague? Simon is in Edward’s pay. Edward asks and Simon tells.”
Alec slowly let out a breath. “I see. Thank you for telling me. I don’t know why you did but I am grateful.”
She smiled saucily. “Don’t you? You see, I can’t resist the promise in a man’s muscular thighs,” she confessed on a purr as she undid the horn buttons of his white shirt. “It was Simon who blurted it about town you were courting Emily. Strange, that you would be interested in her too… Edward’s not in love with her. He doesn’t have strong feelings for any female, except perhaps Selina…”
“Is that so? And you want to share my bed so you can throw it in his face in the morning? That’s hardly a novel approach, is it, Cindy?”
She slid a hand inside his unbuttoned shirt and said at her most seductive, “That is a direct way of putting it. Perhaps that was my original thought… But once I set eyes on you… Well, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to share your bed.”
He caught up her hand. “I’m flattered, naturally. But I want you to tell me what Lady Margaret told you.”
Lady Gervais pouted. “We’re wasting a perfectly lovely evening. I’d much rather—”
“Please,” he asked and kissed the inside of her wrist, the smell of strong perfume mingled with stale smoke unpleasant and lingering.
“Very well,” she sighed, snuggling into him. Her free hand found the buttons of his breeches. “Of course
Lady Margaret is furious with Edward for killing her son. That’s not surprising. But what I don’t understand is why Jack and Edward fought a duel over Emily in the first place. I mean, she has nothing to recommend her but her youth!”
“Then why did they fight a duel? Over you perhaps?”
“Oh! You are sweet!” she gasped looking up into his eyes. “I wish it had been over me. But it wasn’t. I’ve no idea why they dueled. But you want to know about my interview with Lady Margaret…” She deftly undid two breeches buttons. “Are you really the eldest brother? It’s amazing to me that you can be, after all how can one make a younger brother an elder brother, if you understand my meaning? Your mother must’ve planned such a deception and with the blessing of the attending physician! And how could such a circumstance be kept from your father? And then there’s the servants. And why would she want to make such a switch unless she had a very good reason to do so—”
Alec stayed her hand at the third button. “I wouldn’t believe all Lady Margaret told you. She is distraught with grief and all her anger is directed against Delvin.”
“But she’s telling everyone of her acquaintance. She says her tongue is now free to reveal the truth, that she has no qualms about breaking a promise to your mamma, after what Edward did to her son. She’s very convincing.”
“A word of advice. Don’t repeat to Del—”
“But I have,” she answered naïvely, wriggling her hand free to slide it up the taut muscles of his arm. “I had to. It’s the most extraordinary piece of gossip I’ve heard in ten years!”
“And his reaction?”
“I thought he would laugh off such an absurd accusation. Well, it is absurd, isn’t it? He didn’t. He was very rude and that’s why he’s gone to Selina, to teach me a lesson. Well, as far as I’m concerned he is welcome to her! She can’t know half the tricks I do. He’ll have a miserable evening.”
Alec grinned and shook his head at her pettishness. “I’m sure Selina can’t hold a candle to you on that front.”
“She can’t,” said Lady Gervais proudly, unhooking the front of her low cut bodice. “No one can.”
“Is that so?” he said, chiding her under the chin. “Then Delvin would be a fool to give you up.”
She smiled naughtily, and in one deft movement straddled his lap, her petticoats bunched up over her knees and her breasts spilling out of the confinement of a tight bodice. She put a hand about his neck, clutching at the satin bow that held his long hair in place while the other guided his right hand to cup an ample breast. She then kissed him full on the mouth, smiling to herself in triumph that she had at last captured his interest when his thumb began to rub rhythmically against her nipple. Yet, for all that, his response was less than enthusiastic and at the sound of a knock on the outer door he turned his head away. She was all for ignoring it and had a hand again to the buttons of his breeches when he kissed her on the forehead and gently put her aside. There was another knock on the door, more persistent than the first and Alec adjusted his clothing and went in answer to it.
“Damn!” she blurted out angrily, sprawling out suggestively on the sofa. She made no effort to cover herself, hoping he would deal with the interruption and come back to finish what she had started.
Alec opened the door, a hand through his tussled hair, to find a footman moving from foot to foot. Without preamble he told Alec he was wanted immediately in the rooms occupied by Mrs. Jamison-Lewis. Then, taking a glance over Alec’s shoulder at the naked woman lying across the cushions on the sofa, the footman turned on a heel and hurried away, eyes wide and unblinking.
Selina carefully extracted a long pearl handled hairpin entangled in one of her tight curls and shook out her abundant waist-length hair. “No, Evans, I’ll brush it tonight,” she said and took the silver backed brush from her somber faced personal maid. “Open the window in the bedchamber, would you?”
Why had she given in to Olivia’s pleadings and agreed to stay the weekend? A weekend of celebrations wasn’t exactly the sort of social outing permitted new widows. But the Duchess of Romney-St. Neots had argued that as long as Selina did not dance at the Fireworks Ball no one would raise an objection to her being a house guest. The only house guest dressed in black, thought Selina with a frown. How was she going to endure a whole year dressed in widow’s weeds? But she knew the answer to that. She had arranged to spend the summer with her brother Talgarth. He lived in the remote Mendip Hills and was a painter, and he had hated George Jamison-Lewis almost as much as she had hated him. She would wear Indian muslin and bright taffeta and Talgarth would make her laugh again and no one would look twice at her there. Yet the prospect of visiting her brother had lost much of its appeal since Jack’s death.
She wondered if Talgarth had received her letter about Jack. Poor Jack. She missed him dreadfully. He had been her rock. If not for Jack she was certain she’d have ended up in Bedlam before now. For all Jack’s sweet placidity he had known exactly how to manage the ill-tempered and violent George Jamison-Lewis; and to the amazement of J-L’s servants. But Selina knew all about her cousin’s relationship with her husband. Jack had told her, and right at the beginning of her marriage. She and Jack had danced about her boudoir the day J-L was found shot dead in the wood. They had been set free. Jack’s freedom lasted less than a month.
She tossed the hairbrush on the dressing table and stared critically at her reflection. She looked tired and there was no glow to her cheeks. What was she to do with this thick tangle of apricot-colored curls? Emily’s gold hair shone in the sun. God help the poor girl, marrying such a vile toad; at least this toad was not a woman-hater. The change that had come over Alec’s features, from talking to Emily to glancing across the room at her. She could only suppose her mere presence was enough to make him feel uncomfortable. How dare he regard her with an unforgiving eye… She turned away from the looking-glass.
“Evans? I asked you to open the windows. It’s too hot in here!”
“You’ve been thinking again,” her lady’s maid said stridently. “It doesn’t do for you to think.”
“Thank you, Evans. I shall remember that next time I feel the inner cogs taking a turn. Did you put the accounts on the table by the window?” Selina asked, slipping a flowered night robe over her cotton chemise but not bothering to button it. She went through to the bedchamber and sat at the small desk under the window where two thick ledgers, a bundle of bills tied up with black ribbon and a standish with fresh ink had been carefully arranged. “I’ll need another candle.”
“You need to sleep, not fill your head with numbers,” Evans lectured, roughly plumping the pillows and turning down the coverlet. “You have a man of business to do such menial tasks. I don’t know why you brought those books here when you’re supposed to be resting.”
Selina looked over her shoulder at the older woman and smiled. “I’ve always had a head for figure work. And I especially enjoy these figures because they are now mine. Well, almost, once I finalize J-L’s outstanding debts. Then we can start afresh.” She turned back to the desk and untied the black ribbon. “That candle, Evans. If you please. Then you may go to bed.” She ignored her maid’s muffled noise of infuriation and settled down to an hour pouring over the last of her late husband’s outstanding debts.
The candle burned too quickly in the cool night air which blew in through the open window. It had almost guttered twice, leaving a pool of hot wax in the bowl of the holder before Selina realized Evans had not returned with the requested replacement candle. She knew the woman thought she was doing her a favor by making her stop her calculations but Selina wasn’t tired enough, she needed to be exhausted before she could go to bed and sleep without dreaming. She put the ledger aside, the ink notations made in the columns still drying, and was about to fetch a candle herself when she heard a soft tread behind her.
“Thank you, Evans. Late but just in time.”
The hand that squeezed her shoulder did not belong to Evans.
&nbs
p; Tam took the main staircase up to Miss Emily’s rooms knowing he was unlikely to meet any guests at this hour. If he did, they would be types like Lady Gervais who wouldn’t care a fig what the lackeys thought of their nocturnal wanderings. There was the usual night footman at the end of the passageway leading to Miss Emily’s apartments and Tam nodded to him as he went past.
He knocked on the furthest door of the suite of rooms. It was the door to Jenny’s small bedchamber. As personal maid to Miss Emily she had the privilege of a door off the main corridor and wasn’t confined to the servant stairs to run her errands. A chambermaid answered the knock and unceremoniously closed the door in Tam’s face.
Tam knocked again and when he was bluntly told Miss Jenny was not there and to go away he waited a moment and then opened the door, startling the chambermaid who was using Jenny’s small hand mirror and comb to busily fix her hair. Only one candle burned in Jenny’s bedchamber, a room with simple furnishings, feminine wall hangings and a pretty coverlet on the narrow bed. The window was shut tight against the cold night air. Tam set the porcelain dish with its flat porcelain cover on the dressing table while the chambermaid stomped her foot and hurriedly extracted a leaf from her tangled hair.
“Here. What you got there?” she demanded
“Tea for Miss Emily. For her headache,” said Tam. “Where’s Miss Jenny?”
“’ow should I know?” the girl answered sullenly. “I’ve been down in the kitchens this past hour seein’ t’things and fixin’ Miss Emily’s milk.”
Tam nodded at the door cut into the wallpaper of the far wall that gave access to Miss Emily’s rooms. “Door locked?”
“Don’t know. Not tried it.” She frowned as Tam crossed the room. “Aye! What y’ think y’doin? You can’t come bargin’ in ’ere! Jenny’ll be as mad as a hedgehog if she catches a lackey in ’er rooms.”
“I’m not a lackey. I’m Mr. Halsey’s valet. Jenny asked me to bring her the tea.” He put an ear to the wallpapered door. “Is Miss Emily in her rooms?”
Deadly Engagement: A Georgian Historical Mystery (Alec Halsey Crimance) Page 8
