by Louise Allen
Anna. I can’t let him find Anna. ‘Yes, I was pregnant. I thought Henry was going to insist that you marry me.’ She felt the heat rise in her face as Baybrook gave a bark of laughter. ‘I did not think you would. But I thought you would make me a small allowance so I could bring the child up decently. That was all I wanted, all I expected. I had no idea that Henry was…’
‘A blackmailer? Oh, really, my dear. Doing it rather too brown if you expect me to believe you knew nothing of this.’ His anger was beginning to ride him now, overcome his habitual elegant indifference. ‘Well, make your demands, and then I will tell you how I intend to deal with you.’
‘I have no demands. I needed to know what Henry was doing—I haven’t seen him for a year. I’ll stop him, I swear. I’ll do everything I can to stop him.’
‘Do you take me for a fool, my dear?’ He turned to face her fully, his voice a snarl of frustrated fury now. ‘Do you think because I sampled your very rustic charms that I can be cock-led into another compromising situation? Have you any idea what life is like lived at the toleration of a Bible-thumping old bigot who doles out his money like drops of his own blood, always alert for any moral lapse that can be the excuse for a sermon or for withholding funds?’
‘No, but—’
He caught her wrist, jerked her towards him. ‘There are many reasons why I do not drag you down to the nearest magistrate’s office this minute, but there are equally many, many reasons why you should be very afraid of me, my dear. Very afraid indeed.’
Over his shoulder she could see Jeannie, her face a picture of anxiety and indecision. Stay there, do not try to help. Stay there, she tried to signal.
Then he was jerked away from her. The wooden box fell to the ground and burst open, two duelling pistols fell out on to the grass, exquisite death glinting in the winter sunshine.
‘Take your hands off my wife before I break all your fingers,’ Grant said pleasantly, his own hands fisted in the lapels of Lord Baybrook’s elegant coat. ‘You’ll need them to fire one of those pretty toys you’ve just dropped.’
For a long moment they stared into each other’s eyes, almost nose to nose, two male stags in their prime locking antlers over a female. Then, when Kate thought she would burst with the tension, Jonathan stepped back, hands raised in the fencer’s signal of yielding.
‘Your wife? Allundale, is it not? I am Baybrook. My apologies, I had no idea. In fact, I had misread the situation totally. The lady asked me something and I thought—forgive me, madam—that she was…well, not to beat about the bush, I completely misunderstood her status. I could see no one with her. I was deep in thought and most unfortunately leapt to the conclusion that she was…er…importuning me.’
‘Lady Allundale?’ Grant’s rigid formality failed utterly to veil the fury in his eyes.
He’ll kill him, Kate thought. If he has the slightest idea what is happening… Jeannie, thank heavens, was keeping her distance, had turned away from the three of them so the child in her arms was not visible.
‘It was, as the gentleman says, a misunderstanding. I was cutting across to the path, stumbled and caught at his arm and must have blurted out some words of apology. When he spoke to me I was confused, I did not realise what he thought and then when I did I was agitated, which made things worse… Jeannie had fallen behind, so I appeared to be unescorted.’ She managed a tight social smile for Jonathan. ‘Sir, it was entirely my fault. I am quite unused to London.’
He was a quick thinker, she had to hand it to him. And a brilliant actor. He was all contrition, all elegant apologies, and Grant was left with no option but to accept them. He bowed, the merest inclination of his head, and offered Kate his arm. Jonathan bowed in his turn, picked up the pistols and strode off towards the Queen’s Walk.
‘Did he hurt you?’ Grant demanded the moment they were alone. She shook her head and saw him relax a little. ‘And what the devil was Jeannie playing at? Well?’ he demanded as the maid hurried up to them. ‘When you escort your mistress your duty is to stay with her, not stroll about like a moonling.’
‘Anna has been very fretful,’ Kate said hastily. ‘I expect that is what held you up, Jeannie.’
‘Yes, my lady, and then when I saw the gentleman, I didn’t know what to do. Not when I had Lady Anna, because I thought he would frighten her.’
‘Very well. Where is the carriage?’
‘Waiting near the palace, my lord, at the end of the Queen’s Walk.’ Jeannie gave Kate the tiniest of nods.
‘I’ll go back with you in that case. I was walking back from the Palace of Westminster across the parks. Fortunately.’
‘Yes, wasn’t it.’ Kate clung to his arm and hoped he would attribute her shakiness to the after-effects of the encounter with Jonathan and not shock at his own appearance combined with a hideously guilty conscience. ‘That gentleman was not a friend of yours, then?’
‘The Viscount of Baybrook? No. I’ve hardly ever seen him that close to. The man was a gazetted rake, and a wild one at that, before his marriage. I never ran in those circles, even when I was sowing my own wild oats—the gambling was too deep for me, for one thing, and I dislike being sodden with drink half the time. Now his father-in-law holds the purse strings so tight that Baybrook hardly dares sneeze without permission, by all accounts.’ They walked on in silence until they were almost at the gravelled walk bordering the high walls of the fine houses that overlooked Green Park. Grant’s fingers stroked reassuringly over hers and gradually her breathing calmed.
‘It is strange, though, there was something so familiar about him.’ Grant shrugged. ‘Perhaps I’ve come across one of his relatives. Society is so interbred, I may know a cousin of his and not even realise it. Now, where is the carriage?’
It was waiting at the end of Milkmaid’s Passage, where a footpath led from the park to the front of St James’s Palace. ‘Why did you not take the groom with you?’ Grant demanded as they settled themselves inside.
‘Um…idiocy?’ Kate ventured and was rewarded with a smile.
‘I shouldn’t be cross with you. I forget what an innocent you are in London. This is not the moorlands where you may stretch your legs accosted by nothing worse than a flock of sheep.’
‘No, my lord,’ Kate said meekly and saw, from the smile in Grant’s eyes, that she was forgiven. ‘Sheep can be very dangerous, you know.’ I don’t deserve him. How am I going to get out of this mire without someone getting hurt? ‘How did your meeting go, my lord? It was satisfactory, I hope?’
‘Most. I suspect I have landed myself with a great deal of work, but I am interested in social issues.’
She would get the details out of him when they were alone and, perhaps, convince him that she read the newspapers, too, that she had views on social policy and could discuss the problems he was going to be tackling. If he is still prepared to talk to me.
Kate stared blankly out at the passing clubs and shops as the carriage climbed the slope of St James’s Street. What am I going to do about Jonathan and Henry now?
*
Grant stood in front of his dressing mirror, tying his neckcloth and attempting to pin down the niggling sense of unease at the back of his mind. He had swept Kate upstairs and made love to her so thoroughly that she seemed to be entirely satisfied that he was not blaming her for the Green Park incident. It also served to satisfy his own primitive male feelings of ownership. He grimaced at himself as he acknowledged the response. Still, it could have turned nasty if he had not come across them. The behaviour was typical of Baybrook, by all accounts. The man might no longer be able to carry on his dissolute lifestyle, but he obviously could not resist accosting an attractive woman when one crossed his path.
What was unsettling was that the strange incident had reawakened all his niggling doubts about Kate. He had been trying to suppress them, tell himself that they were simply leftovers from his experiences with Madeleine, and that now he was so happy in his marriage they would vanish. But they had not. Perhap
s the lack was in him and he had lost the ability to trust completely.
‘Move the candles up, would you, Griffin?’ The valet shifted a branch of candles to the left-hand side of Grant to balance those on the right, and he leaned close to the glass to slide in his tiepin. Just so. He met his own gaze in the mirror and grimaced. He was turning into a damn dandy, peacocking about for his Kate.
The thought lifted his spirits. Amused green eyes smiled back and he went still. That was what had been nagging away—Baybrook’s eyes. For a few tense seconds they had stared at each other, almost nose to nose. And Baybrook’s eyes were green, an unusual clear colour with golden flecks and a black rim to the pupil. The colour he had seen when he had compared Anna’s eyes to his own. It was too much of a coincidence, that bizarre encounter between the earl and Kate and the colour of the man’s eyes. He is Anna’s father.
‘My lord?’ Griffin murmured, the equivalent from him of a nudge in the ribs.
‘What?’
‘Are you quite well, my lord? A migraine, perhaps?’
‘No, I’m fine, just distracted by business.’ He had to think about this, try to work out just what the other man knew. It was interesting that, although Jeannie had been with her, Kate had obviously not shown Anna to her lover. Her ex-lover, he told himself, exerting all his willpower to steady his breathing, his instinctive reactions. Don’t get into a jealous rage over this. There is no way he and Kate have been together since we married. Although what she was plotting now with apparently chance meetings in the park…
The thought of Kate getting up to something underhand was like a stab. Was this what he had sensed was wrong all along?
He turned away and stood while Griffin eased him into his evening coat. A sliver of doubt seemed to have slid into his heart. She had lied, he realised, told him Anna’s father was dead. So what else had she not told him? The cold fist closing around his gut was all too familiar from years of dealing with Madeleine’s lies and evasions. But not Kate. I need to trust her!
Hell, he would be whimpering next that it wasn’t fair, that she had told him she was happy with him. He was a man and he’d show some backbone over this, but he was not going to confront Kate with it, not yet. He examined that decision for cowardly motives and decided it was only right, and fair, to investigate first. If he was wrong about her, then a direct accusation would shatter that miraculous happiness between them for ever.
The place to start was her family. He should have insisted on contacting her brother before now. ‘Griffin, fetch Mr Bolton to me at once. He is in, I assume?’
‘Yes, my lord. He remarked he had some notes to transcribe. I believe he is in his room.’
When his secretary entered, tugging his sleeves down with one hand and running the other ink-stained hand through his hair, he looked harassed. ‘My lord, I’m still working on your notes for this morning. I should have them finished—’
Grant waved a dismissive hand. ‘My handwriting is execrable, I know. Some time tomorrow evening will be fine, for goodness’ sake. Have your dinner in peace. Thank you, Griffin, that will be all for now.’ As the door closed behind the valet, he added, ‘In the morning I need to speak to a discreet enquiry agent.’
Bolton’s eyebrows shot up. ‘My lord? What sort of enquires, might I ask? I will enquire at your solicitor’s office, but such men may come with, er, different specialisms.’
‘I wish to trace someone, a connection of Lady Allundale’s with whom she has lost touch.’ He made himself smile. ‘A bit of a black sheep, if you get my meaning. I would like to reunite them, but I will need to be satisfied of his character before I do so.’
‘Of course, my lord. One cannot be too careful. I assume this will be a surprise for her ladyship?’
‘Precisely,’ Grant agreed. If she had deceived him about her lover, then had she told him the truth about her brother—the man she was so very reluctant to get in touch with, despite her new position? If Kate was in trouble, he would do whatever it took to get her out of it, but the deceit wrenched at him. And now he was deceiving her and telling himself it was for her own good. Somehow he was going to have to go downstairs, face his wife over the dinner table and put on a mask, pretend nothing at all was wrong.
Caring is the very devil, Grant thought as he walked downstairs, schooling his face to reveal nothing whatsoever. Certainly not fear.
Chapter Twenty-One
‘Allow me to summarise and make certain I have this correct, sir.’ Mr Martin, the highly respectable and discreet enquiry agent Grant’s solicitors had recommended, glanced down at his notes.
Grant, or Mr Whyte as he had introduced himself, sat in the comfortable client’s chair in Mr Martin’s elegantly simple office off Ludgate Hill and made himself sit still and apparently relaxed as Martin recapped.
‘There is a gentleman, probably by the name of Henry Harding, resident, possibly in Suffolk, who entertained Lord Baybrook in the spring of last year. The gentleman is married, has a sister named, probably, Catherine, and is of a somewhat profligate nature. You wish to identify him.’
‘That is correct.’ Grant was fairly certain that Catherine had given him her correct name, because she surely would not risk the marriage being invalidated by her using a false one. ‘How long will it take you?’
‘If he is in Suffolk, and he is a gentleman, then not long. But if the information you have been given is incorrect, then I will need to attack this from the direction of Lord Baybrook’s movements and that may require some, shall we say, excavation.’
Grant remembered Kate’s hesitation in answering his questions. At the time he had attributed that to exhaustion. Now he wondered. ‘I would not be surprised if the county is incorrect.’
‘Let us say a week, Mr Whyte.’
‘So fast?’
The enquiry agent smirked modestly. ‘I have many sources, sir. And Lord Baybrook is, or was, a colourful character. I will send to your solicitor as soon as I have news.’
Grant took his leave and hailed a hackney carriage to take him to Brooks’s Club. He was avoiding going home, he knew that. He knew he could not make love to Kate and hide from her that something was wrong and so he pretended to have far more work with his Parliamentary colleagues than he was actually undertaking and retired to his study every night after dinner until he thought she would be asleep.
If this went on for more than a week, he was going to be desperate with the need to hold her, he knew that. Kate had shown him happiness, taught him how to trust his heart to someone else. Now he struggled not to flinch back from that trust, like a man who has already been grievously burned and who expects the same pain again when he reaches out. Something was wrong and he would make it right for her, trust that her reasons for pretending that Baybrook had not been her lover were good.
*
Grant had expected Kate to comment on his absence from her bed, perhaps to fuss that he was overworking, but she did neither. It was as though she was holding herself back from him, but he could not decide whether it was because she was frightened, or ashamed or simply could not trust him with her secret. In the small hours of the night he had lain awake, alone in his big bed, and fought back the suspicion that she did not care for him after all, that seeing Baybrook had rekindled her feelings for the other man.
Now he looked down the length of the breakfast table and felt all his affection for her welling up, forcing back the suspicion and the anger. She was not Madeleine. He should try to trust her and he would not question her, let her see his doubts and how his faith had been shaken.
‘My lord.’
He looked up from the sirloin that he was mangling and could not help but smile at the dignified way she addressed him whenever the staff were present. She did not call him my lord when she was screaming his name in the throes of passion, her limbs tangled with his, her nails raking his back.
‘My lady?’
‘I think I would like to take a small trip, have a day or two away from London. I am
not feeling quite myself and the weather is so fine, I thought the sea air would do me good.’
‘Brighton?’ Grant suggested. ‘It should not be difficult to get good lodgings at this time of year, but it will be devilishly cold.’
‘I really wanted to go now. To Southend-on-Sea, I thought. So much closer.’
‘Southend? It is certainly respectable, but isn’t it a trifle…dull?’
‘I only want the fresh air and it will do the children good, don’t you think? We could go on the steamer easily in the day.’
‘I doubt I can get away immediately.’
‘If Charlie comes, then Mr Gough can provide a male escort and I’ll have Jeannie and Wilson. I could even take one of the footmen.’ Kate looked anxious, not like someone planning a short holiday.
‘Very well, if that would please you.’ He looked directly at her. ‘I’ll miss you. I know I haven’t been very good company these past few days, but even so, the house will seem empty without you.’
Kate was colouring up. Where had this sudden urge to go into Essex come from? Did she just want to get away from him, or was there some more sinister reason? He felt suspicion flare.
‘Thank you.’ She managed a very creditable impression of pleasure tinged with concern. ‘If you are sure? Well, then, I’ll speak to everyone and organise it. If I write to the Ship Inn for rooms, I should hear tomorrow and we can set out the day after. We had accepted very few invitations for the next few days. London is becoming very quiet now.’
The Ship Inn? Did she know the town or had she been doing some research? he wondered. ‘Certainly, and do use Bolton to book the steamer tickets and so forth. He can send your regrets for the various engagements and I’ll see which I want to go to by myself.’
