“Before or after you found the note?” Sam interjected.
“Oh, after, sir.” Thursby turned to look at him. “I didn’t delay in my duty.”
“Mmm.” Sam’s rejoinder was considerably less than believing.
“Truly, sir! I—”
Rob held up a restraining hand. “Never mind, Thursby. I trust you. You may go.” The footman departed, and Rob sighed. “I can’t imagine Thursby linked with skulduggery. I have found him to be a very good lad.”
“Mmm,” Sam said again.
Rob glared. “Very well, I will keep him in mind.” He turned to Iantha. “I talked to Camille again earlier. She insists that she found the note on your dresser.”
“I’m sure she did. I left it there when I went to meet you.”
“Another burning question—” Sam paused to sip his sherry “—is who bolted the door? It might or might not have been the writer of the note.”
“It was actually bolted?” Iantha turned a shocked face to Rob. “I thought it was only stuck.”
Rob shook his head grimly. “The bar was in place when Vijaya and I arrived. I did not want to tell you until you were more recovered.”
“Great heavens!” Iantha’s hands flew to her cheeks. “That means someone locked me out.” She looked around the group. “But surely not! Surely they did not see me go out.” No one expressed agreement.
“They enticed you out,” Rob reminded her grimly.
Iantha sank back in her chair. “Yes, I know that. Perhaps I do not want to believe it—not of anyone here.”
“Nor do I.” Rob rubbed at the pain in his forehead. “But it must be so. Since nothing untoward has happened in the house since Christmas, I thought—foolishly, it appears—that the killer left with the guests.”
“Perhaps he did,” Vijaya offered. “He may simply have a confederate.”
“True. I should never have allowed myself to be lulled into a sense of security.” Rob stared into the middle distance for a space of time, thinking. “Sam, how did you arrange for the staff to be employed?”
“For the senior staff I consulted the employment agency in London that I use for my own home. They have associates in Carlisle. Most of the junior servants came from the agency there. I shall write to them immediately to inquire further into the background of those we hired. It may take a while for them to assemble the information, however.”
“Good. Do that.” Rob pondered further. “And we need some more guards. Burnside and Feller are the only ones I trust at the moment, and I don’t know that I would trust anyone new I might bring in.”
“I’m sure my father could send someone. All his people have been with him for years,” Iantha interjected.
“Aye. That would be an excellent solution. I’ll send Feller with a message at once.” The weight on Rob’s shoulders lightened infinitesimally.
“And I shall stay for a while.” Sam set his empty glass aside with a significant glance at Rob.
“But Amelia—” Iantha began.
Sam waved away the objection. “I shall send for her when the roads—and the danger—are clear.” He grinned at Iantha. “Having no desire to sleep by myself.” He directed his gaze at Rob again. “You need another pair of eyes.”
Rob nodded gratefully. He did need that, as well as someone else he could trust. “Aye, and possibly another strong arm. Thank you, Sam. I would appreciate having you here.”
At that moment Gailsgill came into the room. “My lord, Feller picked up the post on his way back from fetching Mr. Broughton.”
Rob took the letter the butler held out to him. Bloody hell! He knew that handwriting. He tore the seal off with a curse. As he read the message, rage filled him until he could not speak. Without a word he held the paper out to Sam.
Sam read it aloud. “‘Keep the bitch quiet.’”
Without Sam’s quips and stories, dinner would have been a dismal affair indeed. Happily Feller reported that Lord Sebergham had indeed gone to London, so they were not burdened with his unwelcomed presence as a guest. Rob was uncharacteristically quiet, and Iantha found herself struggling with the fear of knowing once again that someone near to her wished her harm. She had been feeling safe inside the castle, but now…
She picked at her curry, while Rob somberly sipped his wine. It was the betrayal, she thought. The knowing that one—oh, heaven, it could be more than one!—of the people they trusted in their home had deceived them.
And that was not all. Someone else had sent that letter, before this latest incident occurred—someone unseen and also unknown directing events from afar. Iantha laid down her fork and sighed. Would this nightmare never end?
Whoever it was must think that she might identify them. But did they not realize that if she could, she would have done so long ago? Perhaps it was as Rob had said—it gave them a sense of power to frighten and abuse her.
But she would defeat them. At last her fear had given way to anger, lending her a feeling of strength that she had lacked before. Somehow she and Rob would unmask the culprits, somehow bring them to justice. Neither of them could ever rest easy until they had accomplished that.
Iantha did not leave the men to their port at the end of the meal. Rob would not allow it. Instead they assembled in the drawing room once more, to meet Vijaya for tea. They ruthlessly avoided the subject of her recent misadventure, but she knew that Rob and Sam would find a way to discuss it without her hearing.
They made short work of the tea, and all of them dispersed to their beds. Rob did not go to his own room even to disrobe. He sat and visited with her while Camille brushed her hair and laid out her nightclothes. When the maid had unbuttoned her gown behind the screen, Iantha dismissed her and began to undress.
As she tossed her shift onto the top of the screen, Rob’s voice interrupted her. “Wait. Don’t put on your nightclothes yet.”
She peeked around the edge to see her husband sitting naked on the bed, his clothes folded neatly on the hearth chair. Smiling, she limped across the room to him and stood in front of him, but he did not answer her smile.
“I want to be able to feel you—all of you.” He pulled her across him onto the bed.
Iantha shifted to her back while Rob straightened himself. Before she realized what he was about, he rolled on top of her and caught both her hands over her head.
Iantha’s breath stopped.
She felt her eyes snap open in shock. For a heartbeat she could think of nothing but his weight on top of her, the strong grip of his hands.
“Damn!” He hastily slid off of her onto one elbow. “Damn me. I’m an idiot. Forgive me, Iantha. I just wanted to experience every inch of you and—”
Her breath returned. “No… I mean, yes, of course. It is all right. I believe…I believe I might be able to tolerate you on me thus. I know it is you now. I was just taken by surprise.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to bring back those memories, and I don’t wish to be tolerated.”
Iantha rested a hand on his shoulder and tugged. “Perhaps I can do better than that. Let us try.” She smiled up at him. “I will call on my newly discovered power.”
For a moment Rob’s somber expression melted into a grin. Then, serious again, he carefully covered her with his body. He paused and looked questioningly down at her.
“It is all right. I like knowing it is you.”
She felt his sigh of relief more than heard it. He clasped her hands again, fingers intertwined with hers, and gently stretched them over her head. She felt his arms along the length of hers, his body, his legs against hers.
He looked into her eyes. “I have been needing this. Your physical presence has become very important to me. I was so afraid that I would find you dead….” He pressed his forehead against hers. “This is very comforting.”
They lay thus for a space, their breaths mingling.
Comforting. He found her comforting. Iantha had been so involved with taking comfort from him that she had given litt
le thought for the needs of a still-grieving father. He always seemed so strong and cheerful.
She freed one hand and began to stroke his back. “Are you sad, Rob?”
This time his sigh was audible. “Yes, I think I am. I have been avoiding it by being furious. But yes, I am sad and afraid. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose anyone else.”
“I’m sorry.” Iantha felt a warm tear drop onto her cheek. “Do you miss them terribly?”
“Yes, especially Lakshmi. I can see now that I was close to Shakti only in a physical way, but my baby girl—” He broke off, and Iantha heard him swallow.
“What does Lakshmi mean?
“Lakshmi is the goddess of love and beauty.”
Iantha stroked his hair. “So you lost two goddesses.”
“But I have gained another.” Rob lifted his head so that he could look into her face. He wiped his eyes and smiled a still-sad smile. “A lovely silver goddess.”
“What can I do, Rob? How can I help you?” She laid her hand against his cheek.
“Hold me. Hold me and let me love you.”
She wrapped her arms around him, and he kissed her gently. After several heartbeats she felt his shaft begin to harden against her. He deepened the kiss, and she lifted one hand to tangle in his hair. When she pressed her hips against him, he pulsed in response, and an answering heat grew in her.
Iantha opened and invited him in. He came into her with a sigh, all the while kissing her, gripping her hands. As the heat expanded to fill her whole body, he thrust faster, harder. When it burst into an all-consuming flame, she heard his cry answering her own.
They lay together for several minutes afterward, catching their breath. Rob at last moved off of her and pulled her against his side. He whispered into her hair.
“Thank you, my goddess. Thank you.”
The banker might have been forgiven for feeling a bit unwelcome. When he appeared two days later, Iantha could not help viewing him with a certain suspicion—a suspicion she could also see in the eyes of Rob and Sam. After all, Welwyn had been one of the company at Christmas. Nonetheless, all of them greeted him politely when he followed Gailsgill into the drawing room.
Extending his hand, Rob hastened to meet his guest. “Welwyn, how have you been? What brings you to Cumberland in this snowy weather? Are you still researching gunpowder mills?”
“No, Lord Duncan, I am afraid I come on a much grimmer errand.” Welwyn shook Rob’s hand and Sam’s, then pulled a large handkerchief from his pocket and wiped sweat from his plump, red face.
“Grim? How is this?” Rob exchanged glances with his cousin. He indicated a chair, and the banker sat.
“There has been a terrible occurrence.” Though Iantha found the room cool, Welwyn continued to sweat profusely. “Young Wycomb has been killed.”
All of them made appropriate sounds, but Iantha could not feel that the world had suffered a great loss. She had never liked Wycomb. He seemed sly. Besides, he had a strong body odor, as though always nervous. Perhaps that made her think of her attackers. Some of them had smelled that way. But that was hardly cause to wish him dead. She should have more sympathy.
Rob returned to his chair, and Sam followed his example. Rob’s eyebrows were almost meeting in the middle. “That is indeed very bad. How did it happen?”
“That is the worst of it.” The banker again wielded his handkerchief. “He and his best friend were found shot on a road outside of London. And the circumstances… I regret to have to introduce them.” He glanced at Iantha. “Perhaps Lady Duncan would prefer to retire.”
Rob looked sharply first at Welwyn, and then at Iantha, while Sam’s eyebrows climbed almost to his hairline. “And why is that?” Rob asked, his expression dark. “How does this concern my wife?”
“I hope that it does not, but I am afraid, if my information is correct…” Welwyn cast another cautious glance in her direction.
Were they at last to obtain some information about her attackers? Iantha raised her chin. “If it concerns me, then I will stay.”
The banker nodded and groped in his coat pocket, pulling out a small packet. “I hoped to have your evidence. I understand that those who perpetrated that foul deed against you wore masks? I regret to say Stephen and his friend were both masked.”
Iantha nodded and held out her hand. “You want me to identify the masks.”
“Iantha.” Rob stood. “Let me.”
She shook her head. “No. If this is an indication of who my enemies are, I want there to be no mistake. I will look.”
Rob crossed the room to stand beside her while she carefully peeled the paper away. Within it lay the crimson satin that she had expected. The two masks were identical—and certainly identical to those she had seen that bitter cold night six years ago. She looked down at them for a long moment.
And then tossed them disdainfully at Welwyn’s feet.
The masks themselves had lost their power to hurt her. She had faced them in memory. Mask after mask.
She had conquered that fear.
“Yes, those are the same as the masks I saw that night.” She looked at him calmly.
Rob sighed audibly. Relief at her composure, no doubt. He turned to the banker. “So Wycomb—and his friend, I suppose—were part of the gang?”
Welwyn nodded. “It appears so.”
“Either that, or someone wishes it to appear so.” Sam spoke thoughtfully from his chair near the fire.
“I’m afraid he was truly involved.” The banker shook his head sadly. “I…I find I never really knew the man. Since his death I have examined his office and his records. I found a journal hidden in a secret space in his desk.” He smiled sadly. “Young people forget that we were young once ourselves. I used that desk when I started with the firm.”
“What did you find in the journal?” Rob asked.
“Espionage. Treason.” Welwyn hung his head. “That I actually trusted someone like that…” He wiped his eyes.
“Had he done much damage?” Sam stood and poured a glass of sherry and handed it to the older man.
“That remains to be seen. Thank you.” He took the wine and sipped. “I dare hope not. He seemed to have been gathering information on England’s financial position. If Bonaparte had access to what was in that journal…” The banker’s pudgy frame shuddered. “His Continental Plan might have brought us down. And of course, there was the information on gunpowder production.”
“So that was Wycomb’s notion?” Rob commenced to pour sherry for all of them.
“Yes, he brought the idea to me. Of course—” the financier brightened a bit “—it is still an excellent investment. We will need to use gunpowder soon, I have no doubt.” He turned back to Iantha, somber once more. “I feel I owe you an apology. I brought that young monster into your home—and into your father’s home. Had I had any idea…”
“No apology is due from you, Mr. Welwyn.” Iantha dredged up a smile. “You were also his victim.”
“But now we are left with another mystery.” Sam rose and began to pace the room. “Who killed Wycomb, and why did they do it?”
Iantha nodded. “And more important to me, why were they wearing those masks again?”
She should be thoroughly terrified by now. He could not envision the fine slut withstanding both the shooting and being locked out in the storm. Her kind just did not have that kind of pluck.
Well and good. He wanted her to be exactly that way. It would make it easier to bend her to his will if she was already cowed. She had come away easy the last time. When he got his hands on her again, she would not escape with one lesson.
And it would be best if she saw him kill her husband. That would destroy hope.
He smiled at the thought and leaned back comfortably in his chair, picturing her on her knees in front of him.
Picturing her on her back.
On her belly.
Under his boot.
Waiting was the hard part.
&n
bsp; But in the end, her terror would be well worth it.
Chapter Seventeen
Iantha did not wait for the visitors to be announced. At the sound of familiar voices, she flew down the stairs and into the entry hall while Gailsgill was still taking wraps.
“Mama, Papa!” She flung her arms around her mother. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
After a startled moment her mother returned the embrace enthusiastically. “My dear, we all came on an impulse. I see I need not ask how you are. The roses are blooming in your cheeks.”
Iantha’s father stepped toward her, then hesitated. She turned to him and held out her arms. “Papa.”
Lord Rosley cautiously wrapped his arms around his daughter. “How are you, minx?”
At the old endearment a lump rose in Iantha’s eyes. “I am quite well, Papa.”
Her father stepped back a bit and looked into her eyes, his own a bit moist. “After the last threatening episode, I feared I would find you pulled and wan.”
“It was very disturbing, of course, but I have recovered. It has been a week, after all.”
“I am happy to hear that, but look…” He turned to another figure standing in the door. “We have brought you a surprise.”
The newcomer, a tall young man with dark auburn hair, wearing a cavalry uniform, stepped forward. Iantha sprang at her oldest brother and threw herself into his arms. “John!”
He, too, paused for a heartbeat before enfolding her and resting his cheek on her hair. “Annie.”
“Oh, it is so wonderful to see you!” The tears increased and slid down her cheeks. “It has been such a long time.”
“True. I am sorry I was unable to come to your wedding. You do look well, better than—”
He was interrupted by the entry of another carriage load of guests. “Annie!”
Iantha bent to hug her younger sister. “Valeria! Oh, I have missed you!”
Valeria’s arms locked around her waist. “And I have missed you.” She lifted her head to gaze upward. “But, Annie, why are you crying? Are you well?”
Patricia Frances Rowell Page 21
