“Oh, Alice!” Aunt Bea said on a gasp.
Eliza rose to her feet. “You must feel wretched, indeed, to send Mrs. Edgeworth’s laudable prose flying. Perhaps some air will do you good. Baroness Shaw, will you excuse us? I believe Alice and I will take a stroll about the garden.”
Aunt Bea nodded gratefully, her eyes wide.
Alice followed Eliza out of the library. But she would not change her mind.
“Is this to do with Lord Abingdon?” Eliza demanded when they were outside and out of earshot of the house.
“No.” Alice threw herself down on a garden bench and stared angrily at her fingertips. She could still feel the warm press of his lips against them.
She wanted to scream. Her own body was betraying her!
Eliza hiked an eyebrow.
“Fine,” Alice snapped. “It is to do with Lord Abingdon. Everything is always to do with Lord Abingdon.”
“Ah.”
“Ten minutes ago, I refused his offer of marriage on the grounds that I am determined to destroy his brother.”
Eliza sat in stunned silence before finally saying, “Oh, dear. Perhaps you had better start from the beginning.”
Alice exhaled forcefully, but did as she was told. For the second time in as many hours, she found herself pouring out the story of Adelaide and Nicholas Eastwood, and Nicholas and Nathaniel, and, finally, Abingdon and herself.
“Well!” Eliza said when she had finished. Her friend glanced at the rosebushes helplessly. The rosebushes apparently offered no advice, so she pulled herself together. “You cannot return to London and leave poor Lord Abingdon to the mercy of his very bad luck, that much is obvious.”
Alice frowned. She had rather thought her friend would understand that they must retreat posthaste. “Why not?” she demanded.
“Because you’re in love with him,” Eliza said matter-of-factly.
Alice’s world came to a sudden, irrevocable halt.
In love with Lord Abingdon?
Heavens, no. Surely not.
She cared for him, certainly. She was always happy to see him. In fact, there was no one she would rather converse with or laugh with or…or indulge in sweet kisses with. But that was not love. That was friendship…perhaps with a healthy dose of lust.
Under different circumstances, that might possibly be a solid foundation for marriage. Even if, as Eliza had once pointed out, marriage might be better off without the burden of love.
Besides, the whole notion of love or marriage between Alice and Nathaniel Eastwood was impossible.
She could not love him. Her abiding love for Adelaide was what drove her need for revenge. Loving the brother of her sister’s seducer would be in direct opposition to that. She could not love both. Where one gained in her affections, the other must falter.
She could not—no, she simply could not!—abandon her need for revenge. It was all she had left of her sister.
She watched Eliza stroke a glossy green rose leaf with one gloved fingertip. Soon, the buds would be blooms.
“I am not in love with Lord Abingdon,” Alice stated resolutely.
“No?”
She lifted her head and met her friend’s smirk with a glare. “No.”
“And yet, your own actions suggest otherwise. It is very puzzling, I must say.” Eliza turned abruptly from the rosebush with a swish of muslin skirts.
Alice faltered under the directness of those blue eyes. “You think I’m in love because of a few kisses? I assure you, that was all a ruse to gain information on his brother.” The lie tasted like ash in her mouth.
Eliza gave her a pitying look. “Those were not the actions I was speaking of.”
Alice furrowed her brow. “What, then?”
“Why, your refusal to marry him, of course.” Eliza smiled. “He is a bumbling sort and painfully shy in society, but no woman hell-bent on revenge would let that stop her from accepting. You must have realized that such a marriage would make revenge easier.”
“Nonsense,” Alice said sharply, despite the fact that Abingdon had said exactly the same thing, and well, it was no doubt true. “I simply do not wish to tie myself forever to a man under such disagreeable circumstances,” she insisted. “I did not refuse out of regard for him. I refused out of regard for myself.”
More lies…
“But, Alice, you told him the truth,” Eliza said gently.
Struck speechless, Alice opened and closed her mouth like a fish gasping for breath.
There was no arguing that.
For God’s sake, why had she done such a rash, imprudent thing?
“He was kissing me,” she said finally. “I couldn’t think. He has this way of— Well. It’s difficult to keep one’s wits when he’s doing that. You have no idea.”
A smile lurked at the corner of Eliza’s mouth. “Quite so.”
“Oh, hush,” Alice grumbled, the heat of her chaotic emotions dissipating a bit.
Eliza sat next to her on the bench and patted her hand sympathetically. “Sweeting,” she said hesitantly, “are you quite sure it must be this way? I think you would be quite content with Lord Abingdon for a husband. Revenge is hardly the stuff of lasting happiness.”
Happiness? Who said anything about happiness?
“Of course it must be this way,” she said. “What other way could there possibly be?”
Eliza pursed her lips. Alice waited, a pitiful hope arising in her chest.
But in the end, her friend just shook her head. “Such a waste,” she murmured regretfully. “Secrets, intrigue, love. I feel we are all characters in a Gothic romance.”
Alice couldn’t agree more.
And like any good Gothic tale, this one would end unhappily.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Alice felt slightly nauseous as she dressed for dinner. How on earth was she to keep Lord Abingdon from tossing her out on her ear? For, she had realized, Eliza was right—Alice could not, in all good conscience, leave for London just yet.
She was not in love with the viscount, but that did not mean she wished to see him murdered, either. More important—much more, she told herself sternly—she could not leave when it was so obvious that Nicholas Eastwood must be hiding somewhere close.
Lord Abingdon might live in denial, but Alice harbored no such illusions. Nicholas must be behind the attacks on his brother. Who else could it be? And if Nicholas was lurking about the estate, so must she.
Both for her sake, and for Nathaniel’s.
Unfortunately, he would undoubtedly disagree. On all counts.
Bother.
She took special care with her appearance for dinner, allowing Mary to fuss over her curls until they were just so. Alice’s dress was a pale lilac color. Normally she detested pastels, but there was elegant embroidery of dark purple around the sleeves and along the neckline, and that saved it. The color even turned her eyes a smoky lavender, which was quite flattering.
If Abingdon sent her packing, at least she would do so in style.
Mary met her eyes in the mirror with obvious satisfaction. “You look gorgeous, miss.”
“Thank you, Mary.”
“He won’t be able to resist you, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
Alice smiled faintly and gathered her courage. She swept out of the room, down the stairs, and into the library where Lady Wintham’s guests had gathered for a pre-dinner aperitif.
She took a hesitant step forward, her gaze darting around the room. Where was Eliza?
She saw Aunt Bea standing with Lady Claire and her mother, and made her way toward them.
Suddenly, there was a strong hand on her elbow, and before she could even gasp, she found herself no longer in the library. Instead, she was in a small, dark space. She heard the sound of a match being struck, then a lantern on the wall glowed bright, illuminating the room.
“Lord Abingdon. How delightful,” she managed past her suddenly dry throat.
“You’re still here.” His tone suggested
that was a very bad idea on her part.
“Indeed.” Her glove had slipped down slightly when he grabbed her elbow. She tugged it carefully back into place, then took in the cramped surroundings. “Speaking of which, where, exactly, are we?”
“One of the many hidden rooms in this house. We came by way of the wall panel next to the bookcase.”
She examined the wall closer, curiosity overtaking her trepidation. “And I suppose this lever brings us back?”
“Yes.”
She did not touch it. This was the first useful information she’d gotten since arriving. “How many hidden rooms are there at Haverly?”
“At least half a dozen that Nick or I or Freesia discovered. Possibly more that we haven’t found.”
Alice looked about. “It doesn’t seem to lead anywhere. What was the purpose of such a room, I wonder?”
“I’m sure my ancestors had their reasons, nefarious or otherwise.”
She grinned at that, in spite of herself.
He didn’t smile back. “You’re still here,” he repeated.
“Yes. You never actually told me to leave. You told me to go to hell. I assumed you didn’t mean literally.”
He gave her an incredulous look. “In that case, let me make myself perfectly clear. You will leave at first light tomorrow morning, escorted by force, if necessary.”
“Absolutely not. I intend to stay.”
“Indeed?” His voice held a distinct warning, but she ignored it.
“It would be uncomfortable, would it not, if I were to tell the countess exactly why I am looking for Nicholas? I presume she would be most unhappy to hear of his contemptible treatment of Adelaide, and her unhappy fate. On the other hand, if I were to stay, I would naturally not wish to bother her with such a sordid tale. It would stay our little secret.”
His eyes smoldered with barely leashed fury. “Blackmail? That is beneath you.”
She lifted her chin and ignored the sick feeling in her belly. “Have our kisses taught you nothing, my lord? Nothing is beneath me.”
But she found herself proved oh so wrong by six feet of irate male.
He pushed her up the wall, her toes dangling helplessly a foot above the floor, unable to find purchase. She grasped his shoulders to steady herself as his hard thigh slid between her legs, pinning her between the wall and his body.
“Do not toy with me, Alice,” he growled. “I am not your plaything.”
She stared down at his furious face and, really, she couldn’t help herself. She lowered her head—a mere fraction of an inch, no more—and rubbed her lips against his. For a moment, they both went completely still. It was so quiet she could hear her own heart pounding feverishly in her chest. Or was that his?
Then he made a hungry noise, his lips parted, and he devoured her kisses like a starving man unsure of his next meal. His tongue danced with hers, and he sucked it into his mouth. Pressure was building, first in her belly, then lower still. She writhed against his leg, trying to ease the ache. There was too much blasted fabric in her way!
“Please,” she whispered. “Oh, please.” She didn’t know what she was asking for, but she knew instinctively that he was the only one who could give it to her. She writhed again.
He looked into her face, and whatever he saw there made his mouth twist in a grimace. Slowly, slowly, he released her, lowering her to the ground. He stepped backward.
She took in great gulps of air and tried to steady her shaking limbs. He would not? She was his for the taking, and he would not take her?
But why should he, when she had proved herself nothing more than a shameless wanton? A blackmailer with no soul? A— She lacked words for what she was.
A shudder wracked her body. Tears sprang to her eyes. She was so incredibly ashamed.
His arms immediately came back around her. “Hush, now,” he said softly. “Be still.”
But she couldn’t. It was all too humiliating.
Without thinking, she pushed him aside and grabbed the lever. Immediately, the door slid into a pocket in the wall, and she was blinking in the sudden bright light of the library.
And Lady Claire blinked right back.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Alice tried to imagine what Lady Claire must be thinking, which was an odd experience, to be sure. It had never occurred to her that Lady Claire had actual thoughts.
Alice knew her face was flushed from Nathaniel’s kisses, her dress smudged from the dirty wall, and her hair askew. If ever there was a time that Lady Claire might truly have a thought, this was that inconvenient time.
There was a low murmur of voices from the hallway outside the library.
Oh, hell and blast.
Abingdon stepped forward quickly. Lady Claire just as quickly shoved him back into the secret room.
“Close the door!” she hissed. She whirled to Alice. “Faint!”
Without a second thought, Alice obligingly dropped to the floor.
Lady Claire immediately lowered herself in a graceful squat and proceeded to pat Alice on the cheek. “Miss Bursnell! Oh, Miss Bursnell, please wake up!” she called loudly.
A crowd of guests gathered round. Through her shut eyelids, Alice could see their shadows.
“What on earth?” Aunt Bea said on a gasp of alarm.
“We were going in to dinner when a mouse ran across her foot,” Lady Claire explained. “Miss Bursnell fainted. Just dropped like a stone!”
There was a pause while the crowd digested this highly unlikely information.
Alice groaned inwardly.
“My niece fainted?” Aunt Bea said, the word tinged with disbelief. “Because of a mouse?”
“A mouse in my library?” Lady Wintham demanded, aghast.
“It was a very little mouse,” Lady Claire said hastily, as if size was all that mattered.
Alice decided it was better for all concerned to stop thinking about mice immediately. She gave a delicate cough.
“I think she’s coming to!” Lady Claire said excitedly. She patted Alice’s cheek again, perhaps a bit more roughly than circumstances strictly demanded.
Alice swatted her hand away and opened her eyes. She did her best to look confused. “Aunt Bea? What am I doing on the floor?”
“You fainted!” Lady Claire said firmly.
Two strong hands grasped her arms. “Miss Bursnell, if I may?”
She looked up at Duke Wessex and nodded. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
He hauled her to her feet. His eyes twinkled. Alice decided she did not like Wessex one bit. He was always amused at one’s expense, but never at his own.
“Oh, dear,” Lady Claire said innocently. “I’m afraid the fall has made your dress dirty. Your hair is mussed, as well.”
Which, of course, she had to point out to everyone.
Wessex offered his arm, and she took it, allowing him to lead her in to dinner.
“Where is Nathaniel?” she heard the earl mutter to his wife. “Wasn’t he here a minute ago?”
“Oh, he’s somewhere close by, I’m sure,” the countess returned, unperturbed.
Wessex smiled down at Alice. “I daresay that is correct, don’t you?” he murmured in a hush that only she could hear. “I think it highly likely that Abingdon is holed up somewhere close by, indeed.”
Alice pretended not to hear him.
But she cast a look over her shoulder at Lady Claire, who was tripping along on Dillingham’s arm, listing for him all the shoes she had tried on that night. Hearing her silly conversation now, no one could have guessed that just moments ago she’d been the razor-sharp author of the deepest intrigue possible…and savior of Alice’s badly wavering reputation.
She shook her head.
Really, the woman was quite frightening.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Nathaniel waited in the priest hole, ears straining, until the last muffled conversation had faded. When he was certain the library was empty, he pulled the lever. The room was, indeed, empty.
And he was late to dinner.
Damn.
He walked briskly to the dining room and paused in the doorway. “Apologies for my late arrival.” He considered drumming up some plausible explanation, realized no one cared—in fact, they had barely noticed his absence—and took his seat between Lady Claire and her mother.
Lady Claire smiled at him and launched into a description of all the meat pies she had ever eaten in her life and who had shared them with her.
He gave an inward sigh. Such was his penance.
Across from him, Alice was engrossed in conversation with Colonel Kent. Watching them, Nathaniel’s blood began to simmer. How dare she look at the man like that? Her eyes were gentle and kind, her smile sweet. She never looked at Nathaniel like that. She was never sweet to him. She had no right to give such smiles to Kent, when only moments ago she had been in Nathaniel’s arms, begging him to—
To…what?
Stop, most likely.
He frowned and took a swallow of wine. For one brief, exquisite moment, he had thought she was asking him to divest her of her virginity right there against the wall. Which was absolute nonsense, of course. The wall was dirty. One did not deflower even a chambermaid in such a manner—he assumed—much less a lady. He was cock-brained, that’s what he was—which, unfortunately, seemed to be his usual state when it came to Alice.
Kent bent his head closer to Alice to say something. Her hair grazed his cheek.
Nathaniel wondered whether Kent’s military career had really been as exemplary as everyone said. Perhaps the colonel had committed some grievous offense that would put him in front of a firing squad. Someone should investigate the matter.
“And then, Lord Abingdon, you will remember the time two years ago on the second Monday in June when Lady Albertson hosted a picnic. You gave me your mince pie because the horse had eaten mine.”
Nathaniel came back to himself with a start. He looked askance at Lady Claire. No, he did not remember that. Why the devil did she think he would? Who cared about mince pie, anyway?
“Are you quite certain it was the second Monday in June?” he teased soberly.
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