by Anne Stuart
“She needs a hot bath,” her mother announced. “She needs a mustard poultice for her chest, and I shall brew an herbal posset for her that will put her in good heart. Mrs. Ramsey, we cannot thank you enough. We’ll put a room in order for you immediately—you will not wish to be seen in public until you can secure a change of clothes. We’ll send someone out to Sutter’s Head to reassure your husband. Mr. de Quincey, see to it. Walker, tell the cook to make some chicken soup. Mary, accompany me …” She disappeared, issuing orders, taking her crowd of servants and her husband with her. Leaving Valerian alone with Sophie.
It would last only for a moment. Her maid would reappear, once she’d absorbed all of her mistress’s commands, and he would be effectively banished. He stared down at Sophie, and he told himself this would have to be the last time he saw her. He couldn’t trust himself otherwise.
She was asleep, or nearly so, her cheeks flushed, her breathing rapid. And then her eyes opened, and she looked up at him, and smiled.
“You look an absolute quiz,” she said softly.
“Flatterer,” he replied in not much more than a whisper. “Your mother’s rallying the forces, and I’m getting out of here. Good-bye, dear girl.”
Distress crossed her face. “You’ll be back.”
He’d lied so much, he didn’t want to lie again. “I’m not certain. Mr. Ramsey has talked about leaving for the Continent, and a wife’s duty is to follow her husband.”
“You never struck me as particularly dutiful.”
“There’s a great deal about me that might surprise you,” he said wryly, giving in to temptation and stroking her cheek.
She turned and pressed her lips against his hand. “Promise me,” she whispered. “Promise me you won’t leave without saying good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek.
At the wrong moment she turned. He’d lifted the hem of his veil, just enough to let his lips brush against her face, but instead, his mouth landed on hers. Hot and wet and open.
He wanted to use his tongue. He wanted to climb onto the bed, push her down, and make love to her. He groaned, deep in his throat, and pulled away before he could do worse than simply give her the beginnings of a man’s kiss.
She was staring at him, white with shock. The crumpled veil obscured his face, and God only knew if she’d felt the stubble on his chin. He didn’t think so, but he couldn’t stay around long enough to find out.
“Good-bye,” he said again. And he turned and left her, without a backward glance.
Phelan Romney’s mood had gone from bad to worse. His uncertain temper wasn’t improved when his brother strode into the library just before noon, taking his bedraggled hat off his head and throwing it into the fireplace. On a warm summer’s day no fire was burning, but the gesture still retained force.
“Good God,” Phelan said faintly, surveying his sibling. “Did you drive through town looking like that?”
Valerian threw himself into a chair. His black eye was magnificent in coloration, he needed a shave, and he looked as if he wanted to hit someone. Phelan wondered idly whether he was to have that honor.
“I had no bloody choice. We were stranded ten miles away from Hampton Regis and forced to spend the night in an inn.”
Phelan sat up in alarm. “Val, you didn’t …”
“No, I damned well didn’t. I spent the whole bloody night in her bloody bed with her bloody head on my bloody shoulder and I never touched her!”
“Good for you,” Phelan said faintly.
Valerian surged out of the chair and stalked across the room, leaning over the desk with a pugnacious expression on his face. One that was particularly comic, given his limp, ruffled apparel. “Good for me,” he mimicked. “I’ll tell you what’s good for me. We’re getting out of here. I’m sick and tired of waiting for Hannigan to come up with a happy solution, I’m sick and tired of sitting around on my bum doing nothing, and if I see Sophie de Quincey again, I’m going to—” He stopped, belated gentlemanly restraint keeping him from informing his brother exactly what he longed to do to his bluestocking.
“I can imagine,” Phelan said wryly.
“I won’t fight you anymore,” Valerian said. “You’ve got your wish. We’re getting out of here, and we’re taking Juliette with us.”
Phelan froze. “No! I’ve told you, she’s staying. You’re not going to get rid of your sexual frustrations on her.”
“Do you think I’m that kind of man? I ought to black your eye,” Valerian said dangerously.
Phelan barely managed a wry smile. “You’re looking for an excuse to hit me, and doubtless I deserve it. I might enjoy a good mill as well—I haven’t been any too satisfied myself recently, but it would be a waste of time. Thank God you’re finally willing to get out of here, but we’re leaving Juliette behind.”
“To the tender mercies of the man looking for her?”
Phelan grew very still. “I didn’t tell you about him,” he said with great surety.
“No, you didn’t. We ran into him in the inn. A seemingly pleasant fellow named Lemur, who said he was looking for his runaway bond servant. A boy named Julian Smith.”
“Bloody hell.”
“Oh, don’t worry, brother mine. I told him she’d taken off north with half the contents of the town, and he raced off after her. But I don’t know how long that will wash. Sooner or later he’ll come back. And I’m not about to hand her over to him.”
“No,” said Phelan. “Neither am I.”
“She isn’t his bond servant, is she?”
“She’s his wife.”
Valerian let out a low whistle. “Then we’d better get out of here,” he said. “And fast.”
“Are you traveling like that?”
“This will be the last time I climb into these damned skirts,” he warned.
“Don’t be any too hasty. It might take a day or two to book passage. In the meantime, keep away from your bluestocking.”
“Oh, I intend to. But I wouldn’t take my time. I may have put Lemur off the scent, but it was a temporary thing. He’ll be here sooner or later, and I expect it will be sooner.”
Phelan considered the notion. There would be nothing he’d like better than to vent some of his frustration on that little worm. He’d hurt Juliette, hurt her quite badly, and for that he wanted to kill him.
Unbidden, the train of thought continued. If he killed him, as Lemur no doubt deserved, then Juliette would be a widow.
Why the hell should her marital status matter to him? He simply wanted to see her safe. As far away from her husband as Valerian’s bluestocking.
“We’ll leave,” he said. “In the meantime, keep out of town. You must have caused enough comment already.”
Valerian glared at him. “You aren’t going to give me a chance to hit you, are you?”
Phelan laughed bitterly. “Not this time. When we reach France you can do your damnedest to pummel me. Then it won’t matter if you have a second black eye.”
“You think so, do you?”
“I’m bigger than you, little brother. I always could outbox you.”
“I’m madder than you, big brother. And a hell of a lot more frustrated.”
Phelan thought back to his encounter with Juliette in the rain-soaked garden. “I wouldn’t count on it,” he said wryly.
In the end, they had far less time than Phelan would have hoped. He rode into Hampton Regis that afternoon, with the ostensible purpose of calling on the de Quinceys to make certain their daughter had suffered no ill effects from her sojourn on the road. In reality, he had two goals. One, to make sure that Valerian hadn’t given himself away. And two, to book passage on the next boat, ship, or raft bound for France. Or anywhere away from England.
He failed in both those endeavors. Mrs. de Quincey received him, but she was distraught, distracted, and barely civil. Sophie was decidedly unwell, the doctor had been called, and she would be unable to receive visitors for any len
gth of time. Phelan had politely taken his leave, wondering whether Sophie’s indisposition had any emotional component.
The search for passage to the Continent was even less fruitful. The one ship in the small harbor had sustained damage during the heavy rains, and none of the smaller boats could be hired for love or money. The best he could come away with was a promise for three days hence. He had the uneasy feeling that might be too late.
He wanted to get back to the house. He hadn’t seen Juliette since their midnight encounter in the rain, telling himself he didn’t care, knowing he was lying. He forced himself to stop by the Fowl and Feathers, strolling into the taproom with a negligent air, intent on proving to the world that Mr. Ramsey had nothing to hide. Seeing Sir Neville Pinworth in the corner, deep in conversation with another man, didn’t improve his mood, and he almost turned and left.
“There he is!” Sir Neville announced in his high, mincing voice, after lifting his head and espying Phelan. “What luck! Philip, join us. You’ll never guess who this gentleman has come in search of.”
Bloody hell! Phelan didn’t move, couldn’t move, as Mark-David Lemur turned to face him, a placid expression on his blandly handsome face. And then his colorless eyes narrowed as he looked into Phelan’s face.
They’d met only once, several years ago in Alexandria. They’d shared a bottle of wine and enough desultory conversation for Phelan to recognize that Lemur was a strange soul, then had separated. Another man might not even recognize him.
“We’ve already met.” Lemur rose. “It’s been a long time, Romney.”
“Indeed, it has,” Sir Neville said with a giggle. “You’ve even forgotten his name. It’s Ramsey, Philip Ramsey.”
“Of course it is,” Lemur said smoothly, a pleasant smile on his face. “Forgive my gaucherie.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Phelan murmured, knowing he had no choice but to brazen this through. “It’s good to see you again, Lemur. What is it you’re in search of? I’d be more than happy to be of assistance.”
“It’s the boy,” Sir Neville crowed.
Phelan arched an eyebrow. “The boy? I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t be deliberately obtuse. The serving lad who was working here. You spirited him away from under my nose, and if he isn’t still happily ensconced at Sutter’s Head, I would have heard about it. I made it my business to enquire after his well-being.” Pinworth’s predatory smile exposed yellow teeth. “I have a kindness for young boys in need of a helping hand.”
“I think I may have met your wife,” Lemur said smoothly. “At a small inn not ten miles north of here. I look forward to making her acquaintance again. And to finding my nephew.”
“Your nephew?” Phelan could be just as smooth. “I hardly think the young man who’s been working in the stables at Sutter’s Head could be your nephew.”
“Working in the stables!” Pinworth exclaimed. “What a waste!”
“He seems to enjoy himself. He’s good with the horses.”
“He always was,” Lemur said. “But I’m afraid his little adventure is over. I intend to take him back to London with me as soon as may be. I’ll accompany you out to your house, if I may.”
There was nothing Phelan could say. “What made the boy run off in the first place?”
“A misunderstanding. He considered me too harsh a guardian, but, of course, children sometimes see things that way. I intend to convince him of my love and devotion the moment we’re reunited.”
Phelan wanted to kill him. He’d killed before, in the army, when his own life had been threatened. He didn’t consider himself a particularly violent man, but right then the notion of cold-blooded murder had a definite appeal.
“My wife is very fond of young Julian,” Phelan said. “I think I’d best prepare her for your arrival.”
“I imagine she’s already prepared,” Lemur said politely. “She was full of helpful information when I met her. I’m afraid she thought I meant the poor boy ill. You can set her mind at ease.”
“I don’t think—”
“Come now, Romney!” Pinworth protested, obviously enjoying himself immensely. “You can’t keep a man away from his nephew. Particularly when he’s the boy’s guardian. Accept it, man; you’re going to have to lose him. Might as well put a good face on it.”
Phelan wondered idly whether he might kill Sir Neville as well. It would be a waste of energy, he decided. He had no choice but to take Lemur back to Sutter’s Head with him. He’d find his way out there sooner or later, and Phelan preferred keeping an eye on him.
“I still think it would be better to warn my wife,” he said. “But if you’re determined, we might as well leave now. It’s getting dark—you’ll accept our hospitality for the night, won’t you, Lemur?”
“With pleasure.” It was all so damned polite, Phelan thought. If he weren’t so suspicious, if he hadn’t known the truth about Juliette, felt her shiver in his arms, he might believe in the bland surface Lemur presented to the world. Except for the rumors he’d heard in Egypt. About the Cairo girl scarred for life. And the missing maidservant.
Neither of them said a word as they rode out of town along the westerly road. The path followed the line of cliffs, and beneath it the sea was still stormy, precluding a midnight escape. Phelan kept his face remote, his thoughts to himself, until Lemur drew abreast of him.
“I didn’t realize you had a nephew,” Phelan murmured.
“And I didn’t know you had married, Romney. Beg pardon, I mean Ramsey,” Lemur corrected himself in a mild tone that belied his malicious intent. “I am desolate to take my nephew away, but he’s a rebellious lad.”
“And you tried to beat submission into him?” Phelan asked the question lightly, waiting for a response.
The one he received was subtle and sickening. Just a flash of unholy excitement in Lemur’s pale eyes before he shook his head. “Of course not,” he murmured. “I’ve tried to shower the boy with love. It does seem odd that you’d lure him back to your home. Were you in need of servants, or did you suspect my nephew wasn’t quite what he seemed?”
Phelan smiled blandly, almost enjoying the verbal battle. “I could tell he was obviously better bred than he wanted anyone to believe. As for luring him to my home, we viewed it more in the light of a rescue.”
“Indeed?” Lemur was just as good at dissembling. “How so?”
“You’ve met Pinworth. He took a fancy to the boy, and my wife and I decided your nephew was too young to judge the danger an experienced roué like Sir Neville could offer him. At least at Sutter’s Head he was safe.”
“As he is with me, of course.”
“Of course,” Phelan murmured.
“And how are your dear parents?” Lemur asked.
Phelan’s hands tightened on the reins as he urged his horse forward. “You’ve never met them,” he pointed out with less than his usual grace.
“True,” said Lemur. “But I’ve heard so much about them in the past few weeks. Your half brother as well.”
Phelan glanced over at the cliffs. He was a larger man than Lemur, taller, and perhaps ten years younger. But Lemur had a bull-like torso and very strong arms, and he was on his guard. It would be no simple matter to entice him to the cliffs and then push him over. Particularly when Phelan wasn’t certain the man deserved to die, much as it might convenience him.
“They are all doing splendidly,” Phelan said coolly.
“So glad to hear it.”
It was close to evening when they rode up to Sutter’s Head. There was no sign of Valerian, and Phelan could only hope he wouldn’t come galloping up, dressed in his own clothes, while Lemur was watching. He still wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do about the uninvited guest. Clearly Lemur knew about his father’s murder, knew that his brother was the chief suspect. He had only to drop a word or two in the right ear and Valerian would be hauled off to jail.
But the alternative was una
cceptable. Phelan wasn’t going to let Lemur take Juliette away. The notion of having the man bound and gagged and sent far away from England in the hold of a ship held a certain merit, even if it didn’t contain quite the visceral satisfaction that cold-blooded murder did. Whatever happened, Phelan Romney could take care of his own. His younger brother. And Juliette MacGowan, who had somehow, unexpectedly, become his as well. Even if neither of them would accept it as yet.
“We’ll be having a guest for the night, Hannigan,” Phelan said easily as he slid off his horse.
Hannigan was eyeing Lemur with his bland servant’s expression, one that hid his devious mind. “Shall I be informing Mrs. Ramsey? She saw your approach from the window and I imagine she’ll be down directly.”
“That will be time enough. Come along, Lemur,” he said. “We can open a bottle of claret before my wife joins us. She’s a sad romp, and greatly addicted to her vanity, so it might take her a while.”
“I did think the veil she was wearing was a bit odd,” Lemur remarked.
“She’d been through a distressing night, and she had neither a maid nor a hair-dresser to assist her. Not to mention fresh clothes.”
“The lady did, however, have another young lady with her.”
“A most charming young lady,” Phelan agreed. “She and my wife are close friends.”
Lemur simply nodded. He was good, Phelan had to admit that. He had no idea whether Lemur recognized the identity of his putative wife or not, and nothing short of a flat-out question would avail him of the answer. He wasn’t ready to be frank. Lemur would be just as uncertain as to whether Phelan knew the identity of his so-called nephew, and Phelan preferred to keep it that way. It was a small enough weapon in their war of wits.
“I’d like to see my nephew,” Lemur announced, following him into the library.
“There’s no hurry, is there? After all, he has nothing to be afraid of, does he?”
“Of course not. But you know children. They can dream up the most extreme fantasies.” He settled himself in Phelan’s favorite chair, his movements small and precise. “I wouldn’t want you to warn him.”
