Etienne nodded. “Correct.”
Geoffrey paused at the door to the hallway. Etienne acted as if nothing had happened between them. Which was perhaps just how he should appear before Lewis and Reynolds. In fact, definitely how he should appear before them, but Geoffrey felt unsteady. Everyone seemed to know more than him, excluding him from matters in his own home.
“Well, they’re his items anyway. I don’t have much need for oriental vases. Really, we should be focusing on finding the sightless specter.” He laughed, but nobody joined him.
Tension seemed to fill the air, and Geoffrey shifted, his heart pounding more quickly now.
Etienne glanced at the general. His dark eyes blazed. “Tell him.”
The general shrugged and looked at the duke. “Etienne and I will continue searching for clues.”
The general and Etienne strolled from the room, their strides self-assured, each step contrasting with the doubt Geoffrey felt. Etienne stood straight, his eyes not meeting Geoffrey’s. Gone was the man he knew.
*
“So Etienne was the sightless specter all this time?” Geoffrey’s muscles tensed, and he drew himself away from the duke. His hands jerked, and he tightened his grip on his armchair, the velvet texture pressing against him.
How ridiculous he must have seemed to Etienne, warning him off the danger when Etienne played the ghost all along. His head ached. Their first night together, when he met Etienne arriving to his room late at night—he should have realized it. But Etienne had distracted him. He was a professional.
“Yes,” the duke said, his tone all too bright. “He’s really quite impressive.”
“I see.” Geoffrey’s voice trembled.
“A true spy. The very best.”
Geoffrey’s heart plummeted. “And he was able to get under my uncle’s confidence?”
“Why, he played an important part in the operation. Your uncle certainly trusted him. If he told anyone your uncle employed him to pretend to be a ghost . . .”
“He’s quite talented, then.”
“Yes.” Lansdowne smiled again.
Geoffrey wished the man would not be so enthusiastic. The man more or less declared everything Etienne said had been false. The times when Etienne surprised him in the library . . . it had been inadvertent. No doubt the man simply desired to search the room. He closed his eyes, remembering Etienne clutching a blue cloak that night Etienne first came to his room.
Etienne’s energy and enthusiasm overwhelmed Geoffrey. But now he knew it for the lie it was. Etienne simply was trying to hide the reason he lingered at Ashbury Castle, feigning pangs at the idea of separation from Geoffrey.
His cheeks heated as he considered what Etienne must have thought. Geoffrey’s gasps of pleasure must have startled him, and when he urged Geoffrey for more—well, that had nothing to do with Geoffrey, only with Etienne’s need to distract him.
No wonder the man had knocked on his door after they fought, ready to prolong their intimate acts. Everything was feigned. Etienne held no true interest in him. His history taught him to be free with his body. But that didn’t mean he truly cared. Geoffrey swallowed. Not like I care about him.
No wonder the Christmas party bewildered the man. St. Nicholas indeed. Etienne probably was hoping for a tip, some money . . . and instead he received all sorts of worthless sentiment.
Why, he probably knew all about Christmas and was just making conversation. What would there be for Etienne to talk about with Geoffrey otherwise? Numbness filled him, and he rubbed his chest.
Etienne had spied on him. In his home. In his library. In his bed.
Geoffrey blinked hard and frowned. He strained to rethink all their conversations, pondering if anything had been true.
“When he arrived? Had he really been injured in a bar fight?”
The duke shifted and crossed his legs. “Yes.”
“I’m glad you didn’t take it upon yourself to injure him as an excuse to bring him here.” Geoffrey paced the library. “What were you thinking? I could have been dangerous.”
“You’re not.”
No, I’m a sentimental fool instead.
Geoffrey lifted his chin. “I could have been. I could have been colluding with my uncle, furious at Etienne for talking to you . . .”
“But you weren’t.”
“Still . . .”
“I know this is a difficult concept to grasp, Hammerstead, but surely you must know that sometimes sacrifices must be made. If something truly happened to Etienne under your watch—well, we would have put more of a watch on you.” The duke grinned.
Geoffrey inhaled. Deeply. This was Etienne’s life. So far removed from his. Or was it? Doesn’t the end justify the means as well?
Hollowness grew in Geoffrey’s chest. He swallowed. At least he knew the truth. “It was kind of you to share this with me, Your Grace.”
The duke smiled and rose. “We’re pleased to have you cooperate with us. Etienne’s report was very positive.”
“My uncle was always kind to me,” Geoffrey blurted.
His heart thudded. He had been friends with Dorothea while all along all her struggles stemmed from his uncle. The man he had rolled his eyes at, been infuriated at, but the man he had shared many meals with and whom he longed to impress.
The duke smiled sadly. “People are not always what they seem.”
Geoffrey nodded. The ache in his chest deepened.
His fists clenched, and he sighed as he glanced down at them. They were too large, too hairy, too everything Etienne was not. How could he ever have imagined Etienne might find a real attraction to him? At university, men were drawn to softer, prettier men like Benedict. Men who did not storm around glaring at people. How could Etienne ever truly have felt anything for him?
Undoubtedly, he hadn’t.
He had been delusional, seen the nonexistent. Wasn’t Christmas all about seeing what wasn’t there as well? A fantasy designed for children he readily embraced? His cheeks burned at the thought he had invited so many people to partake in that fantasy for him. All for Etienne. All for a man who simply spied on him, doing his job, a man who must be understandably bewildered by Geoffrey.
I can’t do this anymore. Won’t do this anymore.
“Your Grace, I’m afraid I have not told you everything.”
“Oh?” The duke furrowed his brows.
“Indeed. Though I am grateful you consider me no real threat now, I should have told you I am planning on giving up my position here.”
“Etienne never mentioned this.”
“Etienne doesn’t know everything.”
The words came out more harshly than he had intended, and the duke raised his head, eyes widened. Geoffrey forced himself to calm. He inhaled and smiled.
“Well,” the duke said, “How much longer will we benefit from your service?”
“I was hoping,” Geoffrey said, “That I might leave as soon as possible.”
“I see.” The duke nodded, his eyes inscrutable.
“I want to go to London.”
“I had no idea the city fascinated you so.”
“There are more people in London, more people I might help.”
“I hope you don’t consider the people of London more worthwhile of attention than the people here?”
“No, no.” Geoffrey raked his fingers through his hair and stopped when he noticed the duke’s eyes appraising him. “For personal reasons too.”
The duke cocked his head. “I don’t suppose you are going to London to find a bride?”
It would be so easy to say yes. The duke would understand. He might say he considered the area too dangerous to bring a family to, what with Uncle Ambrose’s whereabouts still unknown, and the duke might pat his back.
And being married . . . well, there were definite advantages to that. Maybe he would be distracted from his memories of Etienne, or if not that, at least he would be able to take his vow to not partake in the forbidden joys of men more
seriously.
Once married, Geoffrey would not be unfaithful; he would respect whomever he married too much for that, having no desire to trample on anyone’s dreams. And some woman might find what he could offer good, even if they did not experience the true love poets spent so much time extolling. He just needed to find a practical woman, and . . .
He shook his head. What am I thinking?
“I’m afraid,” Geoffrey swallowed, “That I am not the marrying kind.”
“Oh.” The duke blinked and tilted his head. “Not willing to give up the rake’s life?”
Geoffrey gave him a tight smile.
The duke rose. “Well, then. I won’t keep you from your greater calling. I know things are difficult here, living in the shadow of your uncle.”
Geoffrey nodded.
The duke paused and shifted his legs. “Not everyone needs to be the marrying kind.”
Geoffrey smiled tightly. He cast his eyes down. His heart hammered against his chest. “Thank you. Will you,” he swallowed, his throat dry, but he pressed on, “Will you make sure Etienne is taken care of?”
“The duke considered him. “Of course. He’s my friend as well.”
“Thank you,” Geoffrey repeated.
He went off in search of Barnesley. With any luck, they could leave in the morning for London, and his new life would await him. Perhaps it might be duller, but perhaps there the visions of Etienne, the pain that kept him awake and tore against his chest, might vanish.
Chapter Eighteen
Loud scrapes and clatters drifted from the ballroom, the noises grating inside Etienne’s head as he made his way to the breakfast room. He paused and ducked his head into the ballroom. The servants stood on ladders, removing the Christmas garlands and mistletoe from the ceilings.
Etienne’s heart battered in his chest. He swallowed. There was no reason to take them down now. Christmas Day wouldn’t be until next week. And Christmas lasted until Twelfth Night . . .
Etienne gripped the door handle. Perhaps something was wrong with the garlands? Some strange, dangerous growth necessitated their immediate removal?
Where’s Geoffrey? The servants chattered, content with the novelty of the task.
The decorations dropped to the floor, scattering vibrant green and red across it. Etienne bent and picked up a sprig of holly. He ran his fingers over the leaves, and the deep red fruit seared its way into his soul.
He should have knocked on Geoffrey’s door last night. He returned so late, busy with the general, but Geoffrey’s expression had been cold before he left, likely overwhelmed by the general’s and duke’s confessions that Etienne had worked for them all along. Etienne had snuck into his own bedroom, exhausted, telling himself he didn’t want to add sleeplessness to the man’s distress.
He hurried to the breakfast room. Geoffrey would be there. Everything would be as before.
The room was empty. Etienne blinked hard.
Maybe he simply wants nothing to do with me.
His hands trembled. Footsteps padded behind him, the heels clicking. It was Geoffrey. Etienne smiled and turned.
The duke stood before him.
“Lansdowne!” Etienne’s eyes widened.
“A servant let me in.”
“Oh.”
The duke smiled and looked around. “I’m rather enjoying being out of my cave.”
“I’m quite enjoying not having to visit you there.”
Perhaps this is just a friendly visit?
The two men smiled.
The duke coughed. “Hammerstead asked me to impart some news.”
“He can tell me himself.”
Lansdowne grimaced, and his voice softened. “He’s gone, Etienne.”
Etienne stiffened. “Impossible.”
He averted his eyes, and his heart plummeted as the duke’s eyes radiated sympathy.
“It’s for the best, Etienne,” Lansdowne said. “Given all his troubles with his uncle. The way Sir Ambrose managed to take everything from him, and right in front of him . . .”
“In front of all of us.” Etienne’s voice was firm as he stared at Lansdowne. “You were here, I was here . . . even the general was present. Geoffrey was needed as a host during the festivities. He shouldn’t have been locked in his library, waiting for his uncle, to show up.”
“You’re on a first-name basis with him.”
Etienne froze. And then yawned to cover his gaffe. “Well, you know us criminals, always inappropriate. Makes him a bit less intimidating when you’re calling him, at least in your mind, the same name as his nurse would have done.”
Lansdowne frowned. “I see.”
“A class thing. You wouldn’t understand.”
“No, I suppose I wouldn’t.”
Etienne’s smile faltered. “But he’s really gone? When will he return?”
“He’s not returning. He resigned his position. It will take a while for somebody to replace him, but no, he won’t be returning.”
Etienne’s heart fell. He shivered and sank onto one of the uncomfortable chairs that lined the walls. He hated himself for behaving as he did, but he was helpless to his emotions, his entire body consumed in the knowledge that Geoffrey—his friend, his lover, the man he had grown so close to—was gone. And wouldn’t return.
“You are fine, aren’t you?” Lansdowne eyed him skeptically.
Etienne scraped his hand through his hair. “Of—of course. Now, tell me how your wife is doing. When is the baby due?”
Lansdowne’s eyes widened. “Nobody knows.”
Etienne smiled weakly. “You’re more obvious than you think.”
“You’re too clever.” Lansdowne began prattling, as if knowing Etienne needed something to distract him.
Etienne wasn’t certain he heard anything. Lansdowne murmured beside him, and he closed his eyes, unsure if he wanted to be brought back to reality or not.
Geoffrey was gone. And hadn’t even said good-bye. He frowned, pondering whether Geoffrey had given any indication of his plans. Most of his language about London had been derogatory, and he had, for the most part, expressed enthusiasm about setting up his life at the castle.
He tapped his fingers on the table.
“You haven’t touched your food.”
Etienne blinked. Lansdowne was right. There was food in front of him. And it was untouched.
“I’m sorry.”
Lansdowne smiled. “You don’t need to apologize to me. More like your stomach. Or perhaps, if you’re really striving to be polite, to the cook.”
“Perhaps not.” Etienne picked up a slice of bread and slathered it in butter. It still tasted dry in his mouth.
Lansdowne cocked his head. “Are you certain you’re quite well?”
Etienne’s smile tightened. “Of course.”
No lie has ever been greater than that.
The duke nodded his head, his eyes on him.
“It’s just,” Etienne sighed, “Sir Ambrose.”
“Oh.”
It wasn’t really what was troubling Etienne, but he could hardly tell the duke he had been intimate with the man he was supposed to spy on, and for some odd reason was devastated when the man obviously returned to his senses and fled the county.
“We didn’t catch him, and now he has all the paintings. Surely he can sell them and return to his business?”
“Hammerstead was able to describe them. If they go on sale, the art sellers can notify us before anything happens.”
“But that’s unlikely.”
“There are many art sellers, and it’s likely Sir Ambrose will choose one who caters more to its buyers’ privacy.”
“I see.”
“But even if we find out after, there might still be a clue.”
Etienne nodded, but the words failed to soothe him. The man who terrorized the region, who supported Bonaparte, who almost killed Captain Carlisle and who had killed Captain Carlisle’s parents . . . he was still about, still threatening to harm other
s. He wondered if Hammerstead might be in danger, whether he had received another threatening letter from Sir Ambrose.
“Where should I go now?”
Lansdowne shrugged. “Hammerstead insisted that I take care of you.”
“Did he?” Etienne blinked, unsure whether to smile or cry.
“I would have anyway, of course. But you can’t stay at the castle any longer. There’s no need to spy on the magistrate anymore, not with him gone.”
“Or cleared.”
“Right.” Lansdowne shrugged. “So come to Somerset Hall.”
Etienne smiled noncommittally.
Everything Etienne had worked for, the capture of Sir Ambrose, had disappeared. Though Lansdowne’s face was brave, Etienne knew he suffered. His wife had been specifically threatened. And now she was pregnant.
Etienne rubbed his forearms. Perhaps Geoffrey would have stayed if Etienne had been better and had actually trapped Sir Ambrose. Perhaps he feared for his safety.
Or he just doesn’t care for me.
He closed his eyes. But Geoffrey told him he arranged the Christmas festivities for him. Was that an action of a man who didn’t care?
But Etienne had laughed, too shocked by the gesture to do anything else. Geoffrey’s distraught face shone in his mind. Had that been it? All that time amusing themselves and chatting and . . . being together, and a careless laugh ended it all?
The man must have gone to a lot of effort. But it hadn’t just been for him, it was for everyone. The whole community. All the gentry who seemed suspicious of Geoffrey because they hadn’t cared for his uncle. They all seemed content, and that was all because of Geoffrey.
Geoffrey’s words had seemed overly sentimental, and unused to sentiment, Etienne had laughed. He frowned. Perhaps if his earlier life had been less difficult, he might have embraced sentimentality more. His fingers clenched. Anger surged through him. How could he have left?
Lansdowne coughed. “I’m afraid I must go.”
Captured At The Castle (Scandal in Sussex Book 2) Page 16
