by Anne Stuart
“Ah, the stories I could weave you,” Rufus said with an airy wave of one pale hand. “But first, how did you hear I’d drowned?”
“Apparently your man was in Plymouth, though God knows why, and word came from London that you’d been lost overboard. But I don’t understand why your man wasn’t with you, and why Plymouth, of all places?”
Plymouth, Sophie thought. What an odd coincidence, that her sister had been so close to him. They might even have passed each other on the street.
Rufus smiled at them both impartially. “Simple enough, brother mine. My man had some kind of emergency. I didn’t pay it much attention—I think someone in his family died—so he abandoned me to the clumsy care of an Italian valet. You cannot imagine the florid things he wished me to wear. As for Plymouth, I was planning to end up there on the final leg of my journey.”
“So where did the pirate come in?”
“Where do pirates always come from?” Rufus said musingly. “I think that will make for excellent dinner table conversation. Miss Russell, I expect you would love a chance to freshen up. You look as if you’d been wrestling a tiger.” He glanced at his brother and laughed softly. “Oh, dear, have I been indiscreet?”
Alexander’s smile didn’t waver, but Sophie didn’t miss the sudden irritation in his eyes. “My brother is right—I’ve been a poor host. Wilton?”
The butler, who’d properly blended into the background, stepped forward. “Yes, my lord?”
“Would you see Miss Russell to the room next to mine? And have one of the footmen take her luggage up there.”
“She has luggage?” Rufus said. “I assumed you’d found her selling apples on the corner. She doesn’t even have shoes.”
Sophie smiled at Rufus Griffiths, gritting her teeth. She had never been fond of overly charming people—perhaps that was why she was so irrationally attracted to Alexander. And Rufus wasn’t too pleased with her, either. He didn’t want his brother engaged, she could tell that much, no matter how much he was trying to hide it. That could prove extremely useful.
“He likes me better without shoes,” she said sweetly. “He knows I’d be tempted to throw them at him.”
Rufus laughed. “Oh ho, so it’s that way! Your legendary charm has won the fair lady. Are you sure you want her in the adjoining room—she might slit your throat in the middle of the night. I suggest you lock your doors.”
“What fun would that be?” Alexander countered lightly. “Besides, I’ve kept her away from sharp instruments.”
“You don’t happen to have a knife, do you, Mr. Griffiths?” she inquired.
“Call me Rufus, my dear. After all, we’re going to be brother and sister, are we not? Alas, I do prefer my brother in one piece. If you feel so murderous, then why ever did you agree to marry him?”
“I didn’t,” she said flatly.
Rufus beamed at her. “This becomes even more interesting than my excursion with pirates. I look forward to hearing all about it. And when is the happy occasion?”
“Tomorrow. You can be one of the witnesses,” Alexander said.
He didn’t seem to notice Rufus’s fleeting expression of sheer malice before he smiled that charming smile. “I would be honored to do so. Though that’s a bit soon, isn’t it?”
“I don’t believe in wasting time. Miss Russell is without a chaperone or any kind of protection, and the sooner we’re married, the less gossip there’ll be.”
“I don’t need protection,” she shot out, but Rufus gave her a calculated smile, moving closer.
“Don’t let my brother bully you, Miss Russell. I promise I’ll keep him in line,” he said, reaching for her hand again.
She let him take it, noticing how her skin crawled when he touched her. It was a strange reaction—the man really was more beautiful than Alexander, his smile brilliant, his eyes clear and guileless. And yet she didn’t believe him. Something was off, and she wasn’t sure what, but Rufus Griffiths was the very last person she’d go to for help in getting away from Alexander.
Unfortunately, he might be her only choice. She gently disengaged her hand, giving him her practiced smile that was as false as his was. She could only hope hers was more believable. “I look forward to hearing about your adventures on the high seas, Mr. Griffiths,” she murmured. She turned to Alexander. “And I look forward to the return of my shoes. You’d hardly want a barefoot bride, would you?”
Was it her imagination, or was there tension in the large entryway of the town house? Alexander had been happy and relieved to see his brother alive and well—there was no doubt about that. But some of that had faded, and there was an undercurrent that she couldn’t quite define.
Alexander gave her his cool, mocking smile, nothing like the effusive charm of his half brother, and yet more believable. “The idea has a certain charm, but I may relent. Expect to see them in the coach on the way to the church.”
“Rat bastard,” she muttered beneath her breath, just loud enough for Alexander to hear. She turned her back on both of them, following Wilton up the broad stairs.
Alexander watched her go. In fact, he actually liked her without shoes—she had a way of scampering, like a young girl, not moving with the usual dignity that hard leather imparted.
“Can’t keep your eyes off her, can you, brother mine?” Rufus’s silky voice intruded. “It must be love.”
Unwillingly Alexander turned his gaze back to the prodigal son, managing a flinty smile. “Do you really think I’m capable of falling in love, Rufus?” he drawled.
Rufus laughed. “Oh, most definitely. You’ve done your best to become cynical and cold-blooded since Jessamine’s death, but deep down you’re an incorrigible romantic. I’m only surprised it hasn’t happened sooner.”
Alexander had stripped off his hat and coat and handed them to a waiting footman. “Don’t be ridiculous. I need a drink—what about you?”
“Always,” said Rufus. “And you can tell me all about how you two met, and when you realized she was your one true love.”
There were clear signs of Rufus’s occupancy as they walked into the drawing room. Not that the staff wasn’t diligent about keeping things spotless, but things had been moved, several valuable trinkets he’d acquired during his travels after Jessamine died had disappeared, and he had no doubt where they’d gone. Rufus was always in need of money, despite his generous allowance.
“Why are you limping?”
“Bit of an accident, old man.” Rufus brushed it off. “Driving too fast, as usual. I’m much better now—I don’t even need a cane. But I don’t want to talk about me, I want to talk about you and your grand passion.”
“Hardly.” He poured them both whisky, then glanced around for his favorite chair. It was no longer there, but he didn’t bother to ask where it had gone, avoiding a seat on the tufted sofa that was now pulled close to the fire. The room was too hot, and he wanted to open a window, but Rufus had already sunk into the leather chair that was nearest the healthy blaze, so he took one farther away.
“Well?” Rufus prompted, propping his injured leg on a footstool. “What does my mother think of the upcoming nuptials? I’m surprised she didn’t come with you. Or did you tell her she couldn’t?” he added with his usual perspicacity.
“Can you imagine your mother and me in a carriage for eight hours? Only one of us would be left alive,” he said lightly. For some reason he didn’t want to talk to Rufus about Sophie. In his grief over his brother’s death he’d forgotten one salient point. He didn’t completely trust Rufus.
“My money would be on my mother,” Rufus said, raising his glass. “Cheers.”
“Here’s to Lazarus’s return from the dead,” Alexander murmured.
“Here’s to your upcoming nuptials. So what happened? You swore you would never marry again after the debacle with Jessamine. That silly chit was never right for you. In fact, it was a good thing she took a dive off the battlements, though I suppose you still must be plagued with guilt. A wife
who kills herself is always a bit lowering, don’t you think? But tell me, who is this little chippie?”
He could feel his joy at Rufus’s resurrection continue slipping away. “Hardly a chippie, Rufus, and considering she’s going to be my wife, you might mind your manners.”
“Oh, I seldom do, particularly in the safety of my very own home,” Rufus said carelessly. “Don’t try to put me off—I won’t have it. I want details.”
Strange, Alexander thought. He was hardly a possessive man, and what he owned he shared, but when Rufus referred to the town house Alexander had inherited along with the title as “his very own home” the phrase sat oddly. “It’s simple enough,” he said, taking another sip of the whisky. “She’s a properly brought-up young lady. I accidentally compromised her, ergo I marry her.”
“Accidentally?” Rufus echoed dubiously. “How does one ‘accidentally’ compromise someone? You tripped and ended up between her legs?”
A flare of protective anger flashed through him. “We’re discussing my wife, Rufus,” he said mildly enough, but there was no missing the note of warning.
Rufus, however, was unabashed. “When did you get so nice in your ways? We’ve discussed women in all their delightful detail all our lives. We even discussed Jessamine’s problems in the marriage bed. Why is this pretty little tart off limits?”
“She’s one of Eustace Russell’s daughters,” he said, resisting the urge to punch his frail, long-lost brother.
“Even more so, then. That family has been thoroughly disgraced. One daughter disappeared; another ran off with a married man who murdered his first . . .” Rufus let the words trail off, as if he suddenly realized what he was saying.
But Rufus always knew what he was saying. “Murdered his first wife,” Alexander finished for him. “Well, then the daughters will have that in common, won’t they? Perhaps when the third one surfaces we can find a wife-murderer for her too. But explain this to me—if the one ran off with a man who murdered his wife, how can he still be married? Or is he planning to go through a whole slew of them?”
Rufus grinned, unabashed. “No, Kilmartyn would have been a widower by the time the girl ran off with him. Too bad you don’t listen to gossip—it was a nine days’ wonder.”
“But you were abroad at the time. How did you happen to hear about it?”
“Oh, I’ve always been more interested in gossip than you have, and word travels to all the expatriates and consulates all over the world. The sun never sets on England, old boy, and it never sets on any juicy scandal. Didn’t your blushing bride tell you about them?”
“I don’t know if she knows where her sisters are.”
“Been too busy doing other things?” Rufus suggested, smirking. “You really don’t have to marry her, you know. Fuck her all you want—the Russells are no longer considered to be a decent family, and as far as I know there are no relatives to look out for any of them. Certainly no angry uncles, cousins, or brothers to horsewhip you.”
Alexander had forgotten how much he disliked Rufus’s smirk. “How do you happen to be so conversant with Eustace Russell’s family? I wouldn’t have thought that kind of financial scandal would have been of much interest.” Once again he was feeling uneasy. Something wasn’t right here, and he was remembering how often he’d felt that way in Rufus’s presence.
“Oh, some raddled old English lady in Italy told me more than I’d ever want to know about Russell’s lineage, and unfortunately I have a tendency to remember everything,” Rufus said easily.
That didn’t sit right either. Rufus never wasted his time with raddled old ladies, even for the sake of gossip—he was most often downright rude when he grew bored. Alexander watched him closely as he continued. “Since my inheritance effectively put her out on the streets I feel a certain responsibility.”
Rufus laughed. “That’s my brother. Always feeling responsible for everyone, even for sorry creatures like me and my mother. I’d forgotten the Russells owned Renwick—that must have been awkward.”
He was lying. Rufus had always been a brilliant liar, but for some reason Alexander had always been able to tell, even when their father had been convinced. Rufus knew perfectly well who the Russells were.
“Not awkward at all,” Alexander said, taking another sip. “Are you going to let your mother know you’re among the living?”
“Oh, I sent her a note. That’s why Wilton expected you. In fact, I sent it days ago. It must have gotten lost in the post.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Alexander said easily enough. In fact, almost all of Rufus’s purported letters never made their destination, and Alexander had long stopped believing in their existence. “How long have you been here? When did you return to England?”
“Oh, not that long ago,” Rufus said. “Though granted, I was in rough shape when I first arrived—it was little wonder that it took me a bit before I could put pen to paper. But here you see me, hale and hearty once more, or close enough to it.” He drained his glass, then managed a dramatic yawn. “Though I must admit I do get tired. I usually nap before supper. You don’t mind if I go up for a bit, do you? Wilton already knows I like supper at nine thirty, though if your buxom bride needs sustenance earlier I’m sure Cook will provide. By the way, I hired a new one. Cook, that is. Mrs. Parker was dreadfully unimaginative.”
Mrs. Parker had been in his employ for over fifteen years, and a good, loyal worker. Alexander didn’t show any discernible reaction as his annoyance and disquiet increased. “My buxom bride probably won’t eat out of sheer stubbornness. She’s not as convinced that we need to marry as I am.”
Rufus raised his eyebrows. “Oh, really? Why ever not? Granted, you’re nowhere near as pretty as me, but you’re still well enough, and you’ve got both money and the title. What has she got to complain about?”
Alexander was about to mutter, “Ask her,” when he thought better of it. “As I said, she’s stubborn. We’ll be married tomorrow.”
“You have the license already?”
“It shouldn’t be a problem to get one. With enough money and connections it’s merely a formality.”
“And you have both, dear boy, don’t you?” It almost sounded like malice in Rufus’s voice. Alexander watched him covertly. When had everything turned upside down in his life? His brother had reappeared, and with him all the doubts and uneasiness that had plagued Alexander for the last few years.
On top of that, Alexander had become . . . perhaps infatuated was the right word . . . with a pretty little doll of a female. A pretty little doll with a sharp tongue and sharper claws, someone who made him laugh and never bored him. Perhaps that was it. He was simply marrying her out of boredom.
It didn’t matter. Right then he wasn’t terribly comfortable in examining his feeling and motives. Tomorrow he’d be a married man, and they’d go from there.
And one thing was abundantly clear, though he wasn’t sure why. He was keeping her well out of the reach of his once-dead brother.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
HALFWAY ACROSS TOWN MADELEINE Russell Morgan lay on her stomach on the rumpled linen sheets, the body of her husband collapsed half on top of her.
“You’re an evil woman, Maddy,” he said in her ear, just slightly out of breath. “It’s no wonder I love you.”
Maddy smiled against the soft feather bed. She was too sated, too lazy to do more than make an agreeable noise, and a moment later Luca had rolled over onto his back, pulling her with him so that she was sprawled atop him.
“I wanted to sleep,” she complained. It wasn’t convincing, since she couldn’t resist rubbing her face against his chest, all that warm, solid skin, but Luca was used to ignoring her complaints.
“I wear you out, do I?”
“Um-hum,” she said, settling happily against his shoulder.
“And what about me? Keeping you busy is worse than looking after an entire crew. When I go back to sea I’m going to consider it a vacation.”
; She felt his hands drift down her back, and she wiggled against him, trying to get closer. “What makes you think you’re going anywhere without me?”
“We’ve had this discussion before—I go dangerous places.” He lifted her so that she lay straddled across him.
She raised her head to look down at him, her dark hair drifting down over his body. “I’ve been in dangerous places before, with you and without you. I can face anything you can.” He was right, it was an ongoing argument, but it was one she had every intention of winning.
He reached up and caught her face in his long, hard hands that could be so gentle, and so deliciously rough. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. Going to sea is a dangerous business, and there’s never any guarantee we’ll make it back safely.”
“And how do you think I’d feel if you died?”
“You’re strong enough,” he said fiercely. “You can live without me.”
“Yes,” she said. “But would I want to?” She pulled away, fixing him with a stern look. “Listen to me, Luca Thomas Morgan, whatever name you want to go by. I was brave enough to infiltrate your house to find out whether you were a thief and murderer. I fought off nasty fiancées and hired killers and the crazy man who killed my father, and most impressive of all, I managed to make a rogue, half-gypsy, half-street-urchin former pirate fall in love with me. I can do anything if I put my mind to it. Except live without you.”
He pulled her down to kiss her, hard and deep, and moments later they were lost in each other once more, the question unanswered as always.
It was three hours later when Maddy awoke once more. Sooner or later they were going to have to get out of bed and deal with things. Luca had shipping business to conduct, while Maddy needed to see if she could find out where her two sisters had disappeared.
Nanny Gruen was in hospital and Sophie had disappeared, according to Miss Crowell, and there was still no word from Bryony and her new husband, even though the Earl of Kilmartyn was no longer being sought for questioning in the death of his first wife and her maid. Maddy and Luca had come first to Kilmartyn’s town house on Berkeley Square to see if they’d returned, and Collins, his butler, had insisted they stay. The house was empty, and according to the butler the new Lady Kilmartyn would be horrified if her sister and her husband didn’t make use of the house.
