by Shana Galen
“My lord!” He recognized Lily’s voice and continued walking. She caught his elbow at the staircase, and he gritted his teeth and turned his head to glare at her hand.
“Remove your hand from my coat.” His tone perfectly expressed his feelings at the moment—her hand was offal, and he did not want it to touch him.
“I wanted to tell you,” she said, her expression pleading. It was such a different expression from the one she’d worn in the library, he was momentarily taken aback. “I tried.”
“When?” he said between clenched teeth. “When I was firmly ensconced between your legs?”
She had the gall to blush. A courtesan who blushed! Was this another of her deceits?
“I want us to be friends.”
“We cannot be friends,” he said, his tone mocking. “Not when you presume to take my mother’s place. Bloody hell! I feel like Oedipus.”
“No one will consider me your mother. I ask you, am I really so unworthy to become the Duchess of Ravenscroft? I am good enough for your bed but not for your dining room, is that it?”
That wasn’t how he felt at all. But at the moment, he didn’t know what he felt, only that he did not want her to marry his father. He wanted her for himself. Did he want to marry her? Hell if he knew. He rarely thought of marriage. He would marry one day. It was expected. But marry a courtesan? Despite the Duke of Pelham’s recent example, it was not done. His father had an heir, and he was an old man. He could do what he liked. Andrew had always done what he liked as well. But now it seemed the roles between father and son had reversed, and Andrew must be the responsible, sensible one.
“Enjoy your residence in every room, Miss Dawson. I’m returning to London.” He started up the stairs again.
“My lord!” This time the voice was not Lily’s. He turned to find the steward hurrying through the entrance hall.
“Whatever it is, Helms, you shall have to take it up with my father. I am for London.”
“I see,” the steward said, looking dubiously toward the library. “It relates to the matter we discussed the other day, my lord.”
Andrew frowned. “The theft from the kitchens?”
Lily moved aside as he descended the stairs.
“Yes, my lord. A groom has been injured. He was exercising one of the hunters and was assaulted. The horse has been stolen.”
“What?” Darlington’s mind was reeling. “There must be some mistake.” This sort of thing was blatant indeed. A horse was not a jug of wine or a crust of bread. A hunter of the sort his father kept in his stables was worth a small fortune.
“There is no mistake, my lord, as much as it pains me to say so. When he was discovered, the groom was brought back to the stables and laid on a pallet. He is awake now, if you’d like to interview him.”
“Have you interviewed him?” Lily asked.
Andrew frowned. “This really does not concern you, Miss Dawson.”
“All the same, I’d like to accompany you, Lord Darlington.”
“No.” He turned his back on her and motioned to the steward to lead the way to the stables. A moment later, Lily was at his side. “Miss Dawson, you are not welcome.”
“I gathered as much, my lord, but I think I might be of assistance. I asked if the groom had been interviewed because an earlier interview may have wearied him, in which case it might be better to wait to speak with the man.”
“That is a good point, madam,” the steward said. “I spoke with the groom briefly and gained the information I have from the gentleman who found him, a neighbor on a nearby farm.”
“Good. Then you can judge the groom’s earlier statements against those he makes now. You will want an accurate account, Lord Darlington.”
“I will, and I still maintain this incident has nothing to do with you.” If the steward had not been present, he would have said something to the effect that she was not the duchess yet. But there was no need to start the servants gossiping before his father announced the engagement. Perhaps the duke would yet come to his senses.
“I promise not to interfere,” Lily said. “I will be as quiet as a mouse.”
Andrew scowled. The woman was persistent. How he longed to tell her, in no uncertain terms, to go back to her diversions. But Andrew had been raised as a gentleman, and everything in him rebelled against such behavior in front of the servants. Because it was not only the steward listening now. He saw one of the parlor maids dusting nearby, and a footman was standing at the ready to move a couch back to its proper place for her.
Andrew gave a nod and started for the stables again. He walked quickly. Usually, if he was accompanied by a woman, he walked at a slower pace to accommodate her shorter legs, heavy skirts, and delicate slippers. Not today. If she could not keep up, she could return to the house. But she did keep up and without protest. She was at his elbow, moving just as quickly as he and with surprising grace. When they reached the stables, she was not winded at all, though her face was pleasantly flushed from the warm air and sunny sky.
Andrew looked away, well aware he no longer had the right to look at her with the desire that always seemed to bubble under the surface when she was near.
“Mr. Helms,” she said as they neared the building. “Did I hear there was a theft in the kitchens?”
The steward looked at Darlington. Andrew sighed and waved a hand in resignation. She was obviously determined to interfere.
“Yes, madam. There was a theft a day or so ago.”
The trio paused in the doorway. “And what was taken?” she asked.
“The cook reported cheese, bread, and several jugs of her cooking wine missing.”
She nodded, and Darlington interjected, “Might we go inside now, Miss Dawson?”
“One more question, my lord, if you will permit me.” She turned back to the steward. “Would you say the amount of food taken was enough to feed one man or more than one?”
“I…” The steward seemed surprised by the question. Andrew was surprised as well. It was an astute question, and one he wished he had thought to ask. It might be helpful to know whether they were dealing with a lone culprit or a group of men, especially if the steward thought the two incidents connected.
“I will have to ask the cook to be certain, but my impression was that it was enough food to feed a man for a day or so.”
“And now that man is also in possession of a horse.” Lily looked thoughtful.
“If it is the same person, yes.” The steward gestured to the stables. “Shall we go inside?”
“By all means,” Andrew said. “Give us one moment alone, please.” He waited until the steward disappeared from sight and turned toward Lily. “What do you know about this?”
“Nothing yet,” she said. “But it interests me.”
“Obviously. Are you some sort of Bow Street Runner?” He was joking, but she looked as though she was actually considering the question.
“Something to that effect. Your groom is waiting.”
She was impatient to see the man, which Andrew found strange. Why would she take such an interest in a groom? “After you, Miss Dawson.” He followed her inside and found Mr. Helms waiting outside the grooms’ quarters.
“We have him in here, my lord.”
Andrew entered and saw a young man lying on a pallet. Another groom sat beside him, but he excused himself with a deferential nod when Andrew entered. He couldn’t quite keep from gaping at Lily as he passed her, though. Unlike most beautiful women, she didn’t seem to notice the attention.
The injured groom tried to rise, but the steward told him to remain still. Andrew didn’t recognize the lad, who was really little more than a boy, and he understood this might have been the first time the groom had been in the presence of one of the family. “Be at ease, lad,” Andrew said.
“M’lord,” the boy rasped, grasping his side.
“I apologize for losing Annabel. I’ll leave soon as I’m able.”
“Leave?” Andrew looked at his steward.
Mr. Helms took over. “Lord Darlington is not here to dismiss you, Abraham. He only wants to know what happened.”
“Has a doctor been to see this man?” Lily asked. Abraham turned his head, and his eyes widened considerably.
“I will summon the doctor at the earl’s request, madam,” Helms said.
Andrew nodded. “Do so, Helms.”
The steward nodded and hurried to carry out his orders, and Lily moved in, sitting on a low chair beside the groom’s pallet. “Is Annabel the hunter?”
“Yes, m’lady.”
She smiled. “I’m not a lady. You can call me Lily.”
The groom stared, slack-jawed. “Oh, no, miss. I couldn’t do that!”
“You’re very sweet, Abraham. Tell me about the man who took Annabel. Was it an ambush, or were you able to see him?”
“I think I should ask the questions,” Andrew interjected. This was his servant and his house, after all. It seemed he should do something other than stand about and watch her take over.
“By all means,” Lily said. “I have overstepped.”
That was better. “Abraham,” Andrew began, but he could not think of any questions. “Ah… were you able to see the man who stole Annabel?”
If Lily thought it amusing that he repeated her question, she hid it well.
“I did, m’lord. I were exercising her in the north fields—”
“Why not in the paddock?” Lily asked.
“The duke likes for the hunters to be ridden three times a week,” Andrew answered. “He thinks it keeps their hunting instincts sharp.”
“Yes, m’lord. We was taking a leisurely ride, and I spotted the man lying near a tree. Looked near dead to me. But when I got down to see if he was still breathing, like, he threw me over, kicked me”—he indicated his ribs—“and mounted Annabel. She protested, but he swore at her and kicked her hard, my lord. She were a good horse. She didn’t want to go with that blackguard.”
“What did he look like?” Lily asked. Andrew frowned, but she seemed to have forgotten about him. Again.
“He were dressed as black as the night, miss. He had longish black hair and black eyes. Reminded me of the Grim Reaper, he did.”
“Had you ever seen him before?” Andrew asked.
“No, m’lord. Never.”
“One more question, Abraham,” Lily said. “I know everything happened quickly, but did you happen to notice if the man had a white streak in his hair?”
The groom’s eyes widened. “You know him, miss? He had a patch o’hair was white as snow.”
“Thank you, Abraham. I hope you recover quickly.” She looked at Andrew. “I’ll wait outside.”
Andrew stared at her. Where the hell had that question come from? What did she know that she wasn’t telling anyone? He made some remark to Abraham and went after her. She hadn’t waited—not that he expected she would—and he caught up with her next to the paddock. She heard him coming and paused beside one of the whitewashed railings.
“Where the—?”
She held up a hand. “I already know what you’re going to ask, and I cannot answer your question.”
Andrew glared at her. She had bloody well better answer his questions. “Are you involved in this?” he demanded.
“Not in the way you think. I can tell you this. The man your groom described is almost certainly Lucifer.”
“Who?”
“A criminal of the worst sort. He was the owner of a gambling hell called Lucifer’s Lair. He is a thief and a murderer.”
“And he is here? You believe this man is the one who has stolen from us? Why? I fail to see how this Lucifer is connected to Ravenscroft Castle or to my family.”
Lily looked down, seeming to consider. Finally, she looked up again, and her eyes were hard emeralds. “If your father has what Lucifer wants, Lucifer will kill him to possess it again.”
Eleven
Of course, she wasn’t certain Ravenscroft had what Lucifer wanted or exactly what it was Lucifer sought. She assumed it was the names of the Diamonds in the Rough—five elite spies responsible for supplying the information that led to Bonaparte’s ousting. She wanted that list too—as proof of Ravenscroft’s complicity. But Lucifer must have known the spies’ identities. There had to be more he wanted. There had to be something else Ravenscroft possessed. Something Lucifer wanted, and she already knew he was willing to steal and kill for what he desired.
She certainly cared nothing about protecting the duke from Lucifer. Ravenscroft had made his own bed. The very real certainty that Lucifer was prowling about told her Lucifer, at least, believed Ravenscroft had information he wanted. But that wasn’t enough to arrest the duke. The man was a peer of the realm—a wealthy, powerful peer. She needed proof he was a traitor, proof he possessed the rubies promised as payment to the assassins hired to kill the King’s men.
And if she discovered Ravenscroft was the infamous Artemis in the process, all the better. Unless, of course, he killed her first. She was walking a thin tightrope on this mission, juggling too many balls—Ravenscroft, Darlington, Lucifer. Something or someone was going to fall.
Darlington made some motion and caught her attention. He looked striking in his morning coat and perfectly tied cravat. He wore trousers, though, and they were snug but not nearly as tight as usual. When her gaze rose to his face, she forgot her worries for the moment and smiled at his expression. He stared at her in that perplexed way she adored. He so often seemed perplexed by those around him. He’d had the same look, though it had been mixed with anger, when Ravenscroft had announced their engagement. She sighed at the thought of that ordeal. How could Darlington believe she would marry Ravenscroft after what they’d shared together? She supposed he thought she did such things all the time. She was a courtesan, after all. And it was for the best he believed it. He was on the verge of returning to London. That would remove one of her juggling balls. And Darlington would be safe in Town. Much safer than he was here. Perhaps she could persuade him to take his sister as well.
“It probably is best that you return to Town. I’m sorry it’s under unpleasant circumstances, but you will be much safer. I’d really prefer you took your sister with you, if your father will allow it.”
“I will be safer?” Darlington asked incredulously. “What about you?”
She hoped he would not employ any misplaced chivalry. He’d not shown much propensity toward it before now. “I can take care of myself, I assure you.”
“Then you really expect me to believe that my father, the third Duke of Ravenscroft, is in league with a man named Lucifer, who is a thief or worse?” The sun was behind him, and the wind blew gently, ruffling the gold-limned curls in his dark hair. She wanted to reach out and stroke that hair, run her hands through its softness. “And not only am I to believe that rubbish, I am to then run away, leaving an old man and two women here with such a blackguard?”
“I said—”
“Yes.” He grabbed the arm she’d been gesturing with and held her wrist. “You say you can take care of yourself. I can well believe it, but what I wonder is how you came upon any of this information, and what it has to do with you.”
“I am not at liberty to divulge that information.”
“Not at liberty? Why? Does it violate some sort of Cyprian code?” His hand on her wrist clenched. “Is the Crown using Impures as spies now?” He laughed, and then his eyes grew serious. “Good God. Does Fitzhugh have something to do with this? I will kill the man if he’s involved you in one of his so-called missions.”
Her instinct was to defend Fitzhugh. The man was a decorated war hero. But she refrained, knowing it would only lend credence to Darlington’s suppositions. “I will not discuss it, my lord.” She p
ulled her arm out of his grasp. “Now, I suggest you and your sister remove yourselves before Lucifer grows bolder and enacts whatever plan he has fermenting in his wicked mind.” She had learned that sometimes disengagement was the only way to avoid revealing too much. She did not want to lie to Darlington. She had done quite enough of that. And she could not tell him the truth, not without putting him in danger. She wanted to tell him the truth. She wanted to share her fears with him, but that was her own selfishness—selfishness and the misplaced need to find someone she could trust and confide in. Darlington was not that person. And so she would tell him nothing. Instead, she started back toward the house. Her thoughts were jumbled with all she’d learned, and she bypassed the drawing room, which sounded as though it was occupied by numerous guests now, and started for her room.
The maid was changing the bedclothes, but she dismissed the girl and sat down at the small, feminine escritoire to compose a letter to Fitzhugh. She began it listing all she had seen so far and her current circumstances. She was describing her false engagement and Darlington’s suspicion when her maid, Anna, knocked on the door. “I’m sorry to bother you, madam, but this letter came for you. It’s from the Countess of Sinclair.”
“Thank you. You did right to bring it immediately.”
The countess had not had time to receive her letter, so Lily assumed this missive must have been written when Lily left Town, or perhaps even before. She set aside her report and broke the seal on the countess’s letter. It was brief and to the point, as was all of the countess’s correspondence. It stated Lily should be careful not to compromise her identity in any way. Lily knew the countess was warning her against going to see her son. Included was a brief report from an investigator the countess had hired a year or so ago. Lily read it incredulously. The countess had sent a man to travel to Nottinghamshire to ascertain that Lily’s son was being treated well by his adopted family. The investigator reported the boy had no idea he was even adopted and was treated as well, if not better, than any natural child would have been.
