by Karen Ranney
He walked to where Suzanne stood.
“Your Grace, thank you for your assistance this evening.”
They had an audience of curious people who were not trying to hide their interest. Anything he said at this moment would be enhanced and speculated on by the entire staff, especially since Ella had divulged his identity. Tonight would be his last night at Marsley House.
He didn’t want to leave Suzanne yet. Above all, he didn’t want her to be standing there alone. She needed to be surrounded, not by servants, but by people who cared about her, who loved her. People who admired her for who she was, not the title she bore.
She nodded to him, a gesture that was definitely duchess-like.
“Thank you, Drummond. We wouldn’t have discovered the identity of the burglar without your investigation.”
He bowed slightly and left them. The sheer fact that he hadn’t countered Ella’s words was an admission. Perhaps they would ask for clarification from Suzanne. Or perhaps he would be confronted before he left tomorrow morning.
At least he had lodgings, even though he was certain that he was going to have to soothe Mrs. Ross’s feathers when he returned. Suzanne’s perfume would still be in his rooms. Her scent would be on his sheets.
He climbed the stairs slowly, entered the shadowed office he would leave tomorrow, and lit the lamp. He sat heavily, staring off into space, filled with a sudden and surprising feeling of hopelessness.
That wasn’t like him.
He pushed the feeling away and concentrated on examining each of the ledgers that were his responsibility. He entered the rest of the expenses that had been furnished to him, made notes about the staff, and finalized the entries that would be sent to the solicitor. He wanted everything to be perfect for the next majordomo. He might have been playing a part, but he didn’t want anyone to say that he had neglected the job.
A few hours later he put away the books for the last time and locked the drawer, putting the key on the top of the desk.
When someone knocked he stood and walked to the door, expecting it to be Thomas. Instead, Suzanne stood there, the journal clutched in her arms.
Chapter Forty-Five
Suzanne didn’t say anything, only went to his desk and put the journal on it, opening the book to the pages revealing the traitor.
“You and I really should not be here alone,” he said. “It was one thing in my lodgings, but here gossip spreads quickly.”
“I don’t care.”
“Well, I do, for your sake. Don’t be foolish, Suzanne.”
She looked at him. “We have more important things to discuss, Adam, than whether the staff is talking about us.”
He motioned her to the chair in front of his desk and closed the door. She sat, staring at the journal. She’d read it straight through.
Adam finally sat and faced her.
“You’ve been crying,” he said.
“How do you know?” She’d examined herself in the mirror before leaving her sitting room.
“Your eyes look luminous when you’ve been crying.”
She didn’t admit to her tears, but he was right.
“I didn’t love George, but I could have dealt well with him for the rest of my life. He was my husband, after all. But I think he was lonely, and for that I’m sorry I didn’t feel more for him. I’ve known what it was like to be lonely surrounded by dozens of people. It’s not an emotion I would wish on anyone.” She looked down at the journal. “All he had to do was to give me a little notion of what he was feeling and everything could have changed. But he didn’t.”
“Some men can’t,” he said. “They’re content to worship from afar. Or they’re afraid that their affections will be rebuffed. I read a poet not too long ago and the last lines were, ‘For of all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these: it might have been!’”
“Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if Rebecca had lived?”
“Not anymore. In the first year I did, but I think it was partly because I refused to believe that Manipora had really happened. Time gives you a finality as nothing else can.”
He reached over and placed his hand on hers.
She cleared her throat before speaking. “What are you going to do about Roger? And don’t tell me it’s War Office business, please.”
She’d been shocked at the words she’d read, but probably not as much as Adam.
There was no doubt, in my mind at least, that what my visitor said was the truth. It made perfect sense that Roger Mount might be the one who conspired with the rebels to overrun Manipora. He had been familiar with the rebel leader, having done business with him in the past. A sorrowful thing, but one that must be addressed.
She was certain he was about to speak when there was a knock on the door. She quickly stood.
He pointed toward his bedroom and she nodded, slipping into the room and pressing herself close to the door, listening.
“Mr. Bora didn’t look surprised to see me, sir,” Thomas said. “In fact, it was like he was expecting me.”
“Did you get the answer?”
“He wrote it down right away, sir, and sealed it up.”
Adam thanked Thomas. A moment later she heard the door close.
She peered into the room to see Adam tearing open an envelope. She opened the door fully and he turned to her, his face a mask.
“What is it, Adam?”
He handed her the envelope. There, in Sankara’s swooping handwriting, were the words: His Grace visited the War Office.
Adam’s face was expressionless, but there was a look in his eyes that she’d seen in her own mirror: disbelief mixed with a feeling of betrayal. The same look she’d worn when first learning that her husband was not interested in maintaining his marriage vows.
“You didn’t want George to be right, did you?” she asked.
He smiled faintly. “No, I didn’t.”
She understood that feeling—when everything you’d based your life on crumbled into dust. Or when you realized that you’d been hopelessly ignorant until that moment.
“What does it mean, Adam?”
Hopefully he wouldn’t treat her like George had, preferring to put his thoughts and feelings on paper instead of voicing them.
“Evidently, the duke visited Roger, no doubt to let him know what he’d learned.”
She stared at him. “Why would he do something like that?”
Adam looked at her. In his eyes was an expression she’d seen before, something close to pity but warmer.
“Perhaps he thought that Roger would confess to his actions and that he’d be lauded for capturing a traitor. It’s a bit naive, if not dangerous. Any man who was willing to sacrifice the people of Manipora wouldn’t hesitate to silence your husband. The duke probably told Roger that he’d written it all down, thinking that would keep him safe.”
She turned and walked, stiff-legged, back into Adam’s bedroom.
He was very neat, no doubt a result of his army background. The coverlet on the narrow bed was squared. The sheets were pulled tight. Even the pillow was aligned just so on the mattress. A bowl of potpourri smelling of sage sat next to two silver-backed brushes atop the dresser. The wardrobe was closed, but even from here she could smell the cedar shavings in the bottom. He was probably very organized there, too, his shirts and jackets in militaristic order.
She sat heavily, staring at the painting on the wall. She’d seen it before. It had hung in the hallway in the north wing once. Nothing was ever lost at Marsley House. They circulated furniture and artwork throughout the rooms. Up until this moment she hadn’t known that some of the works found their way to the third floor. She was glad, though. Someone else should enjoy the depiction of rust-colored flowers against a brighter background.
All she had to do was keep looking at the porcelain vase in the painting and she would be able to keep her emotions together. That’s all. A simple task, really.
“Suzanne?”
&nb
sp; No, not now. She really couldn’t answer any questions right now. That would shatter her. Speaking would ruin this false poise.
“Suzanne.”
He was determined, wasn’t he? The same persistence had no doubt made him a hero after Manipora. Yet he hadn’t been able to save all those women and children. All those young, innocent lives. His determination hadn’t meant anything then, had it? Was that why he’d pursued George with such insistence?
He came and picked her up as if she weighed no more than a feather, then sat again, with her on his lap. She’d never sat on anyone’s lap in her entire life. At another time, it would have been a novel experience. Right at the moment she couldn’t concentrate on anything but the refrain repeating in her mind.
She was so cold that it felt like January in this third-floor room. January without a fire going in the nearby grate. January and she was standing atop the roof again.
“The accident. The bridge. It wasn’t an accident, was it? Is it because of what George knew?”
“I don’t know.” But the knowledge was there in the tone of his voice and the fact that the pity in his eyes had warmed to something else.
She felt like her insides were being crushed by a weight heavier than anything she’d ever known.
He pressed her cheek against his chest. His heart was beating loudly, proof that he was alive. She needed life at the moment, especially when she felt so cold and nearly dead.
Survival and stubbornness, that was Adam. He’d fought her and challenged her and now at this, another dark hour, he was with her, warming her, holding her when she felt like she was going to split into a thousand pieces.
“We may never know, Suzanne. I doubt it’s something that Roger will admit to doing.”
She nodded. “Would it be something he’d do to protect himself?”
For the longest time she didn’t think he would answer her, but finally he did, the one word so soft and low and so horrible that she almost asked him to repeat it.
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. It shouldn’t matter if it had been an accident that had taken Georgie’s life or an intentional act. The result was the same. Her darling son had died. But it did matter. When she said as much to Adam, he nodded.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Confront him. We have the journal as proof and Sankara might be willing to give a sworn statement as well.”
“Would that be enough?”
“Yes.” This time the word was strong and assertive.
“I want to go with you.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea, Suzanne.”
“I’m the Duchess of Marsley,” she said. “The title opens some doors, Adam. Even at the War Office.”
“I’m certain that you’re right, but I don’t think it’s going to matter in this case. Besides, it might be dangerous. He’s not a man to underestimate.”
“Please.”
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d begged someone for something. It might have been as a child. She’d learned that it was better to keep silent than to allow herself to appear vulnerable or needy. Now, however, she had no qualms about letting Adam see exactly how she felt.
“I want to see his face when you ask him about the bridge.”
“Suzanne.”
“I’ll know,” she said. She pressed her hand against his chest. “I’ll know if he’s lying.”
He didn’t say anything, but she wasn’t foolish enough to think she’d won this battle. Adam was capable of simply leaving Marsley House without any notice and carrying out his mission without her.
She pulled back and looked at him. “I have to do this. For Georgie. For George. Just like you had to come after George for your wife. Not vindication, Adam. Justice.”
“There’s every possibility that Roger would look you in the face and lie.”
“I’d know if he was lying,” she said again, feeling a certainty she couldn’t explain.
“All right.”
She nodded, allowed herself to sink back into his embrace, putting her head on his shoulder.
Tomorrow, then. All she had to do was get through the night.
Chapter Forty-Six
“It’s late, Suzanne.”
One of his hands was at her hip, the other smoothed from her shoulder to her elbow and back again.
“You should return to your suite,” he said.
“I should.”
“Emily will be waiting for you.”
“I dismissed her for the night,” she said.
He didn’t say anything for a moment. She wanted to ask him what he was thinking but decided that it would probably be more prudent to keep her curiosity to herself.
“I don’t want to leave,” she said. There, a little more honesty for him. “I could always invite you to my bed, but then it would be difficult to hide you from Emily. Or pretend that I’ve been virtuous.”
“Suzanne.”
There was a note in his voice she couldn’t identify. Did he object to her staying?
“Do you lie?”
“What?”
“You intimated that Roger was skilled in lying. Is that a function of being in the Silent Service? Have you ever lied to me?”
The seconds ticked along ponderously.
“I don’t think so,” he said.
She pulled back to look at him. “Why do you sound so surprised?”
There was an expression in his beautiful green eyes she couldn’t decipher. Bemusement, perhaps.
“It never felt right to lie to you, Suzanne.”
She sank back against his chest, feeling a lightness streaming through her like sunlight. It didn’t banish the darkness completely, but made it gray more than black.
“I don’t want to leave,” she said, giving him the truth. “I don’t want to.”
He said something half under his breath, a word that was so startling she rose up to look at him again.
“Do you truly want me to leave, Adam?” Did he know how difficult a question that was to ask?
She was so worried about his response that she didn’t anticipate the kiss. Was it possible for the top of your head to simply float off and vanish? Every part of her body welcomed him, wanted his touch and the magic that he brought her. She’d never before considered herself a sensual person or one motivated by her baser instincts. Such things were for people who were lax in their morals or hadn’t been trained to be proper. At least, that’s what she’d always been taught. But what if everything she’d learned up until now was wrong? What if you could be entirely decorous and yet love with abandon?
She sat up, never losing contact with Adam’s lips, and wound her arms around his neck.
He breathed her name against her mouth. No doubt it was an admonition of some sort.
Was he cautioning her about her own behavior? Or was it his lack of control he was warning her about? Either way, she didn’t care. Let them both be profligate and unwise and wild.
She thought she heard him say her name again, but she was concentrating on kissing her way across his face and down his throat. He had a beautiful neck. She had never noticed a man’s neck until now.
His hands were holding her shoulders in a tight grip, but she noticed he didn’t push her away. If she wanted to leave, now was the time.
Why would she choose lying in her solitary bed, staring up at the ceiling, in exchange for being with Adam? Kissing him and anticipating what they would do together? She might have been foolish at times in her life, but she learned from her mistakes quite quickly.
She was not leaving.
Delight was threading through her body, making her aware of muscles and nerves and sensations she had never truly noticed until this moment.
She nibbled on his ear, smiling when he muttered something under his breath.
“I’m not leaving,” she said. “I don’t want to.”
“Heaven forbid I make you do something yo
u don’t want, Your Grace.”
She leaned back, smiling at him, happiness rushing through her. She shouldn’t have been so filled with joy at that moment. He was teasing her again and no one ever had. His eyes were intent as they studied her, and there was something in the depths of them that made her heart soar.
“Thank you, Drummond.”
He frowned. “What for?”
“For liking me,” she said.
He shook his head. “Sometimes, Suzanne, you say the most ridiculous things. Who wouldn’t like you? Who wouldn’t cherish you? And love you?”
She was going to cry again and it had nothing to do with grief or sorrow. Her heart was so full that she couldn’t bear it.
All she could do was frame his face with her hands and kiss him gently and tenderly. “And you, Adam? Who wouldn’t love you? And cherish you? And admire you and respect you?”
He abruptly stood and carried her to the end of his bed. It was smaller than hers, the mattress thinner and the sheets not the quality designed for a duchess. Yet she wouldn’t be anywhere else, because it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the look in his eyes as he slowly unbuttoned her bodice, giving her time to protest or refuse or stay his hands.
Instead, she reached up and began to unbutton his shirt, freeing him from his clothes with sudden talented fingers. When had she become so adept at undressing a man?
He had been her tutor in passion, and now the pupil was impatient to demonstrate everything she’d learned from him.
“You are wearing entirely too many clothes,” he said a moment later.
“I would say the same about you.” They smiled at each other.
Fingers flew as well as buttons. Laces were loosened and then a corset was tossed across the room. She stood to rid herself of her dress. Her cameo was placed on his bedside table, but she had no idea where one stocking had gone. Its mate was draped over the chair where they had earlier sat. And her shift? It was the last garment to be dispensed with and she stood there before him, naked and as vulnerable as she had ever been in her life.
She should have covered herself with her hands. She should have grabbed the blanket at the end of his bed and draped it over herself. She should have done something other than just stand there and let him look his fill. The light on the desk in the other room was sufficient to expose her. Unlike last night, she had no shield of darkness. Nor did she want one.
