by Deb Marlowe
He drank her in. Opened himself fully for a single second. He would have this memory, at least. A shining example of what might have been, to keep locked away. He would revisit it, sometime in the cold future. Sometime when she was safe and he was safely alone once more, he would lose himself in this lost moment, feel the warmth, taste the contentment when he needed to keep the dark at bay.
She beckoned again and it was over. But it was enough to treasure.
“You’re not a hindrance,” he said.
She took a seat, a soft, abstracted smile her only answer.
“What are you smiling at?”
She cocked a brow at him. “What are you scowling at?”
At temptation. At false opportunity. At Fate—the cold bitch—for mocking him with everything that drew him and forcing him to pull away instead.
He sat. The table, slightly off-balance, rocked a bit. “I’ll answer if you will.”
She nodded agreement. “But you go first.”
“I was thinking of your father,” he lied.
Everything about her changed in an instant. A furrowed brow, a spasm of the fingers wrapped around her cup and the ease about her vanished. Good.
“Why would you be thinking of my father?”
He shrugged. Gestured. “It’s not a situation fashioned to earn a father’s favor.”
“My father no longer has cause to concern himself with any of my actions.” She bit the words out as if they left a bitter taste behind. Lifting her fork, she pointed it at him. “It’s me you should be frightened of.”
He laughed. And wondered if she understood the absolute truth of that statement.
“Laugh if you must. You know you are safe from me. Half of England thinks me a whore, and should we fail, all of England will think they know it. Even now you could take me down the hall to the taproom, tup me on the table and earn nothing more than slaps on the back and congratulations on your virility.” She pierced him with a narrow-eyed glare. “But Aldmere?”
“Yes?” He held perfectly still, forbidding both mind and body from focusing on the image her words called forth.
“I would hold you accountable.”
“As well you should,” he said with utter approval.
“I may be alone in the world, but I have a brain and a backbone. And I’m strong.” She tossed her head. “There are independent women all across London.”
He nodded. “Indeed there are. Women raising families and running businesses all over the city.”
“And why should I not be one of them? I am capable of taking care of myself. And others.”
She raised her chin, expecting an argument, but he didn’t wish to give her one. “I have complete faith in your ability to succeed—at whatever you put your mind to.” He pressed on, despite the flush rising in her cheeks. “Would you mind if I ask a horribly inappropriate question?”
She bit her lip. “Go ahead,” she said after a moment.
“It is absolutely none of my business. You must feel free to decline to answer.”
“Ask,” she said curtly.
“Your country house full of urchins . . . how do you plan to finance it?”
Her chin elevated even higher. “My father may have disowned me, but he cannot stop me from taking what is legally mine. When I left, I brought the jewels that came to me through my mother. And Hestia thinks I may still be able to get the money meant for my dowry.”
“I wouldn’t hold your breath on that count. But the jewels? I hope you have had help finding the right buyer? Sold them for what they are worth and not been taken advantage of?”
“I’ve done well enough,” she said, still prickly.
“Good.” He sighed. “Don’t look so surprised. I’m not changing my opinion. I still believe that you are willfully following a path beset with dangers and pitfalls. But if you are going to do it despite my advice, then you should go about it the right way.”
“The right way?”
“Your way—and the way that minimizes the consequences of failure for everyone. Start small and on your own, without becoming beholden to anyone.” He nodded approval. “You can shape things according to your own vision.” He snorted. “And avoid a great many battles, too.”
He’d clearly surprised her. She regarded him in silence for a moment, then retrieved her fork and cut into her pie.
“Mmm,” she exhaled. “It is good.”
He watched her for a moment. “Miss Wilmott?”
“Yes?” She gestured at his plate. “Don’t disappoint Mrs. Bunter, please.”
Obediently, he lifted his fork. He also dug back into his memory to summon an attitude of reassurance. “You mentioned earlier—being alone.”
She stiffened again. “Yes, I did. There is no shame in it.”
“I hope you believe that.” He leaned forward. “For truly, there is not. I know it’s more difficult, likely far more difficult for a woman to live alone. But there is a certain freedom in it, too.”
“Freedom?” She frowned. “Freedom from what, exactly?”
“From expectations. From risk.”
He’d caught her attention. She eyed him carefully, like it was the first time she’d seen him. It unnerved him.
“You’ll find your productivity greatly enhanced,” he hurried on. “Your focus will increase without distractions. When you’ve left your burdens behind, you’ll be able to concentrate on what needs to be done.”
She’d begun to frown. “Aldmere,” she said, suspicion tugging at her brow and layering her tone. “Is this one of your tricks? I’ve heard of your legendary ability to persuade with words, seen the power of your address, when you choose to take it out and brush it off. Is that what this is? Have you done something? Are you trying to pacify me?”
He stilled, caught between anger and amusement. “Don’t be absurd.”
“Don’t be patronizing!” She set down her fork, abandoning all pretense of eating. “You speak of being alone, working alone, as if from experience.”
He spread his hands. “Yes. And this upsets you. Why?”
“Because you are a duke!”
He nodded. “And?”
“And you must surely spend nearly every moment of the day surrounded by people—servants and stewards, secretaries, relatives, peers and tenants. The list must be longer than my arm.”
“Of course it is. And yet I had thought that you, of everyone, might understand how easy it is to be alone when surrounded by a crowd.”
A remarkable swirl of emotions chased each other across her expression. “Yes, I do. Of course. But . . .”
“You thought that the title and estates and funds must solve every problem? Many people do. In point of fact, I never knew what it was to be alone until I inherited the title.” His shoulder lifted, as if his body could convince her that the casual manner of his words held the truth. “My father was a second son, a scholar. We lived very simply—and happily—until his death.”
“What happened?” she whispered—and then she cleared her throat. “If you don’t mind my asking an inappropriate question.”
“One of his burdens killed him,” he said harshly.
He paused, taken aback. Where had that anger come from? Expressing it was too revealing, and useless besides, the tragedy was so old. “Forgive me,” he said. “You don’t know the story?”
She shook her head.
“Oh, it was the most celebrated scandal of its day, but quite some time ago.” He gave her an insincere grin. “So you see why I can empathize with your own situation.”
“Will you tell me?” she asked in a whisper.
He shrugged. “I believe I mentioned that my uncle suffered a fatal addiction to gambling?” At her nod, he continued. “You can take that literally. He was the older brother, but a weaker man. A degenerate and a wastrel, he ran through the ducal money in record time, then borrowed more. A lot more, and from the wrong people. When he couldn’t pay, he decided to run.”
Impossible to tell this
story sitting down. Pushing away from the table, he crossed the small space to examine a framed sampler on the wall.
“He asked my father for help. As if he hadn’t already tried to help, for as long as I could remember, talking, trying to convince him to take up his responsibilities. My parents would have had every right to turn him away. But they didn’t. They hid him, and then they put it about that my father was to attend a lecture at the coast and that my mother would accompany them, making it a special treat for her birthday.”
He sighed. “I was on break from school. I waved them away with a false smile. They looked back, out of the carriage window, waving and nodding at Truitt and I. My uncle, the Duke of Aldmere, stood perched on the back, disguised as a servant.”
“What happened?”
“The men my uncle borrowed from weren’t fooled. They must have realized by then that there was no money to be paid back, but they couldn’t allow a nobleman to get away with such behavior. Bad for business, you see.”
He stopped then, gathering the will to finish. Had he ever told this story out loud? No. He’d never thought to, either. But if the telling would help her understand . . .
“It was a fire, at a rackety inn in Dover. There were witnesses, suspicions, but nothing to be proved. All three of them were killed.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He heard her swallow, but didn’t turn.
“How old were you?” she asked.
“Nearly fifteen.”
“So young.” Thank God it wasn’t pity in her voice, but genuine sympathy. “But Lord Truitt—you still had your brother. You cannot say that you were left completely alone.”
He snorted. “So one would think. However, my trustees decided amongst themselves that it was time to take the Russells in hand. They were thrilled to get their hands on me while I was so young and malleable.”
“A fifteen year old boy?” she asked, incredulous.
He laughed over his shoulder. “Even you know better. They were not so knowledgeable, but they were set on their course. I was not to be indulged, as my uncle had been. I would be made to understand the honor I had been given, the duty that I must shoulder.”
“As if you wouldn’t understand that, in any case, once you were over your grief.”
“They were taking no chances. I was pulled from school, and Truitt, just a small boy, was sent away in my place. I had so much to learn. Morning and night I was to be kept busy, studying accounts, husbandry and land management as well as my usual lessons. I had to be prepared for my larger role beyond the estates, as well, so I was tutored in economics, politics, instructed in my responsibilities not only to my people, but to my country.” He turned then, knowing his resentment was visible. “I was not to think of my old goals or of my own wants. I was never to indulge in my personal passions. I was to be set apart. Not above, but distanced by convention and circumstance.”
She looked aghast. “What did you do?”
He grinned. “Rebelled. Fought tooth and nail, occasionally. Ran away, once, at the beginning. I made it all the way to Tru’s school.” He fell silent, remembering that scene.
“And fell in with your evil cousin, not so long after,” she said.
He’d forgotten he’d shared that story with her. A dangerous precedent, it would seem.
“He offered you a bit of freedom, in order to tempt you, you said. He must have seen you chafing at the bit.” She sat back in her chair, regarding him steadily. “And you escaped with the help of a friend—the one with the bottle green coat. So you must not have been completely alone.”
Pain stabbed him, unexpected and thus doubly sharp. Gritting his teeth, he turned away.
Silence fell, broken only by the distant sound of clanking dishes from the kitchen.
With a sigh, she let it drop. “But they won you over, your trustees, sometime, somewhere.” She waved a hand. “Look at you. You are a model of what you once rebelled against.”
“Eventually I learned how correct they were.” He heaved a sigh. “Though it took a long damned time to sink in thoroughly.” And havoc and devastation that he could not speak of. “It was hard on Tru, though,” he said instead. “He’s deserved far more than he’s ever got from me.”
He could see the questions in her face. She didn’t get the chance to ask them, however. They both started as the door burst open.
“They are here,” Bunter announced, his fingers still working to fasten a straining maroon waistcoat across his belly. “A black and a grey, you said, pulling a black, unadorned carriage?”
Aldmere took a step as anger and adrenaline surged. “Damn. How many? And where are they?”
“Two. One in the stables, poking hay with a pitchfork. Another in the front, spinning a pack of lies about a missing heiress and demanding to search the place.” He beckoned. “Come along. Ten to one, the first bloke will come in the kitchen and start searching from the back after he finishes in the stable block. The missus and the kitchen girls will keep him busy there while you sneak out to where he’s already been.”
Aldmere bit out a curse and nodding, took hold of Brynne's elbow. And was struck with admiration for her once again. Though her eyes had gone wide and her breathing shallow, she kept calm and determined in the face of this trouble, just as she had all along.
Bunter, checking the hall, beckoned them to follow. “Who are these men you’ve run afoul with, that they would know of our old association?” he asked in a whisper.
“Damned if I know,” he growled, then stopped suddenly, struck. “Do you have a spot with a vantage? A place where we can catch a glimpse of one of them?”
“I’ve just the place. You can see the bloke in the stables leave when he’s finished, then Robert will have your mounts ready before the cat can sneeze.” Bunter grinned. “You’ll be on your way before they’ve looked under their first bed.”
“Lead on, then. I’d like to see just who is so determined to follow in our footsteps today.”
Fourteen
You can imagine my excitement, dear Reader, when I received a note from Captain Wilson. We met in the Sydney Gardens, where he told me he’d been a fool to think he could live without me. Our love was too great to deny. He had obtained a Special License and we would marry in secret. My parents, he assured me, would be forced to come around once the deed was done. I was shocked and titillated. I was ecstatic. I was a fool.
—from the journal of the infamous Miss Hestia Wright
“You’re sure you didn’t recognize that man?” Brynne glanced up at Aldmere. “He didn’t look even a little familiar? Like someone you might have seen out in Society, at a ball or the theater?”
They had made it to their original destination, the village of Clapham, where sat one of the duke’s homes. More specifically—they were outside one of the duke’s homes, tucked away in a picturesque storage shed at the end of the garden.
Their escape from The Horns had been swift and quiet and had gone just as Mr. Bunter predicted. Despite a shared wish to ride out of there hell-for-leather, they’d kept their mounts to a comfortable, unobtrusive traveling pace and arrived while the sun still rode in mid-sky. Brynne had been surprised, however, when they left their borrowed mounts at a livery.
“If those men following us knew about Bunter, then they surely know about this house and my history with it,” Aldmere had explained as they set out on foot. “We’ll just stroll though town as if we belong. I’d like to be sure we haven’t picked up any new followers before we get near the house.”
“We should stay alert for signs of anyone watching the house, as well,” she’d agreed.
“I don’t want to go in until after dark, just in case.”
“We cannot just amble about until then. The village isn’t large enough.”
Amusement had lifted his brow. “These are my old stomping grounds. Not to worry, I’ve just the place.”
Once again they’d donned the guise of a couple. Brynne had spared a few moments to worry abou
t the ease with which the roles slipped on, then had given it up as futile. As the afternoon advanced, they’d walked arm in arm about the Common. Anyone watching the empty house would have seen only a pair of lovers ambling past, enjoying the bright sun and spring breeze. Aldmere led her a good bit farther beyond the house before he took a turn along a country lane and eventually abandoned it to approach the place again, through the wilderness at the back.
The storage shed, constructed of the same material as the low, stone wall bordering the garden, offered an ideal spot to watch the house from across a pretty lawn and garden. They kept their vigil from there, tucked in amongst piles of firewood and a stack of outdoor furniture.
“No,” he answered her question now, from his precarious perch atop a woodpile. “The man might be a persistent devil, but he didn’t strike a chord with me.” He looked away from his window to where she sat, before the other. “And you’re sure it was the same man outside Hestia’s this morning?”
“Definitely the same. But I’ve a nagging feeling that I’ve seen him sometime before then—and that was perhaps what triggered my reaction to him this morning.”
“A colleague of Marstoke’s? That would make sense.”
“I don’t believe so. I keep thinking that I’ve seen him recently.” She shifted in frustration. “I just can’t recall!”
The duke sighed. “I wish you would peg him as one of Marstoke’s cronies.”
“Why?”
“Because if he is not, then I have to contemplate the idea that we may be faced with more than one group of adversaries to contend with.”
She groaned. “Why did you have to say that out loud? Now I have to contemplate it as well.”
He turned back to his vigil. “Still no sign of life. Either Tru is adept or he’s not here at all.”
“If he’s hiding then you shouldn’t expect to see anything. He’s proved clever enough so far.” She frowned at the house. “This is near enough for him to traipse back and forth to Town, should he wish to wreak more of the sort of havoc he got up to at the printer’s. Are any of your other properties so close?”
