An Affair Without End

by Candace Camp

  “Eve, I thought you would have banished the dragons by now,” Vivian commented as she settled into a chair.

  Her friend chuckled. “No, it is Stewkesbury’s house, love. We are simply moving out.”

  “The danger I believe you mentioned, Vivian?” Stewkesbury reminded in a mild voice. “What you didn’t mean to deflect on me but did?”

  “Vivian was attacked tonight,” Gregory told him.

  Oliver went still and straight, his mouth tightening into a hard, thin line as a chorus of whos and whats and wheres broke out all around.

  “I was asleep,” Vivian said. “I woke up, and a man had his arm around my neck choking me.”

  “The devil!” Fitz burst out, and Oliver’s face turned grimmer.

  “Did he hurt you?” Oliver asked.

  Vivian shook her head. “Not really. He frightened me half to death. He had a knife to my throat, and he asked me where it was.”

  “Where what was?” Gregory asked. “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither did I. I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about, but he insisted that I had something and he wanted it back. I tried to get him talking, hoping he would loosen his grasp and give me a chance to get away. So I told him he was a fool.”

  Oliver winced. “Vivian . . . the man had a knife to your throat.”

  “Yes, well, but when I said I hadn’t the slightest idea what he was talking about and if it was taken, it was someone else who took it, then he said, ‘Stewkesbury!’ That was when he relaxed and lowered the knife, and I was able to hit him.”

  “Hah!” Fitz let out a crack of laughter. “You planted him a facer? Well done, Vivian.”

  “Well, no, I couldn’t hit him with my fist. I rammed my head into his chin. But it did hurt him; I heard his teeth snap together.” Vivian smiled a little at the memory. “I yelled for Gregory, and he came running, and the man went out the window.”

  “I was too late to catch him,” Gregory said with regret. “I didn’t even get a proper look at the villain.”

  “Nor did I,” Vivian said, staving off the question she saw coming on Oliver’s face. “He was behind me and the room was dark.”

  “But who—?” Oliver frowned. “Obviously for his mind to leap to me, you and I must have been together when this thing was taken.”

  Vivian nodded. “I think it must have been that fellow in the tavern, the one we followed outside. You did punch him. Several times.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t take anything from him. Except perhaps his pride.”

  Fitz spoke. “Perhaps he simply lost this . . . thing, whatever it was, while you were fighting. And he assumed you took it.”

  “Yes, but if he and Stewkesbury were fighting, wouldn’t he assume Stewkesbury was responsible from the beginning? Why would he come after Vivian?” Eve pointed out reasonably.

  “Maybe it’s the murderer,” Gregory said quietly, and all the others looked at him, the room suddenly silent.

  Oliver nodded. “A murderer would seem a more ruthless sort, the kind who is willing to break into a house and threaten one. But what the devil would he think Vivian has? The murder weapon? We left it there; the Runner has it now. And how could that damage him anyway? There’s no way a plain iron candleholder would lead to the man who murdered Glass.”

  “And how does he know Vivian is involved?” Gregory asked.

  “He saw us, if he was the man we passed going to Cosmo’s,” Camellia put in. “Maybe he thinks we could identify him.” She slumped back in her chair. “Only Vivian wasn’t with us then. It would be Gregory and me he wanted.”

  “And we didn’t take anything from him,” Gregory added.

  “None of us did, for that matter.” Oliver glanced around at the others. “Did we?”

  All three of his companions shook their heads.

  “Obviously he thinks we did, and that’s what important. Whether it’s the murderer or the man from the tavern or someone entirely different—” Oliver paused and looked at Vivian. “Perhaps that chap from the gambling den, the dealer—”

  “The gambling den?” Fitz burst out. “The tavern? Is this really you, Oliver, or has someone taken your place?”

  Oliver shot his brother a glowering look. “Whoever it was,” he said firmly, “and whatever he thinks we have, he’s obviously determined to get it.”

  “I know. I’m so sorry, Oliver.” Vivian sent him an apologetic glance. “It was the only thing I could think of to say.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. You getting away from him was all that was important. Besides, it will work out perfectly. Now we know that he will come here to find what he’s missing.”

  “You’re going to set a trap?” Fitz guessed.

  “Exactly. I doubt he will show up tonight. More likely it will be tomorrow. But I’ll have the footmen all on alert. When he breaks in, whatever time he chooses”—a distinctly feral grin touched Oliver’s lips—“I’ll be waiting for him.”

  Chapter 21

  Oliver took a final look around at the butler, four footmen, and two grooms gathered in the servants’ dining room. The butler had been entrusted with a musket, and the rest of the men were the largest and most muscular of the servants. Hooper was admittedly not an expert shot, but Fitz had assured him that the musket would stop anything at close range so long as one aimed for the large target of the intruder’s torso. The men, even the imperturbable Hooper, seemed excited at the thought of the evening that lay in front of them. The chance of stopping a burglar held far more allure than their usual cleaning and early bedtime.

  “Well, men, stay on the alert,” Oliver told them. “I hope to be home by one o’clock, and then Mr. Talbot and I will take over.” He glanced toward Fitz, who lounged by the open door. Turning back, Oliver looked at the two grooms. “Jarvis, Bates. Make sure you are well hidden in the yard. I don’t want to give any hint that we expect a visitor.”

  “No, me lord.” Jarvis nodded.

  “Very well.” Oliver nodded briskly at the men and left the room.

  Oliver glanced over at Fitz as he fell into step beside him. “I’d much prefer not to go to this party.”

  “But then you wouldn’t get to dance with Lady Vivian.” Fitz grinned. “Anyway, it’s important to appear to keep to our normal routine, just in case this chap is watching the house. We don’t want him to realize that we’re aware of his interest in you; if he did, he might not try anything tonight.”

  “What if he comes while we’re gone?”

  Fitz shrugged. “Well, you’ll have captured him, then. And Hooper won’t do anything but hold him till you arrive. You’ll still get to draw the chap’s cork.”

  “And what makes you think I want to fight him?”

  Fitz snorted. “Don’t try to gammon me. I know you too well. I saw that light in your eyes last night. You’re itching for a mill.”

  A faint smile touched Stewkesbury’s lips. “Perhaps I would like to teach the fellow a lesson in manners.”

  “You mean you’d like to beat him bloody for putting a hand on Lady Vivian.”

  “Of course I would. Any gentleman would feel the same way.”

  “Doesn’t mean any gentleman would be as ready to act on it. Face it, Ol, you’re a changed man since you’ve been dangling after Lady Vivian.”

  “What?” Oliver cast an alarmed glance at his younger brother. “Nonsense. I’m not dangling after anyone.”

  “Of course not. You just suddenly have discovered your great love of balls and routs and the opera.”

  “I have always liked opera.”

  “Mm-hm.” Fitz’s bright blue eyes danced. “And the rest?”

  “Very well. I have come to enjoy Lady Vivian’s company.”

  “Then she’s no longer a hoyden?”

  “I didn’t say that.” The earl grinned. “She’s still an absolute romp of a girl. But she’s a diamond of the first water, as well. And I think I have discovered that I enjoy a bit of adventure in my life n
ow and then. Maybe I am a changed man. Even I hardly know what I’ll do next.”

  “Well!” Fitz’s eyebrows rose and he came to a full stop. “I can scarce believe my ears.”

  Oliver grimaced. “Oh, stop playing the fool, Fitz. Come along, we must not keep the ladies waiting.” Oliver strode toward the entryway, with his brother trailing thoughtfully after him.

  The ladies in question were standing in Camellia’s room, with Camellia craning her head to catch a look at her back in the mirror. “Does this sash look right? Is the bow crooked?”

  Eve smiled to herself as she stepped forward to retie the bow in question. “There. Now it’s perfect. And you look perfect. Expecting to see Lord Seyre at the party?”

  “No. Well, perhaps. What if I was?” Camellia turned to regard her with a rather mutinous air.

  “Nothing.” Eve smiled, holding her hands palms up in a peaceful gesture. “There is nothing wrong with wanting to look your best for the marquess.”

  “I am not trying to look good for him.” Camellia scowled. “And I wish you wouldn’t call him that.”

  “But that is his title.”

  “I know. But I hate it.”

  “His title? Well, the good thing is that the title will be different one day. He’ll be a duke.”

  Camellia let out a groan. “That will be even worse.” Camellia sighed. “I know, I know, only I would think that. But he is so little like that . . .”

  “Like what?”

  “A lord. A duke. Even Oliver—I mean, he’s nice once you get used to him, but you never forget that Oliver is a lord. He has that look, that way of talking—as if he expects everyone to obey him. And, of course, they do.” Camellia paused, then added candidly, “Except for Fitz or Vivian, but they are different.”

  “As is Seyre.”

  “Yes.” Camellia’s gray eyes began to sparkle. “Gregory is easy to talk to, just like an ordinary person—like you or my sisters or Fitz. He doesn’t think he’s better than everyone else even though he’s far smarter than most people. He talks about interesting things, not his family or his club or his clothes. He . . . he doesn’t look at me as if I’m bizarre or tell me that I shouldn’t say things or do things. He said I looked like a Valkyrie that time I galloped in the park. Do you know he wasn’t upset that I was carrying a gun the other night—and a knife? He just asked if he could have one when it began to look dangerous. And he doesn’t care for Dora Parkington in the slightest.”

  Eve laughed. “That is certainly a sign of superior taste.”

  “That’s what I think.”

  “He’s rather handsome, too.”

  “Yes, isn’t he?” Camellia smiled at Eve approvingly, as if she had confirmed something. “I hear girls talk about him all the time, about his title and his estate and how much wealth he has or what a good catch he is. They hardly ever mention that he’s handsome. But he has the most wonderful green eyes, and he looks at you the whole time you’re talking, as if he’s really interested in everything you say. And his hair is thick and has that little hint of red in it, like mahogany.”

  “He has nice shoulders, too, for a scholar.”

  Camellia smiled. “That’s because he rides so much. He told me he would like to put me up on one of his mares back at Marchester. He hopes that I will come visit Vivian there sometimes. That would be splendid, don’t you think?”

  “I do indeed.” Eve glanced at her again, then said carefully, “Camellia, it seems to me that you might have feelings for Lord Seyre.”

  Camellia tightened all over. “What do you mean?”

  Eve smiled. “You know what I mean—an interest in him as a man. As a husband, perhaps.”

  “No.” Camellia gave a brittle little laugh and turned away, strolling over to her bed to pick up her gloves and cloak. “Don’t be silly. I wouldn’t—he wouldn’t—”

  “I am not so sure on either count.”

  “No. It’s ridiculous. Absurd.” Camellia draped the blue cloak over her arm and turned to the other woman, making a comic face. “Can you imagine me as a duchess?”

  “I can imagine you as Seyre’s wife.”

  Camellia shook her head. “I think sometimes that he is interested in me, that he might even want to ask me to marry him. But that’s probably because I’m inexperienced and naïve. Everyone says I am. No doubt I mistake his liking for more than it is. He has never tried to do anything . . . you know, to press his suit.”

  “He is a gentleman.”

  “But he is a man as well.” Camellia cast Eve a searching glance. “You cannot tell me that Fitz never—”

  Eve chuckled, a blush rising in her cheeks. “No. I would not tell you such a bald-faced lie. But I think not all gentlemen are as confident as Fitzhugh. Or as flirtatious. Seyre is himself, not Fitz or any other man. You just finished extolling his differences.”

  “I know. But I also know that even if he did like me or want to be with me, it isn’t possible. Not really. I’ve learned enough about England and the ton to know that. A nobleman doesn’t marry for love, or at least not usually. Certainly not someone who is going to be a duke. They have all sorts of duties. They have to marry the right sort of person with the right sort of family.”

  “The Talbot family is as good as any in the realm,” Eve protested. “Your cousin is an earl.”

  Camellia quirked an eyebrow at her. “It’s not the family that’s the problem; it’s the woman. They marry the sort of woman who doesn’t ever create a scandal. Or say the wrong thing.”

  “Poor Gregory. You are condemning him to a boring life.”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t like the idea of it. But he will do what’s expected of him. What he has been raised to do. I think perhaps that is why he never goes beyond a glance or a smile or a certain look with me. He knows that he won’t marry, can’t marry, against his family.”

  “I have known Seyre’s father almost my entire life,” Eve told her. “I can assure you that he is not a man who stands on tradition; I do not believe he would try to force Seyre to marry against his wishes. I know Gregory, too. He seems mild, but he has, in nearly every way I can think of, done exactly as he pleased all his life. You were right in saying he doesn’t act like a duke. Why would he choose a wife like a duke?”

  Hope flashed for an instant in Camellia’s eyes, but then she shook her head and said a little wistfully, “No, it’s impossible. Come, we should join Oliver and Fitz. No doubt they are growing impatient.”

  With that, she swept out the door, and Eve had little choice but to follow.

  Vivian glanced around the room again, surreptitiously looking for an indication that Oliver and his family had arrived. She had been on edge all day, thinking about her unwelcome visitor the night before and wondering what would happen tonight. Would the man try to enter Stewkesbury’s house while Oliver and his family were out? Or would he creep inside in the middle of the night, as he had with her? Vivian felt sure that Oliver would be waiting for him if it was the latter—and probably Fitz and Camellia, as well! Vivian wished that she could be there with Oliver. She would like to see her assailant’s face when Oliver sprang the trap on him.

  Vivian smiled to herself at that thought and turned to stroll along the edge of the crowd. She was halfway to the door into the corridor when a footman came toward her and bowed, extending a folded and sealed piece of paper.

  “My lady. I was asked to give you this.”

  Oliver! Vivian took the note eagerly and broke the seal, opening it. She felt a brief rush of disappointment when she saw the familiar hand of Lady Mainwaring and realized that the note did not come from Oliver. In the next instant, however, it occurred to her how odd it was for Lady Kitty to be sending her a note in the middle of a party, and she edged closer to one of the wall sconces so that she could make out the spidery handwriting:

  Dearest Vivian,

  Forgive me for this interruption to your evening, but I have learned the most Dreadful News. I must talk to you. I am in my carriage
outside. It is of the Utmost Importance. I cannot think what to do.

  Yrs.,

  K

  Wesley! Vivian’s suspicions burst into full bloom as soon as she read the letter. Kitty had discovered something “dreadful,” and, knowing Kitty, such alarm was not likely to be centered on something outside her own circle of interest. No, “dreadful” news meant something that wounded Kitty or someone close to her. For her to have driven over to pull Vivian from a party, the news must be both immediate and extremely upsetting. Given the matter that had occupied Vivian’s mind for the past few hours, she jumped to the obvious conclusion: Wesley Kilbothan was involved in the jewel thefts.

  Vivian had suspected as much from the moment he had so easily recovered Kitty’s brooch. It seemed clear to her now that Kitty must have heard something or seen something that had made her doubt the man. Looking down at the note and the thin, even shaky, writing, Vivian could not help but think that Lady Kitty might well be frightened as well as unhappy. What if she had found out not just that Wesley was a thief? What if she had learned that he was the man who had murdered Cosmo Glass?

  Vivian’s hand clenched around the note, crumpling it, and she hurried for the door. She did not bother to look for a servant and ask for her cloak. It was too chilly outside for her thin dress, but she could not wait for a footman to locate her cloak and bring it to her. She had thought last night that something had been faintly familiar about the man who had attacked her from behind. It had been too nebulous a thing to put her finger on—a tone in his voice? A faint scent? She had nearly decided that she had simply imagined the feeling.

  But what if it had been Wesley Kilbothan who had held the knife to her throat? Someone she knew yet did not know well enough to identify if she could not see him? Her friend could be in real, grave danger. Vivian’s only thought was get to Kitty and hear her story. She would persuade her to return to Carlyle Hall, where she and Gregory could protect her.

  “Vivian!”

  She glanced across the entryway and saw Eve and Camellia. They had just entered, apparently, and were taking off their cloaks. Fitz and Oliver were off to their right, already deep in a discussion with Sir Kerry Harborough. Vivian crossed quickly to Camellia and took her hand, pulling her aside.