“Then it’s lucky I wasn’t there.”
“Yes.” He kissed her hair.
“I went down to get the chess set. I thought the thieves might be after it. The queen is so pretty, and the queen charm in my story was in Manchester.” When he didn’t reply, she asked, “Do you think the marquis really did bring me here for safety?”
“I hope so,” Julian said grimly. “If I discover otherwise, he will regret it.”
Shouts reached them from across the lawn. Miles and a footman, both hastily attired in shirts and breeches, hurried toward them. The footman carried a lantern.
“You are well, Daisy?” Miles sounded harassed. “Thank God.”
The voice of the marquis floated up from below. “Alas, my poor lunatic Antoine is dead.”
She stiffened. She’d seen no indication that Antoine was insane. Julian drew her back inside the summerhouse. “Let us listen before we decide what to do. Or say.” He raised his voice as Miles and the footman hurried in. “Take care where you walk. The trap door is open. Philippe’s servant fell through.”
“To his death,” Philippe said mournfully as his head emerged through the trap door. “Ah, Lord Garrison. My apologies for this disturbance. May I beg your man’s assistance to bring up his body?”
Miles ordered the footman to fetch a groom, a hurdle, and some rope. The man left the lantern with his master and loped away toward the stables.
“Death is preferable to an asylum,” said Philippe.
“An asylum?” Miles asked.
Philippe nodded, his expression convincingly sad. “But yes, my poor Antoine had gone mad. I believe . . . I believe the disappointment was too much for him. The ideals of the Revolution have gone by the wayside, and England is no better. The common people are still under the thumb of the kings and nobles. He craved equality; no, he demanded it. Alas, it was not to be.”
“That doesn’t explain why he threatened to kill Daisy,” Julian said caustically.
“Antoine wrote the threatening letter?” asked Miles.
“Indeed, yes,” the marquis said. “Without my knowledge and permission, needless to say. He was much enamored of the novel, The Lady’s Ruin, with its story of a woman who thrives despite society’s cruelties, until he neared the end, where the heroine laments that she had to leave her friend, an aristocrat, in France, where she is doomed to prostitution.” He paused. “That upset him greatly.”
“Because he believed the aristocrat deserved her downfall?” Daisy asked.
“But of course. He was enraged, because the ending of that book made it clear that the daughter would rescue the French aristo in the next story and restore her to the life of a privileged lady.”
That wasn’t true! “But—”
Julian squeezed her hand, and Daisy held her peace, seething. There was not even a hint in The Lady’s Ruin that Dianthus would rescue the prostitute. How dare Philippe mouth these lies, and worse, how could Julian aid and abet him?
“He wanted to kill Daisy for a stupid reason such as that?” Miles said. “I don’t believe it.”
“No, no, Lord Garrison. At that time, he did not equate the authoress, Desdemona Warren, with the Daisy he knew at the Diving Duck. He merely wished to prevent publication of The Lady’s Revenge. He broke into the publisher’s office, discovered the name of the authoress, and wrote threatening to kill her if she did not withdraw the book. He assumed she would comply. Unfortunately, she received the letter too late.”
“I wouldn’t have withdrawn it anyway,” Daisy said.
“Quite right,” Lord Garrison said. “You shouldn’t be writing books in the first place, but a Warren does not give in to threats.”
“Spoken like a true aristocrat,” Julian said, laughter lurking in his voice.
“Poor Antoine,” the marquis said. “He hated the aristos, but he loved Daisy.”
Everyone gaped at him, even the footman.
“What?” Daisy squeaked.
“It is a great pity that I realized that Daisy and Desdemona Warren were one and the same. I greatly regret telling him, for he would never have known otherwise. Picture his dismay when he learned that Daisy the barmaid, whom he loved to distraction, was not only the authoress, but a member of a noble family. I believe this is what finally sent Antoine mad.”
This was pure fabrication. Antoine had been friendly enough, but he hadn’t flirted with her any more than he had with Sally, Alice, or any other young female who happened along. Daisy opened her mouth to protest, but Julian squeezed her hand again. Exasperated but determined to trust him, she shut it again.
The marquis heaved an extravagant sigh. “I have explained many times over the years that true nobility is of the heart, not a mere accident of birth, but he refused to understand. The discovery that she was an aristo both in fact and at heart utterly destroyed him.”
“He told you this?” Julian asked.
“Not in so many words, but he wept, poor man, and confessed all to me after he tried to murder Daisy in her room at the inn.”
“After he’d already tried to shoot her when she was out riding,” Julian added.
Philippe stared. “I did not know that.” Again, he seemed sincere. A good actor, or had he truly not known? “It is fortunate that I caught him leaving her room and forced him to explain himself. Poor man, I told him he must be brave and accept that Daisy was not for him, but he felt betrayed. He was a disciple of the great Robespierre. He believed that all traitors to the Revolution must die.”
“But I’m not even French,” Daisy protested. “How could I be a traitor to the Revolution?”
“In the mind of a madman, anything is possible.” The marquis spread his hands in apparent bewilderment. “My poor Antoine calmed and seemed to accept the truth. And yet, I feared for Miss Daisy and was relieved to find that she had left the inn to go to her brother’s house. Had I known she would be here instead, I would not have come.”
“I should hope not,” Miles snapped.
“I crave your pardon, my lord. I needed a little time to think of an excuse to leave here in haste. I thought she would be safe for one night in the care of Sir Julian, but still I kept watch on my servant. He eluded me tonight, but not for long.”
Daisy regretted going along with this story, but it was too late to do anything about that. All she wanted now was to end it. “Poor man, he truly was insane. I am sorry if I caused him suffering, but it’s a mercy he is dead.”
“Very well, but why was the trap door open in the first place?” Miles said. “What is Daisy doing out here, and why was my chess set on the floor of the Great Hall?”
“That was my fault,” Daisy said. “All the talk of thefts unnerved me, and I couldn’t sleep. I was afraid that thieves might be after your chess set. It’s so very beautiful, and you love it so much. I went downstairs to get it. But there was a footman lying on the floor, and an intruder in the house. I ran away.” Which was true as far as it went, but it sounded as if she’d fled in terror. How annoying.
Miles tsked. “I suppose you meant well, Daisy, but that set isn’t worth enough to attract thieves. At least you had the sense to run and hide.”
She loathed being seen as a hysterical female, but Miles couldn’t help being male. It was worse being unable to accuse the marquis.
“And the trap door?” Miles asked again.
Daisy had no answer for that except the truth. She eyed the marquis, whose rueful shrug told her that he was entirely at her mercy.
For the third time, Julian squeezed her hand. “I’m very much afraid that the only man who can answer that is dead.”
She won’t be able to hold it in much longer. Julian put an arm around Daisy and shepherded her away from the summerhouse.
“Good thought, Sir Julian,” Lord Garrison said. �
��She need not witness this. Take her back to the house and ask Mrs. Reams to give her a composer.”
“I don’t need a composer,” Daisy retorted.
“Nonsense. Be off with you. Melinda is awake and worrying. Kindly reassure her.”
The instant they were out of earshot, Daisy came to a halt and hissed, “What a pack of lies! You’re as bad as the marquis.”
“Not quite, I hope.” Julian took her hand in his and got them moving again.
She quivered—with rage, he assumed—but came along with him. “Antoine was never in love with me.”
“No, probably not.”
“I don’t believe he was insane, either.”
“Perhaps not in the strict sense of the word, although anyone who worshipped Robespierre has to be a little unbalanced. But no, I assume he was just a thief, and a bit of a fool. Philippe de Bellechasse . . .” He sighed. “I have known him for a long time, and I find it hard to believe that he would send a threatening letter or contemplate carrying out such a threat.”
“But he just killed his servant.”
“As I would have done, if Philippe had not wished to take care of it himself. Antoine was determined to kill you even after the book had been published, when your death wouldn’t have served any useful purpose but revenge. Therefore he had to die.” He paused, wishing he need not explain further, but that would be unfair to Daisy. “Philippe had other motives as well.”
“Because he is a thief, too,” she muttered.
“Yes, I think so. He certainly has some explaining to do.”
“Explaining? That’s all? Why didn’t you accuse him? Why are you letting him go free?”
“Think of the scandal, love. Besides that, I’m sure he would convince everyone that all the thefts were the work of his servant. He would successfully paint himself as another victim.”
“But what about the goods that were stolen?”
“I imagine he disposes of them quickly.” Julian kissed her hand. “Thank you for trusting me.”
She turned to him with what was probably a glare, but even in the moonlight it was too dark to tell. “If you must know, I had already decided to trust you.”
For a long moment, silence reigned, but for the breeze in the trees and distant shouts from the stables. At last, he mastered his surprise. “Truly?” Good God, his voice had cracked. How could she not believe he loved her?
“Yes, truly, after tossing and turning for hours.” Her voice was gruff, too. “You have now taxed that trust to the limit.”
“Surely not. After fulfilling all my hopes, you wouldn’t change your mind.”
She sighed. “No, I won’t change my mind.”
There, Daisy told herself. She had made a commitment. She couldn’t back down now.
Julian pulled her into his arms and held her close. “Darling Daisy, I love you so much.” It was pure ecstasy—or should have been. She laid her head on his shoulder, savoring his warmth, but she dared not give in to happiness. It made no sense for him to love her. Clearly, he was deluded, but that wouldn’t last for long.
“That’s why I’m so afraid,” she said. “You will change your mind, and you won’t love me anymore.”
“Impossible. We’ll cross the Rubicon together.”
“I’m not sure I like that metaphor,” she said. “It’s a point of no return for me, but not for you. I won’t hold you to our betrothal. You have nothing to fear.”
“Except your fear. Except being unable to help you overcome it.”
“I wish, oh, I wish I could just pretend I’m not afraid. Pretend that all is well, that it doesn’t hurt—”
“Ah, so he did hurt you, the dastard.”
“Not intentionally, at least I don’t think so, except maybe at the very end, when he was so angry.”
“He was angry at the end? Usually that’s when a fellow is utterly spent and blissful.”
Which meant she really was boring. What had she done wrong? If only she were better informed about lovemaking. Should she talk to Melinda?
No, for it might get back to Miles, and she couldn’t bear that. Everyone thought she already knew what went on. Which she did, but . . . maybe not really?
Maybe she’d been a fool to accept everything Reggie had said as gospel truth. Maybe she should remind herself of what Melinda had said earlier, about pleasure between a husband and wife who loved one another. But she found it very hard to believe.
“I won’t do anything that hurts you,” he said.
“Let’s go indoors.”
Hand in hand, they made their way to the kitchen door, which was firmly locked and barred. Julian knocked and shouted, “Open up! Miss Daisy is with me.”
Reams opened the door a little and peered out. “Oh, thank the Lord.” He opened wide. They entered the warm, brightly lit kitchen. Melinda hurried toward them, the sleeping baby in her arms. “You’re unhurt?”
Mrs. Reams was right behind her, clucking her concern.
“I’m well,” Daisy said. The worry on Melinda’s face made her throat swell. “Lord Garrison is fine.”
“What a relief.” Melinda stared. “Is that blood on your wrapper? Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“I’m fine,” Daisy said. “That’s Antoine’s blood. He attacked me, and I defended myself with my knife.”
Mrs. Reams clapped a hand to her bosom. Melinda clutched the baby closer. Even Reams, at the door again, turned in shock. “Do you mean . . . he tried to ravish you?” Melinda asked.
“No! No, of course not. He-He, no, Sir Julian and the marquis were chasing him. M-Maybe he meant to use me as a hostage, so he could get away.”
“But he is dead now.” Julian slid a comforting arm around Daisy. “You need fear him no longer.”
Melinda frowned. “Antoine is the thief?”
Daisy froze, stunned. Did they all know?
“Thief?” How did Julian manage to sound so surprised? “Ah, you’re referring to the chess set.”
Daisy let out a relieved breath. She was more unsettled than she’d realized. If she couldn’t think clearly, she would let the cat out of the bag with regards to Philippe. Also, the servants didn’t know about the death threat or that she’d written novels. She had to keep it that way.
Julian tightened his arm. “It’s all right, love. Let me explain.”
She didn’t need him to take over, but it was very comforting, and pretending to be so overset that she couldn’t speak properly was a good idea, if she couldn’t keep her stories straight.
“Daisy was distressed by all the talk of thieves last evening. She went downstairs in the middle of the night to bring the chess set to safety, and unfortunately encountered Antoine.” He infused a measure of husbandly disapproval into his voice.
Surprisingly, she didn’t mind. Much. “Because it’s Miles’s favorite set,” she protested. “I couldn’t bear it if some horrid thief took it away.”
“That’s typically thoughtful of you, darling,” Julian said, “but when we are properly married, I shall make sure you don’t leave the bed at night.”
Melinda laughed, but Mrs. Reams clucked her disapproval, as if the impropriety of the situation had just dawned on her. Daisy, ruined or not, must not remain in dishabille with a gentleman in the room. “Miss Daisy, you must go straight to your bedchamber. I’ll bring you a hot brick and a composer and tuck you up in bed.”
“I don’t need a composer. I’d like a bracing hot cup of tea.”
“With some brandy in it,” Julian said.
“Oh, very well, but only a little.” She didn’t seem to be able to say no to anything Julian said. She wasn’t sure she liked it, but it was easier to let him take care of her in whichever way he saw fit . . .
She shivered and set that thou
ght aside. She slipped out of his embrace and tossed him a glare, hoping he understood that he was not, under any circumstances, to exclude her from his upcoming talk with Philippe. His lip curled up at one corner, and he gave her the faintest nod.
She wished she didn’t love him so much.
She turned to Mrs. Reams. “Also, I should like some water to wash in.”
“A bath!” Melinda said. “Do you feel besmirched? I would, if someone attacked me. A bath will make you feel better.” The baby squirmed in her arms and woke with a tiny cry.
“No, definitely not. The footmen are busy, and Reams can’t carry all that water upstairs! I just want to wash my face and hands.”
“Very well.” Melinda frowned. “If Antoine wasn’t a thief, why was he running away?”
Daisy groaned. “No more questions, please.”
Julian’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “According to the marquis, Antoine was enamored of Daisy.”
“Truly? Heavens!” Melinda said. The baby showed signs of wanting to nurse. Surely Melinda would leave them now. She didn’t.
“But when he learned that Daisy the maid from the Diving Duck was actually a lady of quality, he went mad with unrequited love.”
“So he did want to ravish you,” Melinda said. “There, there, darling, in a minute,” she told the infant.
“Perhaps, but he didn’t, and he is dead now, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Daisy said. “Shouldn’t you go feed the baby?”
“Yes, I’ll come to your chamber and nurse him while you prepare for bed. I promise not to distress you with any more questions. I shan’t be able to sleep a wink until everyone is back indoors.”
“Nor shall I,” Daisy said, again directing her words at Julian.
Love and the Shameless Lady (Scandalous Kisses Book 3) Page 23
