Danforth, clearly sensing his presence, turned his head. He appeared to be grinning. Matthew could almost hear the beast saying, Look who I found! What jolly fun!
Hmmm. This new trick of Danforth’s of finding Sarah in places where she wasn’t expected—clearly he’d taught him that. And was damn glad he had.
She looked up and stared at him over Danforth’s head with a nonplussed expression Matthew wagered matched his own. Surely he should have been annoyed at finding her here. Spying on him. Yes, the frantic pounding of his heart was the result of just that—pure annoyance. It might seem like anticipation, but it most certainly was not. And this sudden heat coursing through him? That might feel like a rush of desire, but it was certainly nothing more than irritation. And certainly he wasn’t imagining her naked. And wet. And melting in his arms.
Reaching up, she pushed her glasses higher on her nose then frowned. “Lord Langston? Is that you?”
Good God, the woman was daft. “Of course it’s me. What are you doing here?” Rather than answering his question, she asked one of her own. “What is wrong with your face?”
His face? He reached up and encountered his forgotten handkerchief. With an impatient gesture he yanked the linen down and glared at her. “There is nothing wrong with my face. What are you doing here?” he asked again.
She lifted her chin. “What are you doing here?”
Without taking his gaze from her, he stalked forward. When he stood directly in front of her, he issued a quiet whistle that Danforth instantly obeyed by rising and then moving to stand next to him.
“I am working in my garden,” he said in a perfectly calm voice.
Her brows shot upward and she nodded her chin toward the blade he clutched in his hand. “Indeed? What sort of gardening are you doing with that knife? Stabbing your night bloomers to death?”
“What are you doing with my fire poker? Searching the underbrush for blazing logs?”
“I brought it with me for protection. You’ll recall that a man was killed not far from here.”
A shiver of dread, accompanied by a good dose of anger that she’d come out here alone, rippled through him. “I do indeed recall, which therefore again begs the question you’ve yet to answer: What are you doing here?”
“Walking. Enjoying the night air.”
He moved a step closer to her. Her eyes widened but she didn’t attempt to move away. “After your bath?”
“Yes. Believe it or not, bathwater does not render one incapable of walking.”
“If it was night air you sought, you could have achieved your goal without leaving the comfort of your bedchamber,” he said silkily. “You could have opened your windows and paced about your room and not have risked running into a murderer. You are either very brave or very foolish.”
“I assure you I’m not foolish. I brought the fire poker, which I was fully prepared to use”—she shot him a pointed glare—“and still am, if necessary. I also knew that with you and Danforth so close by, I wasn’t in any real danger.”
“And how did you know Danforth and I were close by?”
“I saw you from my window. Now it is your turn to answer my question, which you’ve ignored. What are you doing with that knife?”
“I carry it for protection against intruders.”
“I was harboring the impression that I was a guest, not an intruder.”
“My guests are all asleep at this hour.”
“As opposed to wandering about in the garden.”
“Precisely.”
“Then perhaps you should write up an instruction manual for your guests, as I was not aware I was required to retire at a certain time.”
“An instruction manual is an excellent idea. I’ll be certain to include a chapter on how guests should not spy on their hosts.”
“In that case, I’d suggest also adding a chapter on how hosts should not deliberately lie to their guests.”
“So you admit you were spying on me?”
She hesitated, then jerked her head in a nod that sent her glasses sliding downward. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“In order to find out why you’d lied to me.”
“And what exactly do you think I lied about?”
“The reason for your nocturnal visits to the garden.” She hiked her chin up a notch. “Whatever you’re doing out here has nothing to do with night bloomers or any other sort of gardening.”
“Upon what are you basing such an accusation?”
“Tell me, my lord, are your tortlingers planted in this area of the garden?”
Matthew hesitated for a beat, cursing himself for neglecting to ask Paul. “No.”
“How about your straff wort?”
“No. As I’m sure you can tell, this area of the garden is reserved primarily for roses.” Ha. So there. Even he knew enough about roses to fool a self-proclaimed gardening expert.
“So then your tortlingers and straff wort are elsewhere in the garden.”
“Obviously.”
“You’d be willing to show them to me?”
“Of course. But not now.”
“Why not?”
“Because right now I’m going to escort you back to the house then continue with my business, which is none of your business.”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind. Because I’m not leaving. What you’ll do instead is explain to me what you are doing out here. Without uttering any further falsehoods.”
“I don’t like being called a liar, Sarah.”
“Then I strongly suggest you stop lying.” She paused for several seconds then said, “There are no such things as tortlingers and straff wort.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She repeated her statement, very slowly, as if he were a half-wit.
Matthew went perfectly still, then inexplicably had to fight the urge to laugh. Not at her, but at himself. Bloody hell. She’d given him ample rope and he’d very neatly hanged himself. He wasn’t certain if he was more annoyed or amused or impressed.
“I see,” he said, unable to squelch his grudging admiration.
“Then I’m sure you can also see that I am due a satisfactory explanation for your nocturnal garden visits.”
“Actually I don’t see that at all. What I do on my own property is none of your concern. Just because we’ve seen each other naked doesn’t mean I’m obligated to offer you explanations.”
“It is my concern if you don’t wish for me to believe that during your visit to the garden several nights ago you were digging a shallow grave for Willstone.”
“Is that what you believe, Sarah? That I killed Tom Willstone?” Before she could answer, he moved one step closer to her. “Because if I did kill him, surely you realize that there’d be no reason for me not to kill you.” Another step closer. Now less than two feet separated them. “Here. Now.”
Her gaze never left his, and for the space of one heartbeat it felt as if she’d looked into his soul. “I don’t believe you killed him,” she said softly.
“Really? As you said, you saw me that night with a shovel, and there’s no point in not admitting I’ve lied about my gardening expeditions. So why don’t you believe I killed him?”
She again studied him for several long seconds before replying. And he gritted his teeth to keep from falling into the damn vortex of her gaze.
Finally she said, “Because I listen to my heart. And my heart tells me you are a man of honor. That you would not, could not, kill anyone. That a man who still so strongly carries the guilt of his siblings’ deaths, who still mourns their loss after all these years, is incapable of ending someone’s life.”
Her words seemed to burn a hole through him. There was no question that she meant what she’d said, and damn it, her unquestioning belief in him left him…humbled. Vulnerable. Unsettled and confused. He would have expected such belief from Daniel, his closest friend, but not from a woman who barely knew him. Even his own father hadn’t believed him to be a man of hon
or.
Yet she did.
He had to swallow to find his voice, and then only managed to say, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Reaching out, she laid her hand on his arm. “Tell me what you’re doing out here. Please.”
The debate of whether to take her into his confidence was swift, decided by a combination of the concern in her eyes, the warmth from her hand, and his sudden weariness at keeping his doings secret. If he told her, given her expertise with plants, then he could simply ask for her help, which is exactly what he’d wanted to do.
After tucking his knife back in his boot and jabbing his shovel’s tip into the soft dirt, he drew a deep breath and began, “During the years prior to my father’s death, we only saw each other upon occasion, and each of those meetings were tense and awkward. He always made certain I was fully aware of his disapproval—that I wasn’t worthy of the title. And that it was my fault that James, who had been worthy and more of a man than I’d ever be, was dead.”
Just saying those words stung him, hurt him, as they had every time his father had flung them at him. “Three years ago, after one such tense meeting, our normal round of arguments turned uglier than usual and all communication between us broke off. I didn’t hear from him again until he summoned me as he lay on his deathbed.”
Matthew closed his eyes, the image of his pale, dying, pain-ridden father forever emblazoned in his mind. The shot from the highwayman’s pistol had fatally wounded him, but not in a merciful, quick way. It had taken him a long, painful day to die.
Opening his eyes, he stared at the ground and continued, “When I arrived at Langston Manor from London, I learned from Father’s steward that the estate was heavily in debt. Father was always a gambler, but apparently he’d suffered a long run of extremely bad luck. He’d lost everything that wasn’t entailed and owed huge sums to the servants and dozens of merchants and shopkeepers. Even to the steward himself.”
He drew a deep breath, then still looking at the ground, said quietly, “When I saw Father, he was close to death. Extremely weak, and laboring for every breath. He haltingly told me he had something of the utmost importance and secrecy to tell me, but before he would impart this information, he demanded a promise that I would do something for him. I’m not certain if it was guilt or pride or the need to show him I was honorable or a combination of all three, but I said I would do whatever he asked.”
Looking up, he said, “He extracted a promise that I would marry within the year and set about producing an heir. It is a promise my honor demands I keep.”
She nodded slowly. “Of course it is.” Realization dawned in her eyes. “The year is nearly over.”
“Yes. In twenty-eight days.”
“So the rumors that you’re looking for a bride are true.”
“They are.”
He could almost see the thoughts aligning in her head. “Which is why you invited my sister, Lady Emily, and Lady Julianne to your home. To choose one of them to be your wife.”
“Yes.”
She frowned. “But why have you not cast your net wider? You’ve not been in London—there have been dozens of soirees over the past several months, all attended by dozens of eligible young ladies.”
“I haven’t wanted to leave the estate. Haven’t wanted to take time away from my search.”
“Search?”
“It pertains to my father’s great secret.” Matthew could almost feel his father’s hand weakly clutching his, see his eyes desperately trying to convey all he wanted to say while each torturous breath rattled in his filling lungs, his terror at knowing he was nearly out of time.
“With his last breaths he told me that the night before he was shot he’d won a huge sum gambling—more than enough money to pay off his debts and put the estate back to rights again. He hid the money, here on the estate.”
Comprehension widened her eyes. “In the garden.”
“Yes. But his words were so faint, so halting, he was nearly impossible to understand. He died, still trying to speak. Afterward I wrote down what he said as best as I could recall, and I’ve been searching ever since, trying to find this cache of money so as to pay off the debts I inherited upon his death.”
She nodded slowly then pushed off from the tree and paced in front of him. He stepped back to give her room, watching as she clearly absorbed all he’d told her.
“I believe I understand now,” she said, continuing to pace. “Because you have so little time left before your year expires, you didn’t want to leave your estate and thus your search for the money. Yet, in order to honor your promise to your father, you need to find a bride. And since you are so deeply in debt and may indeed never find this windfall he spoke of, it is now necessary that your bride be an heiress. Therefore, you invited three women you believed to be wealthy marriage prospects to your home, intending to choose one of them while still searching for the money.” She halted and met his gaze. “Is that accurate?”
“I don’t believe I could have explained it better myself.”
She pushed up her sliding glasses then asked in a soft voice tinged with obvious disapproval, “You’d marry purely for money?”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “Unfortunately I don’t have the luxury not to. I cannot allow the estate to fall into ruin. A great many people are counting on me. They depend on this estate for their livelihoods. Nor can I ignore the Langston history and the fact that this home has been in my family for generations. The burden of those responsibilities weighs heavily upon me, and I take those obligations very seriously.”
His gaze shifted to Danforth, who stood quietly beside him, then returned to hers. “And I’m certain you’re aware that many marriages amongst members of the peerage are based on the advantageous combining of fortunes and titles rather than sentimental affairs of the heart.”
“Yes.” Indeed, Julianne had said on many occasions that she was well aware she’d be married for her money. “The fact that you’ve told me all this, I gather it’s not merely to explain yourself because you think I would otherwise report your shovel-toting late night excursions to the authorities. It is because you believe my expertise with regard to plants and flowers may help you find some clue in your father’s last words. Correct?”
He nodded. “You’ve again explained it perfectly. Would you be willing to help me?”
Instead of answering, she asked, “Have you not asked your groundskeeper Paul to assist you?”
“Not directly. I’ve asked him some general questions and professed an interest in gardening, but other than that I haven’t asked anyone to help me. I haven’t wanted to risk that word might spread. If I’d confided in Paul, he could have inadvertently said something to one of the villagers or servants, and the next thing you know, every person within a ten mile radius would be digging holes in my garden.”
“How do you know I won’t do the same? Tell someone your secret or attempt to find the money and keep it for myself?”
The urge to touch her became too strong to ignore. Reaching out, he gently brushed his fingertips across her smooth cheek. “My heart tells me you won’t.”
She stared at him for several seconds, then something that looked like hurt—or perhaps disappointment—flashed in her eyes. She stepped back and his hand fell to his side. Then she once again commenced pacing.
“Of course,” she murmured. “Now I understand. That is why you’ve been so…attentive. So charming. The reason you kissed me. Invited me to tea. Came to my bedchamber this evening. You want my help.”
Matthew snagged her arm as she passed him and pulled her around until she faced him. “No.” The word came out more harshly than he’d intended.
“You don’t want my help?”
“I do. But that is not the reason for my attentions toward you.”
Again that flash of disappointed hurt shimmered in her huge eyes, cutting him off at the knees. “It’s quite all right, my lord. I understand—”
“Matthew.
And no. No, you don’t understand,” he insisted, his voice taking on a rough edge. She didn’t understand, and he wanted, needed, for her to do so. Grabbing her other arm, he pulled her closer.
“That was supposed to be the reason,” he admitted, hating himself for the hurt those words brought into her eyes. “Spend time with you, talk to you, because I wanted information, wanted to tap into your expertise without revealing why. But it didn’t work out that way. Every time I spoke to you, I forgot what I was supposed to be doing. Forgot everything. Except you.” He brushed his thumbs over the velvety smooth skin of her upper arms. “I’ve been attentive to you because I can’t get my mind off you. I kissed you the first time because I couldn’t stop myself from doing so. I invited you to tea because I desired your company. I came to your bedchamber tonight because I couldn’t stay away. I touched you then for the same reason I’m touching you now—because I can’t keep my hands off you.”
Her gaze searched his, then she shook her head. “Please stop. It isn’t necessary for you to say such things. I’ll help you, or at least try to.”
“Damn it, you still don’t understand.” He barely resisted the urge to shake her, and cursed every person in her life who’d ever made her feel inferior. “It is necessary that I say such things, because they’re true. Every time I’m near you, something happens to me. You just…do something to me. Just by looking at me. Just by being in the same room as me. I can’t explain it, as it’s something I’ve never experienced before. And to be perfectly honest, I’m not certain I like it.”
They stared at each other, and he swore the air between them crackled. Then her brows rose, and damn it, she actually looked amused.
“Well, at least you’ve ceased your flattery. Although you might want to be careful not to be too insulting. After all, you are dealing with a woman who’s holding a fire poker.”
“Oh? Do you intend to cosh me?”
“If necessary.”
Sleepless at Midnight Page 18
