In Search of Scandal (London Explorers #1)

by Susanne Lord

  “That’s wonderful, Son.” His parents replied with the measured happiness he’d come to expect when the topic was his expedition.

  Not that he found pleasure in the earl’s investment himself. And his bloody leg was throbbing from the run earlier. And nothing on the table tempted him. And he’d got no work done all day. And there seemed no end in sight to his brooding.

  Likely because there’d been no sight of Charlotte since the morning.

  “I’ve not seen the family since this morning, have you?” Will asked.

  His parents looked at one another, silently consulting as was their habit. “Neither have we,” his father said.

  His mother’s eyes widened. “Do you think Charlotte has accepted that viscount? Would they be celebrating?”

  His gut twisted. Marry Spencer, Miss Baker—

  “I don’t know.” He pushed to his feet, the chair tipping on two legs in his haste. “I’m to bed.”

  “Good night, Son.”

  But his feet carried him downstairs to the deserted hall. He could inquire of the family; the servants would think nothing of that. A few would be belowstairs, if he could find the stairwell. A footman glided silently around him and he followed.

  The kitchen held a small gathering of what he discerned were the upper servants, clustered in fervent conversation. “Excuse me.”

  The servants turned with varying degrees of contrition or surprise upon their faces. The valet assigned to him was first to stand. “Your pardon, Mr. Repton, sir. Is there something you require?”

  “I wished to inquire of the family. They are missed upstairs.”

  The valet looked uncertainly at Goodley, the butler. His name was easy to remember, being the brother of the butler at Ben’s London house. They even looked alike, but tonight Windmere’s butler wore an expression heavy with concern.

  “Mrs. Paxton did not feel…well, if I may speak freely, we are anticipating the arrival of her babe this evening—a tad early, but well within the parameters of a safe delivery, we are told, and with all expectation of one. Mr. Paxton is seeing to her comfort, and Mr. Baker insisted on going to town to collect the doctor.”

  “I see.” That explained the family’s absence; Charlotte would be at her sister’s side.

  Goodley’s expression of concern crumpled unashamedly to one of appeal. “This is not my place to say, but you seem a bosom friend of the master’s.” He lowered his voice, but this was only a play at discretion, as the servants could hear every word.

  “What is it?”

  “We’ve not told the master, considering Mrs. Paxton’s delicate condition, and Wallace Baker is likewise unaware. But…our Miss Charlotte has not been seen for hours.”

  His heart stilled. “Why not? Is she in the gardens?”

  “We’ve searched the gardens, the house, the outbuildings. And all the horses and carriages are accounted for.” He paused. “No one has seen Lord Spencer, either,” Goodley added with a harder edge to his tone.

  The arrow in his chest pierced deeper. He scanned the faces around the prep table. “Where is her maid?”

  “Patty and her husband are searching the grounds,” Goodley said. “Her concern was most acute after learning Miss Charlotte was to tell His Lordship she could not reciprocate his affections. I’m afraid he is a disappointed man this evening, Mr. Repton. And I don’t think a man like that cares to be thwarted in his aims.”

  Will held tightly to his control. Hugh Spencer wouldn’t react badly—he was a viscount.

  But Will had witnessed horrors rise in an instant and men become beasts without provocation.

  “When was she last seen?” Will asked tightly.

  “A little before the dinner hour,” Goodley said.

  Beyond the window, the moon was rising. Not in the gardens or in the house…

  There might be one place they’d not looked.

  Will turned to the valet. “Bring me a lantern.”

  Ten

  “Repton has stolen your affections from me.”

  Hugh’s words were quiet, but the cold light in his stare chilled her.

  Had she made a mistake? The nature walk seemed the kindest path to take—one mile to gently explain her feelings; the other to salvage their friendship. But the man’s steps were maddeningly slow, and the light in the wood had faded. No matter how she answered his questions, no answer satisfied.

  “Please, Hugh, we mustn’t delay. We’ll not see the trail soon.”

  “You were enamored with him from the first. I was there, remember? I saw how you behaved, as everyone behaves. Fawning over him, flattering him.”

  What could she say that he would believe? They were far from the house. The white birches stood like specters, their rustling leaves menacing whispers.

  “Hugh.” She dared to circle his cold wrist, his fist clenched solid as a cudgel beneath it. “There is nothing between Mr. Repton and I, truly. But I cannot offer you the devotion you deserve.”

  The light in the wood receded quickly, as if a cloud had passed overhead and settled. She blinked and widened her eyes in an attempt to see more clearly.

  “This is enough.” Her voice was shrill to her own ears. “I will answer any question at the house.”

  She tugged his wrist and was yanked back.

  “I do not care to hear your lies. Think a moment, if you can squeeze a thought in that feathery head of yours. You cannot marry better. If you fancy Repton will raise you, you’re mistaken.”

  “That is not—”

  “This conceit of yours requires an adjustment. Our marriage is all but decided.” He paused, and his eyes seemed to deaden. “Is this my father’s work?”

  “Your father?”

  “He thinks I am his to command. But I choose.” He stepped closer, his breath stale with tobacco on her cheek. “And I chose you. Do you know what that costs me? The next Earl of Harlowe, aligned with your diseased brother and a fake countess for a sister? A whore some call—”

  “No!” Fury roared to life in her. “Release my arm!”

  “What do you require? Jewels? A grand house like your beloved Windmere?”

  She pulled at his grip. “Hugh—stop!”

  “Passion? Have I been too reserved?” His eyes hardened. “Do women of low birth require a ready cock to persuade?”

  Speechless, she stared.

  “Did Repton persuade you?”

  “How dare you—”

  Hugh’s face contorted with a snarl, and she was thrown and falling. An animal cry of fear escaped her throat. The trees blurred. The forest floor slammed the back of her head and branches cracked beneath her.

  A bolt of panic surged through her. No, please God! She scrambled to rise but he tackled her back to the ground.

  “No!” Her arms swung, her legs kicked, desperate to upset his arms and knees pinning her to the earth.

  “Calm yourself!”

  “NO!” She bucked in terror. Hard hands patted her, seeking to calm her, but the attempt was insane. He was crushing her, his knees boring into her stomach. Wrenching a burning wrist from his grip, her elbow cracked his nose and he fell off with a curse.

  Scrambling to pull herself forward, she was flattened as his weight landed hard on her. “Charlotte! I won’t hurt you!”

  “No!”

  “Goddammit, just—” The rest was a cry of surprise.

  His weight was lifted. She could breathe—she was free! She pushed to her feet and ran.

  Vertigo spun her; her feet met the ground blind. Branches snagged her skirt, her hair. He would catch her. He was behind her!

  “Charlotte, stop!”

  He’s coming!

  “Charlotte!”

  Will?

  She turned. The amber glow of a lantern illuminated Will standing over Hugh’s body—hunched and broken-looking against the trunk of a tree, his neck bent oddly. He was dead!

  Oh no, no…he was dead…

  Hugh lurched upright to sitting and she tripped over her
feet.

  In a flash of movement, Will’s greatcoat swung in a billowing arc. He gripped Hugh’s hair and yanked, forcing the man to look him full in the face. “You don’t touch her,” he growled. “You never touch her.”

  Hugh’s body whipsawed into a tortured arch, his tears silver in the lamplight. “I won’t! Stop—I can’t breathe, my heart—”

  “Quiet!”

  Hugh writhed under the grip on his scalp, his lips pressed thin against sound.

  In the stark quiet, her ragged breathing was unrecognizable as her own.

  “Charlotte,” Will said quietly, as if waking from a dream. He sprang his fingers free of Hugh as if it burned to touch him, and Hugh crumpled like a puppet with his strings cut. Will’s eyes locked on her and he plunged up the incline, his running gait hobbled with what must be agony.

  Her heart tore at the sight. “Don’t run.” She tried to call but only a thin whisper eked through. “Don’t run.”

  In an instant, he loomed over her, reaching, and she shied violently. Her feet tangled in the dense brush and she fell, landing hard on a ragged stump. But her body was so insensible, she did not cry out.

  He cringed. “No, Charlotte.”

  It was not her mind recoiling but her skin, her nerves, her blood—excited to a frenzy and unable to return to normalcy. He lifted her, her feet meeting ground, but it was Will who held her weight, rooted and stronger than even the trees around them.

  “He won’t touch you,” Will said, his voice edged with fury. Smothered against his chest, the words rumbled through her. One strong hand braced her; the other traveled over her head, her arms, her back, searching for injury.

  To her shame, her breath hitched raggedly in her throat and the more she attempted to contain the tremors shaking her body, the worse they became.

  Will’s hand stilled, cupping her head. “Where are you hurt?”

  She shook her head, and he seemed to understand she was uninjured.

  “I didn’t know…Hugh never—” She broke off at the feel of his lips on her temple, his large hand holding her head still against his mouth.

  “It’s over,” Will whispered. “It’s over.” He looked back at Hugh.

  Or where Hugh should have been.

  “Spencer!”

  Will’s roar was so startling, she flinched. Released abruptly, she swayed but stayed upright. Will crashed down the brush to the trail. Hugh was gone. And so was the lantern.

  “Spencer!”

  No lamp glow could be seen; she could barely see Will. Only his white shirt resisted the absolute dark enveloping them.

  “Damn it.” Will’s low curse floated to her.

  “Come back.” But she was already stumbling toward him. She did not see him return as much as feel him, hearing branches snap underfoot. The blackness of the wood was complete, impenetrable to her eye.

  “I’m sorry, Charlotte.” His voice was a trace of heat in the cool, damp air, his body more of the same, so she held his sleeve, tethering him close. “We’re here until sunrise. The trail’s gone.”

  Hugh had trapped them here, vulnerable in a terrain that was treacherous come nightfall.

  Will’s arm circled her shoulders and she wondered if he did so to comfort her or keep her in place. “We’ll be fine.”

  But her flesh prickled, sensing the invisible presence of snagging thorns and prodding branches, the centipedes and vermin scuttling near. It was only nature. No different in the dark as in the day.

  No different…

  “The hermitage,” she whispered, remembering Lucy’s folly. She peered into the dark as if she might see it, but only darkness crowded back. “It is not far. We were close to coming upon it.”

  “A hermitage?”

  “Ben restored it for Lucy. It’s her favorite retreat. There may be a lantern or candle.”

  She inched to the path but Will held her still. “Trust me,” she said.

  He diverted his hold to her elbow.

  “The ravine was to our right.” In the dark, she swept the path before placing her full weight upon the ground. Will’s arm was hooked around her waist and the other stretched before them.

  Was this the way? The incline was too steep. She stopped to regain her bearings, but how could she know? It was impossible to see; what if she was leading them away, what if—

  “It’s all right, Charlotte. We can stop.”

  “I was sure it was near.”

  His arm gave a comforting squeeze. “Then let’s go a ways more.”

  His voice held no blame or frustration, so she took a deep breath. An owl screeched overhead and she jumped. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “But you wish I’d kept hold of that lantern, don’t you?”

  In the dark, she smiled and pressed the hand he kept about her waist firmly against her.

  After what might have been two or ten or twenty minutes in the dark, and a dozen, startling pricks from unseen branches, they slowed to a standstill. She was glad he couldn’t see the misery surely on her face. “I’m sorry—”

  “There, Charlotte.” His voice was threaded with pride. Slowly, the ancient, rounded structure revealed itself, a bone-white glow in the blackness. “Is that it?”

  “Thank God,” she gasped.

  The way was steep, but Will’s footing was sure. Even in pain, and with her cumbersome form clinging to him, his strength was remarkable. A skill no doubt gained in his work.

  Will fumbled for the latch, and the door groaned open. Will held her back from entering into the blackness, but the hermitage held no fear for her. The seventeenth-century hovel was as familiar to her as any room in Windmere, and she made her way unerringly to the hearthstone and lit a Lucifer match. The sudden flare of light threw the room’s dimensions into sharp relief. The flames caught in the fireplace and bathed the room with a golden glow. There were no candles or lanterns, no table or chair, only a narrow rope bed along the curved wall and a rag rug on the stone floor.

  Will stood at the door, his gaze locked on the bed.

  “I’m afraid this is it,” she said.

  He started at her words and diverted his attention to the ceiling and walls. The corner of his mouth curled with a half smile. “Good work, Charlotte.”

  Despite everything, her cheeks burned with pleasure. Honestly, this constant blushing was utterly ridiculous. She cleared her throat, but she couldn’t bluster her pride away. “Well. It is a roof.”

  He closed the door and limped to the center of the room, appearing confused as to what to do next.

  She hugged her arms about herself, wanting more to hug him. He favored his right leg and the pained stance wrung her heart. “We may as well sit. Surely someone will come. Once Hugh gains his reason.”

  “If the bastard has any decency.”

  She let the curse pass in silent agreement. “My brother will come, he will find us.”

  “Wallace wasn’t aware you were missing. It was the servants who told me.”

  “Oh no.” She frowned with regret. “Everyone will be in such a state.”

  “They’ll not worry long. If Spencer returns to the house, he’ll be forced to tell our whereabouts.”

  That did seem the likeliest scenario. And the most favorable to her reputation, so she staked her faith upon it.

  The fire dipped and sputtered and they both stared. “I am useless at starting fires,” she said.

  “I’ll see to it.” Will quickly knelt at the fire, seeming relieved to have a task.

  She rather wished she had one, too.

  Charlotte sat on the corner of the narrow bed and watched Will work. The door wasn’t latched and she stood to fix the lock. At the sound, Will turned, but just as quickly turned back.

  She cringed, realizing how unnecessary the act was. There were no roaming bandits or poachers to fear. She latched the door from habit, but at present, locking herself in with Will only heightened the awkward intimacy of their situation.

  She perched on the bed, ca
reful not to make noise. Will straightened and took off his coat, holding it open before the fire, and the breath left her lungs.

  The firelight revealed a thoroughly male silhouette through the thin linen. Almost as if he stood naked before her—a broad, powerful back tapering dramatically to a lean waist and the muscled ridge of his hips. Arms that bulged with muscle flexed and rotated the coat before the flames. She dropped her eyes, but in the next second, as Will was unaware, she looked again. Oh my…

  She really ought to look away. Likely she would, later.

  He turned and she started guiltily.

  “Here.” He held out the coat. “Put this on.”

  “I cannot—”

  He draped the coat over her shoulders. The toasty wool melted the tension from her shoulders. She had been cold.

  “Better?” Light blue eyes searched hers with concern as he crouched and drew the ends of the coat tight about her. Her heart gave a helpless thump.

  Dear God, he was the most beautiful man. Mesmerized, she nodded.

  He straightened and limped back toward the wall, as far from her as he could possibly manage.

  She slid to the edge of the bed. “Please sit down.”

  “I’ll sit here. In China, I sat on the ground more often than a chair.”

  “That does not account. There is room on the…here.” She had not intended to sound cross, but there was no missing how his face had shuttered at her suggestion. “Please, Mr. Repton—”

  “I’m back to ‘Mr. Repton,’ then?”

  “Well…I will call you Will. If you prefer.”

  “I do prefer.” He grinned. “That makes us very nearly friends. That must be quite a prize for you.”

  She smiled, relieved by his show of humor, dry as it was. “It is far worse for you. Now that you’ve been cried upon twice, and endured my kisses, and rescued me from—” She would not say the words aloud. “You have been far more friendlike to me than I have to you.”

  “I wasn’t minding the balance. And if I’m to be honest, I enjoyed the kisses.”

  His eyes warmed with humor and the look was devastating, melting all those things vital to her resolve and strength.

  “Did I thank you, Will? Thank you.”