“Perhaps he has been on the grounds before.”
“Aye, he may have reconnoitered before ever approaching me. Were I planning such a deception, I certainly would. We know someone is prowling about.”
“Do you think it might be he? That he is giving the information to our enemies?” A frightening thought. She sat up a little straighter in his arms and looked at him.
He pulled her close again, reassuring her with a touch. “He knew about that concealed passage—asked me about it, in fact. I wondered if he were taunting me, daring me to unmask him.” He paused, thinking. “But no. I don’t think he would have known about the chimneys—unless he really is Henry, but probably not at all. It would have to be someone who worked in the kitchen or who did maintenance. If he is not Henry, it is more likely that someone is giving the information to him. But then there is the matter of the fishhook.”
Diana chuckled. “The fishhook?”
He smiled down at her and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Yes. The tale of a childhood accident he related. I remember it well. He has a scar in the right place and seemed to be still annoyed that it was my hook.”
“Oh, my. That does sound authentic.” She turned her face up.
“And very much like Henry. He always blamed me for everything—and wanted everything I had.” He lowered his face to hers and brushed a kiss across her mouth. “Even you. He is making it plain that he wants you.”
“If this man is Henry.”
“Whoever he is.” He kissed her again, harder this time, holding her tighter. She could feel his erection growing under her. “But he will not have you. I used to give my toys to Henry, but I never had anything in my life that I value as I do you.”
“Oh, Vincent.” Diana wound her arms around his neck and held him close.
He moved his lips to her throat, one hand coming to her breast. “Ah, Diana. I want you. All I must do is touch you, smell you, hear your voice, and I am consumed with desire.”
He let her body drop back across his arm and lifted her, covering her nipple with his mouth, wetting the thin fabric that covered it. Diana moaned and arched upward as sensation coursed through her. His hand found the hem of her gown and slid slowly up one leg, coming to rest between them.
His fingers began to work their magic—circling, pressing, entering—while his tongue and lips on her breast drove every thought out of her head. Diana could only press up against his hand, writhe against it, gasp for breath, vaguely aware of the words he whispered.
“Yes. Yes, Diana. Come to me, beautiful lady. Come to me.”
And she did, in shattering completion. He covered her shriek with his mouth while everything went dark, and she could only convulse in his arms. And just as the feelings began to subside, he rolled over and thrust into her.
And it all began again.
Diana could never have said how long they lay entwined, how many times he brought her to release. She only knew that sometime later—much later—she became aware of him pounding against her, smothering his own shout against her neck.
They lay there together, exhausted, dozing. After a while, the chill began to nip at them and they found their way under the covers and slipped into slumber, wrapped in one another’s arms.
She hadn’t told him. The thought surfaced for a moment before sleep claimed her. Another night’s reprieve. But she must. Soon.
Dear God, why was it so hard to do?
The next morning a knock at his library door heralded Throckmorton’s approach. Vincent had left Diana sleeping. He interrupted fond memories of the night before to call, “Enter.”
The big footman opened the door and took the chair Vincent indicated with a wave of his hand. “I think we have us a nibble, me lord.”
“Aha.” Vincent leaned back and stacked his heels on the desk. “That did not take long.”
“Nay, sir. That it didn’t. Only spent a brace of hours in the tap room, neighboring with the tapper. Talked to anyone who came around. Drank enough to let them think I was addled.” He grinned slyly. “That would take a lot of ale.”
Vincent could believe that. Big men often had amazing capacity. “So, what did you learn?”
Throckmorton’s brows drew together. “That someone, God rot ’em, still wants a way to Miss Selena and Master Bytham.”
“Go on.” Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“When I started home, I hadn’t been on the road for more’n five minutes when this cull comes outta the bushes with a lantern. Not a boy exactly, but not a man grown, neither. Young. Says he knows someone who wants to have some words with me.”
“Ah. What did this young’un look like?”
Throckmorton stared into the upper corner of the room for a heartbeat. “Light brown hair.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. “Not as tall as you. Skinny. Bad skin.”
“Hmm. Was he missing a tooth—one a bit to the side?”
“Aye, now that you say it. You know him?”
“I think so. Tobias Hawkins. Damnation! I have done my best to make amends to that family, but that rascal wants to blame his own bad behavior on his anger at me.” Vincent dropped his feet to the floor and crossed his arms. “Go on. What else?”
“Well, he said there was a cove what wanted to meet up with me, wanted to set a time.” The boxer smiled. “I figured you might want me to do just that, so I told him tonight—that I’d slip out sneaking-like and come meet them. Asked him first if there was any brass in it for me.”
“I suppose he said there was.” Vincent smiled wryly.
“Oh, yes.” Throckmorton scowled. “I made it plain that there would have to be brass. Can’t be betraying my trust for nothing.”
Throckmorton’s contempt for treachery was clear in his voice. Vincent sighed. If only there were more men like him. “Very well. Where are you to meet?”
“The cully said there’s a beech tree by the lane—a big one. I marked it as I came on back. Says there is a clearing right behind it.”
“Yes, I know it.” A good meeting place. Vincent would have to stop using it. “What time?”
“Right after moonrise.”
“Then I best be there well before. Better a long wait than being seen.” Damn. This errand would take up his time with Diana, even dinner. He would have to think up an excuse for Sudbury. “Do not be concerned that you do not see me when you come. I do not intend to be seen.”
“Aye, sir. And I’ll show up with the moon.”
“Very well. I’ll arrange for Feetham to stay with the children. Good work, Throckmorton.”
Vincent stood. “Tonight we hunt.”
Chapter Fifteen
Vincent watched him from the branches of the tree. Tobias Hawkins it was, indeed, searching the clearing and the woods around it. Vincent smiled grimly. Too late, Tobias. I have been here for several hours. People rarely thought to look up—at least not amateur schemers like young Hawkins. Clothed in black britches and shirt, soot on his face, and screened by leaves and ivy, Vincent sat motionless well up in the beech, comfortable in a large fork. Even if the searcher looked his way, it was unlikely that he would see him.
The question now was, where was Hawkins’s confederate, the person to whom he was providing information? And who was he? With luck they would soon discover the answer. Vincent resisted the impulse to peer through the foliage in an attempt to locate him. He would not risk being discovered. Most likely Tobias’s ally had not yet arrived, in any event, using Hawkins to do the scouting for him.
Eventually the boy left and Vincent settled in for the wait. Two days past the full, the moon would not rise until it began to get dark. He watched the sun set, warm colors filtering through the leaves gradually cooling to the lavender of dusk. The balmy dark wrapped around him. Looking up, he could see the stars peeping down at him through the spaces. At last he saw glimpses of the silver disk climbing above the horizon. He sharpened his watch.
Down the lane a tuneless whistling could be heard approachi
ng. Throckmorton. Silently, Vincent eased himself farther down in the tree. The moon’s light had not yet reached into the clearing. He felt safe enough in finding a spot where he could see the men on the ground.
The whistling stopped as Throckmorton moved into the clearing, surveying the area warily. He then leaned against the trunk of the beech and folded his arms across his massive chest. Vincent held his breath and listened. A faint rustling in the surrounding brush alerted them both to the coming of Hawkins.
Throckmorton straightened and stepped away from the tree. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, guv’nor.” Tobias came out of the woods.
“Where’s the cove I’m to meet up with?”
“Nay then, he’ll be here.” The boy sounded surly. “Hold your horses.”
“Who is this cull? He local here?” Throckmorton edged away from the tree a bit.
“Nay, he come from London.”
“What’s he doing here then?”
“Fell things. His master is a lord.” Tobias now sounded very pleased with himself. “A great lord.”
“He got a name?”
Silence.
The big man took a threatening step forward. “Look, boy, I like to know who I’m doing business with. What’s this lord’s name?”
Suddenly there was a disturbance in the brush. Vincent and Throckmorton both focused on it. Abruptly the boxer jumped forward, shoving Hawkins away from him.
“’Ware!”
A pistol cracked. The muzzle flash flared across the clearing. Throckmorton shouted and stumbled into Hawkins. They both went to the ground as Vincent came hurtling down through the branches of the tree. He swung to the ground and rolled as he landed. The crashing of a body running through the underbrush told him that the assailant was in retreat. At the point of giving chase, Vincent realized that Throckmorton still lay on the ground.
As Hawkins tried to find his feet, Vincent seized him by the arm. “Oh, no, you don’t!” He took Throckmorton, who was attempting to rise, by one shoulder and pushed Hawkins to his other side. “Get him into the woods!”
The boy obeyed unthinkingly. Together they half dragged the boxer to the edge of the trees and dived out of sight. Vincent knelt by Throckmorton where he sat gasping for breath. “How bad are you hurt? Do you have the ball?”
“I don’t think so, me lord. Just seems like the wind got knocked out of me.” He slipped his hand inside his coat. “Hmm. Well, maybe…” He held the hand out for Vincent to see. It shone wetly.
“You have it, all right.” Vincent turned to the boy who crouched beside him, looking stunned. “You see what kind of friends you have? Your partner tried to shoot you—would have, had Throckmorton not saved your worthless neck.”
“Must have thought you was going to tell me a name.” The big footman got to one knee.
“But I don’t know no name!” Tobias blurted.
“You were answering too many questions, nonetheless.” Vincent stood and put a hand under Throckmorton’s arm. “Can you stand?”
“Aye, me lord. It only smarts a little.” He came to his feet.
Vincent turned on Hawkins. “How many are there?”
“I never saw but just the one, me lord.” Tobias began sidling away.
Vincent grabbed him again. “Come back here. You are going to help me get him home.” He shook the boy angrily. “You young scoundrel, I gave you a chance, but no. You rather quit your position and act on a grudge.”
“Nay, then. Weren’t much position.” The boy scowled. “Naught but scrubbing pots and chasing swallows out of the flues. Besides, you came near burning my sister alive.”
“Not by design. And if you want honest work—which clearly you don’t—you have to start somewhere. Now…shut up and take his other arm.”
Young Hawkins complied sullenly and the three of them made their way back to Inglewood. All the while Vincent was seething with anger and worry. He took them in a side door with his key and escorted Throckmorton up the stairs to the room across from Diana’s. By then the footman was moving under his own power, but Vincent insisted he sit on the bed.
Vincent pushed Tobias into a chair, shaking his forefinger at him. “Don’t you move.” The guards stationed in the corridor looked in curiously. “Watch him,” Vincent instructed.
He went to the bedchamber Nurse occupied next to the children’s and knocked. She came to the door, nightcap askew, buttoning her wrapper.
“Throckmorton needs you.” She followed him without a word. By the time they reached the room where he had left the boxer, Diana had emerged from the door across the hall. “Go back inside,” he told her. He did not want her anywhere near Tobias Hawkins.
“No, my lord,” she said firmly. “If Throckmorton is hurt, I will come to his aid.” She tossed her shining braid over her shoulder and marched across the hall.
Vincent shrugged. He had no time to argue with her. He went to the bed where Nurse was helping Throckmorton out of his coat. “How bad is it?”
“Don’t know yet.” Nurse handed him the coat.
Vincent held it up and looked for a hole while she pulled the man’s shirt over his head.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” Vincent held the coat out for them to inspect. “He had a book in his inside pocket.”
“Aye, that I did.” Throckmorton leaned forward and took the coat, putting his finger into the hole. “A book what’s got a hole in it now.” He smiled ruefully. “Now I’ll never know what happened to old Robinson Crusoe.”
“I’ll get you another copy. I’m just grateful it was between you and that pistol.”
“Oh, yes. Thank God for that.” Diana moved to help Nurse examine the wound. “It isn’t deep. I see the ball just under the skin. The book saved you.” Gently she spread the opening in the skin and fastened her fingernails around the bullet. Throckmorton grimaced, but sat motionless while she coaxed it out of the wound.
Nurse went to the door. “I’ll go for a bandage.”
Vincent turned to the nearest footman. “There is some brandy in my room. Fetch it, if you please.”
The man turned to go and almost collided with Justinian Sudbury.
“What’s the commotion?” Sudbury yawned. He was tying the belt of a dressing gown hastily donned over a pair of buckskin britches. He had on no shoes and his light brown hair stood on end. “What’s that black on your face?”
Vincent had forgotten his sooty face. He rubbed a hasty hand over it. Then for a moment, before Sudbury pulled the robe together, Vincent thought he caught a glimpse of mud on the knee of the trousers. He glanced at Tobias, but saw no sign of recognition. Still, he found himself loathe to make explanations. “It’s a long story.”
“Throckmorton’s hurt?” Sudbury peered at Throckmorton’s chest.
“Nay, sir, just a scratch.” Throckmorton blotted the blood away with his shirt. “And a Godamighty bruise.”
“Oh, my.” Diana sank down into a chair. “I’m so sorry, Throckmorton. This is all for my sake—mine and the children’s.”
“Nay then, me lady. I’ve had worst in the ring dunnamany times. Ain’t nothing I wouldn’t do for Master Bytham and Miss Selena.”
“I know.” Tears slid down her face. “I know.”
“Ah, Lady Diana.” The boxer looked as though he might cry himself. “Don’t go napping your bib on my account.”
Vincent went and put a hand on her shoulder. “He’ll be all right and tight with a little brandy on the outside and a bit more on the inside. Go back to bed, now. You, too, Justinian. I’ll stay with him tonight, to be sure.” He pointed a finger at Tobias Hawkins and nodded at the footmen. “Take him downstairs and lock him up somewhere. I’ll decide what to do with him later.”
And that would be a difficult decision to make.
Guilt made decisions difficult.
Diana did not see Vincent until breakfast the next morning, and she had no opportunity to speak with him privately then. Justinian Sudbury came in just as Vincent
was holding her chair for her to be seated.
Sudbury took his plate to the buffet. “That youngster you had under guard last night the one providing information to someone?”
Vincent nodded, speaking around a mouthful of ham. “I believe so.”
“Should have told me.” Sudbury gave him a reproachful glance. “Be of more use to you.”
“Thank you, but last night’s situation required stealth rather than force.” Vincent took another bite and Justinian followed suit, grunting something unintelligible.
“Who was the boy, Vincent?” Diana buttered a scone and took a bite.
“His name is Tobias Hawkins. He worked in the house for a while. And he does have a grudge against me.”
Both Diana and Justinian looked at him inquiringly.
Vincent sighed. “From my evil days. I was the cause of his sister almost being severely burned.”
“Good God!” Justinian reached for the jam. “What happened?”
Vincent smiled crookedly. “I was in my cups, as usual in those days. She was serving at a tavern a few miles from here. I accidentally knocked her down onto the hearth trying to…” He glanced at Diana. “Uh, take liberties. Her long hair caught fire. I didn’t even realize that. I just could not get to my feet until someone pulled me off of her.”
He paused and gazed into the distance, his eyes deep pools of regret. “It was later that I was deliberately cruel. I continued to harass her until she quit working for the inn—and her family needed the brass. Her father was dead.”
He went back to his breakfast and, for a moment, Diana thought he would not continue. “But what about Tobias?”
“Later I tried to make up for my stupidity. I compensated her family and, even though they were not my tenants, made sure they were not in want. I think the girl forgave me, eventually, but about two years later the mother came to me about Tobias. He was keeping bad company, and she could not control him. So I offered him a position.”
Earth, Air, Fire, and Water 04 - A Treacherous Proposition Page 21
