More Than A Mistress

by Ann Lethbridge

  The ride took mere minutes. The cottage was dark and silent. He huffed out a breath, the fog of cold drifting away on a breeze. ‘I’ll take a look,’ he said to the head groom, Fred, who had leaped at the idea of a nightly adventure. ‘If anything happens, ride for the magistrate.’ He dismounted.

  The man drew a pistol from the holster in his saddle and climbed down. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  Charlie tried the door. It swung open. Sprawled on the floor in a patch of moonlight from the window, a bullet hole in the middle of her forehead, lay Jane Harper. The stink of death hit him in the face. A too-familiar odour. His gut churned. Images rushed into his mind. Darkness edged his vision. He fought down the panic. ‘Hold the torch higher,’ he growled at the man at his back.

  ‘Dear God,’ his groom said, looking over his shoulder. ‘What sort of fiend would dispose of a woman in cold blood that way?’

  It had been a long time since Charlie had seen a dead body, but he had no trouble recognising its lack of life. Bile rose in his throat. He swallowed. ‘Someone who feared discovery. Someone she trusted.’

  He was no closer to discovering who that someone was than he had been yesterday. In fact, now Jane was dead, perhaps further away.

  After a cursory glance around the cottage, he and Fred returned to the waiting men.

  ‘Fetch the constable and the magistrate,’ he said to Fred. ‘Take a couple of men with you. I’ll search around here to see if we can find anything to tell us who might have done this.’

  Fred grabbed his horse, picked two of the four men they’d brought and set off for the village.

  ‘You two can help me search for tracks,’ Charlie said to the others. ‘You in that direction, you over there. I’ll take the centre. If you see anything, call out and lift your torch high so we can find you.’

  The men nodded their understanding and fanned out.

  Charlie swung his torch in an arc around him after each step. He’d gone about five yards when one of the other men sang out, ‘Found something.’

  Charlie retraced his own footprints back to the cottage, then followed the footprints of the man signalling. The other man followed suit.

  ‘What have you got?’ Charlie asked. The man, another groom, pointed. ‘Someone tied a horse here earlier this evening.’

  Hoof-flattened snow and a pile of dung. Whoever had tied his horse here had not stayed long. The man pointed to boot prints leading away from the horse. ‘He must have circled around and taken her by surprise.’ The boot prints could have been anyone’s. The horse was large. That was all Charlie could tell.

  ‘Damn it,’ he said. ‘Not a thing to say who the murderer might be.’ And Charlie would have to explain to the magistrate exactly why he was prowling around in the middle of the night and had just happened on the grisly scene.

  He also had to decide what to tell Merry.

  It was ten in the morning when he handed a distinctly disgruntled Logan his greatcoat. ‘Miss Draycott is in the breakfast room,’ the butler said with a slight curl to his lip.

  Charlie ignored the butler’s tantrum. He’d get over it. ‘Wondering where I am, no doubt.’

  Logan bowed. ‘I wouldn’t know, my lord.’

  He was starving. He flung open the door and caught Merry tucking into ham and eggs.

  The smile on her lips drove all thought from his mind. He wanted to hold her close, kiss her lovely lips, nuzzle against the column of her throat.

  ‘You were up early?’ she said.

  He picked up a plate and helped himself to some ham and a couple of coddled eggs. He sat down beside her. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

  A soft smile curved her lips. Sympathy. No doubt she thought him in need of comfort. A weak puling creature. A chilling thought. ‘I had to find Jane.’

  She frowned. ‘Are you saying—’

  ‘I went looking for her.’

  ‘Alone? Are you mad? Why didn’t you wake me?’

  ‘Not alone. I took some of my men. We found her.’

  ‘You did?’ Her voice rose in excitement. ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She’s dead.’

  The pallor in her face grew worse. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘You can’t—’

  ‘Blast it, Merry. What do you think I am? I didn’t kill her. She was dead when we found her.’ He spoke more harshly than he intended.

  ‘I…I’m sorry.’ She bit her lip. ‘So we have no way of knowing who employed her?’

  ‘None at all. The men with her have disappeared. Likely left the county if they’ve any sense.’ He pulled the letters from his pocket. ‘We found these at the inn. Letters from a brother, forced to leave England from the sound of it, and instructions for a meeting, presumably from our mysterious man. But no clue as to his identity. I went back to her room at the inn to make sure.’

  She picked up one of the letters. ‘It seems rude to pry, but perhaps there is some clue as to her identity. Perhaps a family who should be informed.’ She winced.

  ‘There is an address in Cumberland.’

  Merry’s hand stilled. ‘Cumberland?’

  He nodded.

  ‘It can’t be.’ Her hand shook as she unfolded the letter.

  ‘What can’t be?’

  She scanned the note, stopping when her gaze reached the signature. She picked up the next one and the next and with each reading her face held more and more pain.

  She let the last one fall to the table. Charlie covered her limp hand with his. It felt cold. Freezing. He picked it up and held it within his palms. ‘What is it, Merry? Do you know something of this woman?’

  She turned her gaze to meet his and he had never seen her look so devastated, not even the first time she’d realised someone wanted her death.

  ‘She was Jeremy’s sister.’

  ‘Jeremy?’ A cold fist clenched in his chest.

  ‘A gardener’s boy from school.’ Her voice choked with tears.

  ‘Merry.’ He put an arm around her shoulders, but she shrugged him off. Rose to her feet and strode to the window.

  He wanted to go to her. He wanted to hold her close, but something held him back, as if a shadow stood between them. The shadow of this man Jeremy.

  He hadn’t read the letters, just the address. He’d been focused on the note from the man to whom Jane had reported.

  ‘I never meant him any harm,’ she whispered to the glass.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  She turned and gestured to the letters. ‘We were close. At school. There was a scandal.’

  Charlie winced, his imagination running riot and a sudden surge of anger making him hot. Jealousy. How could he be jealous of something that happened so long ago?

  ‘It seems Grandfather had him shipped off to the West Indies.’ She covered her mouth with her palm, her eyes wide and moist. She blinked a couple of times and, removing her hand, took a shaky breath.

  ‘He hated it, according to those letters, but he repeats over and over to Jane not to hold a grudge against the Draycotts. He meant me. Jane must have railed about me in her replies.’

  She wrapped her arms around her waist. ‘The last one is started by him and finished in another hand. He died from a fever. By the date, he can have been no more than twenty.’ She lifted her sorrowful face, her eyes focused in the past. ‘So far from his home and his family,’ she whispered. ‘No wonder Jane wanted me dead.’ She bowed her head and covered her face with her hands. ‘I didn’t know.’ Her muffled voice was full of tears. ‘Grandfather never told me. I kept wondering why Jeremy never wrote to me. I even wrote to the school once asking for news. They never answered.’

  He felt sick, not for himself, but for her, for the sorrow he saw on her face. Was this why she’d never married? She’d been waiting for this man to return? ‘You loved him.’ The thought was a blow to his kidneys.

  She uncovered her face and there were tears on her cheeks. He’d never seen her cry. ‘Passionately.’ She choked down a sob. ‘As young people do. I
wondered over and over why he never tried to contact me. And now there is nothing I can do.’

  Her shoulders sagged. She stared at the letters as if seeing the boy she’d loved.

  Charlie strode to her side and put his arm around her shoulders. He inhaled the lavender fragrance in her hair and ignored the anger at her grandfather for keeping her in the dark and Jane for wanting revenge. ‘We can find out who killed his sister. Who used her against you. We can do that much.’

  She leaned into him, and he held her gently against his chest, lightly in case she would break. Slowly the tension eased from her body. Her warmth felt good in his arms. He wanted to keep her there forever.

  She raised her face. ‘Thank you.’

  He bent to kiss her lips. Something wrenched in his chest. Loss. But you couldn’t lose what you never had. ‘Come sit down. You look exhausted. Worn to the bone.’

  She managed a shaky laugh. ‘Thank you for the compliment.’

  ‘Eee, lass,’ he said softly. ‘Would you have me lie to your face?’

  Her eyes shone with tears, but her smile was sweet. ‘No. That I would not.’

  ‘Come then, drink some tea. We will find this man, I promise.’

  Logan entered with a silver tray.

  Charlie frowned at him.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, my lord, but a reply by return is requested.’

  Charlie took the note. ‘From Purtefoy,’ he said glancing at Merry.

  Her mouth tightened.

  He broke the seal. ‘He’s apologising for his sister’s lack of courtesy and requesting that the family be permitted to show their pleasure at our betrothal at the ball. He begs our attendance.’

  ‘Really? When they know my chaperon is laid low? It will be yet another opportunity to prove my lack of breeding.’

  ‘Show them they are wrong.’

  ‘By playing off our sham on members of society? We must not continue this pretence.’

  His gut rolled. Unfortunately, she made perfect sense, but… He glanced down at the note. ‘Everyone in the county will be present.’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘Including perhaps the blackguard from the cellar.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Of course. Why didn’t I think of it?’

  ‘I might recognise his voice.’

  ‘All right, we will go.’

  The sudden about-face made the hairs on his nape tickle. ‘I can manage alone.’

  ‘What, and speak to every male guest? Also you might need my confirmation, once you think you have found him.’

  There was excitement behind her reasoned words. He raised a brow. ‘He…he may try again. Give himself away,’ Merry continued.

  ‘Are you suggesting I use you as bait?’ His back stiffened. Outrage. He would never knowingly endanger a woman. He’d led enough people to their deaths. ‘Certainly not. The man is dangerous.’

  ‘And he will continue to be dangerous until he is caught. This time, we will be the hunters.’

  A cold chill ran across his shoulders. ‘As well as the hunted. No, Merry. I will not allow it.’

  She rose to her feet and he followed suit. ‘What can he do in a ballroom full of people? As long as we stay together, a loving couple besotted with each other, nothing can happen.’

  ‘I will not put your life in danger again.’

  ‘Then I will go alone.’

  ‘You forget, your chaperon is indisposed.’

  A gleam of triumph lit her eyes. ‘I do not need a chaperon to visit family.’

  He tipped her chin and gazed down into her defiant eyes. ‘Miss Draycott, you truly are the most infuriating female it has ever been my misfortune to meet.’

  ‘Because you know I am right.’

  ‘I really think it is better if I go alone,’ he said into her hair, knowing full well her answer.

  ‘I’m going with you.’

  ‘Then we must take great care. I’ll send a note to my soldier friend.’

  ‘And I will enlist Caro’s help with my gown. I think it a little risque.’

  ‘Never.’

  She grinned, but there was a touch of sadness in her eyes. ‘Still, I would not wish to disgrace you.’ She got up and strode to the door. She turned back. ‘For what time are we invited?’

  ‘Eight of the clock. It will take at least an hour to get there.’

  She nodded. ‘I will be ready.’

  So would he. Forewarned was forearmed in more ways than one.

  As the carriage drove up the drive to the Chepstow country seat, Caro’s admonition rang in Merry’s ears. Trust no one. She trusted Charlie. With her life. She leaned against his broad shoulder in the dark of the carriage and he pulled her comfortingly close. Her heart, that stupid organ, squeezed painfully. Because this was a bit like Cinderella’s ball, but this time there would be no happy ending. No prince on her doorstep. He would go back to his life and she to hers.

  It was the only possible outcome. Neither would be happy in the other’s world.

  The carriage halted and a footman opened the door. Once again snow threatened. She could smell it in the air. Any sensible Yorkshire person would remain home on a night like tonight. It seemed being sensible was incompatible with being a member of the nobility. They only cared about entertainment. She pulled her fur-lined cloak around her, stepped out of the carriage and looked up at the sprawling red-brick Tudor mansion.

  ‘Looks like quite a party,’ Charlie said, taking her arm. Every window blazed into the night and carriages lined the driveway.

  ‘It does.’

  An elderly butler opened the door and took their outer raiment.

  ‘Welcome.’ In the entrance hall, all black-and-white tile and medieval beams, Digby looked very much the viscount. He smiled in lordly greeting. ‘Merry, you look lovely. Good to see you, Tonbridge.’

  The bonhomie felt forced, but at least the man was making an effort. Her cousin Allison likely would turn up her nose.

  ‘Through there to the ballroom,’ Digby said. ‘You’ll find Allison in there somewhere. You’ve never been here before, have you, cousin?’

  Merry shook her head. ‘No, indeed. Are your mother and father here?’

  ‘No, Father stayed in town for the holidays and Mother is visiting relatives.’

  ‘While the cat’s away, mmm?’ Charlie said cheerfully, peering into a ballroom filled to capacity with every conceivable member of Yorkshire aristocracy. Feathers bobbed, diamonds winked and perfume thickened the air.

  Her cousin laughed. A little too heartily, Merry thought. ‘No, no. We always host a ball at this time every year.’

  ‘And Merry was never invited?’ Charlie’s tone sounded just a little dangerous.

  ‘Glad not to be,’ Merry said quickly. ‘All these nobs. I’ve nowt to say.’

  Digby winced. Charlie touched her ankle with his toe. A be-good admonition. She remembered her promise not to put him to shame with a flicker of resentment, but she didn’t really blame him for wanting her to behave like a lady, not when she was supposed to be his betrothed.

  ‘Shall I take you around?’ Digby said. ‘Introduce you?’

  ‘I pretty well know everyone,’ Charlie said. ‘Don’t worry about us. We will be fine.’

  ‘All right. It will soon be time to start the dancing, and I still have guests to greet.’ He hurried off.

  Charlie placed her hand on his arm and walked over to the nearest group. ‘Lord Tonbridge,’ a pretty blonde lady in a gown of pink crepe, hemmed with enormous twining roses, cried. ‘I heard you might attend.’

  ‘Allow me to introduce my fiancee, Miss Merry Draycott,’ he said, pulling her forwards. ‘Merry, this is Lady Argyle.’

  Merry curtsied.

  Lady Argyle ran her gaze from Merry’s head to her heels and, seeming to approve, introduced her to the rest of the party. It seemed that Tonbridge gave her an entry where none would have been possible before.

  Wouldn’t they be surprised when they learned the engage
ment was off? Perhaps even insulted. Her heart sank a little.

  Soon they were moving from one group to another, Merry being introduced and conversations rippling around them. She did not feel quite as out of place as she expected. Many of these people were pleasant, and were anxious to talk about the manufacture of cloth. Many of them depended on it for their livelihoods. While she and Charlie conversed, she strained her ears to hear that one voice.

  When the dancing began, not only did they have to listen to male voices through the general chatter, they now had to contend with the music. Not once did she hear a man she recogised as being the one in the cellar; judging from Charlie’s air of frustration, nor had he.

  ‘Perhaps he wasn’t invited,’ she murmured as they strolled around the dance floor, looking for people they’d not yet spoken with.

  His lips thinned. ‘Perhaps he disguised his voice.’

  ‘Then him taking the bait might be our best chance after all.’

  He didn’t look any happier.

  The orchestra announced a waltz. ‘Dance with me,’ Charlie said.

  ‘How do you know I can dance?’ she said, smiling up at him.

  His eyes crinkled at the corners and gleamed wickedly. ‘A man canny enough to send you to the most exclusive girls’ academy in England is hardly likely to neglect the rest of your education.’

  ‘Touche.’

  He swept her into his arms and they circled the floor in fine style. He was the best dancer she’d ever encountered, including her teacher.

  ‘I see you had lessons too,’ she said.

  ‘Required curriculum for ducal heirs.’

  ‘And also for rakes.’

  ‘Who are you calling a rake?’

  She smiled. He looked charmingly boyish. You would never know he was trying to catch a murderer.

  Beneath the air of sophistication, beneath his cool reserve, resided a man with a very good heart. If only she had been of his world, things might have been different, but she wasn’t. The ache in her chest for what could not be made no sense, so she smiled as he whirled her around.

  She relaxed in his arms, living the dream of being his fiancee for one more night.