The Reluctant Viscount

by Lara Temple

  ‘Perfectly clear, Sir James.’

  ‘Very well. As you might surmise, with Lord Moresby’s recovery, the criminal proceedings have by their very nature taken a less dire turn. However! I still intend to pursue this investigation with no less rigour. I cannot permit such acts of wanton violence to be perpetrated under my jurisdiction with impunity!’

  ‘That is both understandable and commendable, Sir James,’ Alyssa replied. ‘I assure you that I understand the gravity of the situation and I am absolutely sincere in stating that I know of a certainty that Lord Delacort did not attack Lord Moresby.’

  Adam forced himself not to react. However convinced Alyssa might be that he was indeed innocent of the attack on Moresby, he hated the fact that she had to continue lying. But once that first lie had been spoken, there was no way of retrieving it without exposing her to even greater censure.

  Sir James wavered and it was obvious to Adam he wished to probe further. Perhaps the fact that this meant enquiring about their ‘clandestine’ meeting as he had termed it was too embarrassing for someone as diffident as he. At least Adam hoped so.

  ‘Very well,’ Sir James said at last. ‘That will do for now. I might have further enquiries as the enquiry progresses—’ He broke off as they heard a heavy step in the hall, then the door opened and Mr Drake entered.

  ‘Betsy told me Sir James… Ah, Sir James! Well, what’s to? And you, what are you doing here?’

  The latter was addressed to Adam, who straightened, readying himself to deal with this complication. Sir James, who had known the poet all his life, was unfazed either by the interruption or by Drake’s ill manners.

  ‘Good afternoon, William. I have come to confirm with your daughter certain points regarding the attack on Lord Moresby. And to congratulate her again on her engagement,’ Sir James added somewhat self-consciously. Alyssa clenched her fists and groaned inwardly. It was sheer bad luck that her father had chosen today of all days to descend from his lair. She prayed he at least would keep true to form and remain oblivious to anything that was of no direct concern for his poetry.

  ‘What the devil?’ William Drake demanded and Alyssa stood up, taking a step towards Sir James, who stood up as well, somewhat confused.

  ‘I have not yet told my father of the attack on Lord Moresby, Sir James. You know he does not like to be interrupted with outside concerns when he is at a sensitive point of his writing. Thank you so much for coming and, as I said, I would like to be of whatever assistance necessary in your enquiries. Good day, Sir James.’

  ‘Yes, of course, thank you, I mean…good day, Lord Delacort, William.’

  Alyssa herded him mercilessly out of the room, leaving Adam alone to face the poet across the room.

  ‘What the devil was Sir James about?’ William Drake demanded. ‘Engaged? To whom? And what in the blazes does it have to do with Moresby?’

  ‘Engaged to me, Mr Drake.’ Adam replied. ‘And it has nothing to do with Moresby. I hope you will give us your blessing.’

  ‘I most certainly will not! Alyssa! Where are you? Ah, there you are! This person tells me you are engaged. What nonsense is this? Why was I not consulted?’

  Alyssa sighed.

  ‘It is not nonsense, Father. You were not consulted because I am of age and do not require your approval, though I obviously hope you do give your blessing to whatever choice I make.’

  ‘But this is utterly unnecessary. I thought it was understood that you would stay at the cottage and assist in my work. It was all well and good for Minerva and Terrence, but I don’t see any purpose in your getting married as well…’

  Alyssa stared at her father for a moment, then shook her head slightly, as if denying something.

  ‘It is over, Father.’ Her voice was calm, but Adam could clearly see how stiffly she held herself. ‘You will just have to manage on your own.’

  ‘On my own?’ Mr Drake stated in stark incredulity. She might as well have been telling him the sun would be rising in the west the following day.

  ‘Yes, or hire someone to act as your secretary.’

  ‘This is arrant nonsense. You have none of the skills required to be Lady Delacort and you know I won’t be able to find someone who can understand metre properly and whom I can trust with historic detail. I won’t have it and that is final.’

  Alyssa didn’t respond; she merely turned on her heel and walked out the door and into the garden.

  Once the door closed behind her, Adam turned to inspect William Drake. He had kept purposely silent during the interchange. For her own good this was a battle Alyssa needed to fight alone. But now that she was gone there was nothing wrong with Adam telling her parasitical parent what he thought of him.

  ‘Do you have any idea how wrong that was?’ he asked.

  ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Mr Drake asked testily.

  ‘Unbelievable,’ Adam said wonderingly. ‘You really have no idea. You know, I thought my own father was a pretty poor specimen of the breed, but you are actually making me remember him with fondness. Has it really never occurred to you that you have been abusing your daughter’s love and sense of responsibility ever since she has been a child?’

  Mr Drake faced him, livid with outrage.

  ‘How dare you speak to me like that, sir?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m done speaking to you. It’s a waste of air. Just take care—one day you will demand too much and she will break with you. I just hope she does it sooner rather than later, for her own sake.’

  He walked out into the garden before he succumbed to the need to do Drake some physical damage, leaving the older man standing in the middle of the room, his face as furiously red as the dog roses surrounding the house.

  Adam scanned the small garden, but there was no sign of Alyssa. He walked over to unhitch Thunder from the tree, trying to think where she might go, then led Thunder towards the Hungry Tree. She was standing there, looking up at the topmost branches.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said absently as he came to stand beside her. ‘Do you know I just remembered I spent the night up in the tree when I was six?’

  ‘You did?’ Adam asked carefully. There was something distant in her voice that made him wary.

  ‘Yes, my mother went to visit her family with Terry. He was just three and I think she was hopeful they would do something for us, because they had not approved of her marrying a poet. They are very strait-laced and live near Aberdeen and I never heard them mentioned again after that trip. Anyway, I was to stay with Father because they weren’t interested in girls. And we didn’t have a maid then, just a girl who came in some days to help.

  ‘I climbed up, I don’t remember why, and for some reason I was too scared to come down. I’m not afraid of heights and I had been up a hundred times before that and again after, but somehow that evening it seemed impossibly high. I finally fell asleep just up there where the branches cross. One of Lady Nesbit’s tenants found me the next morning and helped me down and took me inside. Father told him he hadn’t noticed I wasn’t at home that night, but that I was usually a good girl. The farmer was upset with Father, but I just wished he would go away so I could sleep. I wasn’t angry, just numb, but I knew I would never ask my father for anything ever again. And I haven’t. It makes no sense that I stayed here except that it has been comfortable, in a way. Other than the work I do for him on his manuscripts we hardly ever talk—he rarely comes out of his corner of the house, he even eats there. Sometimes I might not see him for a week or more. It is just that when Mama died I knew that I could never leave my brothers or sister with him. He just didn’t see us. So it was up to me. And I didn’t mind. We were good together. But now even Charlie is gone and Mary, too. So once this is all over I shall also leave.’

  Adam didn’t move.

  ‘Leave?’

  She br
ushed a hand over her eyes.

  ‘Yes. I told you about Mama’s friend. I wrote to her to see if I could stay with her for a while.’

  ‘Aren’t you overlooking the fact that we are engaged?’ Adam said tightly.

  She looked surprised and the distant look faded slightly.

  ‘Of course not. I did say once this is all over—when we unwind this tangle and you go back to your life.’

  Adam turned to look at the stream, willing himself calm.

  ‘I need to get back to the Hall and see if Nick and Jem are back,’ he said after a moment.

  ‘You won’t go outside again at night any more, will you?’ she asked abruptly, her eyes wide and insistent.

  He wished he could lie outright, but somehow it seemed a physical impossibility under the pressure of her green-and-gold gaze.

  ‘I told you this is not your concern.’

  ‘Adam! You cannot possibly…’

  ‘As you have just pointed out, we are not actually engaged, which means you do not have scolding rights.’

  ‘I am not scolding, I am just…’

  ‘Yes, you are.’

  ‘…trying to be sensible,’ she finished resolutely.

  ‘Reserve your sense for our dealings with Lady Nesbit. I will come and report to you tomorrow as ordered and then we will go and beard the lioness in her den.’

  Before she could reply he reached out, his hand sliding over the warm silky hair at her nape. She stumbled slightly and he pulled her against him as he lowered his head to hers.

  He had meant it to be a quick embrace, a way to distract her, but her lips were soft and warm and opened under his and just as in the study it seemed mad not to sink into her, to touch her, to take what she was offering. Her taste and smell seemed to be part of everything around them—blackberries, honeysuckle, apples. He pressed her back until she was half-seated on a long branch of the tree behind her and her eyes drifted open.

  ‘Adam,’ she murmured. ‘Someone will see—’ She broke off on a moan as his mouth teased the spot on the side of her neck that had made her shudder back in the house.

  ‘There’s something about you and trees, wild girl. Besides, we are engaged,’ he replied hoarsely and she answered with a small broken laugh. He pulled her more tightly against him, but even as her body pressed against his, soft and pliant, he knew she was right. It was madness to be doing this at all, and certainly just a few yards off a country lane where anyone could see them.

  He forced himself to step back. He wanted to say something, anything, to make light of the urgent blaze she kindled in him so effortlessly, but he could think of nothing and after a moment he nodded to her, swung up on to Thunder’s back and left.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Alyssa sat down by her dresser and pulled open the bottom drawer. At the very back of the drawer she found them. A pair of long dark breeches that had once belonged to Terry which she had appropriated ever since he had outgrown them. She had never quite been willing to let them go. She’d not had any expectation of using them again, but they reminded her how far she had come from those days.

  She stood up and after a moment’s hesitation she undressed except for her short chemise and slid her legs into the trousers. They were a bit more snug than she remembered, but still comfortable, and they felt both familiar and quite strange. She next pulled on a simple cotton shirt that had once been Charlie’s and glanced at her small clock—eight thirty. She should be going.

  She knew this was nothing short of madness and should anyone ever discover what she was doing she would be mortified, but against these fears stood her conviction that whatever he had said, Adam meant to go out into the woods that night. Most likely in the expectation that whoever had perpetrated the attacks would try again. She had no clear idea what earthly good she might be if something horrible happened, but she also knew it was impossible just to stay safe in the cottage and do nothing. She would head to the path by the bridge and then decide what to do. Hopefully nothing would happen and she could slink back home unnoticed.

  She tied on her long dark winter cloak over her unconventional clothes and hurried downstairs to her study. Betsy was a firm believer in early to bed, early to rise and would probably be already sound asleep in her room at the other side of the cottage, but it was still best to leave by the study door so she could go directly through the garden to the woods. Just in case her father took it into his head to break with habit as he’d done that afternoon and go anywhere in the house other than his study and adjacent room.

  She unlatched the door and stood for a moment inspecting the dark garden and the even darker shadows of the trees beyond. The only colour was the pale grey shimmer of a very slight mist which hovered just above the ground. She knew what country nights were like, but only from the safety of her study or a carriage. The last time she had gone out on her own into the woods like this at night had been many years ago when Terry had run away after a tantrum and got lost. She had found him near the bridge, cold and terrified.

  But back then all her terror had been focused on finding Terry; she had barely noticed the oppressive blackness. Now she became fully aware of it. Of the sense that everything was larger and closer even though she could not see more than a couple of yards in front of her. Trees that she knew were straight seemed to lean over her and she kept stumbling, like a babe learning to walk. Yet everything was familiar enough that she knew instinctively which way to go, heading through the woods alongside the paler slash of the lane towards Mare’s Rise. After a few moments she realised she could see quite differently from before. Black became shaded with greys and blues and deep greens and she could make out the shapes of trees.

  The closer she came to Delacort the more cautious she became, keeping near the trees and stopping often to listen. She had just reached the small rise which overlooked the stone bridge when she heard someone moving ahead of her. She froze, listening. It was just a faint slithering sound. It stopped for a moment, then it resumed before stopping again. It might be an animal, she thought, as she tried to pinpoint the direction of the sound. Whatever or whoever it was, it wasn’t Adam. She had no idea how she knew, but she did. She closed her eyes, focusing only on that occasional, faint sound, until she was certain she knew which direction it came from and how far away it was. Then she began moving cautiously in that direction.

  She saw and heard Adam before she had moved more than a few yards. Coming out of the woods on the other side of the bridge, he was momentarily a dark blot on the pale gravel path leading up to the bridge and the sound of his feet on the gravel carried sharply. She froze in shock as the darkness shifted between the trees ahead of her. A hunched shape with a glinting protrusion was moving away from her, in Adam’s direction, and she realised what was happening and lurched forward towards the shape. She must have cried out, because she heard Adam’s name in her own voice, high and shrill. The shadow ahead twisted in her direction as she surged towards him and the barrel of a rifle slammed into her arm. She stumbled and fell, her hands barely stopping her fall as she slid part way down the rise. She heard shouting and running and someone grabbed her by the arm, half-dragging her to her feet.

  ‘Alyssa? Alyssa!’ Adam’s urgent voice was close to her ear. ‘Are you all right? What happened? Are you hurt?’

  She shook her head dazedly.

  ‘No. I didn’t see… Did you?’

  He didn’t answer. His arms had closed around her, his body was stiff with tension and the outline of the pistol he held pressed against her back. Through the pounding of blood in her ears she heard someone running and then Nicholas Beauvoir’s voice.

  ‘Adam! Where are you, blast it? What… Oh, Jem, is that you?’

  ‘Aye, sir. He got away. I’m sorry.’

  She felt Adam draw a deep breath and he moved back slightly without letting her go. Nicholas an
d the groom came towards them up the path. Even in the gloom Alyssa saw they were both holding flintlock pistols as well as unlit lanterns.

  ‘Miss Drake!’ Nicholas exclaimed as he saw her. Jem placed his lantern on the ground and bent down to strike a French match with a practised hand and the single candle caught, flickering and dancing until he closed the glass cover. He did the same for Nicholas’s lantern and the dark transformed into a dance of shadows and soft gold light.

  ‘He disappeared, My Lord,’ Jem said calmly. ‘I heard him running and then nothing. He might even still be out there, but the chances of us finding him in the dark are slim. I don’t think we should linger.’

  Adam scanned the woods and nodded.

  ‘You two head back to the Hall and I will see Miss Drake back to the cottage.’

  ‘Perhaps you should take the gig, My Lord?’ Jem asked with a dubious look around them.

  ‘I think we should get her back as unobtrusively as possible, Jem. Don’t worry, I doubt he will try anything again tonight. You and Nicholas go on and we will talk later.’

  The groom hesitated, but Nicholas nodded and handed Adam the glowing lantern.

  Without a word Adam grasped Alyssa’s hand and led her down the path. As he turned she saw the glint of the long-barrelled silver-tipped pistol tucked through a belt under his dark coat and she shivered. He glanced down at her but didn’t speak. Still, she knew him well enough to know he was furious. The light of the lantern accentuated the sharply carved lines of his face and stripped it of colour. He looked like a marble statue of a particularly unfriendly deity. Alyssa watched the dark forest around them warily and told herself again and again she didn’t care that he was furious. At least he was alive. When they were almost at the cottage he slackened his pace.

  ‘Front door?’ he asked curtly.

  ‘No. I left the back door open. This way,’ she said quietly and, pulling free from his grasp, she led the way through the garden. She hated the thought that he would be walking back to the Hall alone now, but she did not have the nerve to protest. She hoped he was right and that whoever had been there in the forest that night was long gone.