“Please don’t cry,” he whispered against her lips. “Please, never cry, and certainly not for me. You’ll never know how much I love you.”
With a sob of amazed gladness, she kissed him again. She felt the rough, tender pressure of his mouth for an instant more, and then he tore himself free.
“Goodbye,” he said incoherently.
The door opened, letting him jump down, and slammed again, leaving her stunned in the corner, wondering what had just happened. She didn’t know if she was laughing or crying when Kate was handed in and the carriage began to move, taking her home to Braithwaite Castle.
*
“What are you doing here?” Serena asked as the carriage bumped down the road toward Blackhaven. “How did you know?”
“Well, there were rumors flying in church this morning, about shots fired in the castle grounds, and a soldier killed—”
“I don’t believe he was killed,” Serena corrected. “But he was hurt.”
“At any rate, Tristram sent me to see that you were all well, and I drove up in the carriage, being lazy and disinclined to get wet. Mrs. Gaskell told me what had happened—and I must admit I would never have thought such a thing of Valère. He seemed the perfect gentleman. Except for the way he treated Catherine, of course.”
“I think she was his excuse to linger longer in Blackhaven if he needed to,” Serena said, wrinkling her nose. “But our arrival at the castle forced them to rush. I gather from their conversation that they originally meant to blow up the walls at night, with their prisoners well informed and a ship waiting in Braithwaite Cove. But they hadn’t moved all the gunpowder by the time we arrived, and then, of course, I found it. After last night, they knew they were rumbled. How did you know to come to the fort?”
“Maria told me. She’d heard you and Doverton discussing it, apparently. I only just stopped her climbing into the carriage with me.”
“Thank you for that, but it was ridiculously brave of you to come at all!”
“Not in the slightest,” Kate drawled. “Mere curiosity, I assure you. And I gathered I was likely to be safe, after my carriage fell in with Major Doverton on his way up here. By then, of course, Tamar and your people had disarmed both villains and the gunpowder. And you had spectacularly mown down the man Tamar had lost track of, saving, I understand, the fort door and the two guards lounging just inside it.”
“I didn’t think I could do it. Did I hurt him really badly?”
Kate shrugged. “He’ll live. Though you seemed to give him a spectacular fright.”
“That, he deserves.”
“Well, Major Doverton has given them all into custody at the fort for now. I expect they’ll be taken to London though, and probably hanged as spies, in the end.”
Serena shivered. “It’s time this war ended, isn’t it?”
“I believe Bonaparte is almost beaten. They say he can’t recover now. It’s just a matter of time.”
“And more lives.”
Kate regarded her with interest. “As you say. But you saved many today, you and Tamar and the others. You should be proud.”
Serena swallowed. “Thank you.”
There was a pause. “Tamar was distraught when he heard you’d bolted in the curricle. Almost as distraught as you were about him when you arrived back.”
Serena dropped her gaze. Kate was too perceptive for comfort.
“I like Tamar,” she said. “Everyone likes him. But you know, through no fault of his own, he has a mountain of debt and not even two pennies to rub together.”
“I know.” It doesn’t matter. I have.
“I wish you all the best,” Kate said, with just a hint of pity. “But if you truly wish this, you’ll have to fight Braithwaite and your mother.”
“I know. But I’ll be twenty-one in a few months.” She could hold out until then. She could do anything for Tamar.
“You love him,” Kate said quietly.
Serena’s heart soared. There was intense new pleasure as well as pride in admitting it. “Yes, I love him.”
Chapter Twelve
One of the hardest things Tamar had ever done was ride straight past Braithwaite Castle that afternoon and carry on to Blackhaven.
His shoulder ached, and blood was seeping out from the bandages, staining Braithwaite’s white shirt. Exhausted and slightly dizzy, he needed to lie down. After he’d seen Lampton, and before he dealt with Julian.
Doverton, clearly worried, rode with him to the doctor’s house and promised to look after the borrowed horse.
Tamar fully expected the rough side of the doctor’s occasionally blistering tongue, but to his surprise, Lampton looked almost pleased to see him. In silence, he took him into his study, sat him down, cleaned and re-stitched the wound before covering it with a clean dressing.
“Don’t do it again,” he said, helping Tamar ease his shirt and coat back on. It was almost the first thing he’d said. The man clearly had agonies of his own that put Tamar’s firmly in perspective.
Lampton’s expected loss was beyond words. Tamar laid a hand on his shoulder for an instant and then left. It was all he could do.
When he arrived at his front door, at least Rivers was not there. Which was good. Probably. Perhaps he’d finally given up.
Inside, he stumbled his way through the darkness and flopped onto his couch, fully dressed.
When he woke, it was still dark, but he had no idea of the time. Ignoring the protest of his wound, he struggled to his feet, fumbled his way to the tinder box, and lit the candle. Then he peered out of his window, and to his relief, saw by the moon that he’d only been asleep for a couple of hours. His stomach rumbled. At least he’d find supper at the club.
Fortunately, there was still clean water in the jug. He washed and tidied up his clothes—Braithwaite’s clothes—suspecting he still looked smarter than he usually did, then dragged a brush through his hair and left the cottage.
Since he’d invited Linnet to come with him, and still wanted the excuse of her presence to be there, he walked round to her rooms, prepared to find her gone out already. But she seemed delighted to see him.
“I thought you’d forgotten,” she admitted, wrapping a silk shawl around her pretty shoulders. She did look beautiful, enough reason to lure any man to a gambling den.
He offered his arm, and she took it, smiling. She seemed genuinely happy to be on the arm of a man with nothing but debt. He wished Linnet a good husband. Or at the very least, a good protector.
Once or twice a month, the hotel held a gaming club in its large, back hall. They billed it as exclusive, though in fact, every card sharp and loose screw in the county made an appearance, along with a few more from further afield. Inevitably, his friend Dax had played here, and started a fight from all accounts, For Tamar, who avoided gaming as a rule, this was new territory.
“Is the play fair?” he asked Linnet as they walked up to the hotel.
“Oh, they’ll skin you alive and blackball you for cheating,” Linnet replied. “If they catch you.”
“Excellent.”
“What are you up to?”
“Private business,” he replied. “But if it works out, I can at least repay you by taking you for supper.”
As they crossed the hotel foyer, a vulgarly glittering female who laughed too loudly sailed through the double doors to the club room. An instant of smoke and noise was cut off again as the door closed behind her and her shifty looking escort. Tamar supposed the hotel must make a lot of money from these events, because they were certainly in danger of lowering the tone of the whole establishment.
He paused at the reception desk. “I don’t suppose you have a Mr. Sylvester staying here, do you?”
“No, my lord,” the young clerk replied at once. “No one of that name.”
It was the same answer he’d received before from a different clerk. And it bore out what Tamar already suspected, that Julian had laid the trail for him at the tavern and never meant to be found
here. He, more than anyone, knew that Tamar avoided gaming dens. He really expected to get away with this, and as a bonus, probably thought Sylvester would get the blame, too.
Although Tamar had paid no subscription, no one stopped him entering the hall at the back. Being a marquis, and an instantly recognizable one at that, clearly still had some advantages.
The club gave an initial impression of superiority. The furnishings were tasteful and clean, the room bright from the central chandelier and a blaze of candles spread all around. Among the clientele were several noblemen and lesser gentlemen, but at closer glance, the ladies present, although many were richly dressed and bejeweled, were no ladies, but actresses, opera dancers, and courtesans. And among them, no doubt, a few flim-flammers and those more blatantly determined to part a man from his money before he lost it all at the gaming tables.
In just such places had Tamar’s father squandered his fortune, his estate, and the future of his children. If Tamar ever managed to fix the estate, he’d make damned sure to get himself several heirs, because if Julian ever inherited, he’d do exactly the same as the old marquis.
Tamar strolled around with Linnet on his arm, taking in the tables and the players, until he found the supper table, already set out with cold dishes. He and Linnet refreshed themselves with a little nourishment and a glass of wine, while Tamar finally located his brother.
Lord Julian Gaunt sat at what was clearly the high stakes table, playing with a wealthy old nobleman, and several men Tamar didn’t know. He did, however, recognize the type. None of them would take well to being cheated. And it was quite clear to Tamar that Julian was cheating. He had to be; he was winning. And he had no idea that Tamar was present. Time to introduce himself.
“What would you like to play?” he asked Linnet as they strolled in that direction.
“Well, not there, anyhow!” Linnet paused beside Julian’s table of intent players. “Too rich for my blood.”
“But not, apparently for mine,” Tamar observed, without lowering his voice.
Julian’s gaze flew from up from the cards, his face whitening in appalled recognition.
Tamar smiled. “Julian,” he said affectionately. “What a pleasure.”
*
Serena, with her escort of triumphant stable lads, gardeners, and farm hands, had come home to a tumultuous and emotional welcome. She’d strained at the window for most of the journey, fearing for Tamar’s hurts and wanting to stop and take him into the carriage. Kate had said only that Doverton would look after him.
When she finally stepped out of the carriage and into the arms of her sisters, she realized that neither Doverton nor Tamar were among her escort. And she couldn’t ask, not in public. Instead, she formally thanked her heroic escort for coming to her aid and recklessly promised them extra ale, a day’s holiday, and a bonus in their next wages. For which she was cheered all over again.
As she finally went inside, she heard Paton giving them another speech, about how they had to keep their mouths shut about this whole event. If the truth came out, right or wrong, Serena’s reputation could be damaged.
For the same reason, Mrs. Gaskell and Kate between them decided it would be best for Kate to dine at the vicarage that night.
“Well, it will either be good for me, or bad for you and Mr. Grant,” Serena said sardonically when she and Kate had a moment to themselves. “What a lot of nonsense so-called propriety is!”
“It is nonsense,” Kate agreed. “On the other hand, it can genuinely hurt you. I should know. Blackhaven chose to receive me in the end, but if I’d chosen to return to London, things might not have gone so well for me.”
“Do you miss it? London?” Serena asked curiously.
“No. It still surprises me sometimes. But if I wasn’t born to be a vicar’s wife, I was clearly meant to be this vicar’s wife.”
“It’s love that makes the difference,” Serena said, gazing out of the window. “They never tell you that when they teach you accomplishments for catching a suitable husband.”
“No, they don’t,” Kate agreed. “Come, fetch your bonnet and let’s make haste to Blackhaven. Tristram will want his dinner after the evening service.”
Dinner at the vicarage was a pleasant affair, and if Serena was inclined to dream, her hosts chose not to remark upon it. Kate regaled her husband with the day’s adventures, which he knew nothing of, although it was already being whispered that Major Doverton had arrested several French spies, and the Comte de Valère’s name was being whispered in shocked tones.
“Poor Catherine,” Kate said ruefully. “We must keep her busy and entertained over the next few weeks.”
“Indeed, we must,” Serena said. “I almost wish Mama were here so that we could hold a party at the castle. Mr. Grant, have you heard no word of Lord Tamar?”
“No, but if he knocked himself up again fighting, he probably called on Dr. Lampton. I’ll be calling there myself later, so I may be able to reassure you.”
After dinner, Mr. Grant offered to escort them for an evening walk. And so, they strolled along the harbor and walked back via the high street, where they amused themselves glancing in shop windows to admire or disparage. In Mrs. Drake’s millinery, Kate found an absolutely ridiculous hat that she insisted she would buy the very next day.
“It would certainly keep your friends in good spirits,” Mr. Grant remarked.
“I’m sure I could carry it off.”
“As a figure of fun,” Serena said dryly. “Anyone would be.” She turned away from the window and only a few yards away saw Lord Tamar vanishing through the front door of the hotel. “Oh no. I was hoping he would be abed and asleep, by now.”
“Well, he is a grown man,” Kate said, “and may be as silly as he wishes.”
Serena knew it. Nor did she have either the right or the inclination to tell him off. But the urge to see him, to assure herself of his wellbeing, just to hear his voice, suddenly overwhelmed her.
“Do you think we might have a last cup of tea or coffee in the hotel?” she blurted. “It would surely be quite proper when you are both with me.”
Kate glanced uncertainly at her husband, who smiled faintly. “Under normal circumstances I’m sure it would be. However, tonight is one of the gaming club nights, and those are not proper at all. Not for ladies. Are they, Kate?”
Kate smiled back with suspicious innocence. “Not in the slightest. Although it is my belief, Lord Tamar is no gambler.”
“No,” Grant agreed. “Nor does he have the money to be, not here.”
“Then he is probably looking for a cup of coffee.” Serena walked determinedly up to the door. “Like us.”
Her heart beat quickened as she walked into the hotel and into the quiet dining room. A few people were enjoying a late supper at a table in the window, but otherwise, the place was quiet. Of Tamar, there was no sign. Her heart slowed again, sinking with disappointment.
Mr. Grant saw the ladies seated in the coffee room, then ordered refreshment before strolling back out.
“He must be visiting someone,” Serena said. Truly, it was none of her business.
Kate nodded. “He is acquainted with just about everyone in Blackhaven.”
Although there was no reason for it, a sense of foreboding began to close in on Serena, as if something bad, something tragic were about to happen. And yet, she couldn’t just walk out and let it happen without her. Because Tamar was there and her poor, obsessed heart wanted just another glimpse of him.
*
Julian recovered quickly. There was that much in his favor.
“Tamar,” he said, playing his cards. “Come to disapprove or pit your skills against mine?”
“A bit of both, actually. Good luck.” And he strolled on with Linnet, until she found a game she wished to join.
He watched her for a little, and then wandered back to watch Julian. Who was being careful. He didn’t win every hand. But the pile of winnings at his elbow had grown even in the short
time since Tamar had last seen it.
“Damn it, you have the devil’s own luck!” the old aristocrat on his left said in disgust, throwing down another lost hand.
Of course, luck had nothing to do with it. Tamar could see exactly what Julian was doing. Julian noticed him immediately this time, although he pretended not to. Tamar strolled around the table, among the other interested observers, until he came to stand behind Julian’s chair.
Julian shifted, as if he wanted to elbow him away. But of course, he couldn’t. Tamar waited patiently until his brother was ready to slide the hidden card from his sleeve into his hand, and then clapped him heavily on the shoulder.
“Good to see you winning for a change,” he said amiably.
Julian jumped, not just because of the fright, but because he half-expected discovery to follow immediately. And even when it didn’t, he recognized that his brother’s words had just informed everyone that Julian usually lost, thus sewing a grain of suspicion in the minds of those prone to doubts. He couldn’t help glancing up irritably at Tamar.
“You’re distracting me,” he said coldly.
“I mean to.” Tamar smiled with even greater frost. “Collecting my debt before you spend your winnings.” He put out his hand toward Julian’s pile of notes and coins, and at once, Julian slapped his own hand over it, protective and aggressive.
Tamar let his smile broaden, while he looked directly into his brother’s eyes and tapped him admonishingly on the cuff, almost exactly over the place he hid cards. There was one there now, he could feel it under his fingertips.
“Really?” Tamar said softly.
“This fellow owe you, Tamar?” the old gentleman asked. “Don’t mind taking a break while he pays you.” He hoped, no doubt, that the break would change his luck. It might, though hardly for the reasons he imagined.
“He does,” Tamar confirmed. “Don’t you, Julian? And we always pay. In full.”
His meaning was clear, and Julian saw it right away. He had to pay up everything, including the pictures he still held, or Tamar would reveal the cards hidden on his person. From the hard faces at this table, they wouldn’t treat cheats lightly. The may have come to fleece the unsuspecting themselves, but being fleeced in return was quite unpalatable.
The Wicked Marquis Page 14
