Swear by Moonlight

by Shirlee Busbee

  "Oh, let us say that I am just curious," Patrick murmured, his gray eyes deceptively sleepy.

  Lord Embry snorted. "Call it what you will, I don't like it. Don't like Ellsworth, either, or that cousin of his, Hirst. A devilish handsome pair of rogues, but bad 'uns. Heard some gossip that the pair of them have been as thick as thieves lately. You don't want to know either one of them—especially not Ellsworth. Fellow's a bounder. Not good ton—even if he did marry that poor squint-eyed daughter of Bettison's. Not our sort." He shook a finger at Patrick. "Ain't like you to be so interested in that kind. You are up to something, my friend."

  Ignoring Embry's last comment, Patrick quirked a brow, asking, "What do you mean, 'not our sort'? Lord knows that we have done our share of carousing and whoring—half of London complains that our reputations are distinctly disreputable." He smiled ruefully. "My own mother among them. And don't forget—Thomas Ellsworth's aunt was certainly wellborn enough to marry into your family."

  "Didn't say the Ellsworths didn't have some good blood in them—said Thomas and that cousin of his, Hirst—no matter who they marry—ain't our sort."

  Adam broke in. "I think," he murmured, "what Nigel means is that Ellsworth and Hirst are, ah, not quite the thing. It is true that branches of the families are respectably connected. And it is true that Hirst married the little Northrop chit and that Ellsworth married into the aristocracy. But it is also common knowledge that Hirst made a runaway match of it—much against the family's wishes, and that Bettison only offered his daughter's hand to cancel the debt he owed Ellsworth—a large wager between them that Bettison lost." Adam grimaced. "It was unlikely that the wench would ever make a better match, and Bettison was eager to be rid of her. More to the point, there are rumors that Ellsworth and Hirst have been helping gull green 'uns just up from the country in one of the more notorious hells off Pall Mall." He grinned at Patrick. "We may gamble and whore, my friend, but ruining youngsters too green to know any better has never been one of our vices."

  "I agree. Thomas Ellsworth does not sound like a savory fellow," Patrick said, concealing the start Hirst's name had given him, "but I have, er, business with him."

  "You won't have far to look for him," Nigel grumbled, recognizing that stubborn look on Patrick's face from old.

  Reluctantly, he muttered, "Lives a few blocks or so up the street from where we are sitting right now."

  "Thank you," Patrick said, his gray eyes laughing at Nigel, "and now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I must go pay the noxious-sounding Mr. Ellsworth a call."

  Pushing aside speculation about the connection between Ellsworth and Hirst for the time being, Patrick found the address with little effort. The house was substantial, and even in the faint yellow light of the streetlamps, he could see that it was also handsome. It also appeared deserted. No light from behind shuttered windows gleamed out into the street, and a closer inspection revealed that the knocker had been taken down—a sure sign that the family was not in residence.

  He knocked anyway, and after several moments was rewarded by the sound of activity behind the stout oak door. He rapped the door again with his walking stick, and a second later the door creaked open.

  A scrawny man of indeterminate age stood before him, a short, spluttering candle held in one bony hand. "What do you want?" the fellow demanded. "Family's gone to the country."

  Putting forth his most charming manner, Patrick was eventually able to learn that Mr. Thomas Ellsworth had unexpectedly left just that morning for his country estate in Surrey—Apple Hill. "Said he ain't coming back to the city until the spring."

  Patrick dropped a few coins in his hand and thanked him for the information. Suspicious that Thomas Ellsworth was his mother's blackmailer and, no doubt, the fellow he and Thea had tangled with the previous night, Patrick walked down the steps. Was Ellsworth the person who had murdered Hirst? It certainly seemed feasible. His mind on Ellsworth and Hirst, he had only taken half a step when he collided with a burly gentleman hurrying up the steps.

  The man apologized. "Forgive me, sir! Had my mind on something else and didn't see you. Never let it be said that Yates is a rude fellow. Sorry to have knocked you about that way."

  Patrick flashed him a swift encompassing glance, taking in the merry blue eyes and ruddy features. Yates? Who was he—and did his presence have any bearing on Hirst's murder and his mother's blackmailer? Deciding it might be interesting to see what happened, Patrick accepted his apologies and went on his way... slowly. Slow enough so that he heard the gentleman's exchange with the surly servant.

  "I know Tom's gone to the country," the newcomer said, when the servant finally opened the door. "But he won't mind if I come in and leave him a note for when he returns. Now move aside, you old maggot, and let me in if you know what is good for you—and your master."

  There was a threat of menace in those last words that Patrick found fascinating. He would have to ask Nigel if he knew a fellow named Yates.

  His expression thoughtful, Patrick walked away from the Ellsworth house. Events, he thought, were beginning to move. Ellsworth's dash to the country seemed suspicious; the news that Ellsworth and Hirst were related, partners in the disreputable business of cheating youngsters too green to know better out of their money, was a missing piece of the puzzle. Had Ellsworth and Hirst been partners in the scheme to blackmail his mother? He rather thought so. And Hirst's murder, was it Ellsworth? Had they had a falling-out and fought, with Ellsworth killing Hirst? It fit with what Patrick knew. The disappearance of Hirst's corpse bothered him, and while it seemed logical to hide the crime if Ellsworth had murdered Hirst, he had to know that Patrick had seen the body. So why hide it? Ellsworth could not have known that he would have his own reasons for not reporting the murder. No conclusions came to him as he wandered back to his lodgings. The whole situation was like a burr in his breeches—he could not ignore it, but neither could he wrench it free.

  Tackling the problem from another angle, he wondered why Ellsworth, and he was certain it had been Ellsworth, had come back to the house for the packet Thea had seen the intruder take last night. Why not take it at the same time Hirst's body had been removed? He shook his head. Puzzles within puzzles.

  * * *

  That Saturday afternoon as Thea prowled around a small saloon decorated in sunny shades of yellow and apricot, she admitted that there were a few dark clouds on her horizon. As Patrick suspected she would, she began to have reservations about her agreement to become his mistress and to realize all the dangers and pitfalls that lay in front of her. She'd tried all day not to think about them, but they were not easily banished. When Patrick came to take her away for their first assignation, she was going to have to lie to Modesty, and that knowledge filled her with guilt. Modesty trusted her, and she was going to repay that trust by lying to her. The debt she owed her family preyed even more heavily on her mind. Without the support of her family, she would have never survived the gossip and scandal that had swirled around her a decade prior. She owed her present acceptance by most members of the ton to them and their loyalty, and the knowledge that she was putting herself once more in scandal's path made her realize what a foolish thing she had done to agree to become Patrick's mistress.

  Her soft mouth tightened. Oh, but she was the biggest fool in nature! Once again, she had allowed herself to be mesmerized by a handsome face with a facile tongue. Would she never learn?

  Thea had been alone in the small saloon, and a fierce scowl marred her features when Modesty wandered in.

  Modesty took one look at Thea's face, and said as she seated herself in a chair covered in pale yellow damask, "I do hope that I am not the cause of that expression on your face."

  Thea shook her head, the scowl vanishing. "No, I am. I am such a goose sometimes."

  "Oh really?"

  Thea nodded. "Once again it seems that I have let my common sense be overruled by stolen kisses and strong arms. You would think that after Hawley I would have learned somethin
g. I am a fool."

  "Ah. And you have now changed your mind about those, er, stolen kisses and strong arms."

  Thea looked curiously at her cousin. She was not an unhandsome woman and in her youth must have been comely, if not a beauty. "Did you never long for a man's kiss?" Thea asked.

  "Oh, indeed, I did," Modesty answered, her eyes twinkling. "And there was one particular youth when I was twenty with whom I shared many a stolen embrace." Modesty sighed, her expression far away. "We planned to wed, but he died... and that was the end of that."

  Thea looked at her, appalled. "Never again? You never met another man who moved your heart?"

  Modesty smiled and shook her head. "No, I am afraid not. There were a few others that I might have married, but by the time I had put my grief behind me, I discovered that I valued my independence more than I did the title of'wife."'

  Thea sank down onto the floor beside the chair where Modesty was sitting. Her spring green gown billowing around her slender body, she laid her head on Modesty's knee.

  Modesty reached out and caressed the thick black hair. "What is it, chicken? What bedevils you so?"

  Her dark eyes full of misery, Thea glanced up. "Oh, Modesty! I am so confused. I actually agreed to become his mistress."

  Modesty did not need the "he" identified. Her hand never stopping in its gentle stroking, she asked, "Is that what you want? To be his mistress?"

  Thea hesitated. "I don't know. I only know that when I am with him, the world and everything in it seems much more exciting and thrilling. And when he kisses me, I can think of nothing but how wonderful it is to be held by him... to be kissed by him."

  "And what about your heart? What does your heart tell you?"

  Thea looked startled. "I don't know. I—"

  Modesty leaned forward and, lifting Thea's chin, she asked, "Do you love him, child?"

  Thea bit back a sob. "Oh, Modesty, I fear that I do!" Unable to sustain the kindness in Modesty's gaze, she buried her head in Modesty's lap and muttered, "What am I to do? I'm afraid to trust my heart—look where it got me last time. And I cannot disgrace the family again—oh, but I do want him."

  "And becoming his mistress is the only avenue open to you?"

  "What else is there?" Thea asked in a gruff little voice. "I am ruined—everyone knows that! No gentleman would want to m-m-marry me."

  "Are you so certain? Perhaps you did not give Mr. Blackburne a chance. Perhaps he feels as you do. Have you thought of that?"

  Thea's head jerked up. "Oh, don't be silly! Even if he did l-l-love me, I would not marry him." The dark eyes burned fiercely. "I would never bring shame upon someone I loved, and if I were foolish enough to marry him, if he even wished to marry me, he would soon grow to hate me. I am a ruined woman—everyone knows that! My reputation will always follow me; in time, any man I married would learn to despise me and regret his moment of insanity. If I suspected that Patr... Mr. Blackburne was developing tender feelings for me it would be my duty to repulse him—to give him such a disgust of me that every feeling of affection would die. It is either that or I send him away and refuse to speak or acknowledge him in any way. It would be the only way to save him from making a dreadful, dreadful mistake." She looked away and sighed. "No, marriage is not for me."

  Modesty regarded her for a long time. "You are certain?"

  Thea nodded. "Yes," she replied, her voice tight and determined. "I will not be responsible for another person's un-happiness. I killed Tom and brought shame on our family—even Edwina's disastrous marriage is my fault. If I had not... I could not bear to disgrace the family in such a fashion again." Thea stood up. "Which is why I must write to him and tell him that I have changed my mind and that I cannot become his mistress."

  After Thea went upstairs to write her note to Patrick, Modesty sat for several minutes staring into space. A not-so-honorable plan occurred to her. Telling herself that her motives were pure, if not her methods, she considered it from all angles. She sighed. It would be risky, but in view of Thea's determination to continue to punish herself for what had happened in the past and refuse marriage—no matter how eligible the suitor or what her heart dictated—Modesty felt she had no choice. She grimaced. In fact, it would be just like that dear little fool to make a totally inappropriate match just to show everyone that she deserved nothing better. Her mind made up, Modesty stood and went upstairs to write her own note to Mr. Blackburne... and several more besides. Putting all the notes in Tillman's hands a short while later, she gave him strict instructions: they must all be delivered as soon as possible.

  If Patrick was startled to receive two notes Saturday afternoon from the ladies residing at the Grosvenor Square house, he gave no sign of it. He read Thea's note first, relieved and not exactly surprised that she was crying off. As he suspected, she could and did delight in tweaking society's nose, but she was not about to flout one of its most stringent rules. She might sail close to the line, but she was not about to cross it. He smiled. His darling was much more conventional than she realized.

  Laying Thea's note aside, he broke the seal on Modesty's missive and read the contents, his brow lifting as the import of what she had written became clear. Her plan was tempting and, he admitted, probably the only way that he was going to gain Thea's hand. But, oh lud, Thea would be furious! And he wouldn't blame her. Dare he risk it?

  He mulled the situation over for most of the remainder of the afternoon. Was Modesty's scheme so very different from his own? It was certainly a delicate situation. He reread Modesty's note again, his heart sinking. If he were fool enough to offer for Thea, she'd turn him down flat—of that he had no doubt, and Modesty's note confirmed it. Thea herself had come to her senses and had put paid to the notion of becoming his mistress—which was going to make her skittish in his company in the future and view any attempt at courtship, no matter how subtle, with even more suspicion. He sighed. His dark-eyed little darling was really making things difficult for all of them.

  Unhappily he wrote his answer to Modesty's scheme. The reply he sent back consisted of one word: No.

  Modesty read his reply and shook her head. Despite his reputation, Patrick Blackburne was really too honorable for his own good. She sat down and wrote another missive. Giving it to Tillman with the same instructions as her earlier notes, she waited anxiously for an answer. She had not long to wait. And this time, she got the answer she wanted.

  Having answered Modesty's note, Patrick wrote to Thea telling her that, while he was disappointed by her decision, he perfectly understood her feelings. He hoped that she would still allow him to call and squire her about the city from time to time. Thea replied promptly: As long as he understood that there could never be anything between them but friendship—she would be pleased to have his company now and again.

  He grinned as he read Thea's prim little note on Monday morning. If she thought that it was only friendship between them, she was deluding herself! And if she thought he could keep his hands off her, she was mad!

  Putting Thea out of his mind for the moment, Patrick turned his thoughts back to Ellsworth. One thing was clear: He was going to have to call upon Mr. Ellsworth in Surrey.

  Glancing at his engagement calendar, he realized that a trip to Surrey would have to wait until Wednesday or Thursday—he had a social obligation that he could not in all politeness put off, dinner at his mother's on Tuesday evening; she had been particularly insistent that he be there.

  Briefly he considered leaving within the hour and returning in time for Lady Caldecott's dinner party tomorrow night. A quick look at the clock and the weather outside put that notion out of his head. It was already approaching noon, and it had been raining steadily all morning. He made a face. Driving willy-nilly through pounding rain, fighting muddy roads, was not a favorite pastime of his. Ellsworth could wait.

  Concluding that his dark-eyed enchantress needed some time to deal with their new arrangement, Patrick put off calling upon her, although every instinct demanded t
hat he do so. She dominated his thoughts, and if he were not so painfully unsure of the outcome, he might have found the situation amusing. Here he was, reputed to be a rake among rakes, but he discovered, where Thea was concerned, he was as vulnerable and uncertain as the greenest moonling in love for the first time.

  Patrick looked startled. In love? A smile spread slowly across his hard face. By gad! So he was! And the creature who had captured his black heart (if gossip was to be believed) was none other than the notorious Thea Garrett. Patrick laughed aloud. It was fitting, he thought, a rake and a lady of scandal. Oh, what a pair they would make. He could hardly wait for Tony and Arabella to meet Thea. They would be, he felt sure, charmed.

  * * *

  Patrick had not expected to enjoy the dinner party given by his mother and resigned himself to an evening of boredom. Needing to bring her current with what he had discovered, he arrived early to have a few moments' private conversation with her before the guests began to arrive.

  Lady Caldecott looked regal. Her hair was dressed with pearls and diamonds, and in a dark blue satin gown discreetly trimmed in spangled lace, she appeared every inch the aristocrat she was.

  Mother and son spoke briefly in her boudoir, Patrick confirming all he had learned and explaining his intention to call upon Ellsworth as soon as possible.

  Her eyes anxious, Lady Caldecott asked, "You think that he is the man who has been blackmailing me?"

  "Either that or in partnership with the fellow who did the actual blackmailing."

  Lady Caldecott hesitated. "There have been no more demands. Perhaps we should simply let matters rest for the time being? Might we not let sleeping dogs lie? I do not want you to put yourself in any danger." Her hand rested on his arm, her eyes fixed on his face. "You are my only child. I have never been a demonstrative woman, nor able easily to speak of what is in my heart, but I love you, my son, and if anything were to happen to you—" Her voice caught. She smiled, albeit mistily. "As I grow older I find that I am increasingly sentimental."