by Tracy Fobes
“I don’t imagine she’ll agree.”
“He’ll have a fight on his hands, to be sure.”
A knock at the door interrupted further conversation. At Colin’s request, a footman bearing a silver tray entered.
“The post has arrived.” The footman extended the tray toward Colin.
Colin took the letters. While he idly sorted through them, the footman continued, “Mr. Cooper is here to see you, my lord. Shall I show him in?”
Paying him only half attention, Colin examined a letter to Sarah. Her name and address were written in a feminine hand, with lots of loops and flowery tails. The letter had no return address. He lifted the envelope to his nose and sniffed.
Honeysuckle. He’d smelled that scent before. Perhaps on a woman he’d known? He couldn’t remember. Lost in thought, he tapped one end of the letter against his palm. “Lady Sarah’s London friend has written again.”
“Who?” Phineas asked.
He fixed Phineas with a gaze. “Do you know who Lady Sarah’s London friend is?”
“No, I don’t, my lord.”
He frowned, his mood growing darker. Over the last several weeks he’d grown embarrassed of his hellish reputation and the intimate skills such a reputation demanded he possess. He wanted her to think him honorable, rather than practiced in the art of seduction. One might think, judging by the way he was carrying on, that he wanted to marry her. But he couldn’t marry her, not if he ever wished to visit a London drawing room again. The duke would instantly see him ostracized from society.
Colin focused on the footman. “Who did you say has come to call?”
“A Mr. Cooper, my lord.”
“Cooper! Bring him in at once. Phineas, can we continue later?”
“Of course, my lord.” Phineas rose from his chair and offered Colin a quick bow.
As Phineas exited, Colin asked the footman to show Mr. Cooper in. A few moments later the servant was ushering the Bow Street runner into the chair Phineas had vacated.
“Good day, Cooper,” Colin said, once the runner had settled in. “I hope you have some news for me.”
“Indeed I have, my lord.” The other man’s voice held a note of enthusiasm. “I went to the scene of the accident,” Cooper revealed, “and investigated the spot where the carriage allegedly went over the cliff. While I was there, I saw a ship not too far out in the North Sea. Apparently, the shipping lanes to Inverness are quite close to shore at that point.”
Colin nodded. “Go on.”
“I then visited Beannach, the village my lady grew up in. I confirmed her story with the Baron of Beannach and a few other locals.”
“Were you able to find out anything else?”
“I have discovered something interesting, but it’s a difficult piece of information.”
“Difficult? In what way?”
“I had to promise to keep the man’s confidentiality before he would speak, and it cost me plenty.”
“Expenses are no object. I’ll reimburse you.”
The runner nodded, clearly pleased. “Will you promise to take no action on what I tell you?”
“I won’t make any promises.”
“Then I can say nothing, my lord.”
“Cooper, for God’s sake, explain to me what you’ve learned.”
“Not without your word that this man will remain untouched.”
“Is there no other way?”
“I have a reputation to maintain. If I betray my informant, others may refuse to confide in me.”
“All right, I give my word. Now who is this man?”
11
T he Bow Street runner’s tone grew confidential. “I’ve found one of the original brigands who chased the duke’s carriage over the cliff.”
A hush descended over the study.
His lips thinning, Colin grew still. After a time, he murmured, “I gave you my word, Cooper, but I’m having a damned hard time keeping it.”
“You must, my lord.”
Jaw tight, Colin clenched his fists. “What did he say?”
“He gave me the particulars of the accident, which we already know. He also confirmed my lady’s story, along with Phineas Graham’s.”
“Did you discover anything new?”
“Only that the man saw a ship at the time the carriage plunged over the cliff. He said it was far to the north and moving very slowly southward.”
“Phineas Graham noticed the ship as well,” Colin said impatiently. “Why should we care about a ship?”
The runner shrugged. “The ship’s crew couldn’t possibly have witnessed any details of the accident. They were too far out to sea. However, I’ve discovered that the tide was coming in around the time the carriage tumbled over the cliff. Perhaps the tide might have picked up the wreckage from the accident and brought it out to sea, near the ship. They might even have found a body.”
“I don’t think it very likely.” Colin spoke softly.
“But not impossible, eh?”
“No, not impossible. I don’t want to leave anything unconfirmed. Do you think you could identify the ship, even after almost twenty years?”
“Most of the larger ports like Inverness keep records of ships’ comings and goings for decades. Since I know the approximate time it passed the cliff, I can guess when it made port in Inverness.”
“In that case, I want you to go to Inverness and examine their accounting books. Find out where that ship came from, who owned it, and where it was going. See if you can locate anyone who remembers sailing on it.”
“I’ll go immediately.” Cooper nearly quivered with excitement, reminding Colin of a bloodhound who had just caught a fox’s scent. He stood up from his chair and started for the door.
“And Cooper,” Colin added, just as the other man reached the threshold, “you’ve done a first-rate job so far. Expect a healthy bonus if you manage to track this ship down.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll find it.”
As he watched the runner go, Colin had no doubt that the man would, indeed, locate someone who had sailed on that ship. His reputation as the finest bloodhound in England was well deserved.
Colin’s attention drifted back to the letter Sarah had received from London. Its soft white surface and flowery penmanship looked innocuous enough, but Colin had no doubt it contained poison of the most vicious kind. Silently he cursed the shrew that kept sending Sarah these notes. Sarah invariably treated him to days of betrayed looks after one arrived.
Who, he wondered, could it be? Lady Helmsgate, perhaps? The blond woman had certainly revealed a fine temper to him on the day he’d left London for Inveraray. Remembering her vow that she hadn’t finished with him yet, Colin could very easily imagine her sabotaging him in this way.
He picked the letter up, stuffed it into his coat pocket, and left the study for Sarah’s bedchamber. That tedious French modiste had arrived about an hour earlier and had asked him to attend Sarah’s final fitting. In her first fitting, Sarah hadn’t trusted the modiste’s opinion and had balked at many of her suggestions. The modiste, at her wit’s end, had requested Colin’s presence, and thereafter things had gone much more smoothly. Now he was required to attend every fitting — a task that tormented him, considering it afforded many opportunities to glimpse Sarah’s ankles and curves.
He heard the modiste in the hallway before he even reached the bedchamber.
“Please, my lady, you must try and understand. You cannot wear anything but white for your debut. It isn’t proper for you to wear the yellow gown.”
“Why must I wear white? To appear virginal?” Sarah snorted. “Look at the bodice on this gown. Good Lord, no one will think me virginal, regardless of what color I wear.”
Smiling at her tartness, Colin knocked softly on the sitting room door. “May I come in?”
“Yes, my lord,” the modiste cried.
He entered and shut the door behind him. His gaze went immediately to Sarah and remained there. His lips parted. He t
hought he had never seen her look quite so stunning . . . and so very strange.
Her hair was swept upward into a mass of glossy black curls held in place by a gold ribbon. A white satin court gown hugged her curves, its form-fitting nature partially disguised by a matching white silk tunic that flowed around her. Gold bands embroidered with Grecian figures decorated the hem and criss-crossed over her breasts.
“You’d look like a goddess,” he observed, “if not for that muck on your face.”
Sarah grimaced. “Good morning, Colin.”
He walked a tight circle around her, loving everything he saw except for the white paste on her face. “Is that substance on your face the newest trend in lady’s fashions?”
“No, it’s a skin conditioning cream. Mrs. Fitz insists I wear it for at least an hour a day. She says it will help to fade my skin to white. I can’t wait to wipe it off.”
“Doesn’t it get in the way of the fitting?”
“No,” the dressmaker answered. “I am working on her body, and the housekeeper works on her face. You like my creation, then?”
Disconcerted by the feeling of possessiveness that came over him as he looked at her, he nodded. “This gown is perfect. Demure and clean of line, yet subtly sophisticated, it emphasizes her best qualities. And its classical embellishments remind us all that she’s the daughter of a duke.”
Gratitude shone in the little Frenchwoman’s eyes. “Please ask my lady to stand still while I pin the hem,” she mumbled, pins sticking out of her mouth.
Colin turned to Sarah and drew the letter from his pocket. “You must remain motionless, or Mrs. Fanchon may stick a pin in you. Here is a letter to entertain you while you wait.”
Her gaze flying to meet his, she took the letter and examined the writing. A frown darkened her face. “From my friend,” she murmured.
“Would you like some privacy?”
“Yes, please.”
Giving her a smart bow, he withdrew to the window, where he studied the lawns. Behind him, he heard the sound of parchment ripping, and imagined Sarah opening the note. He scowled. What scandalous tale would her friend relate this time?
A forceful sigh escaped her.
Despite his promise otherwise, he spun back around. Her frown had grown deeper, he saw. She looked up, marking the fact that he was no longer giving her the privacy she’d requested. Still, she didn’t ask him to turn his back to her.
Instead, she kept casting unhappy, considering glances at him as she finished reading the letter. Once done, she regarded him with narrowed eyes. He could nearly feel her disappointment in him, like a palpable aura in the room.
He said nothing. In his mind, he willed her to tell him who had written the letter — Lady Helmsgate, maybe?
The silence between them grew.
She continued to look at him, then dropped her attention to the letter. In an offhand way, she began to snap the corner of the parchment against one finger.
“More good news regarding my reputation?” he finally asked, when he could stand the anticipation no longer. Once he had surrounded himself with immoral people and had occasionally taken pride in outshining them. At this moment, however, he deeply regretted those days.
She grew still. “I do not understand you, Colin. You can be generous to a fault, and yet, also so terribly wanton.”
“I cannot change what I am. Will you consider revealing to me your friend’s name, so I might defend myself?”
Sarah set the letter on her bureau. “I’m not being fair to you. I should tell you, even though the lady begs me to keep her confidences.”
Triumph filled him. “Give me her name.”
A knock at the door prevented her from answering.
“Who is it?” Colin barked.
“Edward.” The duke sounded curiously uncertain. “May I come in?”
“Yes, please do,” Sarah invited, offering Colin an apologetic smile.
The duke walked into the sitting room to join them, a burgundy velvet smoking jacket and silk trousers covering his thin frame. Eyebrows lowered, he seemed preoccupied. Even so, he hadn’t been in the room for more than a second or so before he stopped to assess both Sarah and Colin.
“Is anything wrong?” he asked.
“Sarah received another letter from her London friend, the one who fills her ears with confidences that Sarah is not allowed to repeat,” Colin informed him. “Many of those confidences involve me.”
“Oh?” The duke focused on Sarah. “Lady Helmsgate sent you another letter? We must invite her up to Inveraray. I don’t know if she’d come — after all, the season is almost in full swing — but it’s worth a try.”
Lady Helmsgate.
Colin muttered a choice oath. He’d suspected as much. His past had truly caught up with him.
Eyebrows lifted, Sarah regarded the duke. “You knew who was sending me the letters?”
“Of course. Lady Helmsgate sent me a letter, too, informing me that she planned to befriend you. She’s been a friend of the family for many years. Her husband and I used to hunt together, before his hip started to hurt him.”
“I see that I’m the last to discern Sarah’s friend’s name,” Colin growled.
The duke looked at Colin with wide eyes. “Didn’t you know?”
“No, Sarah withheld her identity.”
“At Lady Helmsgate’s request,” Sarah added.
“Ah, the intrigues of the ton.” The duke nodded sagely. “I don’t miss them.”
“Should I trust Lady Helsmgate?” she asked, her attention divided between both of them.
“No,” Colin barked.
At the same time, the duke said, “Yes.”
A pause ensued. The duke cast a sly glance at Colin. Colin choked back a few choice oaths.
“I would say yes,” the older man finally repeated. “Lady Helmsgate is very well-informed on society’s intrigues.”
Colin felt as though the walls were closing in on him. “You’re not really going to invite Lady Helmsgate to the castle.”
“I think we should. Sarah needs a female friend her own age.” The duke focused on Sarah. “How about you, Sarah? Would you mind if Lady Helmsgate came to visit for a fortnight or so?”
“I’d like a friend,” she admitted shyly.
“It’s done, then. I’ll write Helmsgate immediately and ask him to send his wife to us. We’ll even hold a card party after Lady Helmsgate arrives, to give Sarah a taste of society before her debut.”
Colin clutched the back of a chair for support. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how Lady Helmsgate would cause trouble for him. Indeed, she’d already caused him a lifetime’s worth of trouble.
“But I didn’t attend you here in your sitting room to chat,” the duke continued. “Unfortunately, I have some bad news for you.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. “Bad news?”
“Regarding Sionnach.”
She pressed a hand against her temple. “Is he hurt?”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that. Sionnach raided the henhouse again last night and cook’s in a lather.”
“Oh dear.” Her hand dropped to her side.
“I know you love that little fox, but he’s keeping the household in an uproar. He muddies clean laundry with paw marks and jumps all over the furniture. Just yesterday Mrs. Fitzbottom saw Sionnach jump off a shelf, knocking a priceless Grecian urn to the ground and leaving it in shards. I’ve even heard the hens are no longer producing eggs.”
Her face had grown quite pale. “What do you suggest?”
“I’m afraid you must make a decision, Sarah. Either you must release Sionnach into the wild, where he can fend for himself, or you must place him into a cage.”
“A cage?” Two spots of pink suddenly bloomed in her cheeks. “Sionnach is my friend. I would never put him in a cage.”
“Perhaps cage is the wrong word for what I have in mind. Rather, I would allow him the run of one of the barns in the Maltlands, where groomsmen will feed h
im only the best of meals each day, and comb his fur, and keep his home spotless. You, of course, may visit him whenever you wish.”
“But he could never leave this barn.”
“I’m afraid not,” the duke confirmed.
“Then it’s a cage.” She crossed her arms over her breasts and faced them with narrowed eyes, her movements pulling several pins from her gown.
The modiste uttered a small cry and threw up her hands. “How can I finish this fitting if you move about so?”
“The fitting is over for now,” Sarah informed her.
Muttering under her breath, the modiste curtsyed and told them before leaving the room that she would return later.
The duke ran a hand down his face, in the manner of someone in a very difficult situation. “My apologies, Sarah. I wish I didn’t have to stand firm on this. In fact, I’ve tried to give you as much free rein as I could. The fox, however, is causing too much difficulty for the entire household. He is made to roam free in the wilds, not skulk about a drawing room.”
“May I have time to think about it?” she asked in a small, hard voice.
“Of course. But I must have an answer soon. I’m sorry, my dear.”
Colin watched this exchange with an uneasy feeling in his gut, one he couldn’t quite place. Keeping her fox out of trouble made eminent sense; and yet, the image of Sionnach roaming a closed barn filled him with dismay.
If the fox ended up in a barn, tamed, he would become the most pampered fox in England. And in losing his wildness, he would lose the one thing that made him a fox. He would, in short, lose himself. Colin knew a little about losing a part of oneself, and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone else.
“I’ll leave you now,” the duke murmured. “I regret that I had to deliver such an uncomfortable choice to you.”
Sarah nodded unwillingly. “I understand.”
And Colin speculated if she really understood at all.
Sarah found Sionnach near the edge of the woods. He bounded up to her when he saw her, his furry red body standing out clearly against the brilliant green of midsummer. He barked and growled a greeting, clearly excited about something.
