An Impossible Confession

by Sandra Heath

  ‘It just suddenly seemed obvious,’ she replied lamely, horridly aware of the flaming color on her cheeks.

  ‘I know the feeling,’ he murmured, still smiling.

  ‘Forgive me for being so blatantly curious, but why did her affair cost you dear?’ she asked, too intrigued to be discreet.

  ‘It’s a little involved. You see, someone else, another man, found out about the affair, and also that I was at pains to protect the lady concerned. This man for some reason wished to do me harm; and he proceeded to vilely blacken my character, threatening to expose the lady’s secret if I attempted to clear my name.’

  ‘But that’s dreadful,’ she gasped. ‘It’s – it’s blackmail!’

  ‘Yes, it is, but it’s blackmail to which I submit, since the alternative is the ruining of the lady’s life. She made a mistake when she broke her marriage vows, but it was only one mistake, and she doesn’t deserve to suffer the awful fate that would certainly result if her affair was revealed. She loves her children very much, but would lose them, and that is something I could not have on my conscience.’

  ‘So you submit to this man’s will?’

  ‘That’s one way of putting it.’ He smiled a little wryly.

  ‘I didn’t mean it in a derogatory way, Lord Drummond. Indeed, I think your actions very honorable.’

  He seemed to see some irony in this. ‘You’re exceeding good for my morale, Mrs Brown. To be perfectly honest with you, I don’t know why I’ve told you any of this, for I’ve never told anyone before.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s because I was rude enough to ask.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘May I be even more rude?’

  He laughed. ‘Oh, please, feel absolutely free.’

  ‘You’ve asked me questions about my husband, but I’ve been wondering about you. Are you married, my lord?’ She could hardly believe she was being forward enough to ask such a question, but it was something she really wanted to know.

  He sat back, surveying her for a moment. ‘Why, Mrs Brown, I’m of a mind to be flattered by your interest.’

  She blushed.

  ‘There is no Lady Drummond; indeed, there’s no lady in my life at all at the moment.’

  ‘I find that difficult to believe, sir.’

  ‘As difficult as I find it to believe there’s no man in yours?’ he murmured, a certain devilment in his eyes.

  ‘That’s hardly the same. You’re so….’ She broke off, flustered.

  Her embarrassment amused him. ‘Now I’m definitely of a mind to be flattered, for I do believe you’re about to pay me a handsome compliment. So let me compliment you as well, my mysterious Mrs Brown, for I think you should know I find you very intriguing.’ He spoke softly, and there was a disturbing warmth in his eyes.

  Suddenly the atmosphere had changed, and she felt unprotected. ‘I – I think it’s time I retired to my room, Lord Drummond,’ she said a little lamely.

  He smiled, putting his napkin on the table and getting up. ‘Oh Mrs Brown, if only you knew how alluring you are when you’re all embarrassment, I vow you’d be very shocked indeed.’

  She was sharply conscious of how attracted to him she was, and knowing that he wasn’t indifferent to her came as a heady realization. Her pulse began to quicken, and to hide her confusion she made much of folding her own napkin.

  He came around the table. ‘Don’t be alarmed,’ he said, ‘for although the base thought of seducing you has persisted all evening, I promise I don’t intend to take advantage of you, tempting though the thought may be.’

  She was very conscious of his closeness as he drew the chair away for her, and she knew how totally defenseless she was. Had he indeed chosen to take advantage, her treacherous senses would have betrayed her into offering little or no resistance. She was shocked by her thoughts. Had the wine affected her? Could she blame red Burgundy for her weakness? No, she couldn’t, for even if she’d sipped water during dinner, she knew she’d still be feeling the same about Adam Drummond, Lord Drummond of Wintervale.

  She was deeply dismayed with herself, and bewildered by the complete demolishment of the values impressed upon her during her five years at Cheltenham. All those lessons, warnings, and lectures about how to go on had been in vain, failing to turn her into anything remotely approaching a proper young lady of impeccable virtue; there was nothing proper about the emotion this man had aroused in her, and certainly nothing virtuous. What on earth had come over her?

  He took a candle to escort her to her room. The inn was now resounding to the noise of the reunion dinner, which promised to go on for some hours yet. They’d reached the stage of singing bawdy songs, but she hardly heard anything, she was too preoccupied with her thoughts, and with her breathless awareness of how warm his hand was on her elbow as they ascended the staircase.

  At her door she turned to face him, her diamonds glittering in the light of the candle. Her acquaintance with Lord Drummond was over, for he’d have left for his meeting at the War Office before she’d even risen from her bed the next morning. The charged atmosphere between them still lingered, and she managed a slightly self-conscious smile. ‘Thank you for this evening, my lord. I – I hope you arrive in London in good time for your meeting.’

  ‘I’m sure I will, but if I don’t, it will be my own fault for chancing it until the last moment in order to enjoy another day with my sister and her children. Failure to arrive in time will result in endless lectures from my redoubtable uncle, Lord Llancwm, who is very definitely a soldier of the old school, expecting everything to be done yesterday. There are times when I wonder if I was wise to agree to dabble in government business for my good friend, Lord Liverpool, who thinks I have an aptitude for diplomacy. I was persuaded to believe him, which means I’m only too often seated across a Whitehall table from my uncle, who insists I should be away fighting with Wellington.’

  ‘But Lord Liverpool prefers you to be in London?’

  ‘Yes. He dispatches me on every errand he shrinks from himself.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve been described as the First Lord of the Treasury’s running footman.’

  She smiled too. ‘I’m sure you belittle your role, sir.’

  ‘Possibly.’ The candlelight reflected in his eyes. ‘You thanked me for tonight, but I should equally thank you. I’ve enjoyed this evening very much indeed, and I trust this isn’t going to be a final good-bye, for it would please me immensely if we encountered each other again.’

  She lowered her eyes, thinking that even if she hadn’t fibbed from the moment she’d entered the inn, the antagonism that apparently existed between him and Gregory would have made any future contact very inadvisable indeed; but, oh how she’d have liked to see him again.

  He took her hand, raising it to his lips. ‘Good night, Mrs Brown.’

  ‘Good night, Lord Drummond.’

  He opened her door for her, and then turned to walk away, his shadow leaping against the passage walls as the candle guttered and smoked. He didn’t look back as he turned the corner and vanished from her sight.

  She stood in the faint pool of light from her room. He’d stepped out of her life as abruptly as he’d stepped into it, and now her stolen evening was over. But would anything ever be the same for her again? Tonight she’d been exposed to the tempting charm of a man who’d treated her in a rather more worldly way than he would had he realized she was so young and unmarried; it was an experience she’d liked very much, in spite of her own faux pas causing the occasional awkwardness, and she knew that any more time spent with him would have been very hazardous indeed for her heart and her virtue. It was as well that this brief encounter was at an end, for where he was concerned it would have been dangerously easy to allow her heart to rule her head.

  She went into her room, closing the door softly behind her. But she wasn’t closing it on a fleeting chapter of her life, for she was destined to see him again before he left, and in circumstances that were alarming, to say the least.

  CHAPTER 4<
br />
  Just as dawn was breaking, Helen was awakened by a stifled scream from the courtyard. Her eyes flew open and she sat up sharply in the bed, her hair tumbling loose about her shoulders. Sleep clung confusingly, and she didn’t know what had disturbed her.

  Everything was quiet now, there wasn’t a sound except for Mary’s rhythmic breathing as she slept on the pallet. The night candle burned steadily, and outside it had stopped raining. She leaned over to pick up her watch. It was nearly half past four. She replaced the watch on the little table and drew a long breath, gazing at the window on to the gallery. It was still dark outside, but a faint glimmer of silver told of dawn’s approach. Would she hear Lord Drummond drive away?

  Slowly, she wriggled back down under the warm bedclothes. She didn’t want to hear him leave, she didn’t want to know the very moment he quitted her life. She closed her eyes to try to sleep again, but as she did so another muffled cry came from the courtyard. With a startled gasp she sat up once more, pushing her hair back from her face as she looked toward the gallery door and window.

  Slowly, she pushed the bedclothes aside and slipped from the bed, picking up her light-blue frilled muslin wrap and moving hesitantly toward the door. Behind her, Mary continued to sleep, sighing as she turned over on the pallet. Helen put the wrap on, and then quietly opened the gallery door to peep out into the gloom of first light.

  The air was damp and cool as she stepped outside. The light blue of her wrap was turned to a ghostly white, and a gentle dawn breeze stirred her tangled hair as she placed her shaking hands on the rail to look cautiously down into the shadowy courtyard below.

  Everything was utterly silent again, and the only sign of anyone’s being about was a shaft of light from an open kitchen door. The moments passed, and still the courtyard remained silent, although she became aware, of sounds from the stables. She didn’t need to be told that those sounds were of Lord Drummond’s curricle being made ready. Suddenly there was a stealthy scuffling in the courtyard and her eyes flew fearfully back to search the inky shadows below. Someone was down there!

  Her pulse quickened and her hands trembled on the rail. She couldn’t see anyone. The faint light from the kitchen door shone on cobbles that were still damp from the rain, and she could make out the steps leading down from the gallery. The water butts loomed dark against the inn wall, and the archway out to the London road was as black as pitch, but the iron hoop where the lurcher had been tied was a vague metallic glimmer in the darkness.

  A lamp was lit suddenly in one of the ground floor rooms, and in the seconds before the curtains were closed the light flooded out over the yard. A faint movement caught Helen’s eye. It was by another water butt she hadn’t noticed before, standing in a far corner beyond the ticket office, and as the curtains closed and the darkness engulfed everything again, Helen realized she’d seen the frantic beating of a woman’s hand upon the burly shoulder of an assailant.

  Helen’s heart almost stopped as she concentrated on that dark corner. She leaned forward, staring intently, determined to be quite sure what she’d seen. Her eyes seemed to become accustomed to things, and she could see the struggling woman doing all she could to break free from her rough attacker. It was the maid who’d served dinner, and the man was the stagecoachman whose team had so nearly caused a fatal accident when Helen had arrived. The maid’s bodice was ripped and her hair was loose, jolted from its pins by the savagery of the attack. She was at the man’s mercy, unable to scream for help because his huge hand was clamped over her mouth.

  Helen’s reaction was immediate and instinctive. She began to raise the alarm at the top of her lungs. ‘Help! Come quickly! Please!’ Her cries for assistance pierced the silence, startling the rooks from the elms behind the inn so that they rose in a noisy cloud.

  Mary ran out to her straightaway, her eyes wide with fright. ‘Miss Fairmead? Whatever is it?’

  ‘Down there. That coachman is attacking a maid!’ Helen pointed, but the moment she’d screamed the man had dragged his victim right behind the water butt and all was suddenly completely still.

  Mary peered down. ‘I can’t see anything, miss.’

  ‘He’s got her there, I know he has.’ Helen drew another breath and started to call out for help again. ‘Come quickly, someone! Help! Please!’

  Further along the gallery several doors opened and some rather bleary faces peered out, only to withdraw sharply as Helen directed her pleas to them.

  The courtyard became brighter once more as the curtains below were flung open again. There were more lights in the kitchens; too, and a scullery maid and a fat cook emerged brandishing brooms. They stared up at Helen and Mary on the gallery, but took fright almost immediately, hurrying back inside and bolting the door.

  Helen stared down helplessly. Would no one go to the maid’s rescue? Even as she thought this, Lord Drummond hurried from the direction of the stables, his traveling cloak billowing as he paused, looking straight up at her. She pointed toward the corner. ‘Over there, a coachman has one of the maids! You must help her.’

  He whirled around in the direction she pointed, but everything was utterly still. Helen could have wept with frustration, and gathering her skirts she hurried along the gallery toward the steps, Mary loyally following. They descended to the courtyard, and Helen ran to him. ‘There is a man there, my lord, and he’s forcing himself upon the maid. I saw it all, truly I did!’

  He put out a hand to stop her. ‘Go back to the steps, Mrs Brown, this is no place for—’ He said no more, for at that moment the terrified maid managed to cry out.

  ‘Help me! Please!’

  The coachman relaxed his grip and she tore herself free. Bruised and battered, her bodice torn, she ran weeping toward Helen, who drew her to the foot of the steps, well away from the coachman, who’d emerged at last, revealing by his staggering gait that he was dangerously in drink.

  He had no intention of surrendering without a fight, and with sudden agility darted to one side to snatch up a pitch-fork that rested against the wall. Helen stifled a cry as the sharp prongs were stabbed viciously toward Lord Drummond, coming within inches of their target.

  Lord Drummond’s agility was more than a match. He moved nimbly back, circling as his huge opponent kept jabbing the pitchfork at him without success.

  Helen held the sobbing maid, who was so distraught that she knew nothing of the drama behind her. Mary stood nearby, her eyes huge with fear as she watched the two men.

  Lord Drummond moved tantalizingly close, inviting another lunge, and the coachman obliged, stabbing the pitchfork wildly at him and missing. Again and again this happened, with Lord Drummond moving easily back out of reach. The coachman became enraged, thrusting forward far too violently at last and losing his balance. It was the moment Lord Drummond had been waiting for, and as the drunken man stumbled forward he moved in, felling him completely with a single blow to the jaw. The pitchfork clattered to the cobbles and the coachman lay senseless where he fell.

  For a moment Helen closed her eyes with unutterable relief, but then she turned as the kitchen door opened again and the fat cook came out to belatedly usher the weeping maid to safety. Helen caught the woman’s eye accusingly.

  Faces were now gazing down from the gallery, faces that were much the worse for wear and belonged to the dinner revelers. A trio of stagecoach passengers were together near the top of the steps, gazing down in consternation as they saw Lord Drummond crouch by their coachman for a moment before ordering some ostlers, who’d appeared from the stables, to drag the unconscious man away and lock him up somewhere in readiness for a visitation from the constables.

  The faces withdrew from the gallery as Lord Drummond approached Helen, his glance taking in her disheveled hair and the way her muslin wrap outlined her figure. ‘So, we meet again after all, Mrs Brown,’ he said softly.

  ‘Do – do you always make such dramatic appearances on the scene, sir?’ she inquired, managing to somehow inject a note of lightness
into her voice.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m a very vain St George, always ready to demonstrate my peerless qualities as a rescuer of damsels in distress,’ he replied, smiling, but then became more serious. ‘It seems I must ask you yet again if you’re all right?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. Are you?’

  ‘I had little enough to do – it’s simple enough to keep out of the way of a man who’s completely in drink.’

  ‘You were the only one brave enough to go to the rescue.’

  ‘Not quite, for you showed remarkable courage yourself.’

  ‘Me? But I did nothing.’

  ‘Which is why you’re down here, and not safely up on the gallery or even still in your room?’ He smiled. ‘We can both take a bow, I think.’

  She suddenly remembered she was in her undress, and lowered her eyes in some embarrassment. ‘You probably think me very indiscreet.’

  ‘Indiscreet?’ There was a touch of humor in his voice. ‘Why on earth should I think that?’

  ‘Because I’m staying in this place, because I so readily accepted your invitation to dinner, and because I’ve now appeared in public in my undress.’ She couldn’t meet his eyes, and suddenly felt dreadful. She’d behaved apallingly, and now, in the cold light of dawn, she was only too conscious of the fact.

  ‘Mrs Brown, I promise you I don’t think anything ill of your conduct; indeed, it has been quite obvious to me that having to lodge here has been very difficult for you. As I said earlier, I can’t begin to guess what your secrets are, and it isn’t my place to guess anyway, but that doesn’t stop me wishing I did know everything about you. If it hadn’t been for the importance of my appointment in town, I’d have stayed here a little longer in the hope of furthering our acquaintance.’

  She stared at him. ‘You – you would?’

  ‘How can you really doubt it? Haven’t I made it plain enough that I find you devilishly attractive? Perhaps I should make it plainer.’ He put his hand to her waist, drawing her close to kiss her on the lips. It was no brief caress, but a leisurely arousal of her already susceptible body. She was enveloped by a sweet, beguiling ecstasy, his to do with as he pleased, and her lips parted willingly as her body melted against him. She surrendered to the wild feelings tumbling through her, returning the kiss with an unqualified honesty that hid nothing.