by Jo Barrett
"Well, it made sense at the time. Barstoke was certain that a stranger could not manage to get into the house without his knowledge, so that left only three possibilities. One of the servants, one of our guests, or you."
Magnus knelt before her and took her hand. “I would never hurt you, Agatha.” Although he'd taken her freedom, her chance to have a life with a man she could love and bear children with, he would never physically harm her.
She pressed her hand to the back of his. “I know you wouldn't, but I had to sort it out, you see? I had to look at it logically. I couldn't let my feelings cloud my thinking."
Her feelings. He held on to that thought, letting it settle inside him. She cared for him.
She looked to Crittenden standing behind him. “You, however, were a distinct possibility, I'm afraid. I could easily see, after reading that note, that Magnus could've taken the woman you loved, and therefore you wanted him to suffer as you had suffered from losing her. You could've arrived earlier to do the deed without our knowing it."
Lord Crittenden gulped a large swig of his brandy, his eyes wide as she expounded on her thoughts.
"But that, again, didn't ring true,” she continued. “The only woman it could've been was Magnus first wife, and I know for a fact that you did not offer for her, or even so much as look in her direction during the season. I'm sorry I hadn't reasoned it all out sooner."
Crittenden smiled and bowed. “I applaud your reasoning, Agatha. You are a most unusual female."
"How did you know he didn't want Elizabeth?” Magnus asked, still kneeling before her.
Her cheeks colored. “Dancing wasn't the only thing I observed at all those balls and parties."
He chuckled and kissed the back of her hand, then rose.
"Well,” Agatha said, and cleared the sudden longing for another of his delicious kisses from her throat. “Now that we know my deductions are correct, and that neither of you wants me dead, we need to examine the remaining facts. It would seem we are left with a note and a house full of suspects."
Magnus studied the note again. “Someone wants to hurt me by killing you,” he muttered.
"A woman,” she said.
"Which does cut the list down a bit. But a woman! That's balmier than thinking either Crittenden or I wanted you dead. What could she have suffered because of me?"
Crittenden cleared his throat. “What of a—well—"
"No,” he snapped. “I do not now, nor have I ever had a mistress."
Crittenden held up his hand in supplication. “Just trying to cover all the possibilities."
"Actually, when you look at it from a certain point of view, I am quite lucky that it is a woman,” Agatha said.
"And why is that?” Crittenden asked.
"A man could have tossed me down the stairs without much trouble at all. She only had the element of surprise as her weapon. I just wish I'd not lost my glasses in the struggle before I could see her face."
There was a knock at the door.
"Come,” Magnus called.
"Your spectacles, my lady,” Barstoke said, striding into the room.
"Oh, thank you, Barstoke. What perfect timing? I'd quite feared they were broken or lost. I've not a spare set, I'm afraid."
Barstoke bowed his head, but paused. “My lady, I wish to apologize."
Agatha set aside her brandy and put on her glasses. What a relief, she'd feared she'd have to move about like a blind woman until a new pair could arrive from London.
"Apologize, Barstoke? Whatever for?” She looked at the butler with perfect clarity.
"I was obviously mistaken, my lady, regarding our talk this afternoon."
"Our talk? Oh, yes, of course. But you needn't worry overmuch, Barstoke. I have my doubts that she gained access to the house disguised as a servant."
"Why do you doubt it?” Crittenden asked.
"I can't say at the moment, but something is niggling at the tip of my mind."
Crittenden stroked his chin. “Perhaps she is a servant."
"No. I'll not believe that of my staff,” Magnus said with a nod toward his butler.
"I am glad to hear it, my lord,” Barstoke said. “As to your request, my lady, no one has seen or heard anything out of the ordinary. I am sorry."
She sighed. “Yes, I'd feared that would be the case. But thank you, Barstoke."
The old man bowed and left the room.
She turned to look at her husband. “Why do you discount the staff so readily?"
"They've all been with me for a very long time. Anyone wanting to harm me would've come long before you arrived, I'm sure."
"Oh, yes. I suppose you're right. I haven't gotten to know them all yet, or that well."
"You will in time. You've already won over Barstoke. He hadn't mentioned the note or your request for spies. I feel a bit put-out by that, if you must know, darling,” he said with a grin.
She tucked the fact that he'd called her darling in the back of her mind to savor later. Oh, it was merely a common endearment, there wasn't any true meaning behind it, but it sounded exquisite coming from him, and her pulse increased its pace. If only he hadn't touched her so wonderfully earlier and kissed her quite senseless.
Kisses are lovely things, she thought. Each vastly different, but none as satisfying as the one he'd given her beneath the stairs. It warmed her in places she dare not mention in polite, or any other sort of company.
She avoided his piercing gray eyes and lifted her brandy. It wouldn't do for him to see her thoughts at the moment. She took a long draw, it was quite delicious, and with luck would calm her.
"Most women don't care for brandy,” Lord Crittenden commented.
A giggle slipped from her throat, likely from a few too many sips. She set her glass aside. Liquor could cause all sorts of silly things to come out of her mouth. She needed to be careful lest she say something she couldn't take back. Something from her heart or her dreams—and in front of a guest.
"My father likes brandy,” she said. “He and I spent many evenings by the fire talking. When I was old enough, he offered, and I found that I quite like the taste."
Magnus smiled softly, and it wasn't helping her current situation at all.
"It would seem I've married a rather unconventional woman, Crittenden,” he said.
"I'll second that,” he said, and lifted his glass.
She cocked her head and studied both of them. “It doesn't bother you, does it?” She knew it to be true, the look of amusement in their eyes. Neither seemed to mind that she was different.
"On the contrary,” Magnus said. “I, for one, am glad of it."
She narrowed her gaze at the pair. “You know, I'm not the only woman of my sort amid the ton. But for some reason, gentlemen don't seem to care for my variety. Present company accepted."
Crittenden took her hand. “That is because, my dear, ladies of your intelligence and independence scare the wits out of gentlemen like ourselves,” he said, and kissed her hand.
She looked to her husband, noting the faint twitch of his lips and the gleam in his eyes. Oh, it was only a small bit of jealousy, but it felt wonderful.
"So you prefer simpering dimwitted females then? Like the lot your mother has brought with her?"
Crittenden stepped back and rested his elbow on the mantle. “No, absolutely not."
She perked up, intrigued. “Really?"
"Watch it, old boy,” Magnus chuckled. “She looks to have some plan scheming in her pretty little head."
Crittenden flattened his back against the hearth, his eyes wide. “No, madam. I beg you, no matchmaking. I enjoy your company, a great deal, but I do not wish to be leg-shackled at present, as you well know."
Agatha laughed and fell back against the settee. “Oh, if only I did know some one suitable for you. Now that would be a challenge. But have no fear, my lord, I am not the matchmaking sort. I've been on the receiving end of such an endeavor for years and did not care for it in the slightest. I can sympathize with yo
u where your mother is concerned."
A refilled glass in hand, Magnus stepped up beside Lord Crittenden and handed it to him, his lips pulled into a scowl. “Who tried to match you, and what gentleman did they try to foist off on you?"
"My cousin, Hattie. She was forever pointing out gentlemen and nudging me beneath their noses.” She nodded at Crittenden with a grin. “She would've placed me in your path at your ball, if your mother hadn't been handpicking the ladies herself."
He cast her a bow. “My loss and Leighton's gain."
Her husband mumbled something low that brought a twitching smile to Crittenden's handsome face.
"I believe I shall retire,” their guest said. He took Agatha's hand and kissed it, then moved to the door.
She grinned at her husband as he watched his friend slip from the room. “I so wish I knew what you said. But I can see by the look on your face, you're not going to tell me."
"No I'm not.” He set aside his glass and crossed to her. “Come, you should retire as well."
He held out his hand, and she eased hers inside. They walked up the stairs in silence, but when she paused at her door, he pulled her along with him down the hall.
She swallowed the unease and excitement rising in her throat. “And where am I to retire?"
"You're to sleep in my room tonight. I'll not leave you unguarded when a crazed woman is loose on the property."
"She won't try again tonight, not with the entire house alerted, but I suppose it's useless to argue the point."
"Useless."
He opened his door, and she stepped inside. The scent wrapped around her in a dizzying whirl, leather and spice. It wasn't strong or offensive, but it smelled of him. The scent that had invaded her senses when ever he wrapped her in his arms.
He peeled his coat from his body as he crossed to a chair by the fire and draped it over the back.
Feeling silly standing there doing nothing, she retrieved his coat and hung it up properly, then took the neck cloth he'd tugged loose as well. For the first time, she glimpsed more of his scars. They ran down the side of his neck to disappear beneath his shirt. She could only imagine that his chest had their share as well.
She folded his neck cloth and placed it atop a dresser, pushing the reminder of his past pain from her thoughts.
A weary sigh echoed in the room as he sat by the fire. She crossed to his chair and bent to remove his boots.
"You don't have to do that,” he said.
"I want to.” She straddled his leg and pulled his boot from his foot. “I used to do this for my father on occasion when he'd worked late into the night.” She lifted his other foot. “I didn't like to wake his valet, he was always a bit surly afterward."
A chuckle rumbled behind her as she pulled off his other boot. She glanced back to find him smiling again. Perhaps they would be able to share some sort of companionship after all. Even if he couldn't make love to her, they could kiss and hold one another.
She set the boots aside and moved to the bed. Her hands shook as she slipped off her robe and laid it across the foot of the bed. She felt his gaze on her, but was too anxious to meet his eye. Setting her glasses on the table beside the bed, she settled herself between the covers and waited...and waited.
He made not a move from the chair.
"Are you coming to bed soon?” she asked.
"Go to sleep, Agatha."
She propped up on her elbows, retrieved her glasses, and looked at him sitting stone still in front of the fire.
"I understand we can't share a bed as other married people do, but I don't see why we can't sleep in the same bed. It's ridiculous for you to sit up in that chair all night.” She patted the space beside her. “Come to bed, Magnus."
His gaze pierced her from across the room. A muscle twitched in his jaw. He'd said he wanted her, perhaps he did, but perhaps it was uncomfortable for him to be close to her in this way.
With a sigh, she returned her glasses to the bedside table and lay down. If he wanted to lie with her, he would, if not, then so be it. She would have to live with his decision. She closed her eyes on a silent wish.
Magnus waited with barely controlled lust, until she fell asleep. He'd wanted to join her, wanted to strip the last of the silk from her body and make love to her with everything sweltering inside him, but could not risk her revulsion.
Her soft, even breaths pulled him from his chair. He doused the last of the light and banked the fire, then made his way to the bed. Silently, he stretched out atop the covers. The warmth of her beside him fed his soul, urged him to move closer, dared him to touch. He rolled to his side, and eased his hand across her waist. Just to touch her for a few moments was all he needed.
With a moan, soft as a breath, she rolled toward him. Her hair tickled his cheek, and he brushed it ever so slowly away, relishing the feel of it sliding between his fingers.
In the faint glow of the firelight he saw her eyes open partway.
"Go back to sleep,” he whispered.
"Kiss me?"
With slow sweet strokes, he swept his lips across hers.
"More,” she breathed.
Her breathy plea tore at his resolve. Perhaps he could give them both some modicum of gratification. For he wanted nothing more than to please her in every way he could. Even if it meant his own suffering.
His fingers brushed the sides of her breasts and her breathing quickened. Gradually, he moved his hand to cup her, the thin silk nothing like the barrier of her dress. He ached to slide the tormenting concoction from her body and feel the softness of her skin, but did not.
Caressing her as his lips moved across the nape of her neck to her shoulders, rolling the pebbled peak between his fingers, she moaned in sinful pleasure. He knew he must stop before it was too late.
Slowly, he shifted his hand back to her face, cradling her warm cheek as he kissed her thoroughly.
"Now, go to sleep,” he whispered, his lips brushing across hers.
With a contented sigh, she curled into his arms and fell asleep.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Eight
"Morning, old chap,” Crittenden said, striding toward Magnus where he stood staring out into the gardens from the dining room.
He turned from his perusal, his thoughts not on anything other than the feeling of waking with his wife's warm body nestled against him. He'd ached to wake her with a kiss, but feared he wouldn't stop there. He'd nearly ripped her gown from her body and exposed every inch of her to his view the night before, but he'd settled for a kiss, a single touch, and throbbed painfully the entire night.
Guilt weighed on his shoulders, the injustice of his actions. She was intelligent, warm, caring, and if he wasn't mistaken, passionate. She would make a wonderful mother to a happy brood, for that is what she should have, and he'd stolen that from her.
"What's got you in such a dark mood?” Crittenden asked.
"Last night,” he said, only partly lying. He was afraid for his wife's life, but more disturbed by the long painful years before him.
"Ah, yes. How could I have forgotten? The intruder.” Crittenden filled his plate with nearly everything from the sideboard then took a seat at the table.
Thankfully, the rest of his guests were still abed. He'd not expected such after the previous morning, but they'd stayed up later the night prior, and Lady Crittenden had managed to extract a promise from her son not to try and disappear again.
Magnus joined him after warming his tea. “I cannot fathom any reason why someone would wish Agatha dead to take revenge on me."
Crittenden took a large bite of ham and chewed. “Are you quite certain you've not left any hearts broken out there?"
"As I said last night, no."
Crittenden lay his silverware down with a clatter. “You mean to say you've not—"
Magnus shook his head.
"Then last night wasn't just to save Agatha's feelings?"
"No."
"Bless
me. You're a better man than I."
He slapped his cup down in his saucer. “I didn't refrain for any noble reason. I assure you."
"Ah. I see,” he said solemnly, and pushed his food around his plate.
"I doubt that,” he grumbled.
"I have ears, man. You'd be surprised what's said behind a fellow's back. And as your lovely wife said last eve, we've known each other for a very long time."
Magnus clenched his jaw. “Back to the matter at hand. Who is trying to kill her?"
Crittenden sat back and looked at him. “Someone who wishes to hurt you, just as the note said."
He waved the idea away. “This threat has to stem from something in Agatha's past. It's a misdirection.” It had to be.
"You forget,” Crittenden said. “I've seen you with her. Your feelings are quite plain."
"Ludicrous. I've never been around her in society. No one would've witnessed anything between us."
"True, but you did marry her, and rather quickly. And you looked on her somewhat warmly during the wedding breakfast."
He sighed with a shake of his head. “No. I cannot see anyone in attendance having such criminal motives. As to elsewhere, I've had few meetings with anyone. I've stayed on this estate since the fire. My only venture in public was at your homecoming and an occasional trip into the village."
Crittenden swallowed another bite of breakfast. “Well, whoever she is, she seems determined after two, possibly three attempts. I suspect the poacher wasn't a poacher after all."
Magnus slammed his hand on the table, jostling the dishes. “Who wants me to suffer and why?"
"Beg pardon, my lord. The magistrate is here,” Barstoke said, from the doorway.
"Where is Lady Leighton?"
"Still asleep, my lord."
Magnus glanced at Crittenden before turning back to Barstoke. “Have him wait in my study. We'll be along shortly. And Barstoke, we're not to be disturbed, do you understand?"
The old gent barely blinked, completely comprehending that he did not want his wife to know of the meeting. “Understood, my lord."
"You—we shall catch hell for this, I'm sure,” Crittenden said, rising to his feet with a grin on his face.
Magnus chuckled. “No doubt. But I'm more afraid of what she would do to the man if he dare suggest it was her imagination."
