Rand turned to Winston who held a coil of rope in his hands. “How far to the bottom?”
“A good thirty feet my lord. The wood is riddled with dry rot. He wouldn’t take the rope. He’s too frightened. The door’s been kept bolted for years.” Winston’s unflappable reserve gave way and his voice broke.”
Rand took the rope from Winston and expertly fashioned a loop at the end. “David,” he called out. “I’m going to toss you a rope tied with a real seaman’s knot. I’ll show you how to make one once we get you up here. Now, if you can put your arms through the loop I’ll pull you up. Can you do that?”
But David shook his head so frantically the steps creaked. Cecelia reached forward as if she could somehow keep them stable. Heart pounding she commanded as firmly as she could, “Keep still, David.”
Rand slipped the rope around his waist and tightened it. “Then hold tight lad and I’ll come get you.”
“Wait! I’ll go. I weigh less. I’m less apt to break through the wood.” Cecelia tried to
rise but Rand put his hand on her shoulder.
"No. Your skirts will hinder you and we can’t risk waiting for you to change.” He tossed the other end of the rope back to the footman who had handed it to him. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Timothy,” milord.”
“Timothy, whatever happens, don’t let go of this. And if the steps give way you won’t be able to hold my weight by yourself so I need two more men to hold on with you.” Several other footmen stepped forward. Rand sized them up and satisfied with their brawn turned and took the first step. The wood protested but he moved quickly and reached David in a matter of seconds. Holding her breath, Cecelia watched as he eased David from the splintered wood. “Put your arms around my neck,” he commanded, “and your legs around my waist.” To the footmen, he called out, “Keep the rope taut.” Moments later they were safely in the corridor.
He set David down and the little boy flew into Cecelia’s open arms. She could feel the sobs shake his body as his tears started all over again. She wanted to join in. Never in her life had she been so frightened. “You’re safe, little one,” she crooned as she rocked him in her lap. “I told you Thomas would get you out of there.”
“I want this door nailed shut now.” She looked up to see her husband dropping the bolt into its cradle. His tone was soft but the anger in his voice was chilling. “Obviously a bolt is not enough to keep out curious children. And after it’s boarded up, put something in front of it. Preferably something heavy. And you.” He looked at Billy. “Were you supposed to be watching David?”
Billy flushed as he lowered his eyes to the floor. “Yes, milord.”
“It seems your penchant for getting into trouble is contagious.” Rand crooked his finger at the boy and Cecelia watched as Billy followed him down the corridor.
Billy feels bad enough as it is, she thought angrily. Railing at him will accomplish nothing. And remaining to give David a few more words of comfort wouldn’t have hurt. David tightened his arms around her and hiccupped. As she hugged him back a tear ran down her cheek. David was safe. Everything had turned out all right. Yet, somehow it hadn’t.
André had witnessed the rescue unobtrusively from a distance. Lady Clarendon was soothing the brat as if he were her own flesh and blood. He cared nothing for the boy but had the grubby little thing fallen to his death, she would have grieved terribly. Her happiness was his main concern. Though, he amended, it would have been worth it if the marquis had fallen with him. The marquis had little appreciation for his wife. It was easy to see how desperately unhappy she was. She needed someone to love her. She needed him. And that was why he was here. He realized now that his past was unimportant. Their future was all that mattered. It was his destiny to rescue her from this misery. His accident, his rescue, his memory loss, it was meant to be. But even destiny needed a helping hand. She could never leave her husband. The marquis must be eliminated. His lips curled as a number of ways came to mind. It seemed that he was no stranger to plotting murder.
“What are you doing in here Cecelia?” Rand leaned against the doorframe of her bedchamber. His hair was still damp from his bath. Ashley purred as she rubbed against the blue silk of his robe.
She scowled at the open door. “I thought I’d locked that.”
Rand held out a key. “I know the owner. He gave me the key. Now, answer my question. What are you doing in here?”
Cecelia pulled the bed covers to her waist and curled up against the pillows. “I should think it obvious. I had considered reading, but it’s late. I’m going to sleep.”
“You sleep with me.”
“I used to. But of late you haven’t seemed to want me as a bed mate so I decided I might as well enjoy some solitude.”
He frowned. “I’m sorry if you feel neglected but I’ve had to work late the past three nights. There were things that needed to be done. Things that couldn’t wait.” His frown deepened. “You’re being childish.”
She glared. “And you’re behaving like an ogre.”
“An ogre?” His lips twitched and for a moment she was afraid he would laugh at her.
“In what way am I behaving like an ogre?” When his request met with silence he threw his hands in the air. “I have responsibilities. I can’t have you arguing with me every time I turn around.”
She sat up straight. “Does that mean I’m not allowed to have my own opinions?”
“Only to a point.” He stopped abruptly obviously realizing his error.
“To a point?” Her cheeks burned with anger and her fists clenched.
“I only meant…”
“I think what you meant is quite obvious! And there was no need to rail at Billy this afternoon. He was mortified to begin with.”
“There was every need! You made the decision that he was responsible enough to take charge of the boy and I insist he live up to that responsibility. He was flirting with one of the kitchen maids when David decided to find out what was behind the door and look at what happened. And as you also decided it was more important to have this bloody party than return to the safety of Surrey I insist that you and the children not roam about unattended.”
That he was right made it all the more difficult for her to deal with. She turned her back to him, put her head on the pillow and mumbled, “Just go away.”
“As you wish.” He left the chamber shutting the door behind him.
Cecelia buried her face in her pillow but before she could form a complete thought the door flew back open.
“No! I will not leave you alone. You are my wife.”
She turned to see him striding toward her. Heat flared in his eyes. “You are impulsive, maddening and you may well be the death of me and the truth is, I want you so badly, I don’t even care.”
He flung her bed linens aside and she reached for him. She could not resist. He pulled off her night rail and covered her body with his. The silk of his robe slid across her bare skin. His erection was heavy against the junction of her thighs. His lips sought hers and her body came to life. She opened her legs, lifted her hips and rubbed against him. The cool fabric of his robe met with her heat and she took in a sharp breath. His scent filled her nostrils. She parted the silk and took the erect flesh in her hand. It pulsed beneath her touch as she guided him inside her. He pressed his lips against her neck and moaned as he thrust inside her. “Oh God,” he whispered. “It seems I cannot do without you.”
It was not a gentle lovemaking but she was not in a gentle mood. Her nails bit into the flesh of his hips. She nipped at his lower lip and tasted blood. He bit back and a delicious shiver coursed through her. Her senses were reeling. Need and frustration had taken her to a place where she could not distinguish between pleasure and pain. She met his thrusts with a mounting force that was almost violent in its extreme. At the core of her need was desperation. She was desperate for completion, desperate for some sign that he loved her and in her passion filled haze, one w
as dependent on the other. If he could not give her this, what was left? She drew her legs back, arched her back and held him against her pushing and grinding until all sensation left her limbs and centered on the point of their joining. He would not have it. He pushed her legs further apart and tried to thrust as she fought to keep him against her. It became a fierce struggle between them and as the struggle ensued, so did the exhilaration. They wrestled, twisting the bed linens and sinking further into the feather mattress.
“Wild cat,” he gasped.
In response, Cecelia nipped hard at his shoulder then sucked at the damp salty flesh until she bruised the skin. He cursed then laughed as he broke free of her. She panted, struggling to catch her breath as her heart beat wildly. He tugged at her nipple with his teeth and she flinched, though the pain did not register in her mind. He licked at the sweat that beaded between her breasts. Nearing orgasm and slick with perspiration, she lost her grasp and he took advantage, pinning her wrists against the pillow. He surged into her, deeper and harder than before and she convulsed.
The sensations she sought so desperately overtook her and she lost herself in their wake, soaring above the waves, aware of nothing but the throbbing climax between her thighs. Her return to earth was slow. She drifted. Her limbs felt heavy and lethargic. Rand had collapsed beside her, one arm flung across her belly. Moving was impossible, but she had no desire to. Eventually her arms and legs began to prickle. She moved his arm aside and stretched trying to force the blood back into her exhausted limbs.
Displaced, he rolled over on his side and propped himself on his elbow. “It seems my little she-devil is pregnant.”
It was the last thing she expected to hear. She frowned. “What makes you think that?”
“Because you flinched when I touched your breast.” He reached over and palmed her breast. Though she tried not to, she winced.
“You see? You’re also irritable and weepy.”
“I might be less so if you weren’t such an ogre.”
Ignoring her retort, he continued, “And by my calculations your courses should have started about two weeks ago.”
“Perhaps I was just late. You haven’t shared a bed with me for the past three nights.”
“Am I wrong.”
She couldn’t tell a bold-faced lie about something this important. She sighed. “No.”
“I thought not. When did you plan on telling me?”
“In a day or two. I wanted to wait until I was certain. I didn’t want you to be disappointed.”
He was quiet a moment. “Liar.”
She sighed. “Very well, I was angry with you. Everything I do of late appears to displease you."
“You’re mistaken. You’ve just pleased me very much with the news of impending fatherhood and the rigorous lovemaking. Though why I found your assault pleasing I don’t know. It raises disturbing questions as to my character.” He touched a finger to the abrasion on his lower lip. “I’m likely to be a mass of bruises within the hour. I’ll need to fabricate some elaborate story about falling off my horse, though that’s almost as bad as divulging that my wife thrashed me.”
“You deserved every bite and scratch I gave you.”
He pressed his lips against her belly and said, “Make amends with me for tonight, warrior. I’m spent and I imagine you are as well. If you wish, we can fight again tomorrow.”
She had no wish to continue their arguing. She only wanted to be held. With a soft sigh she curled up against him and within minutes the marquis and marchioness of Clarendon were asleep.
The following afternoon, Rand strode into the library and found André seated in a leather chair next to the window. Light spilled through the glass highlighting the Frenchman’s face. The bruising was gone, his color was good and he appeared fit enough for what Rand had in mind. “Monsieur André,” he said cheerfully. “Forgive my interruption, but I was told I might find you here.”
André looked up from the book he held in his hand. His face held little expression as he acknowledged the greeting with a slight nod. “It helps pass the time.”
Rand dropped into the chair across from him. “I’ve a bit more news for you. We’ve been able to trace your travels back to London and it seems you rented a suite of rooms there before traveling to Devon.”
Marking the page with his forefinger, André closed the book and looked at him expectantly. “And were you able to learn why I was there?”
“Unfortunately no. You only stayed a few weeks and according to your landlady your activities were fairly mundane. You went to dinner and mentioned going to the theatre, but for the most part you kept to yourself. If you had any visitors she was not aware of it.”
André nodded curtly. “I thank you for the information.” He glanced down at his book as if he were anxious to continue reading.
Rand’s jaw clenched. It appeared he would have to be more direct. “There isn’t a great deal more I can do for you. At least not here.”
The Frenchman's expression didn’t change.
“I think it best that you continue the investigation yourself,” Rand went on. “I have a house in London on Green Street that I’m planning to sell next spring but for the time being you’re most welcome to stay there. It’s in a quiet neighborhood and I’ve kept on a staff of three. I believe you would find it comfortable.”
“You wish me to leave Devon?”
Rand was beginning to wonder if the man were truly dense. “I know you’re anxious to discover your identity and as your journey apparently began in London it would be the most logical place to start. You might meet someone who knows you or you could hear or see something that would trigger a memory. That same tidbit would likely be meaningless to my investigators.”
André pursed his lips. “Or it could be that my memory never returns.”
“There are physicians in London who might be able to help you.”
“I have little faith in physicians.”
Rand didn't even try to mask his irritation at the man’s lack of optimism. “You almost sound as if you don’t wish to regain your memory,” he said sharply. He stopped to get rein on his temper. “I apologize. I realize this is difficult for you. You’re obviously an educated man. I have many business ventures and employ a great number of people. If your memory doesn’t return and you find you need employment, I’m certain we could work something out.”
André's expression blackened for a split second and then he smiled. “You are most kind in your offer. I realize I cannot impose on your generosity forever but if I might ask one more favor.”
Rand waited.
“I find that I am looking forward to the festivities Lady Clarendon has worked so hard on. Her excitement is infectious. If I could stay long enough to attend, it would mean a great deal to me.”
Though the marquis would rather André be on his way within the hour he found he could come up with no good reason to refuse the request. “My wife would never forgive you or me if you left before her party.”
“Merci.” André bowed his head.
Exasperated, Rand rose. “I bid you good day, monsieur.”
Seething, André watched Rand leave the library. The bastard was tossing him out on his ear as if he were some lackey who was no longer of use. He’d managed to buy a little time but not much. A few carefully chosen words to Cecelia might give him more, but he had his doubts. Clarendon was not a man to back away from his decisions. He had no choice but to act quickly. In the stillroom he had noticed quantities of arsenic and deadly night shade and it would be a simple enough task to lift the key. But poison was often detected and it would be best if the marquis’s death was seen as an accident. His eyes narrowed and features grew rigid with determination. Whatever means he decided on, the marquis would be dead within the week. Initially Cecelia would be distraught but in the end it was for the best. She would grow to love him as he loved her. They would be happy.
Cecelia frowned at the darkening sky then lifted her muslin skirts a
few inches as she hurried along the gravel pathway that led to the house. She’d managed to iron out the differences between the head gardener and the women they had hired to do floral arrangements but there were only three days left and still a million things to be done. She needed to inspect the bedchambers with Mrs. Brice and decide which rooms would best suit their various guests. The Sheratons would stay in the gold and blue bed chamber as it was the most opulent and she had no intention of giving Lady Sheraton anything to complain about. But the rest was yet to be decided. The delivery of linens they were expecting hadn’t arrived and she was pondering whether they could make do with what they had when she saw André approaching her. He was dressed in black and his dark hair was pulled straight back and secured in a queue. In the overcast setting, she thought he looked like a character from a gothic novel. It was a ridiculously romantic notion but great fun.
“Monsieur,” she said breathlessly as he reached her.
“My lady.” He bowed formally and brought her hand to his lips. “You look quite lovely this afternoon.”
She smiled. “You spoil me with your compliments. Thank you.”
His brows lowered and he wore a faint frown. “I hope you don’t doubt my sincerity. You have a glow most women do not.”
Laughter almost got the better of her. She was rarely certain how seriously to take his comments. “I daresay I’m simply overheated. I’ve been racing about trying to get everything done. I do apologize but I’m afraid I must forgo our afternoon walks until my schedule eases.”
He gently released her hand. “I understand. In fact, I wanted to offer you my help. There must be something I can do.”
Her eyes widened. “But you’re our guest, monsieur! I couldn’t possibly ask you to do anything.”
The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy) Page 31
