Mary Blayney

by Traitors Kiss; Lovers Kiss

  The duke dropped the letter on the desktop and leaned across it. “It is much too convenient that you are the one who rescued Lady Olivia.” Meryon’s eyes pinned Michael to the spot as surely as if he’d used nails.

  “Of course. It would be a plot to you.” Michael would have laughed if his desire to live had not been so strong. The duke was murderously angry.

  As it was Michael could not keep the cynicism from his voice. “If you will allow it, Your, Grace, your story tells like this: I learned all I could from your brother while I was visiting his bride and their children in Sussex. Based on that information you think that I arranged to have your sister kidnapped and her reputation ruined. After that I became her rescuer.” There were a couple of other ways to present it, but Michael had made his point. “How clever of me.”

  “Not clever enough.” The duke seemed to relax, but that was after he pulled a pistol from his desk drawer and laid it on the desk.

  “Now you have the advantage of me, Your Grace. I left my gun at the stable, thinking I was among allies.”

  “So my brother reported. That and a knife tucked into your blanket.”

  “I see you have your own network of spies.” Obviously storm damage was not all the land manager had reported.

  “Perhaps. But I call them friends, Mr. Garrett.”

  “Confusing the two is a civilian’s greatest mistake, Your Grace.”

  “Both you and Gabriel call each other friend.” The duke’s expression finally showed something. Curiosity.

  “Yes, but he was never a true spy. Nor was his wife. Lord Gabriel was not at all suited to the life and Lynette did it for her own reasons, which had nothing to do with whether Napoleon was winning or losing. The distinction is quite clear.”

  “You were a spy, though. In name and in deed. Do you deny that?”

  “No, but if you have heard from Gabriel you already know that. And this: It is part of my past. Two years now. Raoul Desseau is gone, not quite buried, but a part of my past.” The pure truth of that sentence was a relief, such a relief that he smiled. “I know that I am not welcome in society even if that life is behind me, so it is just as well that I never found much satisfaction in the balls and routs of the London Season.”

  The duke nodded, otherwise unmoved by his candor. “So you left London and stopped in Sussex, and after that you came north planning to extort money from us to protect Olivia’s reputation. So much easier than gainful employment.”

  “In the name of God, what did your brother say about me in that letter? I counted him a friend.”

  “Gabriel praised you to the heavens. He says that your cleverness,” he paused over the word, “saved his life, as well as Lynette’s, when their escape was on the verge of discovery. He owes you for every moment he is alive. I do believe those were his exact words.”

  “I do not understand your suspicion. Your money funded that adventure, sir. More important than that, Gabriel is a Pennistan. If you do not believe your brother will always put his family first, you do not believe in anyone.”

  The duke glanced at the letter, otherwise unmoved by Michael’s accusation. “I believe every word Gabriel wrote and all the stories he told me. But I know him. As you said he is my brother. His judgment of character is often influenced by his sensibilities. It is enough that you saved his life.”

  “I hardly saved his life, Your Grace.” Honest or not, Michael was compelled to clarify the story. “I lied for him. It was a rather clever ruse, but my colonel was not inclined to use his brain or we might not have been so lucky.”

  “As I was saying.” The duke spoke over Michael’s last words, making his lack of interest quite clear. “Gabriel thinks you saved his life and that of his wife and two of the children that they now call their own. That is sufficient to cloud his judgment.”

  “So I am to feel the brand of spy and its consequences for the first time.” Honesty might make things simpler but it did not make life seem any more fair.

  “If you were not part of her kidnapping or an effort at blackmail, it is also possible that you are using this rescue so you can marry Olivia and ally yourself with this family. Again so much easier than employment. The son of an Anglican bishop would be at least marginally acceptable as a husband for someone with the blood of the Duke of Meryon in her veins.”

  Disgust made short work of any attempt at civility. “You may be a duke but you are also a fool.” Michael reached for his greatcoat and hat, relieved that this was one time when he could make his true opinion known.

  “No matter what Gabriel told you, here is the truth. I have spent the last five years living a lie, posing as a French officer to extort money and betraying trust to fuel a war we won with dishonor as an ally. For me that ended when I came back to England.

  “My family did not want the truth so I left Sussex. Not only do you not want the truth either, you continue to see anyone outside your sacred circle as a threat. I’ve lived that life and want no more of it.” Michael turned to the door, sure, almost sure, that the duke would not shoot him in the back.

  But beneath the lofty words was a genuine ache for the sweet innocent he had rescued. He turned at the door and gave the duke a last scathing look. “No wonder Lady Olivia spends all her time in the kitchen. I’ll wager it’s the only place she can find any warmth, human or otherwise.”

  The duke did not try to stop him. As Michael reached for the door handle, it was opened from the other side. A velvet-clad cannonball burst into the room and flew across the floor to the duke. “Lyn! Oh, Lynford, I am so sorry.”

  The duke pushed the basket of clothes onto the floor and kicked it under his desk.

  Then he opened his arms to his sister. The two stood in a bruising embrace, Olivia’s face pressed against her brother’s heart, Meryon’s chin resting on her new curls.

  Michael watched the two rock back and forth, each comforting the other, and had the answer to his question. He had been as wrong as he could be.

  The Duke of Meryon loved his sister, loved her so much that even now there was a tear on his cheek as he held her tight, as if keeping her close would protect her from the world’s dark moments.

  “What do you have to be sorry for?” Meryon smoothed Olivia’s hair and whispered. “You are safe, dear heart, which is what matters most.” The duke leaned back and ruffled her new curls. “I shall have to call you Petite Mama. You look even more like our mother now.”

  Olivia pressed her face against her brother’s chest.

  Michael left the room, feeling an interloper. His cynicism faded to regret. Though he had never once experienced it, he knew that familial love existed.

  Lynette and her mother shared it with their cobbled family that now had Gabriel Pennistan to head it. Mrs. Blackford and Lady Olivia shared it without the bonds of blood. It existed in the best army units, brothers all. He had never known it. Not firsthand. Not for himself.

  Lady Olivia was safe now and he was free. He could make his way to Manchester or wherever he could find work suited to his unique talents.

  The footmen did not escort him to the front door, which surprised him. He supposed they were more interested in the story being told in the duke’s inner sanctum.

  If the duke and his sister loved each other so dearly, Olivia would tell the truth, Meryon would believe her and Michael Garrett would be absolved of trying to extort money or force a marriage. They certainly did have an obsession with the two. There was a story there, one of a hundred he would never know and would not miss.

  That was a lie. The image of Olivia’s eager face and pursed lips came to mind. He would miss the possibility of another kiss. He could still feel her mouth touching his. Whether that persistent memory was the devil’s work or the gift of an angel, he would remember it always.

  With a last gesture of ill will, Michael left the castle the way he had entered it, through the salon window. Let the ass of a porter make what he would of that.

  Convincing himself it was no more th
an curiosity, Michael took the long way around the castle again, back toward the stable. There were fewer lighted windows at this hour, but the waning moon was bright, and he let it show him the way.

  He tested a few more of the sashes, the ones that were within easy reach, and found them fastened tight.

  Where the old building met the land, there were only a few openings. Years ago, the narrow openings that the archers used had been enlarged and made into windows. They were now without glass and covered from the inside. If the panels could be loosened, a limber man could easily climb through.

  You are no longer responsible for her safety, Michael reminded himself. He would not be able to explore the ruin in the daylight. That could be labeled his penance for trespassing in the first place.

  Thinking of Olivia again, he considered the idea of sending the duke a letter suggesting that he have a trusted servant investigate the abandoned part of the castle.

  The wind gathered strength. Last night’s storm was still a part of him and Michael looked about even as he walked faster. The bigger trees were barely moving; the smaller trees would cause no harm if they gave way.

  Pulling his greatcoat more tightly around him he let himself inhale deeply, the last of the cinnamon and spice that would always remind him of Lollie-the-lost. Lady Olivia Pennistan was far above his reach, but sweet, prickly Lollie had been his dream come true. And like a dream, the fantasy had disappeared with daylight.

  Michael sat down on the wall of the moat, the wind blocked by the castle, and let that bit of honesty sink into his soul. He could have done more than see Lollie to safety. Under a dozen other circumstances he could have been more than her rescuer.

  The wind changed direction and was brisk enough to make Michael stand and walk on to the stable. What a game life was, to tempt him with Lollie-the-ghost and taunt him with Olivia-who-had-never-been-kissed. They might be one in the same, but her title changed everything.

  21

  THAT DEBATE WAS ECLIPSED by the immediate need for self-preservation when he saw the duke’s brother leaning against the stable wall, smoking, as he passed time with the head groom.

  When Lord David saw Michael he pinched out the glowing end of his smoke. “The duke wants to see you.” He tucked what was left into his pocket.

  “Well, I do not want to see him.”

  The groom turned a gasp into a cough and Michael smiled at him.

  “But, my lord,” Michael continued, “to show the great egalitarian goodwill I learned in the army and in France, I will come with you now so that I can be on my way tomorrow.”

  With no more than a nod, Lord David set out for the castle. They walked in silence, which Michael tolerated for as long as he could. “You did not wonder where I was?”

  “You were either dead or asleep somewhere. Or perhaps something in between.” Lord David turned up his collar against the growing chill. “I would have searched if you had not shown up by morning.”

  Michael liked him. In spite of his distinctly unfriendly manner, he was as straightforward as only a taciturn man could be. Lord David was not about to waste words on lies. Not when each syllable he spoke was so carefully weighed.

  “I’ll tell you what I found if the duke is not interested.”

  Lord David nodded and let the conversation die.

  Oh for God’s sake, Michael thought, surely the man had not used up his quota of words for the day. “Was Lady Olivia amenable to coming home?”

  “Yes.” He hesitated and added, “Mrs. Blackford was not. She wanted her to stay for the night.”

  “That must have been interesting.”

  “The vicar is still head of the house. He insisted that they do as the duke wanted.”

  “No one with any sense says no to the duke.” Michael stopped and, perforce, so did Lord David.

  “More often than you can imagine.”

  “Because he thinks he is always right and has no use for counsel.”

  “No, the opposite.” Lord David resumed walking and considered his answer as though he had to build it carefully and test it for stability. “Too many people are distracted by his rank, and make choices based on a coat of arms and not what is the right course of action.”

  Michael felt the pinch of that pointed comment. It was aimed right at him.

  Lord David stopped just out of hearing distance of the porter who was waiting by the door. “I was away in the Americas for almost ten years. I have been back for two. I see things differently now. You must as well.”

  “Yes. I do. I have seen the best and worst of leaders. The truth is not always apparent, but quickly learned in the first battle.”

  “You will see soon enough.” He started walking again, ignoring the fact that Michael was not following him.

  God save him, he hated cryptic comments like that. Another distaste Michael could thank the war for. He kicked at a clump of grass and caught up with Lord David, giving up on the effort to draw any more information from him.

  They swept by the porter who bowed them in. Or at least bowed Lord David into the castle. Michael ignored him even though he could feel a malevolent stare that made his back itch.

  The study door was ajar, the footmen away from their posts.

  “Where are they?” Michael asked with a wave to the doorway.

  “Scouring the place for you,” Lord David answered. “The porter told us that you did not leave, at least not by the front door.”

  Michael’s smile was his only reply. Let the porter earn his pay. Michael went into the room and was surprised that Lord David did not follow him. The story was hardly over.

  He could see Lady Olivia sitting in the duke’s chair, behind his desk, looking very much the proper young lady even if her dress was somewhat dated, missing the abundant rufles and detail that were popular in London and Paris.

  The simpler style suited her; the high fichu hid her bruises and the pink helped to add color to her cheeks. A band of pink braid inset with flowers ran around the neckline and then down the middle of the dress, which drew the eye from her magnificent bosom. In his case it was only a momentary distraction. But he could see that someone, if not the lady herself, had given significant thought to her dress.

  Lady Olivia was talking with some animation. The duke half sat on the desk, listening.

  “Why? I promised one Season. It’s not as though marriage—” she saw Michael and cut herself off. “Good evening, Mr. Garrett. I am so glad that you came back. I have not had a chance for a proper good-bye.”

  God only knew what she would consider a “proper good-bye.”

  “Lyn, my throat hurts from talking so much. Could I please have some brandy?”

  “No, you may not.” The duke appeared shocked at the request. “Brandy, Olivia? You are not to drink brandy. What in the world are you thinking to ask for it?”

  “Yes, well, Mr. Garrett gave me some with water in it and it is very soothing to my throat.”

  “That may be, but you may not have any more.” His impatience was replaced by something that sounded more like worry. “What if I have some of your tea brought to you?”

  Olivia jumped up from the chair, and made for the door. “Better yet, what if I go to the kitchen and make it myself?”

  The duke moved to stop her. Michael forestalled her exit by closing the door before she reached it.

  “You are not to wander around this place, sister, especially not tonight. It is too drafty.”

  “Oh nonsense, Lynford.” She reached for the door handle but stopped, raising her hands to her throat. “Do you think my abductors are still about? Will they come again?”

  The fear in her words made Michael want to take her in his arms. He took two steps toward her before he realized how ill-advised that was. He bowed to her instead, took her hand and held it with both of his. “My lady, those cowards are nowhere near. Do you hear the wind? It is not like the gale but it will make for a miserable night for anyone out of doors. Let us hope they’re still searchin
g in the Peak while you are safe with your family.”

  She nodded slowly at first, then more firmly as if considering his words and agreeing with them. He smiled at her. Her eyes answered and they both remembered the last time they had been this close.

  22

  GARRETT,” the duke interrupted, “ask the footman to bring some of Lady Olivia’s sore throat tea.”

  “Honey and lavender tisane.” Olivia pulled her hand from Michael’s as she corrected the duke, with a superior tone only a man’s valet was allowed to use.

  “Honey and lavender tisane,” repeated her brother, for all appearances as tame as the kitchen cat.

  “I’ll tell the footman.” Olivia had the door open before she finished speaking.

  Michael turned to the duke to see how he would react to this casual usurpation of his order. The duke took his seat, pulled a pair of candles closer and began to read a newspaper. He looked up before he could have read more than a sentence. “Sit down, Major. She will be awhile.”

  Michael usurped some power of his own and stayed near the door. The footmen were back in place, the same ones who had accosted when he had arrived earlier. They appeared not to recognize him at all.

  “Oh it is you, Rawley,” Lady Olivia said with real pleasure. “Good evening, and how are you? I am so sorry to have missed your wife’s churching. How is the babe?”

  “The boy and the missus are doing well. And you, my lady? Are you feeling better?”

  “Well, yes, but my throat still hurts quite dreadfully. Could you ask my maid to bring me some of my special tea to ease throat discomfort, the honey and lavender tisane?”

  “Happily, my lady.”

  He moved off briskly and Michael thought it a timely exchange. But Lady Olivia was not through.

  “Good evening to you, too, Lester. Do tell me which was your favorite of the buns I made last week? I have been wondering the whole time I was at the vicarage.”

  “The cinnamon, my lady,” the other footman answered promptly.

  “Truly?” she said with disappointment. The footman nodded.