In any case, if he’d left for London, he couldn’t be responsible for the shot aimed at him just now. Unless he had a henchman. Anyone could have a henchman.
Verne sipped his ale, then gave Villin a curt nod and left the taproom. Cecily was just descending the stairs, alone, reminding him of their first encounter. He halted civilly to wait for her, but to his surprise, she beckoned him away from the taproom and the kitchen. Half-amused, half-wary of his own lust, he sauntered toward her.
“It just struck me,” she confided, her voice low. “Everyone always says how respectable the Hart is, and the Villins are indeed most obliging and pleasant people. But it isn’t really respectable at all, is it? Alvan and Charlotte found it deserted and someone shot at them, too. All sorts of nefarious meetings must go on here—including yours. Everyone agrees their brandy is smuggled. What if the inn, the Villins themselves, are somehow involved in this?”
Verne stared at her. “You mean they are traitors? Would-be murderers?”
“Is it less likely than what you believe?” she retorted. “What Henry and Torbridge believe?”
“Henry’s and Torbridge’s beliefs do not weigh with me in the slightest,” he snapped. He frowned at her, mulling it over only because it was she who had said it. “No,” he said at last.
“Only think about it,” she urged, drawing closer. “Do you not feel something…sinister about the house?”
He searched her face. “No. It is I who am sinister, remember?” He offered her his arm, which she took. He liked that simple gesture of trust too much, hated the surge of intense protectiveness that came with her lightest touch. Who would protect her from him?
“Poppycock,” she said roundly.
He paused just outside the parlor door, frowning ferociously down at her. “Cecily, I am not a good man,” he warned. “Never think it.”
“I have never let anyone tell me what to think,” she said, “and I am not about to start.”
He longed to seize her, show her just how bad he was. He wanted to shield her from all the harms in the world. Before he could discover which yearning was strongest, he reached past her. The fresh yet exotic scent of her hair, her skin, filled him. Her eyes widened, entrancing him. She drew a sharp breath at his looming nearness but did not move away. Dear God, had she any idea… was she tempting him?
Deliberately, he lifted the latch and opened the parlor door. She smiled and sailed past him.
For many reasons, it was time to end this.
Chapter Eleven
“Verne and I have decided we should leave the day after tomorrow,” Lady Barnaby told Cecily in her bedchamber that evening.
“So soon?” Cecily blurted before she could help it. “That is, I thought we were to increase credibility by staying longer.”
“We both believe we have achieved enough. As it is, we give the impression of a sudden but shallow passion which quickly dies when you are apart. Verne may return to his own debauchery, and you may break the engagement with barely a ripple of gossip. We shall go straight to Mooreton Hall and explain all to Alvan.”
“Should we do that?” Cecily asked. “I don’t want to spoil his friendship with Lord Verne.”
“I don’t believe you could lie to your brother, whether or not you should.”
Cecily walked restlessly to the window. “You are probably right,” she allowed, though she seemed to have difficulty telling the lies from the truth. Perhaps Aunt Barny was right and it was time to leave. Only it piqued her that Lady Barnaby and Verne had decided on this between them without consulting her. It refuted the closeness she had imagined forming between herself and Verne.
*
She did not see him at breakfast the following morning, and so made the bold move of knocking on the library door. It opened almost immediately and Verne stood there dressed for riding. He didn’t look particularly pleased. Something twisted inside her.
“You’re going out,” she said stupidly.
“Yes, I have estate matters to attend to. If you need anything, speak to Mrs. Longstone or Daniel.”
“I merely wished to inquire after Mr. Jerome,” she managed.
He stepped out, closing the door behind him. “Walk with me,” he said abruptly.
They left the house by the side door and he turned immediately toward the stables. Clearly it was not to be a lovers’ stroll for anyone’s benefit.
“I’ve sent Jerome out of harm’s way,” he told her when they were clear of the house.
“Are you sending us away for the same reason?” she asked, keeping her voice light.
“Yes. Partly. And partly it’s time to end our charade. Our lives are complicated enough.”
“But surely it’s you who are in danger?” she objected. “Not us.”
“Yes, but I can’t do anything about it while you are here. I want rid of Jane and the Longstones, too.”
Rid. However fine the motive, it was brutally said and she felt her face whiten.
“I almost feel I should apologize for putting myself in the way of your abduction,” she drawled.
He glanced at her then, frowning.
“Enjoy your day,” she said carelessly and walked away toward the garden.
It was luck that she caught sight of Lord Torbridge there, but she seized on the opportunity, her pride forcing her to show Verne she cared nothing for his company above any other’s.
Still, she strained to hear his voice to call her back, for his footsteps to hurry after her. Instead, they faded, and before she even reached Torbridge, Verne and Jupiter galloped out of the stable yard and away.
*
Cecily found it hard to leave Finmarsh House—which was odd considering how hard she had tried to escape it when she had first arrived. Part of her longed to fly from Verne’s coldness, to show him she cared nothing for it or for him, but mostly, she longed to find out the cause, to make things as they were before. She wanted to solve the mysteries of the house and his past, to see him happy.
But however amorous he had been on occasion, she was forced to acknowledge it meant nothing to him. He had told her as much. He and everyone else had warned her, and still she had imagined she must be different, that he cared just a little. She didn’t even know why she wanted his affection, and she refused to dwell on her feelings when he so clearly did not. But as she prepared for departure, something hurt within her, some desperate misery threatened to overwhelm her.
And as they stepped outside and everyone else followed to wave them farewell from the steps, she was suddenly terrified that she would never see him again, that whatever assassin had tried to kill Jerome and Verne, would finally succeed.
A smile fixed to her face, she said all that was proper, gaily thanking everyone for a most delightful visit and looking forward to seeing them all at Mooreton Hall next month. Finally, she hugged Jane, whom she doubted she would see again either, before adulthood at least, and turned brightly to Verne himself, offering her hand.
“Goodbye, sir. I hope you will write to me.”
“Depend upon it.” Bowing over her hand, he kissed it and, still clasping her fingers, walked down the steps with her to hand her into the carriage. Her aunt was already climbing inside with the aid of a footman. “Don’t forget to send me my congé,” Verne murmured.
“Depend upon it,” she said sweetly.
A breath of laughter shook him. “Well, my first and last, perhaps you will break my heart after all.”
“If only you had one,” she said lightly.
They had arrived at the open carriage door and she began to draw her hand free. Unexpectedly, his fingers tightened, and with no further warning, he pulled her roughly against him and kissed her thoroughly on the mouth.
Everything in her leapt and melted… and yet seethed, for although it was so much what she wanted, she knew he did not mean it. He was playacting the eager lover. And yet, she recognized his own desire as well as her own in that kiss. If she only had time… for what, she could not think.<
br />
Bemused as he released her, she let him hand her into the carriage under the disapproving scowl of her aunt. Verne closed the door and blew a sardonic kiss to them both before he stepped back, allowing the horses to move forward.
Cecily waved out of the window, but the figures on the steps and the terrace were merely blurs. Perhaps it was raining. Certainly, her cheeks felt damp.
*
Until Mooreton Hall loomed into distant view, Cecily didn’t realize how much she wanted to be there. It hadn’t been her home since she was very young. She couldn’t remember living there on a permanent basis, and yet in her only half-understood misery she longed for her ancestral halls, her brothers, and Charlotte, her new sister-in-law, who made everyone happy.
Fortunately, Charlotte’s pet terrier, aptly named Spring, was the first to greet her, enabling her to hide her unwanted emotion in laughter. Taking advantage of the open front door as the footmen hurried down to the carriages, Spring bolted outside with his usual enthusiasm and then, with astonished joy, swerved course and hurled himself straight into Cecily’s arms.
“Do you know, I would be sorry if you ever taught him to behave?” Cecily said to Charlotte, fending the animal off her face.
Laughing, Charlotte plucked Spring off her. “I’m sorry, Cecily, but at least it wasn’t Lady B. he chose to savage. How are you both? Was your journey bearable?”
There was no artifice to Charlotte. No one could doubt the genuineness of her open welcome. Or her happiness. She still glowed with it. Alvan, of course, was more reserved in his greeting, strolling down the steps to kiss their aunt’s hand and cheek before embracing Cecily.
“I’m glad you’re home,” he said simply. “Spring, sit or I’ll eat your supper.”
Cecily laughed. “Now that I would like to see!”
“Well, the threat seems to work,” Charlotte observed, watching her dog sit on the step with his tail wagging furiously. “Though he still won’t do it for me. Come inside quickly and tell me what you think of the hall.”
Cecily walked into what had been the medieval great hall, now the massive, imposing entrance to the current house. There was something new about the familiar place, though she couldn’t at first think what it was. Then she saw the old, dark sofas had been recovered in bright fabrics, and the whole space was scattered with mirrors and flowers, giving an overall impression of light and space.
“Why it’s beautiful!” Cecily exclaimed, “What a difference you have made with a just a few little changes!”
Someone unwound himself from the sofa at the far end of the room and sauntered toward them.
“Good God, Julius!” Cecily exclaimed. “Have you been sent down from Oxford again?”
“No, no, just left for summer a little early,” her brother assured her with a grin. “Couldn’t wait to hear how you had snared the sinister baron.”
“Odious boy,” Lady Barnaby said. “Alvan, can I still send him to his room?”
“As you wish, of course,” Alvan replied generously. “But he’ll only come out again.”
Julius grinned and kissed his aunt’s cheek before offering his arm, knowing he could always twist her around his finger.
Having refreshed herself and changed out of her traveling clothes into a more suitable day gown, Cecily hastened to join the others in the drawing room, which had also received the Charlotte-brightening touch without losing its character.
“Aunt B. is resting,” she told the others. “Traveling takes it out of her, poor thing, though she will never stay put for long. Oh good, tea already!”
“Don’t keep us in suspense, Cecily,” Julius urged as Charlotte began to pour the tea. “How did you snare the sinister baron?”
Cecily sighed. “Actually, it was he who snared me,” she admitted. “Mistaking me for a hussy, he abducted me from the Hart Inn and then came up with this idea of engagement to save my name.”
Charlotte set the teapot down with a bump. Alvan and Julius stared at her.
“Please tell me you’re jesting,” Alvan uttered.
“No, I’m not,” Charlotte said ruefully, “but there’s no need to get yourselves in a miff over it, for we have already sorted it out.”
“A miff!” Alvan exclaimed, jumping to his feet and striding toward the window as if he couldn’t be still. “What the devil did he mean by—” He broke off and swung around to face Cecily again. “What were you about that he mistook you for a hussy?”
“What was I about?” she demanded, outraged. “Why must the woman always be blamed for a man’s iniquity?”
“Oh, trust me, Cecily, the iniquity will not go unpunished,” Alvan said chillingly. “I am searching desperately for any small mitigation to the behavior of a man I called my friend.”
“Well, he’s still your friend,” Cecily said crossly. “It was a misunderstanding brought about by… well, by things he was involved in at the Hart. Which are not bad in themselves,” she added, “only it all contributed to the general confusion. And as soon as he discovered his mistake—which was as soon as we reached Finmarsh House, I assure you—he sent for a maid and Aunt B. and Mrs. Longstone to be hostess. I own I didn’t like the scheme at the time, but it is probably the best we can do. And apart from the act of abduction, he never behaved other than as a perfect gentleman.”
Memory of his kisses rose up to confound this assertion, but she successfully ignored it. “I told him you would most likely shoot him, which seemed to intrigue him,” she offered.
Alvan, scowling still, sat back down and stared at her. “Is he coming here for the ball?”
“Oh, no,” Cecily said carelessly, accepting her tea from the anxious-looking Charlotte. “I’ll break it off before then, of course. It will look as though you’ve talked me out of it.”
Alvan’s face relaxed into a sardonic smile. “Casting me as the heavy-handed guardian again, Cecy?”
“And myself as a silly, fickle girl,” Cecily agreed. “But apparently, both those things are better than being the entirely innocent victim of a man’s silly mistake.”
“Wicked mistake!” Charlotte corrected, incensed. “Whoever or whatever he imagined you to be, he had no business taking you anywhere against your will!”
“Granted,” Cecily agreed, trying to resist the urge to defend him. In the end, she said only, “There were reasons why he was disposed to think as he did, but he would be the first to admit he was entirely in the wrong. You won’t cut him, will you, Alex?”
“I will certainly have a word with him first,” Alvan replied grimly. His frowning gaze focused on her once more. “His is undoubtedly the blame, but you were up to something, weren’t you? He didn’t abduct you from your bed.”
“Of course not,” Cecily said with dignity. “I have already said there were reasons for his mistake and a few of those—though not all!—may be my fault. However, there is nothing you can say that I don’t know, or that Aunt B. has not already blasted me with. I beg you will not lecture me or harass me, for it has been a difficult week and I don’t wish to talk about it anymore.”
Sympathetically, Charlotte passed her a scone. But her brothers were less impressionable.
“Good line of defense, Cecy,” Julius remarked, “though I doubt I’d get away with it.”
“There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” Alvan said obscurely. Meaning, Cecily suspected, that he had more subtle means of investigation. Or punishment.
*
In fact, Charlotte was his secret weapon. Since the sun came out during tea, she and Cecily put Spring on his leash and took him for a stroll in the gardens.
“So you have actually met the sinister baron,” Charlotte said, with awe.
Cecily cast her a humorous glance. “There was no cleverness on my part to bring it about. You sound envious.”
“Oh, I am,” Charlotte confessed. “Up to a point. For although you take it so much in your stride, I’m not sure I care to be abducted. Is he very terrifying?”
“No
t in the least!” Cecily exclaimed. “In fact, you would like him, Charlie, for he is quite droll. I believe the world has demonized him quite unjustly.”
“People do love to spread rumor and gossip,” Charlotte agreed. “Probably because their imaginings are so much more fun than reality. Certainly, in our occasional visits home to Audley Park, we avidly swallowed all the rumors we could overhear and made up our own stories about him to boot. I’m almost disappointed to discover he is dull.”
Cecily regarded her. “I said droll, not dull.”
“Then at least he made you laugh while he abducted you?”
“Not then, though I suppose I should have been more frightened than I actually was. But later, yes, he did make me laugh. He is… not just in the common way.”
“Then you will miss him when you break your engagement?”
I miss him now. “In a strange way, I will. You know me, Charlotte. I hate to be bored.”
“And are you bored with Lord Torbridge?” Charlotte inquired, pausing to allow Spring to sniff among the shrubs.
“I am never bored with friends.”
“Will his affection withstand your engagement, do you think?”
“I hope not,” Cecily said. “I shall not marry Torbridge.”
Spring lunged at the hedge, dragging Charlotte several steps before she managed to haul him back to the path. “How can something so small be so strong?” she demanded.
“Determination,” Cecily replied, amused. “And the element of surprise.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised by anything he does. Does our sinister baron have anything to do with your decision not to marry Torbridge?”
“Why should you imagine so? Torbridge has never offered for me.”
“And Lord Verne… what is he like?”
“You mean you have never even seen him?”
“I may have glimpsed the back of his head once in Finsborough, but I can’t be sure. Is he tall and dark?”
The Unmarriageable Collection (Books 1–3) Page 35
