by Jo Beverley
He grinned. “Would you care to define that more particularly?”
Chloe was blushing. She grasped her robe more tightly. “You know perfectly well what I mean.”
He sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. You have my word. I will be a perfect gentleman.”
They stood in her bedroom, separated by a yard or two. “Thank you for being so kind to Belinda,” Chloe said.
He shook his head. “I may regret it later. It was a most affecting performance, but she did terrify poor George for the sake of her lover, and she pushed Frank off the Head, even under provocation. Not to mention poor Budsworth and the sailor.”
“You never asked about Samuel Wright.”
“I doubt she knew anything of that, though she may have some well-buried suspicions. I’d lay odds Frank killed him to protect the secret. I don’t think I would have liked Frank Halliwell. I can’t imagine why an intelligent young woman like Belinda allowed him to manipulate her.”
“Some women love too well,” Chloe said. “I would do as much for you.”
He smiled and took a step closer. “And I would sell my soul to the devil for you,” he responded quietly. “Have you forgiven me my stupid doubts?”
Chloe felt she would melt under the warmth of his gaze. At the same time, however, she was not disposed to succumb too easily with Belinda’s example before her. “Well,” she teased, “if you work very hard at it for the next forty years or more, I may forgive you in the end.”
His eyes were passionate, his smiling mouth beautiful in the candlelight. “It really isn’t fair, you know,” he said softly, “to torment me when you have my word.”
Heart trembling, Chloe smiled and released the tight grasp she had kept on her robe. It fell open at the front to show her demure cotton nightgown. She perched on the edge of her mattress, and leaned against the corner post at the foot of the bed. “One of the advantages of being a woman,” she said softly. “One of the few advantages, I might point out, is that we don’t have to play fair.”
He came over to lean against the post and look down at her. “Would you care to tell me what game we’re playing, my heart’s desire, and what the rules are?”
She looked up, just a little nervously. The truth was, she wasn’t sure. All the excitement seemed to have driven common sense out of her head. “A very inflammatory game?” she queried.
She could sense the passion in him, only barely under control, and her heart began a wild tempo. Was she really seeking to destroy his control? She realized she was. Having tasted the danger of losing him, she wanted to assure herself of her power over him . . .
He slowly reached down a hand, but it was only to grasp hers and pull her to her feet. She saw laughter spring to his eyes as he said, “You would be justly served if I were to let my garment fall open. Come.”
With that he hauled her out of her room and down the corridor to Macy’s.
Randal was sitting relaxed in a chair, with pistol in hand. Macy was still bathing his eyes.
“You could have blinded me,” he spat at Chloe.
Then he sneered, and looked at her and Justin in so disgusting a way that she instinctively gathered her robe together again. “Excitement takes some women that way,” he said with a nasty smirk.
Chloe felt Justin stiffen. Randal calmly raised his pistol, and Macy shut up.
“What do we do with him?” asked Randal, as one might talk of dirty laundry.
“An excellent question,” said Justin, leading Chloe to a chair and seating her. “We should haul him before the authorities and let him hang. The trouble is, that would doubtless lead to a close scrutiny of events here, and that doesn’t suit me.”
Macy looked cautiously optimistic.
“You can’t let him return to his activities,” said Randal firmly.
Chloe realized with slight surprise that her cousin had for once taken a moral stance.
“Of course not. But once this list reaches London, I don’t think Mr. Macy will want to be in England anyway.”
The older man looked stunned. “But where can I go?” he bleated.
“To the devil if you wish,” said Justin coldly. “I am going to put you on a boat to Ireland. After that it is up to you—Italy, perhaps, or the Americas.”
A crafty look flickered in Macy’s eyes and Chloe said, “He will try to convince the Prince of his innocence.”
Justin shrugged. “Nothing we could say of events here would affect that. Even if he manages that feat, those in power will make sure he never has access to information of significance again.”
Randal glanced down at his pistol. “Do you know,” he said, “I have a marked disinclination to letting a man go free after he’s betrayed his country and tried to carve up a member of my family.”
Chloe put a hand up to the wound on her neck. It still smarted. Justin laid a hand on her shoulder, promising love, and security, and tenderness.
“I like it even less than you,” he said to Randal, “but I don’t want his death here to raise too many questions.” He looked at Macy, his eyes hard. “You might want to consider that aspect of the situation, however, if you are tempted to return to England. An excuse for a duel can always be found.”
Humphrey Macy looked at the two young men and paled. “I never did any harm” he whined. “Useless, silly information. That’s all I gave them.”
He was still protesting when the three young people left the room and Justin locked the door.
Randal carefully uncocked his pistol. “You have the documents?”
Justin nodded. His arm had come around Chloe as if that were the only natural place for it to be.
“Should they go to London?” Chloe asked.
Justin frowned. “There is still some danger, you know. The French will have their eye on this place. I think Randal and I should ride to Lancaster and put the papers in the hands of the military.”
Randal accepted this with enthusiasm. Justin looked down at Chloe. “If we are to make rational plans, we really must change. I don’t know how it is, but the sight of you in the most diaphanous evening gown does not play havoc with my brain like you in two sturdy layers of nightwear.”
Chloe knew she was pink again. She could say the same for his effect upon her, except that his daytime clothes were always solid and concealing, and it was constantly obvious to her that the silk lining of his long garment rested only on his skin.
“You have never seen me,” she said lightly, “in my most diaphanous evening gown.”
He smiled brilliantly. “Something I await with breathless anticipation.”
Randal cleared his throat and, having got their attention, glanced down at his elegant robe of black brocade. “I am not so used to being ignored,” he said.
Chloe smiled. “You look very nice, Randal,” she said and he snorted. Justin burst out laughing.
“At any moment,” he said, “Margaret will be up to light the fires. What she will think, I don’t know.”
“It will merely confirm her belief that we are run mad,” said Chloe. “I just need to know how you two came so conveniently on the scene.”
To her surprise, Justin did not immediately answer. “I will tell you, I think,” he said cautiously, “when we are safely ensconced behind the breakfast table.”
He dropped a quick kiss on her lips and disappeared into his room with amazing speed. Chloe looked at Randal with a raised brow. He kissed her too and slipped away, before she even had time to protest. Shaking her head, but feeling ridiculously happy, Chloe went off to dress.
Even though she’d had to wash blood and splashes of embrocation off her skin, she was downstairs too early. Matthew was only beginning to lay the places for breakfast. He looked at her in surprise and she realized the staff would not yet know of the night’s events.
Matthew. She had forgotten all about him.
Taking the direct approach, Chloe said, “Did Mr. Macy pay you to keep an eye on Delamere, Matthew?”
He dropped a spo
on and bent to retrieve it. When he emerged, he was still red-faced. “I don’t know what you mean, Milady.”
“He got you this place, didn’t he? Why?”
“He knew I wanted a change, Milady.”
“And why was that?”
Chloe decided she must be growing skilled as an interrogator for Matthew crumbled. “He knew I’d been dismissed from a place in London for stealing, Milady. I only ever did it once. He threatened to tell the Banhams, to set it up so I’d be caught again so as I’d hang for it. Said he wouldn’t if I came here and kept an eye out. I was to send word if anything unusual occurred, and if a false apple were to turn up, I was to get hold of it if I could. It all sounded stupid to me, but I was in a state to begin with. Then it looked as if nothing would happen, and I came to like this place. I began to think he’d not done me such a bad turn.”
The thin-faced young man fiddled with the cutlery in his hand. “Then people started poking around apples and I was worried. But again, nothing came of it. When Mr. Macy turned up again, I was in a fret because I didn’t want to lose this place, especially not after meeting Sally. I suppose I’ll have to go now you’ve found out what I’ve been up to.”
Chloe wondered if she should wait and consult with Justin, but poor Matthew was such small fry. “No,” she said, “not if you’ve done no wrong. You’ve proved to be a good worker, and we can’t break Sally Kestwick’s heart, now can we?”
He looked up, blindingly grateful.
“Thank you, Milady. You’ll never regret it.”
Chloe turned to wait for the meal in the Sea Room and then had a thought. “You were to report to whom? Surely not all the way to London?”
“No, ma’am. To that Herr van Maes.”
Justin was right. The place was watched, and by the genial Dutchman. She waited anxiously to tell Justin what she had learned . . . and to be with him again.
She passed the time looking out at the birds flocking over the exposed mud, calling and squabbling over worms and crabs. Her thoughts, however, were turned inwards, on the matters interesting to lovers. The warmth of his smile, the scent of his skin, the feel of his hair . . .
The hall clock chimed the hour. People always said women took a long time to dress, and here she was while the gentlemen dallied. She realized they’d have to shave. Randal’s fairness had not shown a lot of beard, but Justin’s chin had been decidedly dark. It was a warm intimacy to think of him, waking beside her, with the slight roughness of a beard on his chin. . . .
She thought of razors, and her hand went to the soreness of her neck. The skin was reddened where the blade had rubbed, but the cut was very shallow and healing well. Still, she had chosen to wear a high-necked gown. She did not want to remind Justin of how close she had been to death. A quarter inch, perhaps, to the jugular. That sort of notion could cloud a man’s judgment.
He appeared in the room, shaved, groomed, and wonderful.
“Breakfast is ready,” he said.
She walked over to him and placed her hand on his arm. They walked across the hall together but took seats opposite each other. Randal sauntered jauntily in, piled a plate high with food, and sat beside her.
Matthew was hovering, still looking pale. Justin told him to make himself scarce, and he looked relieved to do so.
Chloe informed them of what Matthew had said. “I told him he could stay,” she admitted.
“Your word is law here, my love,” said Justin with a smile which melted her bones. “Since we are letting two true villains go, it hardly seems right to wreak our vengeance on the little fish.”
“What about the Dutchman?” Chloe asked.
Justin shrugged. “The same thing. Once he realizes the game is up, he’ll disappear. Just as long as he doesn’t get wind of our success soon enough to make an attempt on the papers. Can we trust Matthew? There may be other French agents about.”
Chloe looked at him, chilled by fear. Was it not over? “I am sure we can trust Matthew. He doesn’t even know yet what was really going on, or that Macy has been caught.”
Justin smiled reassuringly. “It is best if we move fast, though. Macy can wait locked in his room. By the way, I put his man in there with him, with a tray of food. I suspect the valet is innocent, but there is no way to be sure. I don’t want him raising an alarm just yet. Randal and I will ride to Lancaster after breakfast, then it will be over.”
“I will come too,” said Chloe decisively.
“No,” responded Justin calmly.
“I will go mad sitting here worrying,” she protested.
“ ‘They also serve who only stand and wait,’ ” he quoted. “I don’t want to have to worry about you as well as the papers.”
Chloe saw Randal was looking at the ceiling, pursing his lips as if silently whistling.
“You said,” she pointed out to Justin, “that my word was law.”
“Within the house,” he reminded her, amiably firm. “Our little journey will take us out of it. I am not going to be a dictatorial husband, Chloe, but I can’t let your whims interfere with the safety of the nation.”
He was like a brick wall. Chloe stared, not sure if she liked this at all. “I haven’t said yet that I’ll marry you.”
He grinned. “I’ll tell the world you entertained me in your bedroom. Randal will force me to marry you.”
Randal ceased his perusal of the plasterwork. “True enough.”
Chloe looked at both of them with disfavor. “You still haven’t told me how you came to interrupt Macy at his work.”
Randal grinned. Justin looked less than comfortable, and didn’t immediately answer.
Chloe looked at Randal, much easier to handle than Justin. “Well?” she demanded.
“He crept into my room,” said Randal, “ready to murder me and . . . well, I’m not sure what he intended to do with you.”
“With me? In your room?”
“In my bed.”
Chloe turned stern eyes on Justin. He had a most uneasy expression.
“I heard someone in the corridor,” he explained. “I opened my door, and I could smell your perfume. Then I heard a voice somewhere ahead. I just leapt to a conclusion. You and Randal. The only reason I didn’t charge into Randal’s room howling like a banshee was that I had some notion of preserving your reputation. As soon as I was in the room it was clear you weren’t there. Randal woke and I had to confess the whole bloody stupidity. After he’d torn a strip or two off me, and I’d wallowed in guilt, we got around to thinking about where you had been going, and who you had been speaking to. When we got to the Dowager’s room, we heard Macy howl. We burst in, and there you were.”
Chloe looked at him thoughtfully. He was so uncomfortable about his suspicions that she wanted to hold him and tell him it didn’t matter in the slightest. However, she was not sure it would be wise to let him off so easily, when he showed every sign of becoming a tyrant.
“I do hope you are not claiming to have rescued me,” she said sweetly.
Justin looked taken aback, and then grinned. “I suppose you did rescue yourself, and fixed Macy nicely. I am sorry for doubting you for a moment, my dear. When we return from Lancaster, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving just how highly I regard you.”
“But you won’t let me come with you,” she said.
“No.”
He and Randal rose to go. Chloe maintained an implacable silence until Justin turned at the door.
“God go with you,” she said softly.
17
CHLOE SAT IN HER SITTING ROOM at Tyne Towers in Shropshire and reread her latest love letter. Randal must have told him. Nearly every day of the four weeks since they’d parted a letter had come for her. Some she had been able to share with her grandmother. Most she had not.
Today was her wedding day, and this was not a letter to show to anyone: “The memory of your beauty is with me day and night, especially at night. I dream you are beside me and my hand is on your silken thigh . . .”
She wished she had been able to write to him in the same vein, but it wasn’t in her to do so. For a Scandalous Lady, she was rather shy. Her letters had been sweet and loving. She thought of the night ahead. Would her sweet loving be enough for the passion built over six long years?
He had wanted a quick wedding, but had accepted her need for a formal one. He had also wanted her to stay at Delamere, but had accepted the necessity of separation. Some kind of control in him had snapped and could not be made completely whole again.
The Duchess came in.
“Another one?” she queried. “Lord above, girl. I’m in favor of letter-writing but you two will wear out the mails.”
“Not after today,” said Chloe with a smile.
“True enough,” said the Duchess. “Though it’s no bad thing to write love letters even after you’re married.” A gently reminiscent smile made Chloe think the Duchess’s correspondence would make interesting reading.
“Well,” said the Duchess. “It’s time you were preparing, unless you’ve changed your mind. You’ve done me out of seeing you take London by storm, so I’d be happy enough if you’d jilt the man and start again.”
Chloe looked at the Duchess. “Truly?”
The Duchess laughed. “No, of course not. He’s the man for you, my dear. Perhaps I’ll live to see your daughter wreak havoc.”
“I do hope so,” said Chloe. “Meanwhile, however, I would point out that Randal does enough damage for three.”
Chloe rose and rang her bell. Agnes came, accompanied by Chloe’s two attendants—her only unmarried sister, shy Cressida, and pretty, vivacious Lady Sophie Kyle, whose flaming auburn hair and blue eyes seemed to sparkle as she darted about. She was the sister of Lord Wraybourne, one of the Duke of Tyne’s closest aristocratic neighbors. Lady Sophie was sixteen to Cressida’s twenty, and yet she seemed to have far more aplomb.
Soon Chloe was dressed in the pale pink gown she had chosen for her wedding. It was high at the neck, and long sleeved but made of layers of finest diaphanous silk gauze which floated gently as she moved. In her unbound hair, Agnes arranged matching silk roses as a tiara. A delicate necklace of rubies and diamonds glittered around her throat. Matching drops dangled from her earlobes. Justin’s gift, matching the betrothal ring she wore on her hand.
