Lost in Temptation (Regency Chase Family Series, Book 1)

by Royal, Lauren

  "How about Ernest?"

  "Not with him, either. The man doesn't care to talk much. Besides, we'd only just got underway when the strap on the saddle snapped. I didn't have time to say anything before, and after…well, on the ride home I didn't feel much like making conversation."

  He supposed she wouldn't have—she'd have been occupied gritting her teeth against the jarring pain of that ride. "Good. Then no one has any reason to suspect we'll be doing anything besides enjoying a honeymoon picnic." He rose, yawning. He hadn't slept much last night. Having one's wife offer up a sacrifice tended to disturb a man's equilibrium. "We should both get a good night's sleep."

  A hesitant smile curved Alexandra's lips. "Shall I go up and change into another of my new nightgowns? Or do you wish to come along and help me?"

  "Neither. I'll be sleeping in the Queen's Bedchamber again. For your safety." He leaned and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Hearing her disappointed sigh, he raised her chin and met her eyes. "You're still entirely too bruised and hurting for any love play. When we've finished this thing you've started, perhaps we'll both feel better."

  For a long while after he left, Alexandra just sat in the dining room. She'd thought since Tris was being so cooperative, he'd want her back in his bed. And she wanted so much to be there…even if only to be held.

  He was right: She was battered and bruised. But it was her heart that had taken the beating.

  On her way from the dining room to the stairs, she nearly bumped into Mrs. Pawley.

  "My lady! Will we be seeing you in the kitchen tonight?" The cook's blue eyes danced. "I expect we shall have a great crowd to assist in the sweet making. There are many who are sad to have missed our little impromptu party."

  Alexandra hated to disappoint the staff, but a party was the last thing she felt like tonight.

  "I'm afraid not, Mrs. Pawley," she said, watching the light fade from the older woman's eyes. "Perhaps another time."

  "VERY FETCHING," Peggy said, eyeing Alexandra's chemise-clad form in her dressing room the next day. Alexandra blushed, knowing the new garment was all but transparent, but Peggy only smiled. "I'm so pleased to see that you're feeling more the thing today."

  "Oh, I truly am." Alexandra wondered at her maid's sudden good mood, but she wouldn't risk ruining it with any questions. "I'm going on a picnic today!" she said brightly instead. "What do you expect I should wear to picnic with my husband?"

  "With your husband?" Peggy flipped through a few dresses, then held up a pretty blue frock for Alexandra's approval. At her nod, the maid started toward the bedroom, slanting a sly glance over her shoulder. "Aren't the two of you rather estranged?"

  Alexandra sighed, supposing their separate sleeping arrangements had prompted much speculation belowstairs. It was so tempting to tell Peggy the truth about everything, but she'd promised Tris she would stick to their story. "I'm hoping a picnic will help us reconciliate," she said carefully. "And—"

  A knock at the door interrupted her.

  "Yes?" she called, hurrying into the dress.

  Tris poked his head in. "Mrs. Pawley has requested your silver basket to fill with our picnic luncheon."

  A clever ruse to support their story. Still unbuttoned, she fetched the basket and brought it to him. "Please ask Mrs. Pawley to include some lemon puffs," she said, thinking she needed some sweets to bring to Maude. "I haven't found a chance to even try them yet."

  "Will do." He planted a light kiss on her lips, a kiss that turned to more when their mouths clung for a long moment. "Are you about ready?" he asked when he pulled away.

  He hadn't kissed her for days. Her lips tingling, she wondered whether the kiss had been for show or for real. "Almost."

  He smiled, reaching around her to run a finger down her bare back, making her shiver. "I shall wait for you in the curricle," he said, then walked away.

  She slowly closed the door.

  "It looks like you're reconciliated already," Peggy commented as she did up her buttons.

  "We're both trying." Blushing for the second time inside of ten minutes, Alexandra took a seat at her dressing table so the maid could work on her hair.

  "I wish to apologize for being such a crab the past few days," Peggy said from behind her. "I admired you so for your investigation, and I was disappointed to find myself no longer part of it." She deftly twisted and pinned. "Do you expect you could ever forgive me?"

  "Of course," Alexandra said. Peggy had been her strongest ally until that first time she went off without her, and she'd missed having a woman here at Hawkridge to confide in. "I collect I haven't been a very pleasant person myself the last day or two."

  "But you're the mistress," Peggy pointed out. "You're allowed to be a crab." They both laughed; then Peggy sobered. "I fear for you, though. All the buzz in the servants' quarters is that someone is after you—I'm thinking you should be leaving Hawkridge to save your life, not going on picnics."

  The maid's concern warmed Alexandra's heart. "I know tales of danger have been bandied about by the prattleboxes belowstairs, but I assure you there's nothing to fear. A few unfortunate accidents do not a plot make. Besides, my investigation is all but over. I have only one person left to interview."

  In the mirror, Peggy looked surprised. "Did you fall from your horse before visiting Lizzy, then?"

  "No, I spoke with Lizzy. She told me of another departed servant called Maude." Too late Alexandra remembered Peggy's propensity to gossip and Tris's wish that no one learn about Maude. She watched Peggy's face in the mirror. "I wonder why she wasn't on your list?"

  "We all thought the old woman was dead," Peggy said, looking shocked. "Are you certain she isn't?"

  "Lizzy wasn't sure, but I hope not. I collect I will find out tomorrow when I try to pay Maude a visit."

  "You'll take me along this time, won't you?"

  "If I'm still not up to riding, most assuredly." Alexandra turned to her maid, putting a finger to her lips. "Tell no one else, I beg you. You know his lordship doesn't want me continuing this investigation. I cannot risk any word reaching him concerning my plans for tomorrow."

  "Mum's the word," Peggy promised. "But I do believe the old woman is dead. Why make the journey at all when you'll most likely put your reconciliation in jeopardy for nothing?"

  "Perhaps you're right." Hoping to keep her maid in such good humor permanently, Alexandra made a big show of sighing. "I shall think on it," she told her and rose to collect her bonnet.

  FORTY-NINE

  "PEGGY THINKS Maude is dead," Alexandra told Tristan as he helped her into the curricle. "But I want to try to visit her anyway. You won't mind, will you? Even if the journey proves to be fruitless?"

  "I said I'd take you, and I don't intend to go back on my word. But whyever would Peggy say she's dead?" He climbed up beside her and pulled the hood over their heads to shield them from the bright sun. "I thought no one knew about Maude."

  She winced. "I mentioned her without thinking. But it's just Peggy," she added quickly as he lifted the reins. "I made her promise not to tell, and she also believes that I plan to visit Maude tomorrow, not today. I made the timing very clear."

  Annoyance tightened his jaw, but he didn't want to start this outing with a disagreement. As he drove away, he told himself firmly that what was done was done. Nothing untoward was likely to come of it, since it was plain no one was following them. By all appearances, everyone had bought their story that they were off for nothing more interesting than a honeymoon picnic.

  Alexandra took up the silver basket and wrapped their luncheon in one of the large napkins, leaving only the lemon puffs in the bottom. "For Maude," she explained. "Thank you so much for doing this. It means a lot to me."

  He slanted her a glance. "It means a lot to me that you were willing to forgo it."

  "I'm glad," she said softly and left it at that. They rode silently for a few minutes before she turned to him again. "Would you care for something to eat?"

  He s
hook his head. "I'm not hungry."

  "Neither am I. I'm too nervous to eat. This is our last chance…"

  She trailed off, and little was said for the rest of the ride.

  But he hadn't missed the "our." Our last chance.

  Like most servants, Maude hadn't gone far from the place of her birth to find employment. Nutgrove was less than an hour away, an hour Alexandra spent rubbing up against Tristan. Innocent though she had come to him, she was a temptress, and he suspected she knew it. Their kiss earlier that morning had been intended for show, but the feel of her mouth on his had jarred him to the core.

  He wasn't ready for this—he couldn't allow her to steal his heart. She was about to come to the end of her search. As she'd said, this was their last chance. Once she believed he would never be free of scandal, it would be only a matter of time before she left him.

  He couldn't bear to think of that—to think of going on without her. Alexandra's presence had changed the very substance of Hawkridge Hall, filled it with music and life and lightness that he now knew had been missing for years. Even the servants walked with more spring in their steps and smiles upon their faces. He didn't want to go back to the way it had been without her.

  He could no longer imagine living there without her.

  He couldn't imagine living anywhere without her.

  But it was only a matter of time…

  And that, of course, was assuming she was convinced he would never be free of scandal. The other possibility—that she would discover he was guilty of murder—was even worse. Then she would leave immediately. And he wouldn't be able to blame her.

  Hell, she'd be a fool not to leave immediately.

  So he sat beside her, determined not to succumb to her temptation. Meanwhile, his body reacted to every move she made. Her head on his shoulder prompted him to wrap an arm about her involuntarily. He found himself breathing in tandem with her. Her thigh pressed to his was a constant reminder that she wasn't wearing drawers.

  All in all, despite his anxiety concerning what she might or might not find, he was rather relieved when they passed the signpost that read NUTGROVE.

  Alexandra immediately sat straight and called excitedly to an elderly gentleman walking a tiny dog. "Good sir! If I may bother you…might you know the direction of a woman who goes by Maude?"

  And it was the oddest thing…but just hearing Alexandra say "Maude" again, that vague, niggling sense of unease Tristan had felt two days ago came back.

  The old man cupped a hand to his ear. "Eh?"

  "Maude!" she shouted as they rolled along beside him. She turned to Tristan. "What is Maude's surname?"

  He shrugged. "I never thought to ask." He'd forgotten her. How was it that he'd forgotten her?

  "Maude!" Alexandra yelled again. "Might you know anyone named Maude?"

  "Ah, Maude." The man smiled, revealing gaps where he'd lost several teeth. "Down the corner," he said, gesturing and pulling his dog's leash in the process, nearly choking the poor little beast. "Turn left. Honeysuckle Cottage."

  "She's alive," Alexandra breathed, hope flooding her brandywine eyes. "Dear God, I hope she knows something that will help us."

  "It could be someone else named Maude," Tristan cautioned, that sense of unease growing stronger.

  "It isn't. I just know it."

  Somehow he also knew it wasn't someone else. And in any case, there was no sense arguing the matter, when in a few minutes they'd know for sure. "Honeysuckle Cottage," he muttered. "That isn't much of a direction."

  "The man seemed to think it would do," she said as they turned the corner. "Look! There it is!"

  Sure enough, about halfway down the lane stood an old stone cottage wreathed in pale-flowered honeysuckle vines.

  No sooner had the curricle rolled to a stop than Alexandra hopped down, basket in hand, and started for the door. Tristan just sat there for a moment, feeling the unease tangle into a knot in his gut.

  Finally, he climbed down and followed her. "You're supposed to wait to be handed down," he chided.

  "Oh, bosh," she said and knocked on the weathered wood. "There are some things more important than propriety."

  How much she had changed since he first met her.

  She shifted on her feet. "What's taking her so long? Sweet heaven, I hope she's home. Lizzy said if anyone saw anything that night, it'd have been she."

  And suddenly he knew why he'd forgotten Maude. He hadn't forgotten her. He'd simply pushed her clear out of his mind.

  She'd been the person closest to his uncle. The person most likely to have seen him if he'd sleepwalked into his uncle's rooms that night.

  The door swung open, and Maude stood on the other side, leaning on a cane and looking much like Tristan remembered her. A faded linen dress hung on her slight frame. She'd always seemed so frail she might break.

  "Good afternoon, Maude," he said.

  Her pale green eyes widened, looking apprehensive. "Lord Hawkridge?"

  She knew something. She wouldn't look like that unless she knew something. The knot tightened in Tristan's gut.

  He wrapped an arm around Alexandra's shoulders and forced a smile. "This is my wife, Lady Hawkridge."

  Alexandra reached into her basket. "Would you care for a lemon puff?"

  "No. Thank you." Maude's blue-veined hand went up to pat her gray curls nervously. "Why are you here?"

  The knot twisted. "We wish to talk to you," he said. "May we come in for a moment?"

  She looked like she wanted to say no, but then turned abruptly, her cane tapping across the wood floor as she led them inside and to a small table. "These are all the chairs I have," she said, her voice wavering.

  There were two. And they were rickety. "I'm perfectly content to stand," Tristan said, helping the elderly woman to sit while Alexandra took the second chair. He made a mental note to send the old nurse some decent furniture next week—that was, assuming he wasn't locked up in some prison. He'd been the marquess for less than a day before she'd departed, but that was no excuse for not seeing that a long-term employee was comfortable in her retirement.

  Perhaps he'd have done that if he hadn't forgotten her.

  Maude held on to her cane, still leaning on it even while she was seated. Alexandra reached across the little table to touch her other hand. "I've been told you were very close to the last marquess," she began gently.

  "Y-yes." The old woman's eyes looked everywhere but at her.

  "Do you remember anything that happened the night he died?"

  "Y-yes."

  Tristan stopped breathing.

  "Did you see anyone go into his room?" Alexandra continued. "Anyone who might have done him harm?"

  "Y-yes."

  Alexandra sent Tristan a startled glance—a hopeful glance—before she looked back to Maude expectantly.

  No further information seemed to be forthcoming. Tristan thought he'd expire if he didn't breathe. He wished Maude would accuse him already, so he could breathe.

  Alexandra's gaze darted to his again before her smooth hand tightened over the wrinkled one. "Who was it, Maude?" she whispered, her eyes flooded with not just hope, but a measure of self-protective doubt.

  The cane crashed to the floor as Maude covered her face with her hands. Beneath her cotton dress, her bony shoulders shook with silent, racking sobs.

  Terrified and resigned, Tristan crouched beside her chair. "Maude? What is it?"

  "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," came a muffled wail through her fingers. "It was a mistake, I swear it."

  "Of course it was a mistake, but that doesn't make me any less guilty." Ignoring Alexandra's gasp, he eased Maude's hands away from her face. "Whether intentional or not, I'm still responsible for his death."

  His life was over. Or at least it was meaningless, which was the same thing.

  "I'm s-sorry," Maude repeated. She stared into space, tears rolling down her parchment cheeks. "It was a mistake."

  Except for the painful knot, he felt dead insid
e. So dead inside he wouldn't have thought he'd have it in him to feel sympathy for her. But she seemed so damned miserable. "What was a mistake, dear lady?"

  Her tears flowed faster. "The l-laudanum."

  Tristan dug a handkerchief from his pocket. "The laudanum?" His memory flashed on the nearly empty bottle he'd taken from his uncle's rooms and tried to give to Alexandra. You'll want to take only a little, he'd told her. You can overdose on laudanum.

  He hadn't thought the knot could tighten more, but it did. He must have poisoned his uncle with that very same bottle.

  "I just wanted him to stop hurting." Maude took the proffered white square and dabbed her eyes with it, then balled it in her fist, staring at her hands in her lap. More tears splashed down on them. "H-he was coughing. He couldn't sleep. I gave him too much. Too much. I used all of it." She was babbling so fast Tristan couldn't seem to keep up. "Perhaps I gave it to him twice that night. I didn't intend to. I couldn't remember. I'm old."

  "Could you mean…" Her words were confusing. A mist had obscured his brain. He'd stopped breathing again. He took both of Maude's hands. "Do you think you may have accidentally caused my uncle's death?"

  She nodded and met his gaze, her eyes reddened. "I should have died instead of him."

  "No." He couldn't catch his breath. His vision clouded. His pulse felt thready and weak.

  "I told you," Alexandra murmured.

  He was innocent. He hadn't killed his uncle, after all.

  Relief flowed through him, blessed relief after all these years. He felt a different kind of weakness now, and lightheadedness, too, and giddiness, like Alexandra when she drank too much wine.

  Alexandra. She'd had faith in him all along.

  "Maude." He swallowed past a lump in his throat. "Will you tell this to the authorities?"

  She looked back down at her lap. "Th-they're going to hang me."

  "I won't let them." His knees hurt, but he remained crouched there, holding both her hands, when all he wanted was to collapse in relief. "You did your best, didn't you? Always. You cared for my uncle when he was a child, then his children, then him again. No one will hang you for doing the best you could. Everyone makes mistakes."