by Georgie Lee
‘How do you know so much about Mr Dubois?’
‘My governess was friends with Lord Camberline’s governess. They used to talk during house parties in front of me and Freddy. She spoke excellent French, but she was not discreet. It’s why Mama dismissed her when I was ten. I started asking too many questions and demanding explanations for things I shouldn’t have known anything about.’
‘Even if he is well known to Lady Camberline, a marchioness isn’t likely to publicly flaunt a lowly connection, unless her son isn’t the only one involved in the Rouge Noir. Like my recruiting you, few would suspect a woman of her reputation to be involved in treason.’
* * *
Moira snuggled deeper into his jacket and leaned into the corner of the carriage. Not even Bart’s cedar scent permeating the wool could overpower the disappointment of him referring to her as someone in his service. The idea shouldn’t trouble her, especially in light of Freddy’s threat, but it stung more than her aching neck.
‘After my discussion with her tonight, I wouldn’t be surprised if she is somehow involved. She doesn’t shy away from sharing her favourable opinion of Napoleon.’ She relayed her brief interaction with the Camberlines, determined to be as professional as him in this matter. ‘It’s what I chased you down to tell you, that and she invited me to tea tomorrow.’
Bart rubbed his chin with his fingers. ‘How did Lord Camberline react to the conversation?’
‘He seemed uninterested in it, hostile even, and eager to be away from us.’
‘Perhaps he doesn’t like his mother openly flaunting her opinions and placing them at risk by arousing suspicion.’
‘Then you think she is involved?’
‘I can’t say, but the possibility makes your continued acquaintance with her valuable. After tonight, are you willing to keep the engagement with Lady Camberline or would you prefer it if we ended our arrangement? I’ll understand if you want to.’
He was trying to let her go sooner, to sever the faint connection binding them. She should accept it, take the cut on her neck as a warning and stop risking her relationship with her loved ones over something so dangerous, but she couldn’t. When he’d been seeing to her neck with the same tenderness he’d shown during their first kiss, his shoulder so close she could have laid her head on it, she was certain there’d been something more than professional interest in his concern for her. It’d touched her deeper than his fingertips on her shoulders and she was loath to lose it. ‘No, I’ll have tea with her tomorrow and see what else I can garner.’
‘I appreciate your help.’ Her importance to him, even if it didn’t extend beyond his investigation, warmed her against the chill in the carriage. ‘She must know something about what her son is up to, as I’m sure you know everything the people in your house are up to.’
Moira twisted the soiled glove around her finger, the satin stiff with dried blood. Yes, she knew exactly what was going on in her house. She’d seen the looks between Freddy and Miss Kent, noted the amount of time they’d spent together over the last couple of days. Moira couldn’t blame Freddy for falling for the young woman, she was pretty and sweet, but her brother should know better than to trifle with her. Moira wasn’t about to deny anyone in love their chance at happiness, no matter what their station, but she better than Freddy understood the challenges they’d face if he tried to make his son’s nurse his wife. Aunt Agatha would find a way to separate them and Moira wasn’t certain her brother could withstand such pressure and persuasion. If he couldn’t, it might ruin Miss Kent’s reputation and future expectations, and her faith in love. It wasn’t an experience Moira wanted the girl to endure.
‘Are you all right, Moira?’ Bart asked. She examined him where he sat across the squabs, one of his long legs so close the fabric of her dress brushed his calves. She envied the silk, and his sure posture, wishing she possessed his confidence. Nothing seemed to rattle him, except her and what had almost happened tonight.
‘I was thinking of a domestic matter, nothing as important as what you’re dealing with.’ She’d stopped him from catching his suspect, all because she hadn’t wanted to be in a gallery alone.
‘Of course it is, if it matters to you.’
She studied him, amazed once more at how ready he was to compliment her on the small things ruling her life. He could have railed at her for having defied him and causing him to lose Mr Dubois, but he didn’t. Even yesterday, he hadn’t demanded she help him, but simply requested it. When she’d refused him, he’d respected her decision instead of belittling her or trying to coerce her into doing his bidding the way her family did whenever she dared to defy them. ‘You surprise me, Bart.’
‘Good. I’d hate to be predictable.’ He smiled with a wickedness to make her toes curl in her slippers.
‘You certainly aren’t.’ Unlike her. She was very predictable, dependable and boring. ‘I used to read about your cases when I was living in the country.’
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Even with your aunt’s letters railing against me?’
‘Not so much after those, but certainly before. Your case against Lord Hartmore on behalf of his widowed sister-in-law was the talk of the countryside and enlivened many a winter gathering at our house.’
‘Did you brag to your friends about having known me in London?’
‘They were my husband’s friends, not mine, and, no, I didn’t tell anyone about you.’ She tugged off the clean glove and laid it across her thighs. ‘Our time together, however brief, was my secret to keep. It made me feel young when all the responsibilities of caring for a sick husband did their best to make me feel old. I’m sure it must sound silly to hear.’
‘Not at all. After enduring war in France, and so many other things since coming home, I sometimes feel much older than my thirty years.’
‘It’s one of the reasons I love Nicholas. When I’m around him I feel a little of his excitement over the world and the innocence with which he approaches it.’ She laid her hands over her stomach and the emptiness inside her. She craved a child of her own to cuddle and love as she did Nicholas, but there was none. During the first months of her marriage, the possibility had arisen and then quickly passed. The midwife had assured her it was normal and she would soon be with child again. She’d clung to the hope until it’d become apparent the lost chance would be her only one. With her husband’s health failing, he hadn’t possessed the energy to try for more. She’d disliked his attentions, but she’d been willing to endure them because they were the only means by which she could achieve her dreams of a baby. Her hope had been extinguished entirely once he’d passed, leaving her as hollow inside as the morning she’d miscarried. ‘I don’t think I remember a time when I was innocent, or without burdens and concerns.’
‘What your family did to you was wrong, especially with your aunt capable of handling your family affairs.’ He knew of her past because she’d told him about it during their whirlwind, and failed, engagement. ‘She could have easily taken over the management of Fallworth Manor after your mother died instead of leaving it to you. And then when Freddie’s wife was murdered, she once again foisted all the responsibility back on you, taking advantage of your generosity to avoid any real work herself.’
Moira fingered the soiled glove in her lap, his accusation against Aunt Agatha striking a chord she didn’t wish to hear. It was one she sometimes heard inside her own head late at night after an especially trying day with Aunt Agatha. Bart saying it so bluntly out loud made it impossible to ignore. She loved her family and would do anything for them, but there were moments when she wasn’t sure if all the things they’d done for her had really been in her best interest, or theirs. ‘Perhaps, but if I hadn’t taken over my mother’s duties at the manor or helped with Freddy and Nicholas, who would have?’
‘You refusing might have forced your father or aunt or brother
to step up to their responsibilities.’
‘Or driven them deeper into their mourning and cost us all our living. I couldn’t allow that to happen, especially not with Nicholas’s future so dependent on the estate. Freddy is grateful for everything I’ve done to help him.’
‘Is he?’
‘Of course.’ Despite her insistence, his doubt made her shift in her seat, especially after her conversation with Freddy this morning, but she ignored it. Bart only saw things from the outside, he hadn’t been there in Fallworth Manor for the last two years. ‘I’m sure you’d have done the same for your family if they’d needed you.’
He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘It would depend on who was involved. I’d lay down my life for my mother and brothers. Not for my father.’
‘Bart, you can’t be serious.’ She understood what it was like to be frustrated by loved ones. Freddy and Aunt Agatha often annoyed her but even in their worst moments she couldn’t be so heartless as to turn away from them.
‘You mattered to your father, Moira. Mine barely noticed me or the three others above me. Once he had my two oldest brothers and the security of the line, the rest of us might as well have not existed. When Richard’s wife gave him a son and heir to secure the succession beyond any doubt, even Stephen, the next youngest brother after Richard, discovered what it’s like to be ignored like the rest of us except when Father wants to give one of his endless lectures about everything we do needing to bring honour to the family name.’
‘What you do is honourable.’
‘Not in his eyes. He’d rather I be a forgotten clergyman in some distant parish than involving myself with criminals and repeatedly landing my name, and by association his, in the newspapers.’
She could almost taste his bitterness and his pain. For all the good work he did on behalf of so many, he didn’t deserve this, just as she didn’t deserve Freddy’s ire after everything she’d done for him. No, of course Freddy was thankful, he was just scared because of what had happened to Helena. It was why he’d threatened her like he had. ‘Maybe your father is proud of you but doesn’t know how to show it?’
He shook his head. ‘I doubt it, but I suppose there’s always hope.’
‘We must believe in it, the alternative is too awful to consider.’ Such as Freddy or Aunt Agatha not appreciating her as much as she’d always believed.
‘And what do you hope for, Moira?’
She touched the sore wound on her neck. It was time to turn the conversation to more mundane subjects. The carriage wasn’t large enough for this much emotion and she was too tired from the night’s events to fend him off, but the desire to at last say her dreams aloud to someone who might listen and not scoff at her or offer compliments laced with insults like Aunt Agatha did was too tempting. ‘I might be a widow, but I’m still a young woman who wants all the things other young women have: a home, a family, children of my own.’ She didn’t dare say love. Bart was too practical for romance and she’d embarrassed herself enough already by being so open with him.
* * *
Bart longed to slide across the squabs and sit beside Moira, to slip his hands around her waist and claim her lips, but he remained where he was. If he could give her all the things the far-off look in her eyes said she wanted, he would, but he wasn’t a man for marriage and children. To take her into his arms would be to lead her into a lie. Deception was too much a part of his life already and he refused to deceive her. ‘I’m sure you’ll find a man worthy of your heart.’
‘I hope so, but sometimes it’s difficult to imagine, especially when I see all the other young ladies.’ She picked at the embroidery on her dress. ‘I don’t have their daring, or their ability to flirt and make a spectacle out of myself to catch a man’s eye.’
‘You may not make a spectacle of yourself, but you certainly have their daring and a courage worthy of any soldier on the battlefield.’
This brought a smile to her face, but it was one of embarrassment. She tilted her head down and looked up at him through her eyelashes, innocent and alluring all at the same time. ‘Now I see why they only allow male judges on the bench. No female judge could withstand your flattery.’
‘Perhaps, but a man is as easy to flatter as a woman, one just has to do it a little differently.’
She leaned forward, her green eyes sparkling with a wit he wished to see more of. ‘And how does one flatter you, Bart?’
He leaned forward, resting his elbow on his thigh and bringing his face achingly close to hers. He could wipe the playful smirk off her lips with a kiss, taste again her sensual mouth and the heady excitement of desire he’d experienced with her five years ago. Except he was no longer young and thoughtless and neither was she. He’d experienced the consequences of forgetting himself with her once before. He had no desire to repeat the mistake again, no matter how tempting it might be. There was a great deal more at stake this time than his heart. ‘You can help me discover what the Camberlines are up to.’
Her smile faltered around the corners. This wasn’t the answer she’d expected, but in the circumstances it was the best one he could give. She sat back with some of the same self-possession she’d shown when she’d walked away from him to meet Lady Camberline in the gallery, except this time there was a shadow of sadness and disappointment behind her eyes. Whatever possibility she saw in him was an illusion and he couldn’t allow either of them to be fooled by it. ‘Then I’ll do my best to see what I can discover tomorrow.’
The slowing pace of the horses told Bart they’d reached her house. With a great deal of reluctance, he opened the door and stepped down when the carriage stopped. He wanted to climb back inside and tell his man to drive on, but he couldn’t. Instead, he waited by the door with his hand outstretched, ready to take hers.
She slipped his coat off her shoulders and laid it carefully across the squabs, then placed her bare hand in his, gripping the firm flesh of his palm tightly as she stepped out of the carriage. Around the square, all the windows of the houses including hers were dark, indicating the late hour. He shouldn’t have risked bringing her to the front door, but there was no alley to the mews and he wasn’t about to leave her down the street to walk home alone.
His hand tightened around hers and they stood so close her breath brushed his neck above his cravat. The memory of them together like this five years ago, when, as she’d come home from dinner at one of her aunt’s friend’s houses, he’d slipped from around the carriage and stolen a kiss from her while the aunt had sauntered inside, rushed over him. Back then there’d been promise and potential in the furtive meeting of their lips. The only potential tonight was for disappointment. This wasn’t a life for a lady, especially one like Moira. She was too good and caring, and he wanted to shield her from the ugliness of this work that had already marred him.
Bart opened his fingers and let her go. ‘Meet me tomorrow at the Tyburn turnpike a half-hour before your tea with Lady Camberline and I’ll advise you on how to proceed,’ he instructed, focusing on why they were together and concerned about her safety. He wouldn’t rest easy until she was in and out of the Camberline house without adding another wound to her enticing body.
* * *
Moira stared up at Bart. Despite his bravery and determination, there was a loneliness to him she could almost touch. He needed the love and care of a woman, and the joy of children, as much as Freddy had needed her and Nicholas’s love both during and after his loss. Some day, perhaps, a woman would catch Bart’s attention, one who could break through all of his reservations and prejudices about marriage and give him everything he needed. It wasn’t up to her to foist on him something he was resolutely against. ‘I’ll be there.’
‘Goodnight, Moira,’ he offered in a deep voice barely above a whisper. It took hold of her the way he had when she’d been on the ground clutching at her neck and fearing the worst. He’d b
een a steady rock for her to cling to while she’d shivered with fear. She wanted to draw in more of his strength, to climb back in the carriage with him and let consequences and concerns be damned, but she didn’t.
‘Goodnight, Bart.’ She gathered up her short train and slowly made her way to the front door. Before slipping inside, she turned to look at him. He remained by the side of the carriage, watching her with a look she couldn’t read. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe it was longing or anything more than a desire to see her safely home. She reluctantly stepped inside and closed the door on Bart. Home was the one place she didn’t want to be. She wanted to be with him.
Chapter Seven
Moira descended the stairs and headed for the breakfast room, the late night with Bart setting hard in the small of her back. She’d crept into the house and up to bed tired from the excitement of the evening, and Bart, but she hadn’t been able to sleep. She touched her neck, the wound hidden by the high collar of her morning dress, the faint memory of Bart’s fingers on her skin while he’d seen to her still potent, as was their conversation. Once, he’d been eager to wed her and accept everything marriage entailed. Last night, he’d made it clear that whatever interest he’d held in a union with her was gone.
The sunrise hadn’t brought Moira much more than a few hours of stolen sleep and she came downstairs in a fog of thoughts until the footman passing by with Freddy’s travelling trunk cleared her haze. Moira paused at the bottom of the stairs, the flurry of activity looking a great deal like someone was leaving. Freddy’s voice down the hallway drew her to the morning room and she stepped inside only to be stopped short by Aunt Agatha and Freddy’s hard stares.
They know I was with Bart last night.
Fear slipped up her spine, but strangely, not regret.
Setting her shoulders, she strode into the room, refusing to confirm their suspicions or to be humbled like some wayward child. She ignored the food set out on the polished sideboard, beneath the matched paintings of her parents, and took her place at Freddy’s right and across the round table from Aunt Agatha. ‘I saw the footman carrying trunks. Is someone leaving this morning?’
