‘But how...?’
‘It’s a long story and for now, one that should not worry you. There will be time to talk when you are feeling stronger.’
With enormous effort, she raised herself into a sitting position. ‘I am stronger. You said yourself that the fever has passed. I am well enough to get up.’ She had to move, had to act. Her brother was mortally sick and the realisation that she had failed him again was slowly entering her consciousness.
‘Indeed you are not. You have lost a great deal of blood and will find yourself very weakened.’
She sank back, frustrated by her frailty. ‘You seem to know a great deal about such matters.’
‘My murky past, Lucinda. Sometimes it has its uses.’
‘But where is Molly? I want Molly.’ She managed to sound both tearful and cross.
Her fretfulness met understanding. ‘Molly will be here very shortly and she will keep guard over you.’
‘Am I to be a prisoner, then?’ He did not to respond and her indignation soon turned to alarm. ‘Does anyone else know about...apart from Molly and yourself...?’ Her voice faltered at the enormity of what had happened.
‘Only my valet, who is completely trustworthy. You need have no fear on that score.’
‘But my uncle?’
‘He knows that you have a fever. Later today Molly will tell him that it is not after all infectious as she at first feared, and that if he wishes to pay you a visit he may. I doubt that he will bother you for a few days.’
She managed a lopsided grin. ‘Uncle Francis is very protective of his person.’
‘That was my assumption.’
Lucinda fell silent, willing herself to think through a haze of weariness. At last she managed to reach for what was worrying her. ‘But Sir Francis will want a doctor consulted, if only to tell him that the house is safe from the smallpox. Then what shall I do?’
‘I hope we may have pre-empted that small problem. When Lynton returns from the village, he is to pretend to the staff that he has brought back a doctor. Hopefully they will be too busy with their work to pay much attention. Your uncle will be locked in his library and will not know the truth or otherwise of the tale. He will believe whatever Molly tells him.’
‘You seem to have thought of everything.’ Her eyelids drooped and she felt fatigue swell into an all-engulfing wave.
‘I hope so. My head is as much on the block as yours.’
‘Tell me...’ She made a valiant effort to keep her eyes open, but her face was etched with strain.
‘Not now. I am going to wash and change out of these clothes, which feel as though I have worn them for a sennight. And I must show myself downstairs as soon as possible—that will stop unwelcome questions as to my whereabouts. But I will be back.’
The door clicked open and Molly bustled into the room, but at the sight of the small, ashen-faced figure, she promptly burst into tears.
Jack frowned at her. ‘Your mistress is very tired. We should let her sleep, but when she wakes bring her some toast and tea.’
‘Yes, my lord. And thank you, sir.’ The maid bobbed a hasty curtsy and then burst into another round of tears.
Jack took the opportunity to slip quietly from the room.
* * *
Lucinda was sitting propped against three huge pillows when he returned later that evening. She was still pale and had dark circles beneath her eyes, but as he came into the room, she smiled with something of her old sparkle. For a moment her gaze lingered appreciatively over his tall athletic figure. He was wearing a newly pressed blue tailcoat, its gilt buttons gleaming in the candlelight, a delicately striped silk waistcoat and dove-grey pantaloons. He was quite beautiful, she thought, but she wasn’t going to let him know that.
‘You are once more the elegant Lord Frensham,’ she teased. ‘I was worried this morning that you might be losing your reputation for being all the crack.’
He smiled wryly at the forbidden slang. ‘So was Lynton. But any sacrifice for a lady, you know, even one whose tongue runs away with her.’
He sat down by her bedside and she felt warmed by his closeness, perhaps a little too warmed. Memories of their dance together rose unbidden and had to be forcefully banished.
‘Have you seen my uncle?’ she said quickly.
‘Not only seen, but eaten my way through an extremely lengthy repast with him.’
‘An act of true bravery! And how was he?’
‘Very concerned for his health, as you can imagine, but slightly mollified by your maid’s report of the doctor’s visit. He still managed to talk for thirty minutes on the dangers to middle-aged men of contracting any kind of infectious disease.’
‘How did you get away from him? I presume you didn’t just flee the dining room.’
‘Naturally not. I am a man of address, Lucinda. I simply mentioned that I was feeling a little under par myself and that perhaps an early night would be of benefit. After that, he could hardly get rid of me quickly enough.’
‘And are you feeling unwell?’
‘Not at all—I have slept for a few hours and feel restored to health. I will tell him tomorrow that it was all a false alarm.’
‘Poor Uncle Francis.’
‘Not so poor. He is blissfully unaware that but for good fortune, he would be facing the most fearful scandal he could imagine. He has escaped lightly, I feel.’
Her downcast lashes masked the apprehension in her eyes. She knew that the moment of reckoning was approaching. Jack Beaufort had risked his reputation to help her, was still risking it. He would want to know just what she had been doing and she owed him a full explanation. Or at least something that would pass as full.
‘So the bullet that you were unlucky enough to encounter,’ he said firmly, ‘how did that come about? It’s hardly usual to suffer a gunshot wound while out riding.’
‘It was my fault.’
‘That is no surprise.’
‘I thought to run another ambush,’ she began with difficulty. ‘There was information—Molly heard that a wagon had become detached from the main convoy of toll coaches. You remember we saw the convoy from the church tower.’
‘I remember,’ he said grimly.
‘The wagon was supposed to be travelling alone with only a driver and a guard to defend it. It seemed a perfect hold-up.’
His face was impossible to read and she was forced to continue, ‘The information we received was wrong.’ Her voice began to shake and she had to swallow hard. ‘It was wrong. The wagon was not alone, it had not become detached. It was the whole convoy that I ambushed.’
‘My God!’
He jumped up from the chair and began walking backwards and forwards across the room. She tried to ignore his agitation for she needed to finish her story. Her voice was still shaking when she said, ‘There were armed guards everywhere, two for each coach. I don’t think they could quite believe that a single rider would dare a hold-up, but it didn’t take them long to realise what was happening. Then they began shooting.’ These last words were delivered almost in a whisper.
‘I bet they did.’ The earl had come to a standstill and was looking down at her, his expression appalled. ‘Are you aware that the punishment for robbing tolls is death by hanging and that there is no reprieve, no matter who the perpetrator?’
She could only stare at him in horror.
‘To take such a risk, you must have had a trustworthy source for your information. Who told you that the convoy had divided and that a wagon had become detached?’
‘Molly’s mother—I trust her completely.’ She thought it best not to mention Mrs Tindall’s fears.
‘And Molly’s mother is a chambermaid at the Four Feathers, so whatever she told you must have come originally from Partridge and Partridge, from all accounts,
is a villain.’
‘It didn’t come directly from him,’ she protested. ‘Mrs Tindall overheard him talking.’
‘Are you telling me that you trusted your fate to information that a less than honest landlord “accidentally” let slip?’
Jack was too clever, she thought unhappily, or perhaps too knowing of the kind of world in which the innkeeper moved. He had found the fault line which had almost destroyed her.
She nodded miserably, but he had more questions to press home. ‘Did you not realise that it was an entire convoy that was passing through the clearing—I’m presuming you were in that clearing, the one where you attempted to relieve me of my worldly goods?’
‘Yes,’ she said sheepishly. ‘It seemed a good place.’ He shook his head in disbelief, but she wanted to keep talking, wanted to share the terror she had felt. It had been the most frightening moment of her entire life and she wanted Jack to know.
‘I was expecting a single wagon, and when the first one drove into the clearing, I assumed it was on its own. The light was dim. There was no moon this time and when the coach emerged from the covering of trees, I saw only its outline. I started to ride forwards before I realised that there were others following.’
‘And Red?’
‘She couldn’t easily stop. I wheeled her around as soon as I saw what was happening, but by then the guards had their guns up and were shooting.’
‘She got you away.’
‘She is a most wonderful horse. She didn’t panic at the barrage; she simply turned at my command and galloped towards home. At least I guess that’s what happened. I don’t remember anything after we flew into the woods, except an excruciating pain in my arm.’
‘Your guess is right. She brought you safely home and is now enjoying a well-earned rest in her stable.’
The shadow on Lucinda’s face disappeared and she said almost jubilantly, ‘Thank goodness. I couldn’t bear for anything bad to have happened to her.’
Jack walked back to the bedside and sat down beside her once more. She could smell the fresh lemon of his scent mixed with the warmth of his body and wished she wasn’t so easily distracted. But he was very close and the room had taken on an unusually intimate air. She must be sure to keep the conversation flowing.
‘So how did I get here?’
‘I was waiting for your return, waiting at the entrance to the tunnel, when Red appeared with your lifeless body.’
‘You found the secret door?’ She could hardly believe it.
‘No longer so secret. I was waiting outside the passage and Molly was inside—between us we got you up to this room unnoticed.’
‘But why were you waiting there? How did you know Red would arrive? How did you find the door?’
He held up his hands in mock surrender at the volley of questions. ‘That’s another story and you are getting tired. You must rest again, but tomorrow if you are very good, Dr Beaufort might allow you to leave your bed for an hour or so.’
She was feeling unequal to more explanation and thought it wise to agree. So far he had not asked her the most important question—just why she had risked her life in such a foolish fashion. He would want to know sooner or later, but she found herself reluctant to tell him the truth. He would think very badly of Rupert and it would be hard for her to bear Jack’s disdain. She knew what lay behind her brother’s compulsive gambling, but she could not expect a stranger to understand. For in reality that was what Jack was. His touch might leave her breathless and dissolve her body to water—but he was a stranger. She had met him barely a week ago. So why did she feel that she had known him a lifetime, that she wanted to share with him her every secret? But this was a secret that was not hers to tell. She had failed Rupert yet again and the only thing she could do for him was to stay loyal and keep silent.
She could not forget, though, that the earl had risked much in aiding her and was risking it still by saying nothing of what he knew. She had made him her accomplice.
‘Jack,’ she said suddenly, ‘you have been protecting me ever since you arrived at the Towers and now you have saved my life. I cannot begin to tell you how grateful I am.’
‘And so you should be!’ he retorted, his smile more sardonic than ever. ‘If this scandal were to see the light of day, what little reputation I have would be in shreds!’
She bowed her head guiltily. ‘You are right. I have involved you in trouble that was not yours.’
In response he bent towards her, his warm breath fanning her cheek. For a moment she thought he would wrap her in his arms and she longed for his mouth to find hers. Just once more, she thought. But instead he reached out and clasped her by the hands.
‘Sleep well, Lucinda Lacey,’ he said softly. ‘I will see you on the morrow.’
Chapter Eight
The earl put his signature to the invitation with a flourish. After the drama of the past few days, it would be a suitably flamboyant way to say goodbye to Lucinda. And say goodbye he must. It was clear that Sir Francis wished him miles away. Since the evening in Steyning, his host had gone into hiding, burying himself in his library and emerging only to take his meals. Jack had sat through a lengthy dinner with him last night in almost complete silence. But for his rigid social code, Sir Francis would have shown him the door long since, for in his host’s mind he was entertaining a dangerous seducer. Jack couldn’t blame him. Since he had come to the Towers it must seem that the world had gone haywire. The proposal Sir Francis so much desired had not materialised; instead he had been shocked to the core by his niece’s conduct at the ball, a grievance compounded by the frightening infection that followed hard on its heels. It was a distressing state of affairs for a man who had invited into his home the biggest catch of the ton. If anyone had been caught, it had been Sir Francis, Jack thought drily.
But there was a more pressing need to say goodbye than the travails of Sir Francis. When Fielding had come this morning with the news that the carriage was at last ready and that they could leave for Lord Merrington’s whenever his master pleased, he had felt sadness and relief in equal measure. He must go for Lucinda’s sake. Her neighbours had been shocked by the brazen waltz they had danced together and there was no doubt gossip aplenty. But her life could get far more disagreeable: the longer he stayed, the more the neighbourhood would expect an announcement of their betrothal and when it did not come, she would be thought a hussy or, even worse, an impure woman.
And if he were honest, he needed to leave for his own sake. The explosion of desire he’d felt that night at the ball still resonated, though he knew well that such passion had no currency beyond the moment. If passion was all, this farewell would be easy. But it wasn’t all. It wasn’t just sensual appetite that she awoke. He had been angry with her for duping him, playing him for a fool, furious that she had been foolhardy enough to attempt another ambush. But when he had looked down at that pale and fragile form, so small in the huge bed, his heart had hurt with tenderness. He had wanted to scoop her into his arms and keep her from all harm; he had wanted to fight the world for her. That was a very, very dangerous feeling. He was on a precipice and close to its edge, close to falling in love with her, and that must not happen.
The years had taught him vigilance and this time he would protect himself from harm. Lucinda was bold and beautiful and he delighted in her company, but in the end he must accept that she was no different from the fiancée who had broken his heart. His only option was to bid her a gracious farewell and drive speedily to Merry’s, where he could lick his wounds amid the
gaiety of that gentleman’s house party.
* * *
After a cursory breakfast, he escaped the gloom of the Towers to stroll in the direction of the hothouses. It was another perfect October day—windless and cloudless. The sun was not yet high, but already the trees were burnishing their few leaves in its glow
and the succession houses, when he reached them, were fairly basking in its warmth. On his visit with Lucinda to pick flowers for the church, he had noticed that a conservatory had been attached to the farthest building to take full advantage of the panorama of terraced garden and distant parkland spreading itself below. He remembered having seen a table and comfortable wicker seating, a perfect place for tea and goodbyes. He would discover what more might be needed—extra cushions and a blanket, perhaps—to make it comfortable for Lucinda’s first convalescent outing. This afternoon he would settle her in the softest chair, ply her with tea and then broach the subject of his departure. It would not be easy for either of them; he suspected that the news might upset her badly, but he was sure that she would recognise the rightness of his action. Better by far that he left before they fell helplessly into something they would both regret. These past few days temptation had been avoided, but it had not gone away. Once Lucinda was returned to her customary good health, it was only a matter of time before powerful feelings burst their moorings once more and cast them adrift.
* * *
‘Lynton,’ he called to his valet when he returned to his room, ‘take this message to Miss Lacey.’ He picked up the invitation he had earlier signed, ‘And do it discreetly.’
Lynton was fussily tidying for the third time that morning and did not look up.
‘Then organise cushions and blankets for the succession house which overlooks the gardens.’
At this his valet raised his head and looked puzzled.
‘Miss Lacey and I will be taking tea there and, though the sun is shining, she must be kept warm.’
‘Have you seen her today, my lord?’ Lynton’s voice was edged with curiosity.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Only that Molly reports her mistress a great deal better. The salve we had made up in the village has brought about a noticeable difference in how quickly her wound is healing.’
Jack nodded, but said nothing, and his valet was encouraged to continue. ‘As Miss Lacey is making such excellent progress and the travelling coach is now repaired, are we likely to be staying on at the Towers?’ He was watching his master carefully and Jack knew that this trusted servant saw a lot more than he would wish him to see.
Unmasking Miss Lacey Page 12
