Had he really wanted to get away from her that night? He hadn’t thought so. But even if her concept of a pattern were valid, there was another way to explain everything: a pattern of mayhem in his sleep. Violence.
Murder.
He couldn’t shake his growing suspicion of that terrifying possibility.
“It’s the pressure,” she said, her hand tightening over his. “As soon as we clear your name, you’ll be fine. I’d wager you’ll never sleepwalk again.”
He looked at her for a long moment, searching her eyes while a strained silence stretched between them. His gaze dropped to the cameo she wore on a chain around her neck.
His cameo. She’d take it off someday. Maybe someday soon.
“I’d feel a lot less pressure if you’d call off this investigation,” he said at last, pushing away from the table. “I’m going back to work.”
Chapter Forty-One
*
THERE WERE TIMES IN a woman’s life when she wished she could confer with her sisters. Even though she already knew exactly what they would say.
Juliana, the peacemaker, would tell her to abide by her husband’s wishes. “Your marriage ought to come first,” she would say, and advise Alexandra to be the dutiful wife and put Tris’s happiness and their relationship before her own wishes to right past wrongs.
Corinna, on the other hand—the rebel—would cheer on her efforts. “You’re entitled to your convictions,” she would say, and advise Alexandra to stand to her guns and let no man, not even her husband, sway her from doing what she thought right.
And Alexandra would be right back where she’d started. But at least she’d have some hugs and sympathy to bolster her. Here in this strange house, with Tris occupied most of the time, and no neighbors of her class and age willing to welcome her—a point Leticia had driven home yesterday—she was feeling rather lonely.
Still, the first part of her morning had proven quite productive. She and Mrs. Oliver had gone over the household budget, reviewed the cleaning and repair schedules, and discussed all the lower female servants. Everything seemed well in hand. She’d left their meeting convinced that Mrs. Oliver was a fine housekeeper indeed.
Afterward, she practiced on the harpsichord in the north drawing room. It wasn’t hard to play, but the double keyboard was difficult to get used to. In addition, the sound seemed thinner than a pianoforte’s, and there seemed to be no way to play louder or softer. Although she wasn’t a concert-quality pianist, she did enjoy putting some emotion into her pieces. But there were no pedals, and no matter how she hit the keys—tentatively or with much force—the resulting notes sounded the same. She wearied of it rather quickly.
Next she considered visiting in the village, but she wanted to take Peggy along to introduce her to everyone, and she’d prefer to have Peggy here, talking to the rest of the staff and compiling the list. The villagers would be there to meet tomorrow. Pursuing her investigation was much more important. Her attempts to convince Tris he wasn’t guilty seemed to be futile, but he would never be happy as long as he believed he might be dangerous. She had even more reason to continue her efforts now.
Yet she knew those efforts were harming their relationship, and she hated that. She wanted to fix it. To that end, she decided to peek into the study and see if he wanted to join her for luncheon.
But he wasn’t there. Disappointed, she sat at his desk, idly straightening piles of papers and stacks of journals. He had told her he had business that might take him away for a while. It would have been nice, though, if he’d sought her out to let her know he was leaving.
She shrugged philosophically, turning the chair to gaze out the study’s windows. Quite obviously, she still hadn’t scaled that wall Tris had built, and she’d probably doubled the height with her own actions.
The study was in the back of the house, and through the windows the gardens beckoned—colorful formal gardens nearby, and then, behind them, an area of grass walks lined with hornbeam hedges and field maples that seemed to enclose smaller, private gardens. It was a glorious day, and she’d yet to explore them.
She decided she’d take her luncheon out there. And bring along some paper and her family’s cookbook, so she could copy her favorite recipes while she enjoyed the sunshine.
A few minutes later, having grabbed a bonnet and asked Peggy to arrange for luncheon, she made her way out the front door and down the steps, following the cobbled path that curved around the back of the mansion. A flash of motion by the river made her pause. Tris.
She watched him toss a stick and Rex jump into the river to retrieve it. Mere moments later, the big, wet mastiff scrambled up the bank and shook violently, spraying Tris with water that left splotches on his buff pantaloons.
Thinking she’d be tempted to laugh if she wasn’t so uncertain of his feelings, she hurried toward him. “What are you doing?” she called.
To her relief, Tris looked over and grinned. “Playing with the poor beast. He’s been dreadfully neglected of late.” He eyed the book and paper in her hands. “What are you doing?”
“I was going to take luncheon in the gardens and copy some of my favorite recipes. Would you care to join me?”
“I’m sorry, but I cannot.” Rex was panting at his feet. He bent to grab the stick and tossed it arcing out over the water, watching as the mastiff gleefully splashed in to fetch it. “I have business in Windsor.”
She wondered vaguely what he needed to do. She knew Windsor was the nearest sizable town, but did he have his bank there? His solicitor? She’d expect those would be in London. She needed to learn these things if he wanted her to assist with the household finances as she had for Griffin, but they had yet to discuss anything like that.
And now was not the time. “When I couldn’t find you,” she said, “I thought you’d gone already.”
“Without telling you I was leaving? I’m hurt you would think me so thoughtless.” Obviously reading her face, he reached to pull her close. “And you were hurt thinking I had. I’m sorry.” He tilted her bonnet back and bent to give her a soft kiss.
Emerging from the water, Rex barked. “He hates me,” she said.
“He doesn’t.” Tris took the stick from the dog’s teeth and tossed it once more, farther out this time. “If he hated you, he’d have taken a bite out of you by now.”
While Rex bounded back into the river, Tris took the book and papers from her and set them on the grass, then wrapped his arms around her and brought his mouth to hers again. “I wanted you last night,” he murmured against her lips. Then the kiss turned hot and needy, and the whole of her responded. She slipped her hands under his coat and pressed herself close, mindless of his damp, dog-splashed clothes. Her heart raced, and the blood rushed through her veins.
And she knew it was the same for him.
She was confused and unsure of his feelings from one moment to the next, but one thing she knew for certain: Nothing would ever change the physical pull that held them both in thrall.
Rex barked until they stopped kissing, then shook and sprayed them both this time. Alexandra laughed. Tris brushed ruefully at his damp coat. “I really must be going, and I fear Vincent won’t let me off the property without a bath and a change of clothing. I promise to be home in time for dinner.” He gave her another quick kiss, eliciting another bark, then started toward the house, the dog following at his heels. “Enjoy your afternoon,” he called back.
Feeling warmed all over—especially inside—Alexandra retrieved her things and wandered around the house and through the formal gardens. Gravel crunched beneath her feet as she followed the paths bordering beds planted with brilliantly colored flowers. Finally she reached the area of grass walks that she’d seen, lined with hedges that enclosed many small, private compartments.
She smiled as she peeked into them, glimpsing not only a variety of rather wild-growing plants, but also a surprise in each area. Some hid copies of famous statuary, one a sundial, another a cozy bench for two. Ch
oosing one with a tiny round white gazebo, she slid inside.
The structure’s roof offered welcome shade, so she removed her bonnet and set it, along with her book, paper, and pencil, on the bench that curved against the back edge. No sooner had she taken a seat than a warm, motherly voice carried through the still summer air. “Lady Hawkridge?”
Alexandra rose and went to the opening. “Here, Mrs. Oliver!” she called, surprised that the housekeeper was bringing her luncheon instead of Peggy. “In the gazebo!”
A moment later, Mrs. Oliver entered the tiny garden. But she didn’t have any food. Instead she carried a small stack of letters. “I brought these for you, dear. I thought you might want them right away.”
Alexandra took them and flipped through the pile. There were six, one from each of her siblings and female cousins. Thrilled, she smiled at Mrs. Oliver. “Thank you so very much.”
“Enjoy them, dear,” the housekeeper said and walked away.
With a happy sigh, Alexandra went back to the bench. She opened the two letters from her sisters first. Juliana and Corinna had both written cheerful notes, wishing her well and relating several amusing anecdotes as well as telling her all about a lovely picnic they’d shared with their cousins. Griffin’s letter was shorter, mostly saying he missed her very much and threatening bodily harm to her husband should he fail to take good care of her. Rachael told her all about the goings-on at Greystone and her preparations for her brother Noah’s return. Claire’s letter mentioned the picnic again. And then Alexandra opened the letter from her youngest cousin, Elizabeth.
We all miss you very much. It was Rachael’s idea we should have the picnic, and also her idea that we should all write to you so you won’t feel lonely in your new home. Wasn’t that so very nice?
Alexandra had been wondering how it was that six letters had arrived the same day. Grinning, she read on.
I suppose you’ve heard that Juliana and Corinna were DISinvited to Lady Cunnington’s garden party. I vow and swear, that made me so livid I wrote to Lady C posthaste with my regrets—and a piece of my mind. Worry not, dear cousin, your sisters have much support. Rachael and Claire have said they will not attend, either.
The letter fluttered from Alexandra’s fingers to the grass. Dear God in heaven, it was happening already. And not only affecting her sisters, but her cousins, too.
Her throat tightened like it did when she ate strawberries. She couldn’t seem to breathe.
A high-pitched voice snapped her to attention. “Lady Hawkridge?”
She quickly gathered the letters. “Here, Peggy! In the gazebo!”
Peggy hurried into the little garden, tray in hand. “Your luncheon, my lady.” She squeezed into the tiny structure and set the tray on the bench, then pulled a folded paper out of her bodice. “And the list you asked for, completed.”
“Oh!” Alexandra started breathing again as she took it. Once she cleared Tris’s name, her sisters would be just fine. But she was disappointed to see only four entries. “Is this all?”
“Not many people leave Hawkridge, my lady. Kinder employers are difficult to find.”
“I know.” And she knew she should be happy about that. She was happy. Just seeing the list was a huge relief. “Thank you. And for writing down everyone’s direction as well. They all live close by.”
Peggy shrugged. “Not many travel too far from the place of their birth.”
People, common people especially, usually seemed more comfortable with the familiar. Which was a lucky thing, Alexandra thought, because she should be able to pay calls on these four in short order. Her spirits rose as she realized that, very soon, she might have the information she needed.
She’d lost her appetite, but since Peggy had gone to the trouble to fetch luncheon, she thought she’d better eat something. “Let me just have a few bites, and then we’ll be off. I want to ride today. It will be much faster than taking a carriage. Would you ask a groom to saddle three horses? And see if Ernest is free to accompany us again, if you will. Oh, and ask Mrs. Pawley to put some of my sugar cakes in a basket. Then meet me upstairs—I’ll need to change into a riding habit, and so will you.”
Peggy shuffled her feet. “I cannot ride, my lady.”
“Pardon? If you don’t have a habit, I’ll be pleased to give you one. I have several, including one or two I’d like to retire. I plan to order some that aren’t blue,” she added with a soft laugh at herself.
But Peggy showed no signs of humor. “I cannot ride. I don’t know how. As a housemaid I never had reason to learn, and the last Lady Hawkridge never rode anywhere. She was very proper and always took a carriage.”
“Is that so?” Perhaps riding to pay calls wasn’t quite so ladylike—A Lady of Distinction might not approve—but Alexandra didn’t want to waste time. “Make it two horses, then. Ernest and I shall do fine on our own.”
“Are you certain, my lady?” Peggy didn’t look at all happy. “I believe his lordship would prefer you to take a carriage.”
“Nonsense—he said that only because he was afraid breathing the gas had weakened me. I’m perfectly healthy today.” And the sooner she finished this investigation, the happier Tris would be—no matter what the outcome.
“I’d prefer to go with you,” her maid said quite peevishly.
Alexandra couldn’t figure why the woman would be so testy, but she decided to ignore it. “That’s very thoughtful, Peggy, but there’s no need. Two horses, please. I’ll meet you upstairs in ten minutes.”
Chapter Forty-Two
*
DELICATE NOTES FROM THE harpsichord greeted Tristan when he arrived home that evening. Carrying the large, plain box he’d brought from Windsor, he made his way upstairs and paused in the north drawing room’s doorway.
Alexandra sat with her back to him, focused on some sheet music, her graceful fingers moving over the antique instrument’s keys. Watching her, he clutched the box tighter. He hoped she would like what was in it. He wanted to give her a nice night. Just one nice night. And, all right, it wouldn’t be so bad if the niceness extended into tomorrow and the next day, too.
Their first night had been so wonderful, but since then, everything between them seemed to be going so very wrong.
As he watched, she raised a hand from the lower keyboard to the upper and hit a sour note. “Drat,” she said softly and resumed. More notes tinkled through the air, sounding lovely for a few bars until she switched keyboards again and made another mistake. “Drat!”
“Good evening, sweetheart.”
She startled and snatched her fingers from the keys, turning on the stool to face him. “You’re home,” she said, sounding surprised.
“I said I would be.”
Her cheeks turned a delicate pink. “I hope you didn’t hear too much of that. I’m sure I’ll get better with practice.”
“There’s no need to practice,” he said cryptically, knowing she’d understand tomorrow. Already dressed for dinner, she looked beautiful in a pale green frock with a scooped neckline and his cameo on a matching green ribbon. She glanced curiously at the box in his hands, making him smile to himself. “Give me ten minutes to allow Vincent to fuss over me before dinner. Will you meet me in the dining room?”
“All right,” she said, her gaze lingering on the box before she turned back to attack the keyboard with renewed vigor.
A quarter of an hour later, having instructed Vincent as to the box, he strolled into the dining room and bent to give Alexandra a long, thorough kiss. “Hmm,” he murmured low, his hand wandering between her body and the back of the chair down to her bottom. “Still no drawers.”
As he seated himself beside her, she blushed, her gaze going to the two footmen in the room.
“They didn’t see or hear anything,” he assured her in a whisper, and then louder, “How was your afternoon?”
“Peggy gave me the list of former servants,” she said rather breathlessly. One of the footmen put a bowl of soup before her, and sh
e lifted her spoon, the simple motion seeming to calm her. “Four names. I visited three of them and learned nothing.”
He spooned some soup, wondering how he would get it into his mouth between his clenched teeth. But he wanted this to be a nice night, so all he said was, “I wish you hadn’t done that.”
“I know.” Somehow she managed to look both sorry and determined at the same time. “If it’s any consolation, there’s only one name left. A woman in Swangate. Unless she astounds me by being the only one to have seen suspicious dealings, I’ll be finished after I talk to her.”
Although she sounded mournful, he couldn’t help celebrating privately. And he certainly didn’t want to argue and ruin this night. Instead, he made light conversation through the next two courses, his blood humming with anticipation.
At last the table was cleared. Hastings brought in and opened a bottle of port. A footman presented a platter of fruit and biscuits. No sooner had they departed when Mrs. Oliver walked in, placed the box—now gaily wrapped and ribboned—at the far end of the table, and promptly left.
Tristan poured Alexandra a very tiny glass of port—he didn’t want her falling asleep tonight. He poured himself a larger one.
Alexandra glanced at the box, then lifted his empty dessert plate. “Grapes? Biscuits?”
“Surprise me,” he said, thinking he couldn’t wait to surprise her. He sipped, savoring the heady flavor of the fine, sweet wine and enjoying the quizzical look on his wife’s face.
She filled his plate and took a single biscuit for herself. “How was your afternoon?” she asked, her gaze drifting again to the box.
“Extremely successful.”
She took a small sip of the deep red port. “Your business in Windsor went well?”
“Exceedingly.”
She hadn’t touched her biscuit. “Would you mind if I asked what you did there?”
“Not at all.” He popped a grape into his mouth, enjoying this exchange immensely. “I visited the shops.” Seeing her startled gaze fly toward the box once more, he smiled to himself again. He seemed to be doing a lot of that tonight. “Would you like to open it?”
Good Guy Heroes Boxed Set Page 91
