by Sara Bennett
“Well I don’t have any now, do I? Come, Maria, please.”
Her maid wavered. “I promised Archie,” she said with a shake of her head, and then sighed and capitulated. “He works for Sir Henry.”
“Archie?”
“No, Mr. Eversham. Well, Archie too, but Mr. Eversham is an important man to the government. He hunts out anarchists and the like, people who might wish England badly. Archie says he’s a hero, but I don’t think he would be a very safe man to fall in love with, miss. And he’s dedicated himself to his work, so he won’t be getting married or setting up house. In fact he’s made some silly sort of promise swearing to remain unattached.”
“Oh.”
Maria eyed her mistress cautiously as Tina walked rather stiffly over to the window seat and sat down, heavily, as if her strings had been cut, and stared out of the room.
“So he isn’t really what he says he is? That charming, careless attitude . . . it’s all a lie? The work he does helping gentlemen seduce ladies . . . is that a lie, too?”
“I think it is a way of discovering people’s secrets, so he can use them to do his work.”
Tina felt herself go hot and then cold.
So he’d used her. How he must have enjoyed it when she came to him for help, believing he was what he said he was, believing him. And he was still lying to her. What had he said? He’d made a promise and he couldn’t marry until it was fulfilled, so he couldn’t take her virginity.
Well that was a lie because he had taken her virginity. And anyway he was married to his work.
Not that she wanted to marry him. He could be as rich as Midas, and she wouldn’t marry him, not now, not ever. He’d lied to her, toyed with her, and she’d trusted him.
“Thank you for telling me, Maria,” she said calmly, as if her heart weren’t one big ache in her chest. “I hope Archie isn’t cross with you.”
Maria was watching her anxiously. “I should have told you before . . . before things went so far, miss. I’m sorry.”
“Well, never mind.”
“Miss”—Maria put a gentle hand on Tina’s shoulder—“you must not think this is the end of the world. Men, they are like dandelion fluff, they come and go, and there will always be more of them to blow away on the breeze.”
Tina managed a smile. “I’m sure you’re right. Now, I might just spend a moment alone before I go down to supper. Thank you, Maria, I’ll call you if I need you.”
Maria hesitated, clearly wanting to stay, and then she nodded and hurried from the room, closing the door behind her.
Tina allowed her body to slump a little, bowing her head, feeling the pain spreading from her heart to her throat and her head, where a headache was forming.
It had been a wonderful weekend, and she should remember that, remember the good things and not the bad. In years to come, it would not even matter that Richard Eversham had played her for a silly fool, and she would look back on this moment with the wisdom of age and . . .
Cry?
That wasn’t what she’d planned, but the tears were already filling her eyes and spilling over her lashes to trickle down her cheeks. It seemed pointless to fight them, so she let them come and even indulged in some sobbing and wailing and pounding the cushions with clenched fists. Eventually she felt a little better and composed herself.
After a time she felt able to go downstairs. She didn’t think she’d appear at supper after all, that would be asking too much, but she might search out the library and find a good book she could bring back to her room and lose herself in.
Something to take her away from her problems and make her forget she ever knew a man called Richard Eversham.
It occurred to her that might not even be his name. If he was working for the government, he might be using a false name and actually be called something like Ogden. Or Aloysius Hogfish. She managed a weak smile, but at least that was better than more tears.
“I thought you’d gone!”
Branson came a few steps into the library, glancing nervously over his shoulder, before turning back to Sutton.
“What are you doing here? If he sees you . . .”
“I don’t care if he sees me,” Sutton growled. He picked up a snuffbox from a collection on a side table and tossed it into the air, catching it neatly and then slipping it into his pocket. “He’s a bastard who thinks he can treat me as he pleases, well he can’t. This started off as an equal partnership, and now he’s the one giving all the orders. Too bad. I don’t take orders.”
Branson couldn’t believe he was hearing this, but at the same time he was deriving a certain enjoyment from it. He’d also been on the receiving end of the Captain’s fury so he understood all too well the effect it had.
“Heard you took a potshot at that bastard Arlington,” Sutton added with a vicious smile. “Pity you missed.”
“I didn’t miss,” Branson retorted. “I mean, I didn’t want to kill him, just give him a scare.”
Sutton shook his head in disgust. “And he says I’m a fool. Who are you going to shoot at next? The wife? I hear she’s a nice piece, not averse to a bit of rough.”
“I wouldn’t harm a lady,” Branson protested huffily.
“Come on then; you’ve started now, who’s next? I’d love to see his face when you do it. Finish off the lot of them, I reckon, then we wouldn’t have the bother, would we?”
Branson had turned thoughtful. “I might take a shot at Eversham, he’s a swine. Had me in for more questions before, threatening me, shouting in my face. What gives him the right to treat me like that, eh? Yes,” he smiled sourly, “I’d like to put a bullet between his eyes.”
There was a sound over near the bookshelves, and both men froze, staring in that direction, but a moment later a gust of wind rattled the windows and a draft set the pages of an open book on a nearby table fluttering. They relaxed, and Sutton pocketed another snuffbox.
“I’m going,” he said. “His Highness wants me to return the pearls I stole. Seems that these days it goes against his moral code to steal. As I’m going to have to give them back, I needed to be reimbursed.” He patted his bulging pocket.
Branson snorted a laugh. “How are you going to get out?” he asked.
“Same way I got in, through the window.”
Sutton opened it and slipped out, vanishing into the darkness and the rain. Branson waited a moment, and then he left by the door.
Tina’s heart was beating so hard she had been terrified they would hear it. She’d knelt down to pull out a book from the bottom shelf and then became immersed in its pages, sinking down onto the Turkish rug and forgetting where she was.
Until the men began speaking.
At first she’d thought Mr. Branson was speaking to another guest, but then she’d heard what they were saying. Understanding had come at once. Mr. Branson had shot Sir Henry, and now he was planning to shoot Richard. Her aching heart was momentarily forgotten—she might not like him very much anymore, but she wasn’t about to stand by and see him killed.
The book had slipped from her hands and the two men had stopped and she was certain they would find her. As she waited, trembling, she thought of her family and, yes, she did think of Richard. Would he be sorry when her body was discovered lying over a copy of A Sultan’s Harem?
But then the windows had rattled, and everything was all right again. The men had left, and the room was empty. But still she took her time. She inched her way cautiously around the bookshelves to the door. With a sigh of relief she glanced behind her, just to be sure.
He was standing outside the window, his wet hair plastered to his head, his cold pale blue eyes staring in at her. Like a nightmare. He was the most frightening person she’d ever seen, and as she stood, frozen to the spot, he began to open the window.
With a scream, Tina turned and flung herself at the door, fumbling at the knob and managing to open it and then running. She hardly noticed Branson, his face white and shocked in the shadows; all she could th
ink of was the nightmare creature at the window. He could be behind her, and there was only one person she could think of who would save her—it didn’t even occur to her that her savior was now a cheat and a liar, and she hated him. Clinging to the banister she hurled herself up the staircase toward Sir Henry’s rooms and the safety of Richard’s arms.
Chapter 31
“Sir Henry and Mr. Eversham are in the study, miss.”
The footman gave her a curious look. Tina knew she wasn’t at her best but tried to keep her emotions inside just a little bit longer. She hid her trembling hands behind her back.
“I need to see them.”
“They asked not to be disturbed,” the footman said, with the air of one used to diverting pesky visitors from his master.
Tina decided then that she would have to be rude, very rude. She gave him a push, catching him by surprise, and flung open the door before he could stop her, bursting in. Three men were gathered about a huge oak desk and they looked up, startled, at her abrupt entry.
“Tina?” Frowning, Richard moved toward her.
Distraught, Tina tried to speak, but she was suddenly too breathless to get a word out and leaned against the back of a chair, feeling faint.
She felt his hand on her arm, warm, supporting her. It felt wonderful, and all she wanted to do was curl into his chest and cling there like a limpet. Unfortunately, due to her recent discoveries about him, she felt obliged to shake his hand off. And that was his fault, too.
Behind her the footman nodded at a gesture from Sir Henry and closed the door. “My dear Miss Smythe, whatever is the matter? Sit down and catch your breath. Will, get some brandy, would you?”
Will Jackson placed a glass into her hand and Tina sipped at the brandy. As it warmed her insides she began to recover herself a little. Richard was still by the door, watching her, his slanting brows drawn down over eyes that were uncharacteristically serious.
“There was a man in the library,” she spoke at last. “Two men. One of them was Mr. Branson, and one of them was . . .” She shuddered violently.
“Tina, what happened?”
Richard came to stand at her side, but she turned her face away so she didn’t have to see him and so wasn’t confused by her feelings.
“Let the girl alone, Richard,” Sir Henry said quietly. “Go on, Miss Smythe. Take your time. Tell us what you saw and heard.”
Tina had a good memory, and she repeated the conversation almost word perfectly, unable to help glancing at Richard when she recounted Branson’s vow to kill him. Shoot him right between the eyes. The glass shook violently in her hand, and Will removed it with a sympathetic smile.
“He saw me through the window,” she burst out.
“Branson?” Sir Henry said quickly. He nodded at Will, and the young man slipped from the room.
But Tina shook her head. “No, the other one. The thief. The one with the cold eyes. Pale blue eyes.”
Sir Henry and Richard looked at one another, exchanging a wealth of meaning without speaking. Tina found it irritating, as if they were keeping something secret from her—which, of course, they were.
“Branson,” said Sir Henry with a frown.
“No real surprise there,” answered Richard. “I know you didn’t want to believe he’d tried to kill you, but it looks like we have the truth from his own mouth.”
“And he wasn’t working alone,” said Sir Henry. “Is this other man the Captain? Sounds more like another member of the gang. You didn’t recognize him?” Sir Henry turned to Tina, eyes piercing beneath his bushy brows, his bandage pushed up at one side like a strange sort of hat. “Are you sure?”
“I’d never seen him before, sir.”
“And he saw you?”
She nodded uncomfortably, remembering those cold eyes and the nightmare face through the window.
Sir Henry leaned closer to Richard, his murmuring too low for Tina to hear more than a word here and there. They seemed to be making plans. Why couldn’t they say it aloud, so she could hear? It was very annoying, especially when their conversation probably concerned her.
Eventually Richard came and took her hand, raising her to her feet. She was too surprised to shake him off this time and stood, gazing up at his face and waiting to hear what he had to say. He certainly looked very serious.
“You are in danger, Miss Smythe,” he said.
She turned to Sir Henry for confirmation, but he only gave a nod.
“The man at the window . . .” she asked, but it was Richard who answered.
“He is part of a group headed by a man called the Captain. A dangerous man who has caused trouble all over England, and more than one death.”
Richard didn’t sound like himself. He was no longer charming and careless with laughing eyes, no longer the man who’d held her in his arms and whispered her name in the throes of passion.
This man was a stranger.
“So you think I am in danger?” she asked him cautiously.
“I don’t think they would hesitate to silence you, Miss Smythe, if they thought you could point one of them out in a court of law.”
Remembering again the face at the window, Tina believed him utterly. “What should I do?” She was visualizing fleeing to somewhere isolated, like the Lake District, living in a small cottage with several burly guards. It wasn’t a pleasant idea, but if it was necessary . . .
Richard sighed and squeezed the hand he was still holding. “I will have to take you under my protection.”
Her heart leaped and almost immediately sank again.
Under his protection? Being by his side, constantly? After what had passed between them and what she now knew about him? Tina wasn’t sure she could bear it, even for the sake of staying alive. “I don’t think—”
But before she could continue her protest there was a commotion outside, and the door was flung open.
Mr. Branson was there, his arms pulled behind his back, being manhandled by Will Jackson into the room. Richard hurried over to help, and between the two of them they got the struggling Branson into a chair in front of the desk, facing Sir Henry, who sat on the other side. Mr. Branson looked flushed and furious, but there was something in his eyes that gave lie to his protests.
He knew why he was here, and when his gaze fell on Tina, he suddenly deflated like a pricked balloon, all of the hot air going out of him. Tina watched in fascination as he began to make excuses for his actions, telling the very man he’d tried to shoot that it was his fault.
“This was all mine, Arlington, until you took it from me.” He waved his arm about the room. “Stole it from me.”
“I paid you a good price, Branson.”
“A pittance.”
“You sold because you could no longer afford to hold on to it. I don’t say you were careless with your money or that it was your fault, but neither was it mine that you had to sell.”
Branson opened his mouth to continue the argument, but Richard put a stop to it.
“Enough! Miss Smythe saw you in the library with another man. What is his name?”
Branson’s expression became sly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But with Richard and Will firing questions at him it didn’t take long for him to give them the answer they wanted. “Sutton. His name is Sutton. I don’t know where he lives—a hole in the ground probably. He’s a thug and a thief, he’ll do anything the Captain wants him to do.”
Richard smiled a nasty smile. “Oh yes? Well now we want to talk to you about the Captain.”
“Don’t know any Captain.”
“Oh come on!” Richard roared.
Tina jumped.
“Do you know what it’s like to spend twenty years in a tiny cell in a filthy gaol, Branson? Or would you prefer the gallows? The noose and the crowds jeering and laughing, the smell of fear as you step out of the cart and climb the steps. Just imagine that’s your last moment on earth; just imagine that’s the shameful legacy you’re leaving your wife.”
Richard shot a glance at her, but there was no smile. This was deadly serious stuff. “Tell us who he is, and things might go easier for you, Branson. I might ask for the firing squad instead of the noose.”
“We already have a fair idea of the Captain’s identity,” Will added, and managed to crease his usually amiable features into a fearsome mask.
“Do you now?” Branson muttered.
“Tell us, old chap,” Sir Henry put in, “and I’ll see your name is kept out of this. I know you didn’t mean to shoot at me. I’m quite prepared to let bygones be bygones.”
“Oh God, what a mess.” Branson put his hands over his face, his shoulders slumped, but Tina suspected this was more to give himself time to think than because he was in any way repentant.
Outside they could hear laughter as some of the guests took part in a game of croquet between showers. Horace’s voice rose above the others, declaring himself hopelessly beaten, followed by Charles’s protests.
Branson took his hands away. “I have your word?” he demanded of Sir Henry. “I will not be punished or brought to any kind of justice?”
“My word,” Sir Henry agreed.
Branson nodded. “Very well. The Captain is here, you’re right. His name is Lord Horace Gilfoyle.”
Tina gasped aloud, she couldn’t help it. “Horace?” she cried, her tone shrill with shock and disbelief. “Horace would never—”
“Thank you, Miss Smythe,” Richard cut her off.
Branson was smirking, and Tina had absolutely no doubt he was lying again. Why didn’t the others demand the truth from him? How could they believe such nonsense without a single protest?
And yet it seemed that they could.
A moment later Branson was hustled from the room, and Richard was escorting Tina back to her room. They walked in silence, hers angry and sullen, and his . . . well, she no longer knew him well enough to guess what he was thinking.
“I’m sorry if I frightened you in there,” he said at last, not looking at her. “We needed that name. I needed that name if I’m to protect you.”
