by Laura Landon
Millicent watched as Lord Radburn lifted the necklace out of the box and placed it around her neck. She knew she should feel beautiful adorned by such a magnificent piece of jewelry, but the moment he placed the jewels around her neck, the necklace became a noose. A noose that was strangling her. That was cutting off the air she needed to breathe.
He stepped back to admire his gift, and she placed her hand atop the jewels as if to hide them from his view. She wanted to rip them from her neck. But she couldn’t. Pretending to appreciate the gifts she received from a man she detested was part of the role she played. And she intended to play her part to perfection.
“Thank you, Marcus. I’ve never received a gift so beautiful.”
A smile broadened his mouth, and Millicent fought a shiver of revulsion. The ownership in his gaze made her want to scream.
“I am most eager to present you to our guests. There won’t be a person here tonight who won’t envy me for possessing the most beautiful woman God ever created.”
“Possessing?” she asked. “Do you think a necklace of emeralds bought me, my lord?”
He laughed. “I do not think you could ever be bought, my love. You are too strong a person for any man to think they could purchase you with jewels. That is one of the traits I admire most about you.”
Millicent traced her fingers over the emeralds. “And yet you gave me jewels worth a fortune in an effort to win my heart.”
His smile faded. “The jewels are my way of telling you how valuable you are to me. They are one way I thought I could show you how grateful I am that you could overlook your father’s objections and choose me for your husband.”
Millicent couldn’t hide her surprise. “I didn’t know you were aware that I knew about my father’s objection to you.”
“Of course I knew.”
“Yet you still chose to pursue me?”
His glare hardened. “You will soon discover that I am accustomed to getting what I want.”
“And if I had refused?”
The corners of his mouth lifted, but what Millicent saw couldn’t exactly be called a smile—his grin held a warning with intentions she couldn’t ignore. “That is an irrelevant question, my dear. You didn’t. That is all that matters.”
She wanted to be combative. She wanted to take a stand and not back down. But that would have been pointless. She needed to choose her battles wisely, and attacking him now wouldn’t be in her best interest. She only had to look to the end result.
In the end, Radburn would pay for his treason, as well as what he’d done to her family. And he’d pay with his life.
She lowered her gaze. “I owe you an apology, my lord . . . Marcus.” She brought her hand up and ran her fingers over the emeralds. They felt warm to her touch. But how could they? They represented the cold and calculated death of everything she held dear. “Thank you for the gift. It is much more than I am worth.”
His expression softened. “No, Millicent. To me you are worth far more.”
There was nothing to say. She hesitated a few moments, then lifted her head. “It’s getting late. We should go down to greet our guests when they arrive.”
“Yes,” he answered, then held out his arm.
Millicent placed her fingers lightly on his forearm and went with him to greet their guests. And for the hundredth time since she’d begun this charade, she prayed it would end soon. Prayed that she’d live to see him pay for what he’d done to her family, knowing she’d gladly sacrifice her own life to make sure he did.
. . .
Barnaby watched Millicent walk down the stairs on Radburn’s arm. The smug expression on Radburn’s face landed a near-incapacitating punch, and the possessive gleam in his eyes gnawed at Barnaby’s impatient core. He hated the thought of Millicent being forced into Radburn’s company.
The magnificent necklace about her neck wasn’t the first thing he noticed. How could it be when the emerald-green satin she wore emphasized her form and figure to perfection? When her daring neckline revealed more than he thought was necessary?
Barnaby wanted to pull her out of the bastard’s grasp and bring her next to him where he could protect her. Instead, he forced himself to look at her as he would a close relative.
“My lady,” he said, holding his ground until Radburn brought her close enough. “You are truly a vision.”
“My sentiments exactly,” Radburn said, executing a regal bow, then bringing Millicent’s hand to his lips. “A vision beyond compare.”
“Thank you both,” she answered. “You are fortunate that I am aware of your propensities for exaggeration, or I might actually believe you.”
Barnaby laughed. Radburn only smiled.
“Come. We shall wait in here until the guests arrive.”
Radburn escorted Millicent to a private drawing room. Barnaby followed.
When they were seated, a footman poured them each a glass of champagne, then left the room by one of the secret doors. Barnaby took note of where the door was located and vowed to investigate the hidden passages more thoroughly later.
“Are you anxious to become reacquainted with your neighbors?” Radburn asked.
Barnaby studied the serious expression that overtook Millicent’s face. It was obvious that she was concerned about the reception she would receive.
“A great deal has happened since I was last here. Most of our neighbors were close friends of Father’s.”
“Then this will be an exciting evening for you,” Radburn said.
“Yes.” A smile brightened her face when she turned to Barnaby. “And I will have the opportunity to introduce Reggie to everyone.”
Barnaby lifted his champagne in a small toast, then took a swallow. The vintage was excellent. Obviously expensive. “I hope you will make a special point to introduce me to all the available young ladies worth knowing,” he said.
She laughed. “You may rest assured I will.” This time there was laughter in her eyes as well as in her voice. “There are two or three that should keep you on the dance floor most of the evening.”
Barnaby took another sip of his champagne. “I am looking forward to this evening more by the minute.” He turned his attention to her. “And you, cousin? Will you promise me a dance?”
“Of course,” she answered. “If Lord Radburn doesn’t mind sharing me for one dance.”
“How can I blame anyone for wanting to dance with the loveliest creature in the room?”
Radburn’s tone sounded pleasant enough, but the steely glare in his eyes betrayed a different emotion.
“Are you ready to greet our guests, my dear?” He extended his hand for Millicent. When he’d possessively tucked her arm through his, they made their way up the stairs and down a long hallway. They’d barely entered the gaily decorated ballroom before the first guests arrived.
Barnaby didn’t have to wait long to assess Millicent’s reception by the friends and neighbors who’d known her family all their lives. Their disapproval was evident almost immediately.
The first guests were the Earl and Countess of Timblin. Lord Timblin seemed cordial enough, although the manner in which he greeted Millicent seemed almost sympathetic. The chilly expression on Lady Timblin’s face when she acknowledged Millicent, however, didn’t soften.
Reverend Winters and his wife arrived shortly after. Although Mrs. Winters’ expression wasn’t as disapproving as Lady Timblin’s, neither was there any warmth in her greeting. And the speed with which she separated herself from Millicent made her disdain all the more obvious.
Several more guests arrived, and the tension in the room mounted until Barnaby thought it would only take the slightest flicker of a candle to ignite the explosive situation.
He stayed as close to Millicent as possible, even though Radburn didn’t leave her side. Barnaby wasn’t sure if Radburn noticed the sidelong glances that Millicent received or was aware of the coldness with which she was greeted. If he didn’t, it was because Millicent hid her discomfort as
well as any actress, with a smile on her face and polite laughter at the ready.
Of course, not everyone disapproved of Radburn’s presence in the area. Many saw his arrival as a boon to the economy. Since he’d come, many of the locals had found employment with him, and consequently the village shops had seen an increase in trade. Everyone benefited—from those who provided meat and cheese and vegetables and staples to the manor house, to those who sold ready-made garments for the workers. There was also an increase in revenue for those who stocked Radburn’s cellars with bottles of fine liquor. There was no holding back when it came to quality . . . or price.
And now the Earl of Radburn had chosen one of their own as his wife, and that boded very well for the future of the area. Lady Millicent had a great love for Cliffside, and there was hope that she would rebuild the grand manor house. Although the fire had damaged much of it, it wasn’t beyond repair, and the locals were waiting for the time when it would again be a showplace in its own right.
Barnaby heard those remarks over and over again as the evening wore on. He couldn’t imagine the pain those words caused Millicent each time she was reminded of the fire that had killed her family. But she remained stalwart as she greeted each new guest, and her enthusiasm didn’t seem to waver. Until . . .
“Lord and Lady Barclay,” Radburn greeted.
“Lord Radburn,” a man answered. His voice was low, and loud enough to be heard by anyone close by. “Thank you for inviting us tonight.”
“Of course,” Radburn answered. “I wouldn’t think of hosting any gathering without extending an invitation to my neighbors. Especially those who were such close friends of my future wife’s late parents.”
Barnaby felt Millicent tense beside him, and he turned his attention to the couple as they greeted Lord Radburn.
“Lady Millicent,” Lord Barclay greeted.
“Lord Barclay.” Millicent turned to the baron’s wife. “Lady Barclay.”
“Lady Millicent,” Lady Barclay greeted.
Cordiality seemed to have fled. The tone of Lord and Lady Barclay’s greeting was anything but warm. Barnaby watched the color drain from Millicent’s face. She turned to him as if she needed to focus on a friend.
“Please, allow me to introduce you to my cousin, Mr. Reginald Compton.”
“Mr. Compton,” they both greeted.
Barnaby bowed politely. “Lord Barclay. Lady Barclay.”
“Are you a cousin on Lady Renfrew’s side? Or Lord Renfrew’s?” Lord Barclay asked.
“On Lady Renfrew’s side. My mother and Lady Millicent’s mother were sisters.”
“And you approve of your cousin’s marriage?” Lord Barclay said in a low, tight voice. Thankfully, Radburn was otherwise occupied and didn’t hear.
Millicent’s spine straightened. Barnaby stepped closer in an attempt to keep their conversation private. “Is there a reason you think I should not?”
“Lord Barclay,” Millicent interrupted. “Please, I cannot imagine you think you have a right to offer such an opinion.”
Lady Barclay sucked in a breath that indicated her objection.
Barnaby knew Millicent’s intentions were to prevent Barclay from saying something Radburn might overhear, but that didn’t diminish the insult. Thankfully, Radburn was deep in conversation with two gentlemen who’d just arrived.
“Yes, my lady. I more than believe I have the right. Your father and I were close friends. He would never consider allowing you to marry Radburn. I know it, and I believe you do, too.”
Millicent looped her arm through Lady Barclay’s and separated them further from where Radburn was. When she faced Lord Barclay, the expression on her face was as harsh as any Barnaby had seen from her.
“Lord Barclay, I know you think you are acting in my best interest, but you are not.”
“I not only believe I am acting in your best interest,” Barclay continued, “but I cannot in good conscience allow you to consider marriage to someone of whom your father thought so little. My friendship with your father will not allow it.”
“Then consider your debt to my father satisfied. You have offered your opinion, my lord, and I have listened to your objections, but I am quite capable of making my own decision.”
“Lady Millicent,” Lord Barclay continued. “I—”
Millicent lifted her gloved hand to stop his words. “Please excuse me, my lord. I am not interested in further warnings. Nor can I allow you to think you have the right to influence my cousin to dissuade me from marrying whomever I wish.”
Lady Barclay gasped again, but Millicent didn’t see her reaction. She’d already turned her back on the couple and returned to stand beside Radburn.
Barnaby wanted to wrap an arm around her and comfort her. He wanted to shout, “Brava!” He wanted to whisper words of reassurance to let her know that things would be all right, that in time Lord and Lady Barclay would know the role she was playing and all would be forgiven. But he couldn’t. He could do nothing except stand at her side as the next guests arrived.
Barnaby couldn’t admire her more than he did at that moment.
. . .
The dinner progressed exactly as planned. The guests were impressed, as Marcus knew they would be. Millicent was more beautiful than they remembered her being, and he preened each time someone complimented him on his choice of a bride.
Champagne flowed freely, and the guests were enjoying themselves—all except the Earl and Countess of Timblin, Baron and Baroness Barclay, and the Reverend Winters and his wife.
He understood. Their close friendships with Millicent’s father, the Earl of Renfrew, had all come to a tragic end.
Marcus finished his remaining champagne and placed his fluted glass back on the tray of a passing footman. He considered reaching for another glass but stopped himself. He was a disciplined man, and one more glass of the excellent champagne might affect his judgment. That was something he wouldn’t risk. Especially not tonight, when the impressions taken away would circulate throughout the county within a fortnight.
Too much champagne might also permit other memories to surface. And those were nightmares best left buried.
Marcus looked out onto the dance floor. His betrothed was dancing with her Compton cousin. There was a special bond that linked them. A bond that seemed more intense than one might expect between cousins. The way the two looked at each other caused a stirring that could only be described as . . . jealousy.
Marcus knew there was no reason for such a violent reaction, but seeing her in someone else’s arms reminded him that he’d committed his future to her. A future he’d envisioned much differently just one year earlier. As soon as this set was finished, he’d claim his fiancée again and keep her at his side where people would expect her to be. Marcus decided that after he and Millicent were married, Reginald Compton would not be welcome in their home. He’d discovered long ago that all potential dangers needed to be eliminated before they became uncontrollable problems.
The music ended, and Compton looped Millicent’s arm through his and started across the floor toward Marcus, but the pair was intercepted by a young man. It was the same gentleman who’d seemed overjoyed to see Millicent earlier and who had reminisced at length about their youth spent together.
Conflicting waves of unreasonable jealousy and curiosity engulfed him. How could she behave so stiffly with him and yet be so carefree and full of cheer with this young upstart? It angered him.
Marcus caught the brazen fellow’s eye. Across Millicent’s shoulder, he stared down the stripling, unnerving the lad until he finally took his leave.
He was about to announce his betrothal. The last thing he needed was his bride-to-be getting swept off her feet by the local riffraff.
Marcus checked the diamond in his cravat and settled his nerves. He’d carried off the evening well. So far, everything was going exactly as planned.
Chapter 9
The music faded as Barnaby made his way farther out into the gard
en. He’d quietly feigned one of his postwar maladies and made his excuses to escape for a breath of air.
He had no intention of entering the house again, but made his way through an opening in the garden wall. He stayed in the shadows until he reached the stable where the horse he had ridden several times was kept. He donned the dark clothing he’d hidden there earlier and quietly saddled the mare, then led her out of the stable and to a grove of trees. Once there, he mounted the horse and rode to Millicent’s family’s monument.
Checking the area consumed long minutes. When he was satisfied he was alone, he collected the tools he’d used the night before, and with great care he lifted the grass that covered Millicent’s sister’s faux grave until he’d revealed a corner of the door. Atop the door lay a blanket of grass. The bed wasn’t deep, but only a fine netting that secured the green plugs as if it were a carpet. It easily allowed Barnaby to start at one side and roll it until the door was exposed and could be opened.
The moon wasn’t full, which helped him work without being seen, yet it was bright enough that he could see what he was doing. The trapdoor opened by lifting a large brass ring. No rending of rusting hinges screeched into the night. The door’s hardware had been carefully—and recently—oiled.
The hole must be quite deep and shored up well if it was to hold the amount of munitions he’d been commissioned to destroy. But the cliff was barely passable, and getting contraband up and down the side of it was a problem that made this a highly unlikely storage site.
Barnaby lifted the door, then walked around to get a good view.
He placed a leafy green branch over his lantern to diffuse the light, lest it alert Radburn’s guards to his presence. Satisfied that it would serve his purpose, he lit the lantern and adjusted it to its lowest setting. Very slowly, he moved it across the opening. Its muted light fell across the hole, illuminating more than merely what the hole contained.
This was no hidden cache. If what he saw was any indication, this operation had required significant engineering.
