by Allison Lane
The question surprised her, for his curiosity and support stood at odds with yesterday’s suspicion and demands. “Scruffy, but that could mean anything. It has been going on for months, though. And it might connect with Steven’s affairs.”
“I will look into it.” Rafe glared Alex into silence. “But not today. We have more pressing problems at the moment.” He turned to Alex. “You mentioned forged canal documents last night. Have other forgeries turned up?”
“Not to my knowledge, but I’ve more information on the assassins – my valet brought an updated report from my office. A Mr. Stone was seen near Hillcrest several times in recent days, which ties the attack to Sir Steven. Stone is his secretary and suspected of forging the canal documents. He is currently in France – possibly arranging for Sir Steven’s arrival.”
“Unless he is fleeing a sinking ship,” said Rafe, shrugging. “You can add the forgeries Steven sent to Helen’s trustees to the charges against him, by the way.”
“And the one he gave me. I should have realized Stone wrote them,” said Helen with distaste. “Steven’s hand is illegible.”
“What forgeries?” asked Alex.
Helen explained.
“You can collect the actual letters from Formsby,” said Rafe pointedly.
“My staff will see to it.”
Helen interrupted to prevent another argument. “What are the plans for today?” She kept her eyes on Rafe, wondering if he meant to leave. An annulment would negate his promise of protection. Prudence would dictate a swift departure in the interest of personal safety.
Rafe shoved his plate aside. “We need a better defense. The house is far too vulnerable.”
Helen nearly swooned to realize he wouldn’t abandon her. Her reaction surprised her, but a moment’s thought made her admit that her morning pique had ignored pertinent facts. Rafe and Alex were far from interchangeable. Merely looking at Rafe sent her heart racing. That no longer happened with Alex, and last night’s kiss had turned her cold. Rafe might behave questionably at times, but he’d never actually betrayed her.
Alex nodded. “Defense is important, but any plan must include the grounds.” He turned to Helen. “It is impossible to guard every entrance in a place this size, but sentries can tell us if anyone approaches.”
“How many servants can we trust?” Helen met Rafe’s eyes.
“Considering Nalley’s antagonism, I dare not approach the indoor staff, and I’ve not met the grounds staff. But the stable hands are sound – they are thrilled to discover the truth, for Steven and Dudley abuse horses. My coachmen and groom can arrange the watches. How many came with your carriage, Portland?”
“My coachman, a groom, plus three couriers – I must stay in touch with my office. One courier will leave shortly, but the others can stand guard.” He turned to Helen. “Show me the grounds. I’ve forgotten the exact layout.”
“I need you to show me the house,” said Rafe. “I’ve not had time to explore even this wing, let alone the others.”
“Take Tessa. She knows Audley as well as I do, but she’s less familiar with the grounds.” Helen stifled regret – she needed time alone with Rafe – but it couldn’t be helped. “I’ll ask Frank to order horses,” she added to Alex. “We will leave in twenty minutes.” But a new thought occurred as she rose. “What if I give Steven enough money to establish himself in France or Italy? Would he leave?”
“No.” Rafe shook his head. “He is too obsessed to admit defeat – which is how he would describe flight. His instinct will be to avenge his losses. I ruined him by wedding you, so I must die. You stole his inheritance, putting you in equal danger.”
“He can’t be that mad.”
“Don’t underestimate him, Helen. The more I learn about him, the more convinced I am that he is like Hillcrest. Rather than accept blame, he will look for a scapegoat – you. He will not leave England without first punishing you.”
“You’re wrong, Thomas.” Alex turned to Helen. “Sir Steven is selfish, greedy, and willing to do anything for a fortune. But he is not mad. He severed his ties to Barney and Arnold. He does not know we are investigating his frauds. The runner you hired is stirring suspicions over Alquist’s death, but no one yet connects it to him. So if he takes possession of Audley, he can pay his creditors, placate Hicks and Tilson, and live wealthily ever after.”
“But we will be ready for him,” she said steadily.
“Not you. Thomas is right that you are in danger, Helen, though his logic is twisted, as usual. All this rubbish about forced weddings is ridiculous. Sir Steven will kill you, then claim Audley as next of kin.”
She snorted. “Impossible. He is not my heir.”
“He will kill Thomas first, my dear. Then where will you find an heir? I presume you revised your will, Thomas.”
“Of course.”
“I—” Her blood ran cold. “I never revised mine.” Effort brought her panic under control. “Not that it matters. The trust has its own beneficiary in case I die intestate. Steven knows that. It’s his reason for pushing me on Dudley.”
“But Stone is a forger,” said Rafe. “It is mere speculation that he has broken with Steven. What is to prevent Steven from producing a new will? He might even disband the trust first, removing another set of people who could ask questions.”
She frowned. “Do you really think he will kill us both?”
“It is the logical solution. After Christchurch, he must know you will never obey him. Wedding you to Dudley requires that he control both of you.” Rafe shook his head. “So why not cut Dudley out completely and take everything for himself?”
“There is no point in arguing his intentions,” put in Alex, shoving his plate aside. “We must expect the worst, which means planning the best defense.”
“Right.” Rafe rose.
Alex escorted Helen to the door.
* * * *
Rafe glared after them. He shouldn’t be surprised that she’d chosen to accompany Portland over him. But he was. Also angry and hurt.
Tightening his fists, he stormed out and summoned Tessa, furious at himself for caring what Helen did, furious at Portland for daring to touch her, furious at…
He fought his fury into submission, then whisked through the Tudor wing, paying close attention to the floors and stairways. The dust was undisturbed.
“This wing sends chills down my spine,” said Tessa shakily. “It’s haunted, you know. Rose’s beau seen figures in the windows, and he swears there was torches and music one night, like we was having a ball.”
“A house this old is bound to have ghosts, but they mean us no harm,” he replied calmly as they climbed to the top floor to check the connecting door to the Elizabethan wing. “How long have you served Helen? You can’t be much older than she is.”
“I was sixteen when Sir Arthur bought Audley. He emptied the parish workhouse to staff the place. Lady St. James’s maid trained me to look after Miss Helen.”
Rafe frowned at a wall. Water stains marred the plaster. He must ask Helen if the roof had been repaired.
“Tell me about Mr. Portland.” The question invited new fury, but he needed answers. Despite claiming that Portland was an untrustworthy liar, Helen grabbed every opportunity to be with him. If both he and Portland were in peril, would she even notice her husband?
“There isn’t much to tell,” Tessa hedged. “He was Sir Montrose’s guest four years ago.”
“I know Portland was courting her,” Rafe said gently. “But I need to know her mind now.” He’d offered the annulment, praying she would refuse but expecting her to accept. Instead, she’d exploded in fury, then fled – almost as if she hurt. She hadn’t yet written to her solicitor, but had turned all her warmth on Portland. Was she making sure of her welcome before casting her husband aside?
“She married you.” Tessa’s tone terminated the subject.
He tried another tack. “How much opposition did she face when she took over Audley?”
“I don’t kn
ow. Miss Helen has always kept her own counsel.”
No one had entered the Tudor wing from this end, so he moved into the unused Elizabethan wing and dropped his questions. Tessa was too loyal to Helen to reveal anything, and her nervousness reminded him of her recent ordeal.
None of the stairs in this wing had been used, either, nor had feet traversed the hallways. If Steven was in the house, he had to be in the new wing.
But further search was pointless. Without dust to reveal footprints, Steven could dodge out of sight and shift unnoticed into rooms already searched. Rafe would do better to prepare the master suite for immediate occupancy.
* * * *
Helen stared at the study wall, indecision stalling her quill.
Regardless of Steven’s intentions, she needed a will. She did not support some of the benevolent societies her father had designated as residual beneficiaries.
He had never expected her to retain control forever, of course. Many of his lectures had covered ways to tell if a gentleman was honest. Leaving her in charge had meant to discourage fortune hunters, but he’d intended that she break the trust once she found a decent husband. Like all men, he’d never believed her his equal.
And maybe he was right. She’d bungled things badly since his death, wallowing in grief until she couldn’t think straight. Steven had easily outmaneuvered her.
“Stop agonizing over the past,” she ordered herself firmly.
The easy letters were done – notes to Lady Alquist and her trustees outlining her evidence against Steven, then swearing that she would never, under any circumstances, leave so much as a farthing to him or Dudley or anyone associated with them. Any will that included such provisions was a forgery.
But the final letter was more difficult. It was addressed to Mr. Fielding and announced her marriage to Rafe. Now she must add the instructions for preparing her new will, which meant naming her beneficiaries.
Minor bequests were simple. Five hundred to Tessa. Smaller sums to other servants. A hundred to her old nurse. It was the rest that gave her pause.
Though her family tree was sparse, Steven and Dudley were not her only relatives. Others included the St. James spinsters – her grandfather’s sisters. That was all she knew about them, for they had backed Steven in the family quarrel that had disinherited Arthur, and now lived on his estate. She feared Steven would confiscate anything she left them, but she made a note to check their circumstances.
Another she’d not met was Alquist’s son, though he had a fine inheritance of his own, so needed no assistance. Then there was Lucas St. James, steward to a Yorkshire squire – or so he’d been the last she’d heard. He was another she must check on. Her father had been conscientious about his role as head of the family. That position was now Steven’s, but he would do nothing to uphold it.
She shook her head, irritated that she kept sidetracking. Her immediate problem was naming her main beneficiary.
Rafe was the expected choice. Yet Alice and his demand for an annulment complicated her decision. As did his similarity to Alex.
Alex was a liar who considered her a credulous widgeon, as every comment during their morning ride had proved. He might also be a fortune hunter – after losing everything to Rafe, he could hardly have recouped on a government salary. And he treated her like a fragile imbecile, becoming irritated if she questioned his assumptions.
He’d always been like that, she realized, though it hadn’t bothered her four years ago. It was she who had changed, replacing drawing room conversation with agricultural discussions, and feminine pursuits with estate management. Her interests were broader, her outlook more serious, her arrogance gone – or so she hoped. In short, she could take care of herself and her dependents without help. But Alex clung to his belief that she remained that silly, conformable miss who had followed him about like a besotted puppy.
She cringed, but the image was apt. Censure and loss had awakened her to the realities of life. Alex’s reactions proved that he, like most gentlemen, did not accept the change, nor did he approve of it.
But Rafe did.
She had been concentrating on all the wrong things, she realized in disgust. Rafe and Alex might seem alike, but while they shared many surface characteristics, underneath they were very different. Rafe had treated her with respect from the beginning, even when he was the worse for wine and thought her a courtesan. Recognizing her competence, he’d allowed her to conduct her business and had taken delight in how she’d handled Formsby.
When she tried to imagine any other man in that role, she shuddered.
Rafe also debated like her equal, conceding when she was right and accepting her apologies when she was wrong. He never used those apologies against her and continued protecting her from Steven despite wanting to end their marriage.
Rafe had more in common with her father than with Alex. Each had overcome a parent’s opposition, struck out on his own, then turned a modest gain into a comfortable fortune. Each showed empathy for victims because he had experienced the condition himself. Each respected anyone with intelligence.
Alex didn’t. Nor would he have made a good husband even four years ago. His precipitous departure had saved her from a ghastly mistake.
She needed a man who accepted her unconventional training, who listened to her ideas, who treated her as a partner rather than a possession.
In short, Rafe.
But he demanded an annulment, said her conscience.
Had he?
She frowned, trying to remember his exact words. She’d been so shocked that the meeting remained fuzzy. But he’d been surprised at her fury. Had he expected her to leap at the offer?
Now that she thought about it, his behavior was odd. If he truly wanted an annulment, why was he still here? Remaining at Audley might cost him his life. If he had stayed to pursue justice, then his reputation was as false as Lady Alquist claimed. Or perhaps he cared for her, at least a little. The idea warmed her heart.
You love him.
She cursed, but it was true. Her defenses had been too weak to lock him out, which would explain that dream. The false love had finally been replaced by the true, one that offered greater depth and far more excitement.
Rafe might still leave, she admitted – love could be one-sided. But at least this solved her dilemma. She would bequeath him everything.
Exhaling in a long sigh, she finished the letter and sealed it. Perhaps she was blinding herself, but it was done. If Rafe turned on her, she would accept it. Recognizing her love had showed her how much she needed him. Life would be empty if he left.
If only she’d trusted him earlier. Her nights would not have been as lonely.
Closing her eyes recalled his hands, his taste, his smell, his passion…
Her body tingled with awareness the instant he entered a room. She felt his every glance. His presence could protect or threaten, but it never went unnoticed. She would not let another night pass without him.
Chapter Seventeen
“Set Lady St. James’s personal effects in the blue room for now,” Rafe told Tessa and Rose. “Mrs. Thomas can decide what to do with them later.”
He was supervising the turnout of the master suite, a short wing separated from the rest of the court by an ornate door, with rooms forming a ‘U’ around a private corridor. That no spring cleaning had been done was another black mark against Mrs. Lakes. She had turned out Steven’s suite the moment he left for London, but she’d done nothing to the rest of the house, not even the weekly airing of unused rooms that was necessary to keep mold at bay. No one had entered the master suite since Lady St. James’s burial.
He crossed back to his own chambers. The master’s bedroom must reflect Sir Arthur’s taste, for it was the only room in the Palladian wing with Gothic décor. Screamingly Gothic, as expressed by dark paneling festooned with ornamentation. Its crowning glory – if one liked Gothic – was the fireplace wall of elaborately carved wood. Intricate trees supported and surmounted
the mantel. Birds of prey swooped toward rabbits and other small animals cavorting in woods and meadows. Two deer raised their heads, ready to flee. A boar thrust vicious tusks from behind a shrub. The high relief meant viewers had to stand well away to keep from snagging their clothing on legs, wings, antlers…
Portland was watching Vince and Charlie roll up the bedroom carpet. Rafe had insisted on using the pair so he could keep a close eye on them.
“That mattress needs cleaning, too,” Portland was drawling as Rafe entered. “And probably restuffing.”
Charlie glared, but draped it over the carpet roll.
Rafe fanned dust from his face. The breeze from the open windows had not yet dissipated the cloud raised by pulling down the draperies. “We’re making progress, I see.”
“Slowly.” Portland paused until the footmen were gone. “Those two are the poorest workers I’ve ever encountered.”
“Deliberate, I suspect. Have you spotted anyone outside?” They were keeping one eye on the grounds. The master suite overlooked formal gardens that could not be seen from the stables. Posting sentries during the day might draw unwanted attention.
“No, though I can’t watch every second. The carpet is back in your study, by the way. Where do you want the furniture?”
“I haven’t thought about it.” He led the way through his dressing room.
The study walls were dark green with cream moldings picked out in gold. Beating had uncovered intricate patterns in the red, green, and gold carpet. Low bookcases flanked the fireplace. A decent painting of Audley hung on that wall with a lady’s portrait across from it.
“Lady St. James?” he asked, spotting the resemblance to Helen.
Portland nodded.
Rafe hefted one end of the desk. “Let’s put it there.” He pointed to a spot near the window. None of this was his job, but if he relied on Vince and Charlie, Christmas would arrive before the work was done. Nor could he trust Nalley or Mrs. Lakes to supervise.
Portland lifted the other end. “I owe you an apology, Thomas.”
“What?” Rafe nearly dropped the desk on his foot.
