The Lady’s Secret

by Joanna Chambers

  The trouble was, she suspected Nathan would argue with her plans. She had seen the determined look he wore as he’d told her she should move into the Bloomsbury house. He was a man used to being obeyed and he would beat down her resolve with his arguments. And her head hurt too much for that. Especially when the weak part of her that wanted to stay with him—the part that apparently harboured foolish pantomime-heroine fantasies—would want to be persuaded.

  And so she resolved to sneak off like a thief in the night. It was cowardly, yes. Craven. But she was going to do it anyway.

  She went straight up to her attic bedchamber when they finally arrived at the townhouse. It was freezing inside. Over the last few weeks she’d become used to sleeping in the same set of chambers as Nathan whose fires were continually lit in winter. Well, that luxury was over.

  Nathan had told her to meet him in the library once she had collected her things. He planned to take her straight to the house at Stephen Street. Her plan was rather different. She was going to take the servants’ stairs down to the back door and simply walk away. Guiltily she remembered that he had said he was worried about her in the carriage. She would let him know she was all right as soon as she was able. Woefully inadequate, but it would have to do.

  She set her valise on the bed and opened the wardrobe to remove the few clothes she’d left behind when they’d gone to Dunsmore Manor. She shoved them into the valise and a moment later she was tripping downstairs.

  She had to go through the kitchen. Mrs. Sims was in there along with a couple of the maids and Jed, one of the footmen. She smiled and greeted them, wishing she could slip away without delay. Nathan would be in the library now, possibly becoming impatient. He wouldn’t wait long, she thought, before he came looking for her.

  “Good God in heaven, what happened to you, lad?” Mrs. Sims cried, bustling over and grabbing Georgy’s head between her plump hands. She brought her face close to examine the bruise.

  “Haven’t you heard? I thought John or Arthur would’ve been down by now.”

  “No! What’s happened?” Mrs. Sims was agog.

  “We had a carriage accident yesterday on the way back from Camberley—the luggage coach overturned with me in it. His lordship’s fine but I got this lump on my head.”

  “You poor lovey!” Mrs. Sims exclaimed with horror. “I’ll do you a poultice for that that’ll lift that bruise right out. Now sit down, and let me get you summit to eat.”

  “I can’t,” Georgy said, extracting herself neatly and lifting the valise. “I’ve got to take this out round back. His lordship wants to be off again shortly and I’ve got to go with him.”

  “What, already?” Mrs. Sims was too loyal to criticise Nathan but her mouth tightened with disapproval.

  “I’m afraid so,” Georgy said, sighing. “I’d better be off.”

  Before the cook could detain her any longer, and with a wave to Jed, Georgy walked to the back door, opened it, and went out.

  She paused once the door was closed behind her. It was several miles to the Camelot and it was almost fully dark now. She didn’t relish the thought of such a walk in the dark, but there was nothing else for it.

  She crammed her hat on her head and headed off. The cobbles beneath her feet were slippy with half-melted snow, the walls of the mews on either side of her so narrow she could almost touch both sides with her outstretched arms. It was cold too. She shivered and turned up the collar of her coat, hunching her shoulders against the chill. God, but the thought of walking all the way to Covent Garden with her head still aching wasn’t to be borne. Once she got to the main road she would get a hack, and bugger the expense.

  She had scarcely walked twenty yards when a man emerged from the shadows up ahead. He was tall and wiry, his face shadowed by a deep-brimmed hat. Something about him, the way he had loomed out of the shadows, was threatening. Georgy slowed her pace, wary now. Was he a cut-purse? Worse? She was debating whether to betray her fear by turning around and going back to the house, when he spoke.

  “Now then,” he said. “Here you are. The lady I’ve been waitin’ so patient for.”

  Lady.

  He knew.

  Georgy struggled to take in air as she staggered backwards, her arm hitting the wall as she executed a clumsy turn. Scream, she thought, but she couldn’t seem to get any noise out. She started to run.

  She heard him erupt into a run behind her and she knew without doubt he was going to catch her. She wasn’t going to be fast enough to get away from him. She dropped the valise and kept going. One foot slid on a patch of slush as she ran across the slimy cobbles, almost sending her sprawling. A half-strangled scream emerged from her paralysed throat, and she heard him grunting behind her, felt his hand grabbing at her coat. And then, amazingly, from close to the house, came a new voice.

  “Georgy!”

  Nathan!

  She saw him running towards her just before she hit the cold hard ground. Her attacker’s wiry body landed on top of her and the breath flew out of her mouth, leaving her gasping for air.

  “Jed!” Nathan shouted, pounding towards her. She wanted to cry with relief even as the fear froze her. The man on top of her scrambled to his feet, fisting her cravat in his hand to yank her up too. She gasped and choked, one hand clawing at the tightened fabric. An instant later that stranglehold loosened, only to be replaced by the cold edge of a knife at her neck. Nathan skidded to a halt, Jed behind him.

  Nathan’s face was expressionless. “Drop your weapon and let him go.”

  “Him?” the man sneered, but his voice shook. “I know what she is.” The knife bit, a little sharper, and her breath sobbed in her throat.

  Jed raised his arm, slowly, a pistol in his hand. He took careful aim and waited. Nathan didn’t glance at the footman; his eyes were fixed behind Georgy, fixed on the man who now stiffened against her and pulled her closer.

  “Nathan!” she whispered.

  He glanced at her. “Stay calm.” He looked behind her again. “Let her go, or I’ll order Jed to shoot you.”

  For an instant there was perfect silence.

  “Have her, then!” A tremendous shove at her back sent her stumbling towards Nathan and Jed. She tried to catch her balance, but she slipped and hit the dirt, shoulder-first, her cheek connecting an instant later with the wet, cold ground.

  “Georgy!” Nathan cried out, horrified. She heard footsteps and opened her eyes to see Jed’s legs passing her at a run, and at the same moment, Nathan sank to the ground beside her, lifting her in his arms and turning her.

  “Oh Christ, Georgy, what did he do to you?” His fingers went to her throat and he yanked the cravat away, sliding his palms over the unbroken skin. His hands trembled.

  “Nathan…” she murmured.

  He raised his head and she saw with shock that his eyes were wet. Her heart clutched painfully, as though a great fist had closed round it. She opened her mouth but she couldn’t speak.

  “God help me,” he whispered, “I thought he’d slit your throat when he pushed you, Georgy. Thank god. Thank god.”

  Their eyes met and held for a moment. The sound of a gunshot broke them apart, Georgy startling in Nathan’s arms.

  “What—?”

  “My lord!” Jed’s voice. “He’s down!”

  “I’m coming,” Nathan called. “Wait there.” He didn’t move immediately, though, except to lower his head until their foreheads almost touched. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she managed, her voice low and shaky. “I’m all right.”

  He slid one hand up to cup her face. A stray lock of hair tumbled over his brow and his hand on her cheek was warm and alive. She was so bloody grateful.

  “I’m all right,” she said again, touching the side of his face, just to feel him alive beneath her fingertips. “I’m all right.” And, I love you, she thought. I love you.

  Their eyes held for several long moments and she wondered if he knew her thoughts; if he heard the words someho
w, even though all she’d said was I’m all right.

  “My lord, I think—I think he’s dead!” Jed’s voice sounded strained and hesitant.

  “I’m coming!”

  They stood up together. When Georgy turned to walk towards Jed’s voice, Nathan restrained her, his hand on her arm.

  “You don’t want to see this, Georgy. Go inside.”

  She shook her head numbly, pulling her arm out of his hand and setting off. He didn’t try to stop her again and after a moment she heard him behind her, his longer strides catching up to her.

  The pistol hanging limply from his fingers, Jed looked down at the heap on the ground that had been her attacker.

  The dead man was sprawled on the ground. He’d been shot in the back and had fallen forward. His neck lay at an unnatural angle, his face in profile, one open eye staring angrily ahead. The deep-brimmed hat had flown off, revealing lank grey hair. He was plainly lifeless, a broken marionette in a dirty greatcoat. Horror rose in her. She knew this man.

  “It’s Monk,” she whispered.

  “What?” She sensed Nathan turning towards her but she couldn’t tear her eyes from the dead man. The man who had killed her mother—who had tried to kill her too.

  “He’s dead, my lord,” Jed said again. The catch in his voice betrayed his distress, distracting Georgy. When she glanced his way she saw Nathan place a hand on the footman’s shoulder.

  “I thought he’d killed Mr. Fellowes…I mean, Miss—” Jed looked between Nathan and Georgy with a bewildered expression.

  “Miss Fellowes is under my protection,” Nathan said calmly. “You saved her, Jed. If you hadn’t come out of the house with that pistol, she would be dead now.” After a pause, he added. “You have my gratitude—and that of Miss Fellowes.”

  Jed stared at Georgy for a moment then quickly looked away. They had spoken together over their ale in the evenings. He’d told her about the maid next door he was courting. He’d speculated lewdly about the ladies Nathan consorted with. She wondered if he was thinking of those conversations now.

  “I’m indebted to you, Jed,” she told him quietly.

  “I’m going to have to call the magistrate,” Nathan said. Georgy saw a panicky look in Jed’s eyes before she turned her gaze back to Nathan. He spoke calmly. “Georgy—you will leave before he arrives. Jed, when the magistrate comes we will tell him that we heard a shot from inside the house and found this man dead when we came to investigate. Is that clear? Tomorrow you will go to Camberley for a month or two.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Jed said faintly.

  “There’s a good chap,” Nathan said with a smile. He took the pistol from Jed’s unresisting fingers and placed it inside his coat.

  “Let’s go inside,” he said.

  Chapter 23

  Nathan hadn’t paid the Bloomsbury house much attention before, but this time when he entered it, he couldn’t help but notice how very colourful it was. A few years ago, he had given one of his mistresses free rein to decorate it and whilst the result was by no means tasteless, the bold colour palette she had used now struck him as almost aggressive. The scarlet drawing room had probably suited Yvette’s sloe-eyed Mediterranean beauty and forthright personality. Next to Georgy, however, the room seem vulgar and lacking.

  When he came in, she was perched on a brocade-covered sofa and still in the same clothes she’d worn when they left Camberley this morning, though they were streaked with mud now from her tussle with the man she’d called Monk.

  Nathan glanced about the room and saw that Goudge had brought a tea tray in. It lay neglected on a side table, the tea cup full and the dish of cakes untouched.

  She stood up, her expression anxious.

  “Is everything all right? What did the magistrate say?”

  Nathan came fully into the room before he answered, closing the door behind him.

  “Sir Percy accepted the story without a quibble. The body’s been taken away.” He paused. “You knew who the man was.”

  She sank back into her seat. “Yes. Didn’t you recognise him?”

  “Should I have?”

  “He was one of the servants from Dunsmore Manor. On the morning we left, you saw him helping me with the orrery crate.”

  He frowned. He couldn’t picture the servant who’d been with her. He’d been too absorbed in making her put the heavy crate down at the time to notice.

  “His name was Monk,” Georgy went on. “The same name was used in one of the letters I took from Dunsmore Manor.”

  “In what context was he mentioned in the letter?”

  “He was being sent to silence my mother,” she whispered, face pale. “The letter was sent the day she died.”

  He stared at her in silence for a long moment before he asked quietly, “How did she die?”

  “She was stabbed in the street. She bled to death. We thought it was a cut-purse at the time.”

  History had almost repeated itself tonight, then.

  He touched his hand to her shoulder, his grip warm. “I’m so sorry. The villain’s dead now, at least.”

  “And I’m glad he’s dead,” she said bitterly. “I’m glad.”

  He let go of her shoulder and sank down next to her on the scarlet sofa, running a hand over his tired face.

  “So,” he said at last. “Why were you leaving out the back door?”

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered.

  “Just tell me why.”

  She gazed into the fire. “I was going home.”

  He waited, frustration building in him, but she offered nothing else. He’d been shaken by her taking off without a word. He’d stumbled into her chamber and found it empty, and he’d known immediately that she’d gone. Known it with a cold certainty. “You couldn’t have waited even a few minutes to tell me you were leaving?” he asked.

  She flushed, her eyes still averted. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “And not even a note, after what we’d shared? What was I supposed to think, Georgy? You knew I was worried about you.”

  She stared miserably at the floor.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered again. “Really, I am. I just—” She made a helpless gesture.

  “What? You just what?”

  “I thought you’d try to talk me out of it. And then I’d end up staying because, well, I didn’t want to go. But Harry’s on his way home from Yorkshire…”

  She trailed off, mingled misery and embarrassment on her face. And pathetically, he was gratified both by her discomfiture and her blurted admission.

  “If you don’t want to go, then don’t,” he said, his voice low and driven. He got out of his chair and went to her, kneeling before her so she couldn’t avoid his gaze any longer. “Don’t go. Stay. Stay here, with me. I want you to.”

  He barely knew what he was saying. The words were tumbling out of his mouth in a perfect stream of truth. He wasn’t even using the excuse of protecting her anymore. Don’t go. Distantly, he was amazed. Here he was, on his knees, begging her not to leave. And he didn’t even care. His armour had been pierced tonight, when he’d seen her fall to the ground in the mews, and now it seemed pointless to don it again.

  He stared at her, willing her to look at him. Finally she did.

  “But I do not wish to—to cause trouble for you. And anyway, my brother is on his way back to London and he is going to need me. He has been hurt.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He was attacked—stabbed. A friend of ours is fetching him home. He will be back in London soon I think.”

  “When?” he demanded.

  “I-I’m not sure, precisely.”

  He felt a burst of incredulous anger. “My god, Georgy! You went walking off into the night without even knowing if your brother’s back in London? Knowing that he’d been stabbed and knowing about the carriage accident being no accident? Are you quite mad?” Had she been so eager to get away from him that she would happily wander off into the jaws of danger?

&nb
sp; She gave a strange little laugh.

  “Mad? I don’t know—probably I am. I wasn’t thinking very clearly, in truth.” She put a hand to her bruised head and stroked absently. “I’ve been feeling rather odd since the accident.”

  He really looked at her then and his anger drained away. She was dirty, bruised and exhausted. Probably hungry too; she hadn’t eaten much today.

  “You’re not fit to do anything at the moment, Georgy,” he said. “You need something to eat and a bath and a good long sleep.”

  She blinked. “Do I?”

  “Of course you do. Here.” He reached across to the tea tray and lifted the dish of cakes. “Eat one of these while I ring for a bath and have Goudge arrange some supper for us. Is there someone who will know if your brother is back yet?”

  “Yes. Lily.”

  “All right, scribble a note to Lily. I’ll have it delivered to her straight away and get a message back to you tonight if possible. Now isn’t that a better idea than you setting off on your own?”

  She gave a weak laugh. “I suppose so. I’m just so used to managing on my own.”

  He went to the bureau and pulled out paper, ink and sealing wax, everything she’d need to write a few lines. When he’d laid it all out for her, she came and sat down and within a few minutes, the note was ready.

  He took it to Goudge to arrange for its delivery. By the time he returned he was pleased to note that Georgy had eaten no less than three of the dainty cakes.

  “Come upstairs,” he urged her. “Your bath is being drawn. You’ll feel better once you’re clean and warm.”

  He pushed and prodded her upstairs and into his chamber. She sank down onto the bed, looking utterly done in. He’d planned to leave her to undress herself, but she plainly wasn’t up to it. He kneeled to remove her boots and stockings. She let him act the valet to her, sitting quietly as he unbuttoned her waistcoat and drew it away from her body and then gently unwound her cravat. He removed her shirt and breeches, and finally her bindings and drawers.