‘And you had no way of finding them again?’ asked the earl.
‘No.’ Simon shook his head. ‘I knew their name, but precious little else. After I escaped I tried to find them in France, but—’
Lord Darrington put up his hand. ‘You went to France? I thought you had just come from there.’
‘I had, but once I was accused of murder it seemed safer to get out of England.’ Simon’s thin hand plucked at the bed-cover. ‘The mob rioted in Portsmouth and broke open the gaol. I escaped with some others and took a ship to France, but it foundered.’
‘Simon was injured swimming to the French shore,’ put in Beth. ‘He has had no proper nursing—’
‘Until now.’
Beth took his hand and squeezed it. ‘I am hopeful that the worst wounds are now healed.’ She shot a look at the earl, ‘He still has a swollen ankle and a recurrent fever.’
‘Ah. That explains the comfrey leaves.’ He met her eyes, but there was no reading their expression. ‘So what efforts have you made to find the French couple, what do you know of them?’
‘Only their name,’ said Simon. ‘I remember the man was considerably older than his wife.’ He added inconsequentially, ‘She was young and very pretty.’
Once again the earl fixed his eyes upon Beth.
‘And what part did Miles Radworth play in this?’
‘He was on the packet that brought Simon back to Portsmouth from his tour of the Continent. They struck up an acquaintance, and then, when Simon was accused, Miles came north to tell us what had happened. Since we believed Simon dead I thought no purpose could be served by making it known to all the family. Father was so ill and I was too busy nursing him to worry about what could not be changed.’
‘Do you mean Lady Arabella still knows nothing?’ interjected Lord Darrington.
‘She thinks Simon was drowned returning to England,’ said Beth. ‘We have been at pains to keep the truth from her. It would break her heart.’
‘Hence you or your sister read the newspapers to her?’
‘Yes. Grandmama’s sight is failing so there is little possibility of her reading anything about Simon for herself. There has been nothing in the newspapers since those early reports, but we will not take the chance of her finding out.’
The earl nodded and turned back to Simon. ‘By running away you have as good as admitted you are guilty.’
Simon shrugged. ‘What else could I do? If it had been only the dead man, I could have pleaded manslaughter, since there had clearly been a brawl. The jewels were a different matter.’ He gave a savage laugh. ‘The courts do not look favourably upon thieves. I did try to find the de Beaunes when I was in France, but I had no money and dare not use my real name, so I decided to come back to England. I managed to get a ship back to Plymouth and then began the long journey north to Malpass. I found a little work to pay my way, then the fever returned and I was laid low for weeks. But at last I made it here and Beth has kept me hidden in the undercroft ever since.’
‘When did you get back?’
‘Three weeks ago,’ Beth answered, seeing the blank look on her brother’s face. The poor boy lived in constant darkness and had little idea of the passing time.
‘I take it this explains the servants’ tales of ghostly noises,’ remarked the earl. ‘And those cries I have heard at night.’
Beth nodded. ‘Yes. At the far end of this vault is the door that opens on to the drive—the one beneath the steps to the main entrance. We keep it locked, of course, but occasionally when Simon is in the grip of the fever he cries out. And Tilly has a habit of leaving the inner doors open behind her. On such occasions Simon’s cries can be heard inside the house. We have been happy to foster the idea of noisy ghosts. Besides myself, only Kepwith, Sophie and my maid know that Simon is here.’ She added, ‘I have written to Mr Spalding, our family lawyer in London, and he is making enquiries in France, trying to find this Monsieur de Beaune and his wife. When we do, we shall be able to prove Simon’s innocence.’
‘And in the meantime you expect to keep his presence here a secret.’
Beth clasped her hands together. ‘Yes.’
‘You are aware there are severe penalties for harbouring a felon?’
‘But he is not guilty!’ she cried.
Simon reached out and clutched her skirts.
‘The earl is correct, Beth. I should go away.’
‘No. Not yet. You are not yet well enough.’
She fixed her eyes upon the earl. ‘Well, my lord, will you keep our secret?’ When he did not answer she rushed on. ‘I have some guineas saved—’
‘Money will not buy my silence!’
His harsh interruption frightened her. Had she offended him, or was he contemplating some other way she could reward him for his co-operation? A chill ran through her. She could trust her servants, whom she had known all her life, but this man was almost a stranger…
‘What…what do you mean to do?’ she asked him nervously.
‘Nothing, until I have considered all you have told me.’
‘It is the truth,’ muttered Simon. ‘I swear it!’
Those hard eyes rested thoughtfully upon them again, then he took out his watch. ‘It is nearly time for supper. Should we not be going upstairs, Mrs Forrester?’
Reluctantly she nodded. It took a few moments to make Simon comfortable, then she led the way back through the vaults, the earl following a few paces behind her.
Beth was confident they would meet no one on the back stairs; all the staff would be busy preparing supper or taking their ease in the servants’ hall. They proceeded silently back to the main part of the house. Lamps had been lit now in the corridors, showing up the dusty marks on the earl’s black coat.
‘I cannot go down to supper like this,’ he remarked. ‘And if I ask Peters to deal with it he may become suspicious.’
‘I have a clothes brush in my room,’ said Beth.
They had reached the door of her bedchamber and she stopped, waiting for him to take off his coat. He merely looked at her, his brows raised.
‘Do you expect me to stand about here in my shirtsleeves? Will that not be equally suspicious, if I am seen?’
He was right, she knew it.
‘Very well, you must come in!’
She stepped back to allow him entry, quickly closing the door behind them. There was no sign of Tilly, but the room was prepared in readiness for her mistress, with a cheerful fire blazing in the hearth. Beth went around lighting all the candles and trying not to think how the earl filled the small space. She had to squeeze past him to get the clothes brush, careful to avoid the slightest contact.
‘Tell me about Miles Radworth,’ he said over his shoulder as she stood behind him, brushing his back and shoulders with brisk, firm strokes. ‘He brought you the news that your brother was dead?’
‘Yes. He stayed in Portsmouth after the escape, and when the first reports came in of the shipwreck he waited until his own enquiries satisfied him that all hope was lost.’
‘And he told you also that Simon was accused of murder?’
Her hand shook a little. ‘Yes.’ She resumed her brushing. ‘He brought with him the newspapers carrying reports of the murder and of Simon’s escape. We had heard nothing until then—it is not to be wondered at that a small note in a southern newspaper should be missed by our acquaintances here. Miles was very kind and full of regret that he had not been able to help Simon—’
‘But does he believe your brother is guilty?’ Beth stopped brushing. ‘Well?’
‘I…I fear he does.’
The earl turned to look at her, his grey eyes searching her face. ‘Radworth was practically a witness to this whole affair. How can you expect me to believe your brother’s innocence when he does not?’
Beth sank her teeth into her lip. It was a lot to ask of a man she had known for such a short time. He took the brush from her hand.
‘My coat is done, I think. Allow me to return t
he favour.’
He dropped to his knees and began to work on the hem of her gown; Beth stared down at his dark head. His movements were confident and assured, the shoulders beneath the fine tailoring of his jacket broad and strong, capable of taking the troubles of the world, she thought. If only he would believe her.
‘There.’ He stood up and she quickly schooled her face into a mask of indifference. ‘I think I have removed all signs that you have been in the undercroft.’
He handed her the brush again, smiling slightly. The candle light played on his face, enhancing the smooth planes of his cheeks and accentuating his strong jaw. His black brows shadowed his eyes, making them look grey and hard as granite. Merciless. With a sudden rush of nerves she realised her situation, alone in her bedchamber with a man she had known for just over a week. She swallowed and said a little croakily, ‘We must go down to supper. I—um—I will check the passage is clear for us to go out.’ Moving away from him was difficult, as if she had to break an imaginary thread between them, but she forced herself to go to the door. Moments later they were in the corridor.
‘I believe Radworth moved up here soon after he first came to see you.’ The earl fell into step beside Beth.
‘Yes. He has been very attentive.’
‘Your sister puts it more romantically. She says it was love at first sight.’
She shot him a suspicious look. ‘Do you find that so incredible?’
‘Not at all. You are a very beautiful woman.’
Her cheeks flamed. ‘I beg your pardon, I was not looking for…for a compliment, my lord!’
‘I am merely answering you honestly. There must have been a powerful inducement to make a man leave his estates and settle in the north.’
Still reeling from being called beautiful, Beth was not offended by his remark.
‘You are not to think that I was so flattered by his attentions that I have not considered that,’ she replied frankly. ‘I have made enquiries—he is no fortune hunter. His estate in Somerset is at least equal to Malpass. And he did not press me to a betrothal while we were still grieving for Simon.’
‘And why are you marrying him? Do you love him?’
His question caught her off guard and she replied without thinking, ‘No, but—’ Her step faltered. She added, trying to speak lightly, ‘I must make a life of my own at some time. Grandmama will not live for ever and Sophie will undoubtedly marry.’
They were approaching the dining room and through the open door Beth could see that her sister and grandmother were already seated at the table. She stopped.
‘My lord, you will say nothing to my grandmother of—of what you have seen…?’
‘You have my word on that, Mrs Forrester.’
‘And tomorrow?’
He shook his head slightly, the tantalising smile glinting in his eyes. ‘I will make you no promises of what I may do tomorrow, madam.’
Beth closed her lips. Might he consider it his duty to turn Simon over to the authorities for trial? She was sure Miles would do so; in her mind she could almost hear him telling her that the law must be upheld, that if Simon was innocent then the courts would prove it. But Darrington was not Miles. She would not expect him to help her, but she might be able to persuade him to keep their secret. After all, rumour said he was a womaniser and now Miles had unearthed some secret from his past that cast doubt upon his integrity. The problem gnawed at her throughout supper. She said very little during the meal, allowing Sophie to chatter away while she watched the earl, trying to read his thoughts.
Miles had said his reputation was tarnished. He was a traitor and a libertine. A small voice inside told her it could not be true, but another, more insistent voice whispered that such a man could be bribed. He had said he did not want her money, but there were other forms of persuasion.
As she toyed with her food a plan began to form in her head. Across the table the earl was relaxed, smiling at something Sophie had said. He glanced across at her, still smiling, but she pretended not to notice. Beth pushed her plate away. Her appetite had quite gone, but she had made up her mind on a course of action. It should not be difficult. Dangerous, possibly; certainly abhorrent, but if it would protect Simon, then she would do it.
Chapter Nine
While Guy conversed with Sophie and Lady Arabella during supper his mind was going over all he had heard and seen in the undercroft. Beth was taking an appalling risk sheltering a fugitive, but it was her brother and Guy had a brother of his own. Nick was married now, but in his younger days he had had his share of dangerous escapades. There was no question that Guy would do the same as Beth, if Nick asked it of him.
Was Wakeford guilty? He doubted it, but he could see how events had conspired to make the boy seem so. And he was only a boy. Twenty-two, twenty-three…he was certainly younger than his sister. The thought of Beth made him glance across the table at her. She was pushing the food about her plate, but eating very little. And no wonder. He hoped she would understand from his smile that he meant her no harm. She would not meet his eye, so he determined that before he rode away in the morning he would make it clear that her secrets were safe. Lady Arabella was addressing him and he dragged his eyes away and his mind back to what his hostess was saying.
The family retired soon after supper was ended and Guy made his way back to his room where he found Peters laying out his nightclothes.
‘I take it your master is asleep,’ Guy remarked, shrugging himself out of his coat.
‘Yes, my lord. Sleeping like a baby, if I may say so. And a good thing, too. We have a long journey tomorrow.’
‘Ten miles,’ Guy agreed. ‘But we will make him as comfortable as possible. Here.’ He held his jacket out to the valet. ‘Take that away and make sure it is cleaned for the morning, will you? Thank you, Peters. That will be all. I will see myself to bed.’
Once Peters had gone, Guy began to pack his trunk in readiness for the morning. He thought of his own valet, kicking his heels at Highridge, and hoped he was enjoying his holiday. He would certainly have plenty to do when Guy arrived back tomorrow with a trunkful of clothes needing his attention. In his mind Guy could even now hear his faithful servant bewailing the state of his shirts, washed by some provincial laundress, and he would undoubtedly say that his master’s topboots were scratched beyond repair from careless polishing by the Priory’s servants.
Guy was so used to the house and its sounds by now that he barely noticed it settling down for the night; the thud as the servants shuttered the windows and the distant banging of a door, until everything was silent save for the occasional creak of the ancient timbers. He was surprised therefore to hear a faint scratching at his door. He was making his way to the door when it opened and Beth Forrester slipped into the room.
Beth closed the door softly behind her and stood with her back pressed against it, wondering if she could really carry out her plan. The earl was watching her.
She had unpinned her hair and brushed it until it shone like a coppery curtain around her shoulders, the rich colour accentuated by the pale ivory of her silk wrap.
‘Mrs Forrester!’
She forced her lips to curve upwards. She must look warm, seductive. Smile, Beth, she silently encouraged herself. You are no shrinking virgin; you know how it feels to be in a man’s arms.
‘I have come to talk to you, my lord.’ Good, her voice was a little breathless. She did not miss the flicker of interest in his hard eyes.
‘Is it not a little late, madam?’ he asked her, his brows raised. ‘Would it not be better to talk in the morning?’
‘I think not.’ She took a step towards him. ‘I wanted…to be alone with you.’
He reached for her hand and she knew a moment of terror. Quickly she lowered her lashes, veiling her thoughts from him. He led her to the chair beside the fire.
‘Will you not sit down? You look a little pale. Peters has left me some brandy, or I could send for wine…’
‘Brandy would b
e very welcome, thank you.’ The ghost of a genuine smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. ‘It would not do for anyone to know I am here.’
‘Of course not.’
There was only one glass beside the decanter. The earl filled it and handed it to Beth. She took it with both hands, praying he had not seen the way her fingers trembled. His lips twitched.
‘I’d wager you are not familiar with that drink, madam.’
She did not answer him. The pungent liquid was burning her throat, though she would die before she admitted as much. He leant back against the bed, his arms folded in front of him.
‘What is it you wish to discuss, Mrs Forrester?’
She moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘I—um—I hope you have enjoyed your stay at the Priory, my lord. I…I have not been as…welcoming as I ought.’
He inclined his head, saying politely, ‘You have been all kindness, ma’am.’
‘You are too generous.’ She took another sip of brandy. Really, it was not so bad and at least it stopped her shivering. She said, ‘I have been a little…cold towards you, I fear, but you know the reason for that now.’
‘You were concerned for your brother.’
‘Yes.’ She rose. ‘I thought perhaps I could…I might…make amends.’
She forced herself to stand still, hands at her sides and her eyes fixed upon his face. They were only inches apart. She saw his eyes darken and glow with something she did not understand, but suspected was desire. As if someone had opened a pot-pourri jar she was suddenly aware of his scent, a mixture of sandalwood and spices. Slowly he reached out one hand and caught the belt of her wrap, pulling her towards him. Her heart jumped and began to hammer a swift tattoo against her ribs.
You wanted to know how his arms would feel, she reminded herself as she stepped closer, eyes lowered, breast rising and falling quickly as he untied her belt and pushed the wrap from her shoulders, revealing her thin nightgown. It had formed part of her original trousseau, but had never been worn. Light as gossamer, it hid none of her charms. The strings at the neck were loose and the gown had already slipped from one shoulder. He reached up and ran his fingers lightly over the curve of her neck between shoulder and jaw. She could see the pulse jumping at his throat. He wanted her. The thought excited and frightened her. He slid his thumb under her chin and tilted her face up. She kept her eyes modestly lowered, the dark lashes sweeping her pale cheeks. She forced herself to stand passively while he cupped her face with his hands and began to cover her face with light gentle kisses. When he slid his mouth over her lips they parted invitingly and she was immediately aware of a change. The earl’s mouth instantly became more insistent; he wrapped his arms around her, sliding his hands over her buttocks and pressing her against him. There was only a fine layer of muslin between her flesh and his roving fingers. Her muscles tightened, she was pressed against his groin and there was no mistaking his arousal. Instantly her body responded, hips tilting, breasts almost painfully taut. He explored her mouth with his tongue and she gave up trying to resist and kissed him back until she was quite heady with desire.
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