by Clee, Adele
“Who is it?” There were only a few people who knew he owned the house, let alone he was in residence.
Haines did not reply, but raised his brows and jerked his head in the direction of the stairs.
“Very well,” Sebastian grumbled. “I shall be right down.”
Haines perused Sebastian’s crumpled attire. “I think you’ll need to smarten yourself up a bit for this one.”
Chapter 21
After donning a clean shirt and cravat, Sebastian shrugged into his waistcoat and hastily fastened the buttons. If the caller expected to be received formally, then he was gravely mistaken. He would rather be damned than wear a coat, in his own house and at such an ungodly hour. Besides, until he knew the identity of his late night visitor, there was always a chance he would have to get his hands dirty. Should the need arise he would prefer not to be encumbered by excessive clothing.
With some reluctance, he advised Sophie to return to her room, the distraction downstairs offering the perfect opportunity to do so, unnoticed. Finally, after a minor disagreement where he had reinforced the need for sleep and she had managed to bribe him into agreeing to discuss the masquerade, he made his way downstairs.
Haines, who was waiting for him in the hall with one hand resting on the newel post, looked up. “I’ve put them in the drawing room, my lord,” he said, straightening. “Mrs. Cox is making tea, but maybe you’ll want something stronger.”
Sebastian gave him a quizzical look. “Them?” he asked a little surprised. He glanced down towards Haines’ empty hands. “Is there no card?”
Haines shook his head. “No, my lord. But I believe the gentleman knows you, or else I’d not have let them in.”
“I confess it has been a long time since you’ve behaved so mysteriously,” Sebastian continued, thoroughly intrigued. “I hope I’m not going to be disappointed.”
Indeed, he had been dragged from the comfort of his bedchamber, from soft lips and a warm embrace. It had better be for something bloody important.
The first thing he noticed as he strode into the room was that the only source of light came from a pair of silver-gilt candelabras, each standing on the side tables flanking the marble fireplace. The soft glow cast a modicum of illumination over one of his guests.
The lady sat bolt upright in the chair, although there was nothing stately about her posture. On the contrary, she gripped the arms as though she was ready to flee at a moment’s notice. He had seen her pert nose and rosy pink lips before. But now, in place of the broad-rimmed riding hat, were honey-gold tresses swept back in a simple style one would consider both practical and easy to manage. Gone were the breeches and coat, replaced by a dull, mauve dress with not one adornment: no little pearl buttons, no lace edging on the sleeves or collar. She reminded Sebastian of a governess, albeit an extremely pretty one. The type employed by the more unscrupulous of gentlemen for their own particular needs rather than that of their children.
Appearing somewhat uneasy by his assessing gaze, she turned her head towards the window, to the tall figure lurking in the shadows.
“I hope we have not disturbed you, Dane,” the faceless man drawled, his deep voice dripping with sarcasm. “Please tell me you have managed to get some sleep since we last met.”
James Beaufort stepped into the light. His coat was creased and there were dark circles under his eyes.
“I wouldn’t worry about me. You look as though you haven’t slept for days.”
Beaufort gave a weak smile. “More like a week.”
“I can tell just by looking at your clothes,” Sebastian said gesturing to Beaufort’s crumpled attire. Thankfully, the gentleman carried it off with graceful poise and an air of self-assurance that made one overlook such imperfections.
Beaufort’s gaze drifted over him. “You’re hardly one to talk. Your hair looks as though you’ve just tumbled a serving wench in a haystack.”
Sebastian forced a smile but groaned inwardly. “Since you thrust the ruby necklace in my hand, I’ve had a rather exhausting week.”
He was not complaining. It had also been the most exciting, the most enthralling week of his life.
James Beaufort had no idea his sister had followed him to London, and as much as Sebastian wanted to punch him squarely on the chin for leaving such a wild woman alone without a chaperone, the matter of Sophie Beaufort needed to be handled with some delicacy.
James stepped forward and threw his arms around his friend. “It’s been a long time, Dane,” he said patting Sebastian on the back. “You’ve not changed at all. I see you still have that mischievous smile the ladies always loved.” James raised a brow. “Although you really should do something about those bloodshot eyes, they are not very becoming.” He leaned closer and whispered. “Perhaps the answer lies with who, rather than what, has been keeping you awake at night.”
Bloody hell!
James turned to the lady and held out his hand. She rose from the chair, placed her gloveless hand in his and James brought it to his lips, kissing it with a level of tenderness and devotion. Indeed, there was not a single bit of creamy-white skin left untouched.
Feeling a little uncomfortable at such an exaggerated display of sentiment, Sebastian cleared his throat.
“Forgive me,” James said looking up reluctantly. He straightened his back before making his announcement. “My dear, may I present Sebastian Ashcroft, Marquess of Danesfield and my oldest friend. Dane, I would like you to meet my wife, Lady Annabel Beaufort.”
His wife!
A lifetime of aristocratic breeding prevented Sebastian from gaping in shock. Neither did he display any visible signs of anger or irritation. While he had been safeguarding James’ sister from extortion, kidnapping and quite possibly murder, he had been planning a blasted wedding. Instead, he simply bowed and offered his felicitations.
Sebastian gestured towards the sofa and waited for the couple to sit before dropping into the chair by the hearth. The urgency to marry certainly explained their reason for remaining in London and now that the introductions were over, he intended to get some answers regarding the whole affair.
He decided to start with how the hell they knew where to find him.
“I must confess, I’m curious as to how you knew to come here,” Sebastian said. He was equally as curious as to how James had known he was leaving London in the first place. “Surely, when you stopped my carriage, you knew I was heading back to Westlands.”
Before James could answer there was a tap at the door and Mrs. Cox came in with the tea tray. She placed it on the table in front of the sofa. “Would you like me to pour, my lord?”
“No, we shall see to it ourselves,” Sebastian replied abruptly, for he was impatient for answers and feared the woman might mention his female guest. “Thank you, Mrs. Cox,” he added by way of an apology.
“Please, allow me.” Annabel Beaufort did not wait for anyone to contradict and expedited the task with ardent domesticity.
“I didn’t know you’d returned to London until today. I was surprised to see you back so soon. Monty said you were not planning to return for some time,” James began, pausing to take a sip of his tea before returning his cup to the tray.
“Not as surprised as I am.”
“The boy I hired to watch my lodgings told me that a gentleman had called looking for me. Naturally,” James shrugged, “the boy followed the gentleman to this address and he happened to be watching the house this afternoon when you and your friend returned.”
James spoke in such a matter-of-fact tone that Sebastian had to grip the arm of the chair for fear of lashing out. Back so soon? Was he being deliberately obtuse?
“I had little choice in the matter,” Sebastian said bluntly. “The Comte de Dampierre called looking for your necklace.” At present, it was best not to divulge all of the details, but he was overcome with the sudden urge to see his friend squirm.
“How in blazes did he know you had it?” James asked, sitting upright, his expre
ssion darkening.
Sebastian shrugged. “It appears he is quite cunning, particularly when he has been betrayed.”
The sound of a china cup clattering against a saucer caught Sebastian’s attention. He glanced at Annabel Beaufort, whose pallor was ashen and whose countenance was suddenly altered to that of a startled rabbit. James retrieved the cup and saucer and placed it on the tray before taking her trembling hands in his.
Suppressing a pang of guilt for his tactless approach, Sebastian thought it best to reveal what he knew of Annabel’s situation. The sooner he understood the facts, the sooner he could determine Dampierre’s motives.
“I have spoken to Antoinette and to Madame Labelle and they have explained the predicament you found yourself in,” he said softly, his tone conveying his compassion.
James shot up from his seat. “Predicament!” he yelled. “The villain tricked an innocent woman into thinking she would be earning an honest living as a governess, only to hold her captive in a brothel. I would hardly call it a predicament.”
Annabel stood and held onto her husband’s arm. “Please sit down, James,” she said softly, attempting to soothe him. “Lord Danesfield did not mean anything by it.”
Sebastian could see the pain etched in every contour of his friends face; see the fear in the depths of his eyes. Annabel had been but a roll-of-the-dice away from living a very different life. It was a feeling Sebastian knew well.
James raised his hand and caressed his wife’s face. “I am only grateful I was there to help,” he said as he stared into her eyes. He allowed her to lower him back down onto the sofa and then he turned to Sebastian. “Can you imagine how terrified she must have been, to have her worst nightmare become a reality? I cannot bear to think of what would have happened had I not been there.”
Sebastian silently cursed. In helping Annabel, James had left Sophie for the wolves. Indeed, he could not bear to think of what could have happened to her had she gone off to search for her brother without enlisting his help.
“You could have gone to the authorities,” he snapped.
James appeared horrified by the idea. “What and cause a scandal? It would have achieved nothing other than tarnish the reputation of an innocent woman. Besides, what evidence is there?”
“I do not wish to sound callous,” Sebastian challenged, offering Annabel an apologetic smile before turning to James. “But there must be others who have found themselves in the same situation. You have a duty to report it.”
James pushed his fingers through his hair and sighed.
“I have been saying the same thing,” Annabel agreed, casting James a sidelong glance. “But he will not listen. We must do something. We cannot creep about in the hope the comte will grow tired of looking for me.”
“But things are different now,” James said softly. “You are my wife. I will not let him hurt you.”
Sebastian shook his head. “You’re naïve to think Dampierre will simply walk away and forget the incident ever occurred. He has a reputation to uphold.”
“What as a blackguard?” James scoffed.
“Those of the criminal class cannot afford to show weakness,” Sebastian informed him. “A ruined reputation is rather more serious than being snubbed at a ball. It becomes a matter of life or death.”
James narrowed his gaze. “Where was it you said you have been these last few years?”
“You do not want to know,” Sebastian answered cryptically. “What I can tell you, speaking from experience, is that Dampierre will not stop until he feels his reputation has been restored. You took something of his,” he paused and inclined his head respectfully. “Forgive me. I am talking about how Dampierre thinks, not what I believe.” Having clarified his point, Sebastian continued. “You took something and must give something back in return. It must be something he deems of greater value in order to placate his injured pride.”
James folded his arms across his chest stubbornly. “You mean I should give him the necklace.”
“I know it is not what we planned,” Annabel declared, placing her hand on her husband’s arm. “But we must do whatever we can to be rid of him.”
Sebastian was not entirely sure if the necklace would placate Dampierre. Had James and Annabel been the only ones aware of his devious scheme to use innocent girls, then they could have easily been dealt with. It was not difficult to make a murder look like an accident. The murder of four or five people was a different affair. Therefore, the matter would need to be brought to a swift conclusion, hence Dampierre’s desire to meet at the masquerade.
“As I see it, we have three options,” Sebastian said. He hesitated. He was not sure whether it was something he should mention in the presence of a lady.
“I’m listening,” James said impatiently.
“You can make a statement with the appropriate authorities. Or, you can give Dampierre the necklace.”
“I’m not giving him the necklace.”
“What is the third option?” Annabel asked.
Sebastian took a deep breath. “Or you can kill him.”
In that moment of stunned silence, Sebastian heard the patter of feet coming from the room above. James looked up and then cast him a devilish grin.
Sebastian swallowed, as his instincts told him his world was about to come crashing down around him.
Chapter 22
Having thrown on Dane’s crumpled shirt, Sophie gathered her clothes and crept back across the landing to her room.
Once inside, she walked to the armoire and hung up her garments, hoping the creases would drop out. Then she climbed into bed. There was no point trying to sleep. Her mind was like a restless sea, bombarded with one thought after another until she found herself swept away on a wave of emotion.
She had been so wrong about Dane.
Her own foolish pride had cast him in the role of villain, in the role of rake and rogue. The village gossip had been music to her ears for it had allowed her to place the blame at his door, rather than her own. Now she came to think of it, he had done nothing to warrant her censure. So he had teased her and made light of a young girl’s infatuation. It had all been in jest — but it had broken her heart.
With a deep sigh, she lay there and looked up at the canopy, wrapping her arms around her chest and hugging his shirt tighter to her body. It smelt of him: a musky masculine scent tinged with a hint of bergamot and some other wonderful fragrance she could not identify. The smell warmed her to her core and she closed her eyes and pictured him. She pictured his hair falling over his brow, his lips curved into a wicked smile, his eyes: warm, brown pools of liquid chocolate caressing her soul.
Would she be able to recall the image when she was at home and alone in her cottage? Oh, she hoped so, for it was to sustain her for many years to come.
Pushing aside the feeling of despair that crept into her heart when she thought of losing him, of living her life without him, she tried to focus on what was real and true.
She loved him.
Even if he had never spoken of his father’s misfortunes and of his battle to save his estate, she would have loved him all the same. She could not stop herself.
To men like Dane, duty would always be a priority. When he married, he would do so because it was his duty. He had said so himself on the journey from Marchampton. He was a peer of the realm and had a responsibility to secure his bloodline, to care for his estates, to make sacrifices for the greater good.
He had already proved his worth in that regard.
Men like Dane did not marry for love; they did not marry silly girls who believed themselves as strong as men — girls who gave their bodies freely without thought of the consequences. They married sensible, demure ladies who would be fitting mothers for their offspring and whose attributes were boasted about in the grandest ballrooms and salons.
They were men who made sacrifices for the sake of their titles.
Well, she would make a sacrifice, too. When the time came, she would let hi
m go. She choked back a sob, ignored the gut-wrenching emptiness that consumed her. He needed a wife with a large dowry, large enough to secure his birthright for future generations. But in the meantime, in the few days she had left, well, she would love the man with all her heart. She would worship him body and soul. She would seize every single moment and treasure it as though it were the last.
She was still lying there, staring up at nothing when there was a tap at the door.
“Come in,” Sophie mumbled weakly.
Amy popped her head around the door and walked into the room. “Sorry, I was just coming in to light the fire, miss,” Amy bobbed a curtsy. “I thought you’d be downstairs, what with your brother visiting.”
It took a moment for the words to penetrate her addled mind and then Sophie shot up. “James is here, in this house?” she asked, her tone a combination of shock and relief.
Amy looked a little confused. “Well, I think so. That’s what Mrs. Cox said.”
Sophie threw back the coverlet and jumped out of bed, ignoring the fact Amy was examining her choice of nightwear with some amusement.
“Would you mind handing me the wrapper?” Sophie said pointing to the chair and in a matter of seconds she was rushing out of the door.
“But, miss, you can’t … not like that …”
The maid’s voice trailed off into the distance as Sophie made her way downstairs, grabbing the rail for support as she almost tripped in her eagerness to be reunited with her brother. She had not even had time to put a brush through her hair.
Dane would feel the sharp edge of her tongue for not informing her sooner.
After securing the ties of her wrapper, Sophie listened at the door of the drawing room and on hearing her brother’s voice, opened the door and charged in.
Three heads turned to face her, but only two pairs of eyes appeared shocked by her presence.
“Sophie,” James exclaimed, his eyes wide in disbelief. He stood and walked over to her. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his expression a mix of confusion and delight. He picked up a short black ringlet and let it fall through his fingers. “What on earth have you done to your hair?”
