Gingerly and perhaps timidly, St. Clement twisted these wings. Rastmoor would have loved to get a closer look at the works inside this device. Certainly, this was like no locket he’d ever seen before. Would the locket he still held in his hand do something similar? He rather hoped it would. From what he could see of the first one, the front part of the locket—the part where any incriminating paper or other evidence could be hidden—was still undisturbed. St. Clement seemed to have been telling the truth when he claimed he could open the box without opening his locket.
How very unfortunate for Fitzgelder. Odd that the man was still so eager to follow this through. Rastmoor would have expected him to show much more disappointment at having his dearest plans totally destroyed while being forced to watch someone else discover a treasure.
But at this point, Fitzgelder was easy to ignore. St. Clement was twisting the pieces of that locket into the most unusual shape. At last the pieces seemed to snap into place, and St. Clement smiled, holding it up for all to witness.
“Voilà!” he said. “The first half of the key.”
It was like no key Rastmoor had ever seen. The front portion of the locket looked as one would expect a simple heart-shaped locket to look. The back of it, however, was sprung out and flipped so that the points of the two halves jutted down and away from the body of the locket. It almost seemed the harmless object had just grown fangs.
St. Clement held it up toward the light streaming through the window. “See? There is a hole through it.”
Rastmoor leaned forward to see. Indeed, there was. It was hardly more than a pinhole, but it went all the way through the locket. Not that it meant anything to Rastmoor, of course, but the design was ingenious.
“Now we will see how the other locket fits into it,” St. Clement said.
Both St. Clement and D’Archaud reached their hands out to take the second locket from Rastmoor. He did not need another opinion on this, however. There was no question but that he felt more inclined to give it to St. Clement than his shiftless friend.
The man took it and held it up as he had the first locket. His fingers went immediately to the ring at the top, but after a moment or two, he paused. He held the locket closer for examination. He peered at it front and back.
“This isn’t it,” he said at last.
“What?” D’Archaud exclaimed, nearly yanking it out of St. Clement’s hand. “Mon dieu! This is not my locket!”
Rastmoor was stunned. Not his locket? That was not good.
“Where is the real locket?” D’Archaud asked, glaring first at Rastmoor then turning his anger on Fitzgelder. “Where is it?”
Fitzgelder simply grinned. “What a shame, D’Archaud. You lost your fancy locket.”
“Someone deliberately replaced it,” St. Clement said. “This locket appears very similar, but it is not the right one. Someone has deceived us.”
Fitzgelder laughed as if this were all great sport. “For once, I am innocent of the crime!”
Oh, hell. The locket had taken such a roundabout way to get here—being smuggled by Penelope, given to Fitzgelder, stolen by Sophie, retrieved by Lindley—there was no way to know when the real locket had been replaced by this alternate. Clearly someone in that chain of handlers knew the secret and decided not to part with such a valuable object. But who was it? And why?
The most likely suspect was Fitzgelder. He’d made it very clear he had something in mind for what he believed was in that locket. Obviously he would have had ample reason to keep it close to him. But why chase after Sophie if he knew she had the wrong locket?
Lindley, on the other hand, had indeed chased after Sophie. He, in fact, was the one who took the locket from her, wasn’t he? He would have had plenty of opportunity to open it and find the evidence Fitzgelder swore was inside. Lindley was just intelligent enough to figure out how to profit from that evidence. Hell, he was intelligent enough to discover any other unusual features of the locket, too. He would have realized it was part of something much bigger than simple blackmail.
Unless of course D’Archaud had lied from the start. He claimed he’d given the locket to Rastmoor’s father for safekeeping, hadn’t he? Well, Rastmoor still found that a bit shaky. Surely his father would have told him if he truly held a locket with damning family secrets or keys to untold treasure. Wouldn’t he? Of course he would have. That left D’Archaud’s story sounding very thin. He could have easily kept the right locket in the hopes that once the wrong locket turned up, someone else could be blamed while he went behind everyone’s back and got the treasure for himself.
Damn it, there was just too much to consider, and frankly, there was still entirely too much about this whole thing that just didn’t make sense.
“So,” Rastmoor said with a heavy sigh. “Who has the real locket?”
As one voice, the group chorused, “Not me!”
Chapter Twenty
Julia pretended she could ignore the rapping at her door. After that fiasco in the drawing room, being allowed to come up here to peace and solitude was heavenly. She half expected Lady Dashford to throw them all out, but the viscountess had not. She’d been overly kind and had servants look to the needs of all of Papa’s troupe. When her ladyship invited Julia to return to the room she’d been using during her brief, deceptive stay at Hartwood, she could have wept. Lord, but she needed some time to collect her thoughts.
Papa had gone with his troupe to the kitchens, where there was a luncheon being prepared for them. Julia was glad not to have to face him with all the questions running wild through her mind. She needed some time alone, time to process all she’d just seen and heard.
Surely the others were as confused as she. Presumably Fitzgelder had been placed back under guard in his room, where he could stew about his lost opportunities. Rastmoor had probably gone to confer with Lindley and Dashford while his mother and sister, as far as Julia knew, had not yet been notified of any of this. As far as she was concerned, that particular revelation could wait all year.
As for Lady Dashford, she was busily seeing to everyone as if they were guests she had invited into her home. Probably she had never envisioned her first few days of marriage to be like this. However, she appeared to handle it all with inherent grace. She even seemed quite eager to accept D’Archaud into her family, despite the man’s questionable ethics. Julia could only guess how Lady Dashford must feel to suddenly be handed such a kinsman.
No worse, she supposed, than to suddenly discover her father was a treasure hunter who kept friends with such scabs like D’Archaud. Heavens, but that had certainly caught her unawares. She’d never known her father to be anything but honorable. True, he may not have been born a gentleman, but he had certainly always behaved as one. And he’d expected nothing less from her. Now to find out he was not what he’d seemed, Julia just wasn’t certain of anything.
Well, she was certain whoever was knocking at her door was determined not to leave her in peace. Halfheartedly smoothing her hair and fluffing her skirts, she left the bed where she’d fallen lifeless just a few minutes ago. With a smile that was merely superficial, she opened the door.
It was Lady Dashford.
“I just wanted to make sure you have everything you need, Miss St. Clement,” she said and gave every indication of being sincere.
“Yes, thank you. The luncheon plate your servants brought up was quite filling.”
The viscountess smiled, but it was a nervous smile. “Good. I want you to be comfortable here. Truly, I do.”
Since she didn’t give any indication that this was the end of the conversation, Julia felt the polite thing to do would be to invite her in. Her ladyship graciously accepted. Drat. What on earth could she need to discuss? Julia was almost afraid to find out.
Lady Dashford glanced around the room then made herself comfortable in one of the chairs at the window. Julia joined her there, but could not really say she was comfortable. Certainly she owed their hostess quite a bit of explanation.
But before she could start, Lady Dashford spoke. “I, er, I know my husband may have said some unkind things. Some horrible things, really. But please do not hold that against him. He’s a good man, and he cares deeply for his friend. It was just such a shock, that’s all. In time he will soften.”
Now Julia really did not feel comfortable. How on earth did one begin to make amends after such fraud? She should be begging her ladyship’s forgiveness, not the other way around.
“Please, my lady, he had every right to be upset. I came to your home under false pretenses. I knew very well I would not be welcome if my identity were known. You’ve been more than kind, but I’m sure my father is eager for us to be on our way and out from underfoot as soon as possible.”
“I’m afraid Dashford has requested that your father remain here until we have some resolution on this. Really, it is a fascinating situation, isn’t it? Imagine, we find you alive, my cousin’s father also is alive, and now we learn that the Loveland treasure is not merely a myth or a joke, but it is real, as well! How remarkable.”
“Yes, I suppose it must be,” Julia replied. “But aren’t you worried there might be some danger in this for you? After all, someone has gone to great trouble to keep that other locket, and poor Sophie is still missing.”
Lady Dashford’s face clouded. “Yes, poor Sophie. But Lindley assures us the minute she went missing, he sent a man to find her. Since she obviously didn’t come here, then she must have gone the other way, and he seems quite sure his man will find her before anything dreadful happens. I believe Lindley is quite honestly concerned for her.”
“I believe Lindley is quite honestly concerned only with himself,” Julia muttered.
Lady Dashford, obviously, had known only comfort and compassion in her life and, therefore, must see only that in others. Such a pity to pop the lady’s bubble now, but the notion of treasure did that. It brought out the worst in people, and apparently even Papa was not immune.
“We will find Sophie,” Lady Dashford assured her. “I take it you are her friend?”
Julia shook her head. “I barely know her. We met very recently when my father’s troupe was hired to perform at what turned out to be Mr. Fitzgelder’s home in London.”
Of course Julia had no intention of explaining the whole sordid story to her very proper hostess, but Lady Dashford seemed so interested. In the end, Julia gave her most of the tale, at least as far as it pertained to Sophie, all the way up to the point when Sophie was kidnapped at the posting house. By her father, apparently, which truly had been unexpected.
“So, do you believe it was her father who tried to shoot one of you at the posting house?” Lady Dashford asked.
“From what I’ve seen of him so far, that would seem to be the case. He appears to be a very violent man.” Too late, she remembered D’Archaud’s connection to Lady Dashford. “Oh. Sorry, my lady.”
But her hostess merely chuckled. “Believe me, even if he is a vandal and a cutthroat, I’d still choose him over my other living relatives any day. I’m just glad you and Sophie were able to get away from London without that dreadful Mr. Fitzgelder finding you. Posing as a man was brilliant, really. You were most convincing.”
“Really?” Julia couldn’t help but ask. “There were times I wasn’t entirely sure you didn’t suspect.”
“Well, I must say I was a bit confused when I noticed his boots on the floor in your chamber,” her ladyship answered with a blushing grin. “After all, it was difficult to reconcile my image of Lord Rastmoor with, well, that.”
By God, Julia felt her own cheeks reddening, also. “Yes, that episode was somewhat, er, discomfiting.”
“But now it all makes sense. It’s rather humorous in fact, don’t you think?”
Well, Julia didn’t know if she’d go so far as to call it that, but she was happy enough that her hostess did. It helped ease the mortification she would otherwise be feeling. Heavens, what must this lady think of her? Perhaps she ought to explain that entertaining gentlemen while a guest in someone’s home was not something she often engaged in.
“Really, I’m very sorry that—” Julia began, only to be interrupted by more knocking at her door.
Lady Dashford’s shrug confirmed that she had not expected anyone. Julia left her seat—which was just starting to feel comfortable—to see who was there. She cracked the door open only to have it shoved wide as some massive form swept through and gathered her into his arms.
Rastmoor. He held her tight and breathed into her hair. “Sorry I left you so long. I hope—”
Lady Dashford demurely cleared her throat. Rastmoor quickly pried himself off Julia and took a step backward. He wore the expression of a guilty child. Julia couldn’t help but smile.
“You know,” Lady Dashford said, “I just recalled that I promised to meet with the housekeeper this afternoon. If you don’t mind, I’ll just go take care of that now.”
Rastmoor sputtered something about not wanting to interrupt or make the lady leave on his account, but she brushed him off with a coy smile and the wave of her hand.
“Miss St. Clement and I can continue our pleasant conversation at another time,” she said, passing them on her way to the door.
Julia thanked her for coming and gladly accepted the polite little hug the viscountess offered, though for the life of her she couldn’t guess what it was for. Perhaps her ladyship was just an affectionate sort. It was truly a shame she wouldn’t be at Hartwood long enough to actually establish a friendship with this kindhearted woman. Rastmoor gallantly held the door for her, but she paused to smile at him just as she headed into the hallway.
“You might try not to leave your boots sitting out in plain view this time,” she advised. “Just in case someone should drop by.”
With a knowing wink, she left them and let Rastmoor close the door behind her. Julia was only slightly surprised when he locked it.
“So what were you two ladies discussing?” he asked.
Julia sighed as if the subject matter bored her. “Oh, she wanted to know if you are as much the raging tiger in the bedroom as you’ve always bragged about being.”
He choked. “What? She didn’t really say that. Did she?”
Julia laughed and slid back into his arms where she’d been a moment ago. “No, I’m funning you. Lady Dashford is very proper and gracious, of course. She was merely making certain I was comfortable here and all my needs were being met.”
“Are they?” Rastmoor asked, pulling her closer to him.
“Well, for the most part. The food is excellent, and the accommodations are quite inviting.”
“And what of your other, er, needs?”
“Up until last night they were fine,” she said, hoping his manly pride wouldn’t be offended at the mention of it.
“Oh? And is that why you left?”
She could feel his arms go loose around her. Indeed, he was offended. She supposed at the very least he deserved an explanation.
“I left because I was worried for my father,” she said. “Giuseppe is a name he’s used before when we needed to avoid Fitzgelder. When I heard Dashford announcing he was here, at Loveland, I was afraid Fitzgelder’s men might find him there. I tried to send that note to warn him, but, as you know, that didn’t work out so well.”
“No, not so well at all.”
“So I had to go to him. Besides, I was afraid if I stayed here, I’d end up married to your sister!”
He smiled, but clearly he was not ready to laugh at the matter. “Yes, that was a bit awkward. Still, you should never have run off without telling me.”
“Would you have let me go if I had told you?”
“Hell no!”
“That’s why I didn’t tell you. Really, I thought it was for the best. You said it yourself: We distract each other. You need to focus on your family, on putting a stop to Fitzgelder’s schemes. That much hasn’t changed—we still don’t know where that locket is or how dangerous it is. And your
sister . . . she’s so young and impulsive! She needs you, Anthony.”
“And I need you, Julia.”
She did love the way his fingers pressed into the small of her back as he said that, dragging her closer and wrapping her tight. It was easy to believe he really did need her, that his life was as meaningless without her as hers would be without him. But she knew, of course, it wasn’t true. Fitzgelder may have lied about many things three years ago, but he’d been right on one point: viscounts did not marry actresses.
Rastmoor might very well want Julia, but he did not need her. Not the way she needed him, and that was never to be. The longer she tormented herself by pretending she could enjoy Rastmoor today then somehow face the future without him, the more miserable that future would be.
“No, there isn’t time,” she said as his head dipped to bring his lips close to hers.
“Shh,” he said, brushing her lips with a featherlight kiss then going on to kiss her chin and her neck. “We have all the time in the world.”
“No,” she repeated. “There are too many other things . . .” But Lord, it was difficult to form words when he was doing this to her.
“Later,” he said. “We will deal with all those other things later.”
“But by then it will all be so much more complicated, more difficult,” she said, or rather, she tried to say. It was hard to talk with Rastmoor’s tongue introducing itself this way.
But really, she knew it didn’t matter. Rastmoor wasn’t paying attention to what she was trying to say, and neither was she. They were only interested in what they were trying to do, which was eagerly remove each other’s clothing. Once again, they were both far too distracted to worry about such silly things as tomorrow or forever.
“HOW MUCH LONGER BEFORE YOU’RE MISSED?” JULIA asked.
“Years, I’m sure,” he said and snuggled her more tightly against him.
“But won’t Dashford be looking for you? He must be eager to get that other locket or find some other way into that box.”
Damsel in Disguise Page 31
