by Amanda Quick
“That good, was it?”
“It was perfection, my lord.”
“Until your husband died.” he pointed out.
“Perfection can never last. But one goes on with life knowing that one has been privileged to love, as few people ever are.” She paused briefly in the process of adjusting the bandage. “I feel certain that you understand. I have heard that your own marriage was also quite extraordinary.”
“She was a paragon of grace and beauty,” he said very steadily. “She was faithful, gentle, and a loving mother to my sons. No man could ask for more from any woman. She had the face and temperament of an angel.”
For some reason, Beatrice’s heart plummeted at that news. She managed a polite smile. “You were fortunate, sir.”
He hoisted the brandy glass in a small salute. “Just as you were, Mrs. Poole. As you said, so few ever know true love, even for a short while. I, too, have no wish to dim the bright flames of memory by contracting a second marriage that could never equal the first.”
“Indeed.” Beatrice did not like the brooding quality that had crept into his tone. She struggled to find something bracing to say. “Perhaps it is for the best. As we have both learned from our own tragedies, a great love may command a great price.”
“You know, Mrs. Poole, you sound exactly like a character in one of those horrid novels we discussed yesterday.”
“Then we are even, sir.” She picked up the scissors and clipped the end of the bandage. “You bear a striking resemblance to a character in one of those novels yourself, what with all this dashing about at midnight and getting shot.”
“Bloody hell. Maybe Finch is right. Perhaps I am getting too old for this kind of thing.”
Beatrice smiled very sweetly. “As he said, after a certain age a gentleman really must cut back on excessive excitement.”
He winced. “Touché, as your maid would say.”
Unfortunately Sally would not say it with such an excellent accent, Beatrice thought. She examined her work in the firelight. A small thrill of awareness coursed through her. She told herself to stay calm. True, it had been a long time since she had last seen a man who was not wearing a shirt. Nevertheless, she was a mature woman. She ought to be able to take these things in stride.
A fleeting image of Justin’s slim physique popped into her head. Odd, she had not realized until then that her husband had been a trifle too thin about the chest and shoulders.
Of course, Justin had been much younger. There had still been a great deal of the slenderness of youth in his frame. Leo, on the other hand, was a man in his prime. Tough, sleekly muscled with very solid shoulders and a firmly contoured chest.
It was not just the sight of so much bare, masculine skin that disturbed her, she realized. Leo’s dark hair was windblown from his ride. He carried the scent of the night on him. She had not partaken of the brandy, but she felt a little giddy nonetheless.
“How did your husband die?” Leo asked abruptly.
The question jolted her out of her reverie. She collected her senses. “He was shot dead by a highwayman.”
He looked genuinely startled. “Good Lord. I’m sorry.”
“It happened a long time ago.” She had repeated the story so often during the past five years that she no longer stumbled over the words. She sought to change the subject. “Do you know, sir, I believe this incident tonight detracts somewhat from the Monkcrest legend.”
“What the devil do you mean by that?”
“A genuine sorcerer would surely have examined his oracle glass before riding out tonight. He would no doubt have canceled the affair once he viewed the outcome.”
Leo gave her a wry, fleeting grin. “Madam, I assure you the injury to my shoulder has taught me my lesson. There is no need to wound my pride as well.”
“But it is such a large target, my lord. How can I resist?”
“Enough. I surrender.”
“Very well.” Beatrice turned away to wash her hands. “You will be sore for a few days, but in the end I doubt that you will have anything more than a dashing scar to show for this night’s work.”
The amusement in his eyes evaporated. The brooding look returned as he watched her dry her hands on a clean towel. “I suppose I must thank you.”
“Pray, do not trouble yourself to be civil, my lord. I would not want you to do anything out of character.”
Finch appeared in the doorway. He cleared his throat. “Your clean shirt, m’lord.”
Leo glanced at him. “Thank you, Finch.”
Finch crossed the library and carefully draped the garment loosely around Leo’s shoulders. Leo did not bother to put his arms into the sleeves. He left the shirt unfastened.
Finch looked at Beatrice. “Will that be all, madam?”
She smiled at him. “Yes, thank you. You’ve been most helpful.”
“Take yourself off to bed, Finch.” Leo ran his long fingers through his hair, shoving it straight back from his high forehead. “You have, as always, fulfilled your responsibilities most admirably. Get some sleep.”
“Yes, m’lord.” Finch picked up the bloody cloths, the bowl, and the pitcher and made his way out of the library.
Leo waited until the door had closed behind the butler. Then with a lazy movement of his hand he swirled the last of the brandy in the crystal glass. He gazed into the fire and said nothing.
Beatrice sat down across from him and tried very hard not to stare at his bare chest. Unfortunately, the unfastened shirt did little to conceal the wedge of dark, curling hair that arrowed downward into his breeches.
With a fierce effort of will she jerked her gaze to his face. “Tell me what happened tonight, my lord.”
Leo started to raise his injured shoulder in a shrug. He stopped immediately, grimacing. “Curiosity compels me to first ask you what you believe occurred.”
“I see three possibilities.”
He cocked a brow. “Indeed?”
“The first is that you rode out to meet a mistress and encountered the lady’s husband instead.”
The firelight gleamed in the depths of his eyes. “I assure you, Mrs. Poole, I have a long-standing policy against becoming involved with married women. No lady is worth a bullet. What is your second guess?”
“That you entertain yourself with playing the role of highwayman.”
“Imaginative, but hardly flattering.” He poured another glass of brandy. “I am crushed by your low opinion of me. I assure you, it is entirely unwarranted.”
“Then I am left with the last possibility.” She paused. “You went out to hunt the highwayman who stopped my carriage last night.”
He paused, the glass halfway to his mouth. Very deliberately he set the brandy down. “Impressive, Mrs. Poole. Most impressive. Tell me, who trained you in such powers of deduction?”
“My father. He is convinced that the good Lord gave the powers of logic and reason to both men and women with the intention that those gifts be practiced equally by both sexes.”
A smile flickered briefly at the edge of Leo’s mouth. “I believe that I would enjoy meeting your father.”
“You were about to explain your wound, my lord.”
“I suppose you deserve that much.”
“Yes, I most certainly do.”
Leo patted Elf on the head and then rose languidly from the stool. Brandy glass in hand, he walked to the wing chair and sat down.
Elf wandered over to his customary spot in front of the fire and settled himself.
“It is a rather sordid tale, Mrs. Poole.” Leo stretched out his legs toward the blaze. “One in which I do not show to advantage.”
“Nevertheless, I would hear it.”
He leaned his head against the back of the red velvet cushion and closed his eyes. “The long and the short of it is that your third guess is the correct one. I went in search of the highwayman who accosted you last night.”
Although she had been expecting just such an answer, she was neverthel
ess appalled. “Do you mean to say that you went out in the middle of the night to search for a dangerous villain?”
Leo opened his eyes and regarded her with an enigmatic gaze. “As it happens, that is the most suitable time to hunt highwaymen. They are creatures of the night.”
“Good heavens, are you mad?”
He raised his brows in silent mockery and said nothing.
Beatrice blushed and concealed her embarrassment behind a glowering frown. “I collect that you found your quarry.”
“The gentlemen of the road tend to be predictable in their habits.” Leo sighed. “But this one succeeded in surprising me. He had a companion with him. One whom I did not notice until it was very nearly too late.”
“There were two of them?”
“Apparently after his encounter with you last night the villain very wisely concluded that he needed assistance.”
“My lord, this is not the least bit humorous. Two highwaymen indeed. You are lucky to have escaped with your life.”
“I was not alone. I, too, had an associate.”
Elf twitched his ears and made himself more comfortable.
Beatrice glanced at the hound. “I see. What happened to the two villains?”
“What with this shoulder and the lateness of the hour, I was not in a mood to haul them into the village and awaken the local magistrate.” Leo took another sip of brandy. “So I sent them on their way with a warning.”
“Merely a warning?”
He smiled. “I do not think they will return anytime soon. Elf leaves a lasting impression.”
Beatrice shuddered. “Yes, I’m sure he does.” She glared at Leo. “You took a dreadful risk, my lord.”
“It all should have been quite routine. But I admit I was a trifle careless tonight.” He eyed her meaningfully over the rim of his glass. “In my own defense, I can say only that I had a demanding day. One that left me feeling distracted and out of sorts. I was not at my best.”
“Do you do this sort of thing on a regular basis?”
“Hunt highwaymen? Only when the odd one appears in the district. For the most part, they tend to avoid Monkcrest lands. The rumors of werewolves and sorcerers are a bloody nuisance, but they do serve to keep most villains out of the neighborhood.”
Beatrice considered the ramifications of that simple statement. “The one who attempted to rob me last night was not, precisely speaking, on Monkcrest lands.”
Leo made an extremely vague motion with the hand that held the brandy glass. “He got close enough.”
“He was, in fact, operating on the other side of the river.” she said very carefully.
Leo studied her through half-lowered lids. “Indeed?”
Beatrice shot to her feet. “In order to pursue him tonight, you would have had to cross the bridge. The one that was supposedly underwater.”
“You will be happy to learn that the flood waters have subsided more quickly than anticipated.”
“Is that so?” Beatrice gripped the lapels of her wrapper very tightly. “I wonder why that does not come as a great surprise.”
“Mrs. Poole, I do not know what you are implying, but I assure you—”
“I am not implying anything, my lord. I am accusing you of failing to tell me the truth about the condition of that bridge.”
“Calm yourself. Even if the bridge was not underwater the entire day, the roads would have been too muddy for swift carriage travel. If you had left this morning, it would have taken you three days to get back to London rather than two. That would have meant another two nights at bad inns instead of one.”
“Do not try to cozen me, Monkcrest.” She stalked back and forth in front of the fire. “I was tricked. I knew there was something suspicious afoot. I should have investigated the condition of the bridge firsthand.”
“I just explained that you lost no time by delaying your departure for a day,” he said soothingly.
“That is not the point, sir. You deceived me.”
Irritation glinted in his eyes. It was clear to Beatrice that the Mad Monk was not accustomed to having his decisions disputed.
“I did what I thought was best,” he said very evenly.
“Hah. I do not believe that for a moment. You delayed me because you hoped to use the time to persuade me to abandon my plans.”
“For all the bloody good it did me,” Leo muttered. “Complete waste of breath.”
She stopped at the far end of the mantel. “Yes, it was. I have every intention of beginning my investigations into my uncle’s death the instant I reach London.”
“You have convinced me of your intentions, Mrs. Poole. It is obvious that you will not be swayed by logic or common sense, in spite of your father’s training in those skills.”
She shot him a disgusted look.
Leo tossed back the last of the brandy and set the glass down very hard on the end table. “And that, in sum, is the reason I went out hunting your highwayman tonight and, hence, the reason I am in this condition.”
“I beg your pardon?” She rounded on him. “Are you attempting to lay the blame for your injury at my feet?”
Leo looked morosely reflective. “Yes, I think we can safely say that it was entirely your fault that I sustained this wound to my shoulder.”
“Of all the unmitigated nerve. How dare you!”
“It seems quite clear to me. Had you listened to my excellent, practical advice and agreed to refrain from risking your neck in the pursuit of those damned Rings, I would not have been obliged to go out at midnight this evening.”
“I fail to see any connection, my lord.”
“The connection is glaringly obvious. I was forced to take care of the highwayman problem tonight because it could not be postponed.”
She gave him a withering glare. “Why could it not be put off until another night?”
“Because, as I told you, I intend to accompany you back to London in the morning,” he said patiently.
“If you think for one moment that I will allow you to interfere in this affair after the way you deceived me today, you are very wrong, sir.”
Leo came up out of the chair without any warning. One moment he was sprawled negligently in front of the fire, the next he was looming over Beatrice.
“My lord.” She took a quick step back. Her heel bumped against something solid. Elf’s low growl of protest halted her retreat. “Your shoulder—”
“Is feeling remarkably better by the moment.”
“See here, Monkcrest, I will not be intimidated.”
“You do not comprehend me, madam.” He put his right hand on the mantel, beside her head. “I am not trying to frighten you.”
“Just as well.” She swallowed. “Because I assure you, I have no intention of allowing you to do so. I do not believe any of the rumors I have heard about you. You are not a madman. You are a gentleman and I expect you to behave as such.”
“In my family it is often difficult to distinguish between the two.”
“Rubbish.”
His cold smile drained all warmth from his eyes. “We shall leave that subject for another occasion. I was about to suggest a partnership, Mrs. Poole.”
She stared at him blankly, vaguely aware of Elf retreating to a far corner of the room.
“A partnership?” she repeated numbly.
He leaned closer. “You and I share a mutual goal. We both wish to track down the Forbidden Rings. Who knows? If the Rings have reappeared, perhaps the alchemist’s Aphrodite has also. Each of us very likely has information that can aid the other.”
“What of it?”
“I can see that there is no way to talk you out of your plans. I assure you that there is no way you can dissuade me from mine. We appear to be stuck with each other, Mrs. Poole. Therefore, we may as well work together.”
“Those Rings belong to my relatives. If they are found, I will not allow you to claim them for your own.”
“You said that if you discovered the Rings, you
would sell them to a collector in order to recover the money that your uncle spent on them.”
“Yes.” She eyed him warily. “That is precisely what will be done.”
“Then we need not be at odds on this, madam,” Leo said much too softly. “If the Rings turn up in the course of our investigation, you shall sell them to me.”
Her throat went dry. “Sell them to you?”
“I promise you that I can afford whatever price you choose to put on them.”
“I… I do not doubt that for a moment, my lord.” She realized she was floundering. It was an unfamiliar sensation. “But I must admit, I am surprised by your suggestion. I had not thought of selling the Rings to you.”
“Consider the possibilities, Mrs. Poole.” His voice lowered to a dark, persuasive drawl. It was the voice of a lover seeking to seduce and enthrall. A sorcerer’s voice. “A partner to assist you in your inquiries and a guaranteed customer for the Rings, if they are found. A very tidy package, is it not?”
Beatrice shivered. “A partnership.” The word tasted exotic and strangely enticing on her tongue. She cleared her throat. “I shall certainly give your notion some thought.”
“You had best do your thinking very quickly. We leave together for London in the morning.”
“Do not presume too much, Monkcrest. I said only that I would consider the plan.”
“You do that, Mrs. Poole. And do it swiftly.”
He was so close that she could have touched his bare chest with her fingertips. The heat of his body engulfed her. She was suddenly breathless, as though the full weight of him pressed down on her, crushing her.
A partnership.
It was a crazed notion, to say the least. But she could not deny the thrill of recklessness that sizzled through her.
A partnership with the Mad Monk of Monkcrest Abbey.
Whatever the outcome, it would be an adventure worthy of one of the heroines of her novels.
If nothing else, she could always use the material as a source of inspiration for her next book.
That last thought steadied her as nothing else could have at that moment.
