Mary looked up at him with an entreaty in her eyes. How she wanted him to understand!
Eventually, his face softened, and he nodded. ‘You looked on that place as your sanctuary, did you not?And Madame Pichot as your saviour.You never really cared about the wages, did you?’
She shook her head, absurdly pleased that he had understood.
‘My poor darling,’ he said, when she had finished. ‘You have endured so much.’He took a deep breath, and said resolutely, ‘Though you may not like to hear me say so, I think it was a great pity that the housekeeper did not hand you over to the magistrate.’
When Mary reared back, anguished incomprehension on her face, he grasped hold of her hands tightly, saying, ‘We would have had you home. You need never have gone to London and spent all these years wondering who you are!’
‘I know who I am!’ she insisted. ‘I am Mary. A dressmaker!’
Lord Matthison’s face set in obdurate lines. ‘I can see that we will need to establish how you got from Kingsmede to Oakham Hall before you will believe it. The lady you mentioned, the one who spoke to the housekeeper for you, she must hold the key. What can you tell me about her?’
Mary snatched her hands back, and wrapped her arms round her waist.
‘I can tell you nothing!’
‘Then let me tell you a few things,’ he replied sternly. ‘It is less than thirty miles between Kingsmede and Oakham Hall. You were staying at Kingsmede with me. We were going to be married in the chapel on the estate. We were all busy with the arrangements. We were so happy.’
His eyes took on a faraway look that made Mary feel as though she had just disappeared.
‘One afternoon,’he went on, oblivious to her growing disquiet, ‘you went out riding alone. Your horse came back to the stables riderless, with mud and leaves all over the saddle.At first we thought you must have taken a tumble in the woods. There had been a terrific thunderstorm. A bolt of lightning, or a loud thunderclap, could have spooked your horse. We were all in a panic. We did not even know in which direction you had ridden out. We searched until it got dark, and then went back for lanterns, and kept on looking. And when there was no trace of you anywhere…’ His face suddenly closed up.
He got to his feet, and began to pace the room. ‘Perhaps you were stunned in a fall, woke up wet, and confused, and made for shelter, somewhere. Probably with the lady who eventually took you to Oakham Hall. Though I must say—’ he frowned ‘—it seems mighty peculiar of her not to have contacted us. After that first night, we organised search parties. There was not a house for miles around we did not visit. Everyone knew a young lady had vanished from my estate. Especially,’ he added bitterly, ‘once I was accused of your murder. After that, I admit, the area of inquiry narrowed considerably.’ His face took on what she thought of as his devilish look. ‘My coveys, ponds, haystacks, even the ice-house—they looked everywhere I might conceivably have concealed your body.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, feeling unaccountably guilty.
He shrugged one shoulder, turning to her with a grim smile. ‘You have no need to be. It was clearly not your fault. But dammit,’ he snarled, striding across the room to glare down at her, ‘every time I get an answer to one piece of the puzzle, that answer only throws up another set of questions in its place. Who was that woman? Why were you under her care? And why did she take you to Oakham Hall, for God’s sake, a place where nobody with an ounce of compassion would send a defenceless girl to work? Try to think, Cora.’ He sat down and took her by the shoulders. ‘Can you remember anything about the time you spent with that woman? Anything that might help us fill in the missing pieces?’ He spread his arms wide in a gesture of desperation. ‘Anything at all!’
Mary screwed her eyes tight shut, wrapping her arms even tighter round herself. It was useless to keep on protesting that she was not his Cora. The things he had just told her about what had happened back then, the staggering coincidences that had placed her so close to the scene of his tragedy, had helped her to see why he was more convinced than ever that she was that girl.
But she knew she could never have ridden a horse, like he said.
‘I wish I could help you sir, I really do,’ she forced herself to say. ‘But whenever I try to reach back to those days, what comes to me, more strongly than the little snatches of things that happened, are feelings.’They were rising up now. ‘Pain,’ she moaned, rocking herself. ‘And loss, and…’ A great wave of utter desolation came crashing over her. ‘I can’t, oh, I can’t go there,’ she moaned.
‘Hell,’ he swore, immediately contrite. ‘I should not have pushed you this far.’ He swept her into his arms, and rocked her as though she were a frightened child. ‘Let it go, darling. Let it all go, and I will find the answers myself.’He smoothed her damp hair back from her tearstained face, saying, ‘I can soon find Sandiford, and wring some answers out of him.’
‘No! You must not! Please do not tell him where I am!’She clutched at the lapels of his coat. ‘He will have me thrown in jail, or worse…’
His face hardened. ‘Credit me with a little more sense than that! I have ways of getting information out of the man that will not involve revealing anything about your whereabouts.’
He got to his feet.
‘You are going now?’ Mary was aghast. ‘Right this minute? But you said you would not leave me. You promised!’
A flicker of impatience crossed his face. ‘You will not be alone. Ephraims will be here, to see to your every need. You have only to ring for him.’ He indicated the bell-pull by the fireplace.
Mary felt herself shrivel inside. He said she meant a great deal to him, but the truth was that he was more interested in solving the riddle of his fiancée’s disappearance than looking after her.
‘And do not even think about coming with me,’ he added sternly. ‘You know the kind of man Sandiford is. I may need to trawl through quite a few places that cater to men of his tastes in order to find him.’
She promptly forgot her own grievances at the thought he might be going into danger. ‘You will be careful, won’t you?’ she said, rising to her feet and twisting the crumpled handkerchief between her fingers.
He reached out and stroked her cheek with one forefinger. ‘I would descend to the lower reaches of hell to set you free,’ he grated. And then, as abruptly as it had come, the look of tenderness in his eyes gave way to one of determination. ‘You need not worry about my safety. The people who inhabit the kind of dens Sandiford frequents know all about me, and my so-called pact with the devil.’His face twisted in self-mockery. ‘They would not dare cross me. But in the event somebody should be reckless enough to try anything, I am amply prepared. I fence regularly at an exclusive academy, and box at Gentleman Jackson’s. In my trade—’ he smiled cynically ‘—it pays to be able to take care of myself.’
‘Please,’ she said, plucking up every ounce of courage she possessed, ‘do not go after Sandiford.’
His face shuttered. ‘You must be tired after the rigours of the last few days. You must wish to retire to your room. Take a book.’ He waved his hand towards an alcove whose shelves were crammed with an assortment of books and periodicals.
In spite of herself, she could not resist darting one covetous look at his impressive collection of reading materials. It felt like an age since she’d had the leisure to just sit and read.
He was perceptive enough to notice the longing that gripped her.
‘You always did love to read,’ he said.
‘Cora loved reading, you mean,’she protested, tearing her eyes away from the treasure trove on his shelves.
‘You know,’ he said a touch irritably, ‘if you really are just a humble dressmaker, from a lowly background, do you not wonder how come you can sense that you love reading novels? I doubt many working girls have the leisure to indulge in such a pursuit.’
Her shoulders hunched defensively. She had never had the leisure to read a book while she had been employed b
y Madame Pichot. So she did not know how she knew she loved reading. Just the same as she did not know from where her strict moral code came, the code which had put such a distance between her and the other girls she worked with.
‘Perhaps my parents were well educated,’ she said defiantly. ‘Genteel but poor…’
‘That is nearer the truth than you want to admit,’ he said sardonically. Then, with obvious impatience, ‘Why are you fighting me every step of the way? Can you not just be grateful to have the chance to indulge in an evening of leisure? Whoever you think you are?’
Then he turned and stalked from the room, leaving her stunned by his uncharacteristic outburst.
She went cold inside.
He was growing tired of her determination to maintain the identity she had fought so hard to establish. Was this only a foretaste of what she might expect if she did not begin to play along with his fantasy?
Could she really abandon her principles, though, and play-act at being Cora, if that was the only way to avoid his displeasure?
She did not know how long she sat there, wrestling with the moral dilemma she faced. But eventually, she realised she was only working herself into a state of near panic by imagining increasingly unpleasant scenarios she might have to face. She would have to distract herself, or go mad.
Until now, she had relied on work to set her mind on a more productive path. But she was not going to find any materials for sewing in this bachelor residence! So she got to her feet, went to the bookshelves, and grabbed the first book that came to hand.
As soon as she flipped it open, the scent of good quality, printed paper reached out to her. After taking a couple of deep breaths, with her eyes half-closed, her nose a scant inch from the page, she ran her fingers over the slightly raised lettering on the title page. Feeling calmer already, she took the tale of Rackrent Castle to a chair by the fire, hoping that Maria Edgeworth would be able to take her mind off its own troubles, and send it to a happier place.
But the story was not powerful enough to completely absorb her. She found herself reading the same lines over and over again, or getting to the end of a page and having no idea how the story had progressed.
She could not help wondering where Lord Matthison was. Whether he had found Lord Sandiford, and if he had, what they were saying about her. And every time she heard footsteps on the stairwell, she tensed, wondering if it was him, returning.
But the only person to intrude on her lonely vigil was Ephraims, come to bank up the fire, he said, and to tidy up for the night. After snuffing most of the candles, and straightening everything in the room that was an inch out of place, he cleared his throat, and asked, ‘Will you be wanting anything else tonight, miss? Only his lordship did intimate that you would be wishful of retiring early.’He glanced at the clock on the mantel. It showed close on midnight. ‘Perhaps some hot chocolate?’
Feeling rather like a child being sent to bed, Mary trailed to the door which Ephraims leapt to open for her. She could as well read her book in her room as here.
She checked on the threshold. She had thought it lovely before, but since the last time she had been there, somebody had wrought a transformation in it. A vase of cream and gold roses now stood on the dressing table, which had been polished to a high gloss. She could smell the beeswax mingling with the sweet scent of the roses. Various other little touches told her that Ephraims had gone to some trouble to provide her with a feminine sanctuary in the midst of this distinctly masculine apartment. She would have to make sure she thanked him properly, in the morning.
Her trunk now stood at the foot of the bed, which had been made up with fresh linen. And a nightdress lay on top of a luxurious satin quilt.
She was glad to see the trunk, but less pleased to think Ephraims had been going through her things. She flung open the lid, bracing herself at the thought he might have unpacked for her. But all her things lay undisturbed, just as Molly had packed them.
She took a second look at the nightdress. It was not hers. She had never owned anything made of such fine silk. And a wrapper that matched it hung across the arm of the bedside chair. Lord Matthison must have bought them for her, just in case she did not have a spare in her trunk!
Nobody had ever bought her such a beautiful gift before. She sat back on her heels, her brow furrowing. To her knowledge, nobody had ever bought her any kind of gift before. She reached out, and ran her fingers reverently over the beautiful garment.
Then, trembling with anticipation, she undid her gown and pulled it off, went to the washstand and poured warm water from the pitcher into the basin. The quality of that nightgown demanded she wash before trying it on!
The soap, she discovered on working it into a lather, was not the same as the one she had used before. It was more finely milled, and smelled of roses.
Her favourite.
She froze, water dripping from her eyelashes and nose. It was uncanny, the way Lord Matthison seemed to know what she liked, without her having to tell him.
She reached for a towel and blotted her face dry, her pleasure in the room completely destroyed.
He was a clever man, Lord Matthison. He was employing every strategy he could come up with to convince her she might be his missing fiancée. And she was almost foolish enough to fall for them. Almost.
But she was not the only woman who loved the scent of roses. Nor the only one who craved the feel of silk against her skin. It did not mean Lord Matthison knew anything about her in particular!
She scowled down at the nightgown for several seconds before angrily sweeping it off the quilt, and thrusting it into one of the dressing-table drawers. In her trunk she had a perfectly adequate, clean nightgown of her own. She had made it herself from several roll ends of fine lawn. She had no need of his extravagant gifts.
She tugged it over her head, tied the ribbons into tight bows, right up to her neck, and clambered into bed, her breathing laboured.
Mary opened the book, at the page she thought she had been at before Ephraims had put an end to her vigil. The candle burned low, and began to gutter, but still she sat bolt upright in bed, clutching the book she could barely make out through the gloom, while her mind darted this way and that, like a wild bird trapped in a cage.
It was growing light when she heard the hall door slam shut. The book landed on the floor as she scrambled out of bed. It did not matter that she was still angry with him for trying to coerce her into going along with his fantasy; she had to know if he had found Lord Sandiford. And what the man had said. If he had been able to name the woman who had brought her to Oakham Hall, and whether she had any connection to Kings…wood? Kings Combe? She shook her head impatiently. It did not matter what the name of the place was where Cora had last been seen. It was her future that hung in the balance.
She went straight across the corridor, and knocked on the door that led into his bedroom. It never occurred to her that it was most improper to be running about barefoot, clad only in a flimsy nightgown, in the early hours of the morning. She was too worked up to think of anything but what Lord Matthison had discovered.
He was sitting on the bedside chair in a room that was the mirror image of hers, though somehow indefinably masculine. Ephraims was kneeling at his feet, removing his boots. Both men stared at her in equal surprise.
‘What is it?’ Lord Matthison snapped.
She faltered on hearing the less-than-welcoming tone of his voice.
Ephraims set the boots aside, while Lord Matthison got to his feet. The servant calmly helped his master off with his jacket.
Mary swallowed, her fingers clenching on the doorknob. Her eyes skittered away from the sight of Lord Matthison removing his clothes, only to come to rest on his shaving equipment, set out on the washstand.
‘That will be all for tonight,’ he said brusquely, drawing her mortified gaze back to where he stood, in his stockinged feet, by the dressing table. Only to realise, with relief, that it was Ephraims he had dismissed, not her.
>
She sidled into the room as Ephraims left it, her back pressed against the wall.
‘Why are you here?’ Lord Matthison said wearily as he unwound his neck cloth and dropped it to the floor. ‘What do you want of me now?’
Mary fetched up with a bump against the edge of the wardrobe.
‘I—I’m sorry,’ she stammered, her eyes transfixed by the triangle of flesh that had just appeared where he had unfastened his shirt. There was a smattering of dark hair growing there. ‘I…will l-leave you in peace,’she stuttered, edging her way back along the wall towards the door.
‘The hell you will,’ he snarled, crossing the room in two strides and seizing her by the wrist.
‘I have had no peace for the last seven years! And you are not going to provide it by walking away from me after coming in here, practically naked, and making me think—’ he swallowed ‘—making me hope—’ He squeezed his eyes shut, muttered a low curse, then flung her from him abruptly. Turning away, he ran his fingers through his hair, and, keeping his back to her, he growled, ‘Go, then! Just get out and leave me to burn in my own particular version of hell.’
‘I—I d-don’t want to,’she heard herself whisper. It was strange, but the minute she saw how hurt and angry he was, she remembered how very kind he had been to her whenever she had been similarly upset. He had not abandoned her to her fears. He had held her. Comforted her.
She closed the distance between them, and timidly laid one hand on his shoulder. He was standing with his back to her, his hands gripping the edge of the dressing table, his head bowed. He tensed when he felt her touch, but she sensed it was not with revulsion.
Devilish Lord, Mysterious Miss Page 13
