Tamar passed Helen what was left of the cake.
“Thank you,” she beamed, halving the cake with his knife. “Um…who are you?”
“Tamar. Who are you?”
“Helen.”
“And this is Miss Grey,” Serena pronounced, “who is now sworn to secrecy.”
Miss Grey, a large shawl over her nightgown, stood at the kitchen door, apparently stunned. “What are you all doing here at this hour?” she demanded.
“Cake,” Helen said happily. “We saved you a piece.”
Miss Grey straightened her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I cannot imagine that the countess, your mother, would countenance a nighttime feast in the kitchen with a strange man, even for Cook’s chocolate cake.”
“You’re right,” Serena agreed. “She wouldn’t. But this is an emergency. I assure you it wasn’t preplanned, or we would, of course, have included you.”
Miss Grey emitted a sound that might have been choked back laughter. Serena smiled at her encouragingly.
“We heard a noise and came downstairs,” Maria explained, “and then we followed the noise to the kitchen where we found Serena and Lord Tamar eating the cake.”
“Naturally, you had to have your share,” Miss Grey said dryly. “Well, your clattering in the passage woke Helen who thought there were intruders in the house and came to tell you, Maria, only you weren’t in bed, so she woke me in panic.”
“Please sit down, Miss Grey,” Serena begged. “You might help us with our problem.” She turned to Tamar. “Miss Grey is extremely clever.”
“But not subject to flattery,” the governess retorted. “And if I sit with you, it makes me complicit and more likely to keep this from your mother. Which I can’t, Lady Serena.”
“Not if she asks,” Serena agreed. “That wouldn’t be right. But Lord Tamar is here in all innocence to help us with a problem.”
“What problem?” Miss Grey challenged at once. Clearly, she didn’t believe a word of it.
“Gunpowder,” Alice said, pulling out a chair for her. “In our cellar.”
Miss Grey moved and sank into the chair, blinking at the small piece of cake that Helen shoved in front of her. “You had better tell me,” she said with resignation.
Chapter Seven
As with most situations in is life, Tamar simply enjoyed the moment. He knew he shouldn’t have touched Serena, and yet he couldn’t be sorry that he had. That she’d kissed him back, that she’d seemed to want him as some kind of formal suitor both stunned him and warmed him to the bottom of his heart. It could never be, of course, and she’d see that in time, but for now, it was unspeakably sweet, something to hug to himself in the cold light of reality.
Which, at the moment, was the bizarre discovery of gunpowder, and eating chocolate cake with some very young ladies and their governess.
To his surprise, the governess supported Serena in her veto of his idea that he should watch the cellar door from his old hiding place for the rest of the night.
“There must be somewhere from inside that gives one the same view,” she said.
Tamar raised his brows. “I thought you’d be the first to push me out the door and lock it.”
She met his gaze with very un-governess-like boldness. “Lady Serena appears to trust you, and I trust her judgment of character.”
“Do you?” Serena said, apparently both surprised and touched. After all, to the world, she was the girl who’d ruined her engagement by dancing three times with Dax, a notorious rake of the first order. Not everyone would have recognized that Dax wouldn’t hurt her, but Serena probably had. And perhaps, unconsciously, she’d wanted to end her dull but worthy engagement.
I would make her happy.
The wistful thought hit him from nowhere, causing his lips to twist in sheer self-mockery. No, I wouldn’t. I’d make her miserable, and poor, and the sparkle of her brilliant eyes would dull… He couldn’t bear that. At even the thought of it, pain clawed at his gut.
This was stupid. He’d known her for what, three days? Four? Ruthlessly, he squashed the pointless meanderings of his mind and refocused on the discussion in hand.
“My bedchamber looks onto the old courtyard,” Serena said. “That was how I saw them in the first place.”
“Well, Lord Tamar can hardly watch from there,” Miss Grey pointed out.
Serena blushed adorably. “Of course not. But he could see from the rooms beneath just as easily. There’s the still room and a spare bedchamber.”
“It sounds more comfortable than the oak tree,” Tamar admitted, glad of the table to hide his body’s wayward reaction to the thought of Serena’s bedchamber.
“We’ll show you where it is,” Lady Helen offered, springing to her feet.
“And then it’s back to bed,” Serena said, “for all of us! Except poor Lord Tamar, of course.”
They all escorted him out of the kitchen and upstairs, then along winding passages to another, narrower staircase in an older part of the house.
“Serena prefers it here,” Alice offered.
“Why is that?” Tamar asked.
“I think Frances and I were just desperate to grow up and get away from the nursery,” Serena said, almost ruefully. She cast the governess a quick smile. “We never had a Miss Grey.”
“No, you had a Miss George,” Maria recalled with a shudder. “Terrifying woman. She retired from the position, thank God.”
“I don’t blame her,” Miss Grey said tartly. “And I can see why you’ve run through so many governesses since then—you have no respect.”
“We have for you,” Helen said, hugging her arm.
Miss Grey snorted, and Serena cast a quick conspiratorial smile at Tamar that almost undid him. He wanted this girl as his friend. Mind you, there was something appealing about all of them, something about this bizarre expedition that reminded him of his own family just after the old marquis had died. A sense of freedom and fun…before it had all gone wrong and they’d all grown up for the worse.
He veered away from the memory as Maria threw open a door on the left of the wood-paneled passage. The bedchamber inside smelled a little musty from lack of use, but when he walked over to the window, it was clean enough to see clearly down onto the courtyard below. He might not have been able to see the cellar door, but he could see anyone entering the yard.
Serena said, “You don’t have to do this, you know. I could watch.”
“No, you must have been up half of last night,” he protested.
“So must you.”
He had, and it had not been a night well spent. Fortunately, the ill-effects were little more than a distant memory. A lot seemed to have happened since he’d woken up on his lumpy couch.
“I’m used to it,” he said.
Despite the younger girls’ offer to keep him company, Serena and Miss Grey herded them out and closed the door. He could hear their voices in lively discussion, fading as they walked away. The sound of Serena’s infectious laugh was unmistakable.
His stomach twisted, but he refused to acknowledge regret or waste time on imagining what might have been. Instead, he folded himself onto the window seat and settled in to watch and listen.
As dawn broke, he doubted any strangers would risk venturing near the castle now. And it was time he left before he was seen by the servants.
Unwinding himself from the window seat, he stretched prodigiously and picked up his coat. Although he couldn’t yet hear any movement in the castle, it would be bustling soon enough.
He walked to the door and opened it as softly as he could. A quick glance showed him the passage was empty, so he emerged, closed the door behind him, and walked along to the stairs—where he almost bumped into Serena.
“Oh,” she gasped. “I was just coming to show you the way out.”
Trapped between him and the step behind her, she stood much too close to him for her own good. He could have stepped aside, but he didn’t want to. He could smell her subtle scent, like sp
ring flowers and fresh sunny mornings after rain. Her chest rose and fell too quickly, as though she’d run down from her own chamber. Or was affected by his nearness. His arms ached to hold her again, to taste her willing lips. To take her back to the chamber he’d just left and show her delight.
Her tongue darted out, nervously wetting her lips. He swallowed. Forcing his heavy feet to move, he turned and led the way downstairs, only too aware of her every movement behind him.
“This way,” she murmured, squeezing past him at the foot of the stairs. Her gown swished against his leg, her shoulder brushed his arm.
He followed her along the passage to the side-door they’d entered by last night. He watched her slender hand insert the key in the lock and turn it, and couldn’t help remembering the touch of her soft fingertips on his cheek, his nape. There were so many places he wanted her to touch him.
Without conscious volition, he moved closer, just as she stepped back to open the door. He didn’t care that she stood on his toes, for her rear bumped against him and the heat of her body, the scent of her skin, inflamed him.
She gasped, whisking herself away, and though he truly didn’t mean to, his hand shot out, seizing her elbow and spinning her back against him.
He stared greedily down into her face, her parted, rosy lips and her beautiful, brilliant eyes, full of surprise and hope and trust.
It was the trust that saved her.
Emitting a sound between a groan and laughter, he released her. “God help me,” he said. “Open the door and throw me out.”
Of course, he couldn’t wait, and his hand closed over hers on the latch, lifting it and drawing the door open. Her hand twisted under his, as if it would be free. At once, he dropped his hand and slipped hastily around the door.
“Let me know what happens,” he said huskily.
“We might take a walk in the orchard this afternoon,” she murmured, and his gaze at once flew back to her. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t angry at all.
He shouldn’t have felt relieved. He shouldn’t have been glad. But he was. He liked her.
Managing a faint upward quirk of his lips, he turned and strode away from the house. He broke into a run, trying to ease the ache of longing.
*
Serena was so impatient that first thing, she sent servants off with notes to both Mr. Winslow the magistrate and Major Doverton at the barracks. Although the notes explained that her butler had discovered strange barrels of gunpowder in the castle cellar, she hadn’t yet had time to take Paton down there to look.
Paton, however, had known her a long time, and when she finally managed to drag him to the cellar and show him what she’d found, he expressed no surprise at her strange behavior, and accepted without a murmur his role of discoverer before the magistrate.
Mr. Winslow and the major arrived together, and scratched their heads over the barrels, which they agreed did indeed contain gunpowder.
“Perhaps your supplies have been robbed?” Mr. Winslow suggested to the major. “Either at the barracks or en route?”
Doverton shook his head. “I’ve heard of no such thing, and I don’t have so much else to do that I don’t keep track of all our supplies.” Like most soldiers, he would rather have been fighting on the Peninsula with the rest of his regiment than stuck at home training recruits. Especially now, when it seemed the war was close to ended and Boney almost beaten.
“Well, someone has already moved a couple of barrels,” Paton said, obedient to his instructions. “When I first noticed them, I assumed his lordship had arranged for their delivery during his last visit, and thought no more of it until last night when I realized two were missing. Obviously, that could not have been his lordship since he is in London! That was when I opened the barrels to see what was in them.”
“You could have knocked him down with a feather,” Alice added, since she had escaped the schoolroom for luncheon.
Inevitably, the magistrate started asking the questions Serena already had and discovered that Paton had first noticed the cellar key to be missing the morning after his night off, which he’d spent at the Blackhaven Tavern.
“That place is a den of thieves and villains,” Major Doverton exclaimed. “It should be shut down, Winslow!”
“But then where would your men drink?” Mr. Winslow said mildly. “To say nothing of the wild young gentlemen slumming it for an evening. I think instead, a subtle visit might be in order.”
Major Doverton agreed reluctantly that this might be a more useful means of investigation. “I’d like to involve Colonel Fredericks, too,” he added.
“Colonel Fredericks has retired,” Serena objected, remembering the amiable old commander of the regiment whom she’d known for most of her life.
“Not entirely,” Mr. Winslow said. “He still handles some important aspects of security, under the direct authority of the government.”
“Really?” Serena was vastly intrigued, and eager to tell Tamar.
“Hmm,” Winslow said thoughtfully. “I’d like you and your sisters to move out of the castle until this is over. Perhaps you could come and stay with us.”
“Oh no, I thank you. We couldn’t impose. Besides, if it’s dangerous, doesn’t it make more sense to remove the gunpowder?”
“The gunpowder is perfectly safe,” Doverton said. “So long as you don’t set fire to it! I think Mr. Winslow means that we shall set a trap for whoever is involved, and we don’t want you here when they walk into it.”
“But I would love to be here when they walk into it,” Serena said, narrowing her eyes as she recalled the man who’d brandished the dagger at her and chased her through the woods. She pulled herself together. “I assure you we would not get in your way, and will stay inside the castle when you tell us. In fact, if we carry on as normal, surely it will be better for your plan? After all, we don’t want them to know they are suspected.”
Mr. Winslow tugged at his lower lip, clearly undecided.
“I would not take any chances with my sisters’ safety, sir,” she said quietly, and he looked from her to Alice and then to Doverton, who shrugged.
“Very well,” Mr. Winslow said reluctantly. “But I don’t want anybody outside after dark. If you go out for the evening, you must stay away until morning. My house is at your disposal, as I’m sure is the vicarage.”
Doverton, who seemed to be regarding Serena now with more admiration than anything else, coughed and said, “I’ll be sending men up here on watch, but they’ll remain out of sight until they can trap the villains.”
Serena nodded. “Will you follow them to see where they take the gunpowder?” she asked eagerly. “After all, they’ve already gone off with at least two barrels.”
Again Mr. Winslow and the major exchanged glances. “That is a sensible idea,” Doverton allowed. “If it can be done without putting your persons in danger.”
*
The girls were released from their lessons just as Serena was donning her hat and pelisse to go for a stroll in the orchard. On one level, she ill-naturedly wished her sisters to Jericho. On another, she recognized that having them with her would be best. Whatever strange magnetism drew her and Tamar together physically, was just a little frightening—particularly when he’d made it clear he had no intention of offering marriage.
Besides, she couldn’t send them away when they so clearly wanted to come.
“We could walk into Blackhaven,” Helen suggested hopefully.
“We wouldn’t be back before dark,” Serena pointed out, “not unless we ran there and back without stopping. Let’s just walk in the orchard.”
“What’s in the orchard?” Helen asked mutinously.
“Jem, apparently,” Serena said as they approached. “Listen, he’s arguing with someone.”
“Oh Serena,” Maria breathed. “Do you suppose it’s them?”
Serena’s heart lurched into her throat. “Surely not. It’s still light.” And Major Doverton’s men were unlikely to arrive before
dark. “You have to run,” she said intensely, “as soon as I say so. Promise me.”
Helen’s hand slipped into hers. “As long as you come with us.”
“Of course, I will. Carefully, then…” She opened the orchard door, and at once saw Jem half way up the central path.
Perched on a ladder against the largest apple tree, he was arguing with someone out of sight, but he didn’t give the impression of fear or even true anger. Breathing more easily, she led the way in.
“Stay with me,” she warned as Helen and Alice began to run ahead. The fact that they obeyed said more about their fears than their words had ever admitted. Perhaps she should send the girls and Miss Grey to the Winslows…
Jem caught sight of their approach and waved, another comforting sign. In fact, considering whom she had half-arranged to meet here, she was fairly sure before they even rounded the bend that it was Lord Tamar they would discover.
It was. He stood behind his easel, wearing his usual old coat, busily painting, although he spared a quick smile in their direction. The girls ran to him with every appearance of delight.
“I see you’ve met Jem,” Serena said wryly.
“I’ve told him he’s trespassing,” Jem said at once. “But he says he has your permission to paint in the grounds. I thought he was lying.”
“Well, I suppose I never said he couldn’t,” Serena said. “And since he seems to know everyone in Blackhaven, I doubt his lordship would object either. This is Lord Tamar.”
“Are you sure?” Jem said dubiously. “He doesn’t look much like a lord to me.”
“He’s an artist.”
“So I see.”
“Look, he’s painted Jem!” Alice cried in delight. “With a cross face. Sir, will you paint us, too?”
“You can’t afford me,” Tamar said grandly.
Alice’s face fell.
“I might as a present though, for your birthday,” he added.
“Is Jem’s a present, too, or can he afford you?” Helen asked.
Blackhaven Brides (Books 5–8) Page 8
