A Certain Want of Reason (18 page)

“What? No!” Lucia turned her eyes to the door, expecting someone to march in to drag her away from this improper discourse. But no one was in sight.

Lord Rutherford cast a quick glance at the door before returning his gaze to her. “‘Let them call it mischief: When it is past and prospered ‘twill be virtue.’”

She stared at him for a moment, trying to puzzle out why his words sounded so familiar. “You—I’ve heard those words before.”

“So you frequently have gentleman ask to kiss you?” he teased.

“No! Not at all. In fact, I never—”

He sat back and folded his hands. “‘The dignity of truth is lost with much protesting.’”

Lucia smacked her palms together. “
Catiline
.”

His eyebrows arched with surprise. “Yes. I am surprised you recognized the quote.”

“And at our first meeting, you quoted one of Mr. Jonson’s poems. At the Adrington’s.” She felt her face flush at the memory of his ridiculous behavior there, and her acquiescence in part of it.

“Yes, that was an entertaining evening. As I recall, I found the company most agreeable.”

His pointed look left no doubt that he was speaking of her, and while her first inclination was to return the compliment, she did not. Because her second and more proper inclination was to admit his company that evening to have been a mixed blessing at best. Of what use was it to be attracted to a madman? And how flattering could it truly be for such a one to be attracted to her?

He continued to gaze at her, and to her discomfiture, she found herself unable to look away. But the good-natured amusement in his eyes soon removed her sense of unease. “I believe I quoted Mr. Jonson on our second meeting as well. Do you remember?” he challenged. “During the intermission at the opera. Can you guess the source?”

She shook her head, unable to remember anything he had said on that occasion and somewhat amazed that he could speak of the evening’s horrible events with such a lighthearted air.

“Ben Jonson is not much in fashion these days, I believe,” he continued blithely. “I can’t remember the last time I saw one of his plays advertised.”

“I have never seen any of his plays,” she admitted. “But I’ve read them many times. We frequently read aloud at home for our entertainment.”
And we make up stories.
She looked away again. Who could have foreseen that Geoffrey would take her stories so seriously? And that it would cause so much pain?

She cleared her throat and forced herself to look him in eye. “I
am
sorry, sir, for your injury. My brother has never taken such dangerous action before.” Though, if she were honest, she would admit she had lately feared he might do so.

He said nothing for a long moment, but simply gazed back into her eyes as if searching for something. The intense scrutiny should have unnerved her, but strangely enough, it did not. It was exhilarating to stare back into his eyes, crystal blue, as if she could see through their clarity straight into the man’s soul. As if she could see and know much more about him than she ever could through words. As if he wanted to know her, as well.

Most men hardly gave her more than a passing glance, and now here was an extremely handsome man giving her his full attention.

“I said before, you have me at a disadvantage.” His voice was low and soft.

“Why is that?” She answered as if hypnotized, as though someone else spoke through her lips.

“You know my name. I have heard your brother called ‘Geoffrey’. But I do not know your family name.”

“Oh.” Lucia blinked. The spell was broken. “I am Lucia Wright. My younger brother and sister are Geoffrey and Helen. We live in Hertfordshire.”

He bowed his head. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance at last, Miss Wright.”

“Thank you, Lord Rutherford. I only wish we met under more pleasant circumstances.” Lucia looked meaningfully at his leg.

“I find these circumstances quite pleasant, actually.” Lord Rutherford glanced at the sunny windows, the fire crackling in the grate and then at her again.

“Yes, well…” Lucia again found herself growing uncomfortable under his direct gaze. The man must be insane, after all. One day a growling dog, the next a sultan and showing no sign of concern for a mother in a grave state of illness. There was no telling what behavior he might adopt next. She folded her hands together in her lap. “I do have something to ask of you that you may not find pleasant at all.”

“Oh? You are going to ask me to dance, I fear.” He turned a sad glance at the crutch leaning against the side of his chair.

“N-no. Um…the matter concerns my brother.”

“Geoffrey wants to dance with me?”

She giggled despite her apprehension. “No.”

“Doesn’t
anyone
want to dance with me, then?” He assumed a heartbreakingly sad countenance.

“I do. I mean—I would.” She stopped, confused and more than a little embarrassed that she had answered his crazy question at all. “That is, were we at a dance and your leg was well.”

“I shall remember that.”

She nodded, wondering just how long his memory would last. Did he forget things within the hour? The next day? Or did memories come and go, like the moments of lucid behavior he seemed to have as often as his episodes of insanity? If not more so.

She scolded herself. All this time in conversation and still she had not broached the topic she needed to address. “Lord Rutherford, you may have noticed that my brother, Geoffrey, suffers the delusion that he is some sort of criminal investigator and that you are…are a notorious thief.”

“Yes, he managed to get my attention with that assertion.”

Lucia smiled weakly. “You see, Geoffrey has a habit of suddenly assuming different occupations, and at the moment he has taken it upon himself to hunt down a particular thief.”

“Redsmock or some such?”

“Redcloak.”

He pursed his lips. “I must confess I have never heard of this blackguard, so I am not sure how notorious he is, after all.”

She felt her face flush. “He is…well known in certain sections of Hertfordshire.”

“And I do not even own a red cloak.”

“Neither does Redcloak. It is just a name he adopted based on a favorite garment of his sister’s. She was hanged for stealing a loaf of bread to feed him when he was quite young.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“Err…I believe I read it in the newspaper. Now then, Lord Rutherford, since my brother believes you are Redcloak, if he sees you again, he may do something rash.”

“I trust you are not permitting him to go about the place armed?”

“No, of course not. But he could turn anything against you, even his bare hands.”

He leaned forward. “And you do not think I would survive such a fight? Is that it?”

“No, I am sure you would acquit yourself most admirably—” Lucia stopped herself again. She had to remember that this man was as unbalanced as Geoffrey and his questions did not have to be answered literally. “I do not want to give Geoffrey another opportunity to harm you.”

“Then I suggest you take him home.”

Lucia sighed. “I wish I could. The London magistrates have branded Geoffrey a threat. They locked him up in Bedlam. I am hoping that if he remains under supervision here for a time with no further incident, then I can take him home without attracting their ire.”

His eyebrows arched in surprise once more. “They let you remove him from Bedlam?”

She twisted her fingers together in her lap. “Not exactly. Now,” she untangled her fingers and gripped the edge of her chair, “what I wanted to ask you is if you would be so good as to keep to your room, out of Geoffrey’s sight for the next few days.”

He grinned. “What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?”

“We…arranged to move him here on our own. And Geoffrey is very happy here. It will be hard to convince him to move to another house.”

“So you want me to stay hidden away in my room until you take him home?”

She shook her head. “No, no, not that long at all. You see, Geoffrey only keeps up a particular occupation for a week, two at the most. He will have forgotten all about this in a few days. Then you may move about safely.”

“I see.” He leaned closer. “How did you ‘arrange’ to move him here?”

“We, uh, oh, look at the sun!” Lucia pointed toward the nearest window. Just touching the tops of the trees on the far edges of the fields, the morning sun cast an orange glow over the gently rolling hills—a show of warmth in the cold winter landscape.

“It’s lovely.” Lord Rutherford kept his gaze focused inside the room. “How did you arrange for Geoffrey to come here?”

She tried to humor him. “I suppose the same way you arranged to come here yourself. I assume you decided some time in the country was in order and you asked your valet to make suitable accommodations. Is that not so?”

“Err, yes, indeed. A place of my own choosing. Certainly. But what if I do not choose to stay hidden away in my room for the week?”

She bit her lip. “Then I suppose I will somehow arrange to keep Geoffrey in his.” Which would probably delay the length of time it took for him to work through his “Bow Street Runner” phase. But it was the most reasonable course. After all, he had been the one to commit the wrong in the first place. She stood. “I am sorry that I even asked this of you. Geoffrey and I are at fault—we should be the ones restricted.”

“I fail to see how you are at fault, Miss Wright.”

She blinked. “Geoffrey is my responsibility. I failed to control him.”

“Do not trouble yourself.” He smiled. “I will stay in my room so that he is free to roam and do his bit of investigating. The doctor here has said it is best for me to rest and stay off the leg as much as possible for the time being.”

“Thank you.” Her words came out as almost a whisper. She backed her way toward the door. “I must let you rest now. Good day, my lord.” She dropped a quick curtsy.

“Yes, it has been.” He bowed, as much as he could from his position in the chair.

Lucia hurried out of the room, wondering precisely how and why Lord Rutherford had taken up residence in Shady View. She had never met a man more in control—of himself, the conversation…everything. Including her.

Chapter Sixteen

She drove him crazy enough to forget that he was supposed to act crazy. At least now he had a name for the dark, serious-eyed young lady who was apparently saddled with the world’s most obnoxious set of siblings.

From his position propped up on pillows on the bed, Edmund peered out the window, wondering if she would visit again today. He had no idea how far they were from London, and he assumed she had been staying in town when he met her at the Adrington’s.

He could see no reason, really, why she reappeared so frequently in his thoughts. But her evasiveness on the subject of her brother’s move from Bedlam intrigued him. He had merely wondered to whom it was she spoke, in case similar arrangements needed to be made on his behalf one day. The look of guilt, so evident on her face, immediately made him suspect she had done more than simply speak to the proper authority. So what
had
she done?

A carriage again appeared right on cue. He smiled. He would have the chance to ask her.

He sat forward to ring for an attendant.

A man, whose abundance of muscle gave the appearance of little room left for brains or any other organs, lumbered into the room. He said nothing, but merely nodded toward the bell pull next to the bed.

“Please notify Mr. Groves that I wish to speak to Miss Wright when she arrives,” Edmund said. “It is a matter concerning our conversation yesterday.”

The man nodded then left the room as unceremoniously as he had arrived.

Edmund lay back against the pillows, grateful for the chance to relax for a few moments. Walking with a crutch the previous day had been a mistake—the effort left him thoroughly drained of energy and in considerably more pain than he had been before. Staying in his room for the next week would actually not prove much of a hardship.

He fell into an uneasy slumber for a few minutes before the sound of a knock on the door brought him aware. Pushing the pillows around to provide more support, he succeeded in propping himself upright just as the door opened.

The silent man leaned his substantial frame inside, then back outside the door. “‘e’s awake,” he intoned in a flat voice, apparently for the benefit of whomever stood outside.

Which had to be Miss Wright.

“Oh, Edmund, this is all too awful!” Jeanne dashed into the room and fell to her knees at his bedside.

Edmund blinked. How had Miss Wright turned into Jeanne?

“I hate to see you locked up like this.”

“I am not locked up. I am free to go at will.” He twisted away from her, then grimaced. “Or at least I would be, if I were capable of much movement.”

“Brave Edmund.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him with great deliberation, though whether the gesture was meant as a flirtation or an attempt to hold back imaginary tears he could not say. She added a sniff. “Always trying to put the best front on things.”