In Love With a Wicked Man (19 page)

“It has nothing to do with
here
or
there
,” he said tightly. “I am just . . . damn it, Kate, I don’t know what I am. I barely know
who
I am. And what I know I do not much like.”

“Then be something else,” she said simply.

At that, Kate, too, turned away, and set off in the direction her mother had taken. “Oh, by the way,” she said over her shoulder, “dinner is at seven.”

“Kate, please—” he called after her.

She turned at once. “Yes?”

He hesitated a long moment, caught between the words on his lips, and his better judgment.

Better judgment, for once, won out.

“There were some pearls,” he said, “in a blue velvet bag. In my valise, I mean.”

“Oh, yes.” The confusion cleared from her brow. “With the sapphire teardrop. Nancy put them in our vault for safekeeping. In the estate office. Anstruther is there; he’ll get them out for you. Just ask.”

He could see the curiosity plain on her face, but she didn’t ask. No, she doubted him—and his character—now. She would not press her luck with questions she mightn’t wish to have answered.

Edward gave a tight nod. “Thank you.”

They regarded each other for a time across the chasm of the passageway. He wanted to go to her and say . . .
something
. Something that might reassure her of how he felt—however that was. And he wanted to tell her about the pearls. But he wasn’t sure what to tell her, and not at all sure she would believe him.

Almost no one else did. Not when it came to Annie. And he, God help him, had left it that way. Until now, ambiguity had seemed better for Annie than the truth.

“Thank you,” he said again.

Disappointment sketched across her face. Then, with another faintly regal nod, Kate turned and vanished down the passageway.

An hour later, after penning a letter to Peters, his club manager, Edward crossed the inner bailey to see the door to the estate office closed against the chill. He cracked it to see John Anstruther seated at the battered and ancient desk, the front of which abutted Kate’s.

Apparently absorbed in thought, the man sat with his back to the massive fireplace, one of his magnificent muttonchops twitching as he dotted his pencil down a long, green ledger.

“Good afternoon,” said Edward from the threshold.

Anstruther glanced up at once. “Ah, Mr. Edward! Come in, come in.” His smile amiable enough, he laid the baize ledger aside. Still, Edward could see a hint of mistrust in the big Scot’s eyes.

He lingered a moment on the threshold. “It’s Quartermaine, actually,” he said evenly. “Mr. Fendershot finally jogged my memory for me.”

A sort of wince passed over Anstruther’s face. “Aye, I heard aboot that,” he acknowledged. “You’re a man of business, I take it.”

“That’s a polite euphemism,” said Edward. “May I sit down?”

“Surely, take Her Ladyship’s chair,” said the estate agent. “Would you have a wee dram?”

Anstruther already had his desk drawer open. At Edward’s assenting nod, he extracted a bottle and two glasses, which he eyed judiciously against a low shaft of afternoon light.

“It’s clean enough for me,” said Edward.

Anstruther didn’t spare the whisky, filling the glass two-thirds full and pushing it across his desk and onto Kate’s.

“So it’s just Mr. Quartermaine, is it?” said Anstruther casually just before lifting his glass.

“As opposed to Lord Edward?” he answered on something of a snort. “I haven’t answered to that name in better than two decades.”

“Aye, but you could,” said Anstruther evenly. “Some men would.”

“A courtesy title isn’t worth a boot full of piss, Anstruther,” said Edward, “and we both know it. Besides, I’m content enough as I am.”

“Ah, and how fares Her Ladyship on that subject?” asked the estate agent.

Edward shook his head. “I don’t think Kate—Lady d’Allenay—gives a damn about titles,” he said. “But she’s none too pleased with my line of business. I should get out of here, Anstruther. I’ve overstayed my welcome. You know it as well as I do.”

“Aye?” said the estate agent, taking a good sip at his glass. “Then go.”

“I shall—or I meant to—but then Mrs. Wentworth said . . .”

“Ah!” Anstruther said knowingly. “In the middle of it, is she? I would na’ doot it.”

“She seems almost cavalier in her disregard for Kate’s wishes.”

“Nooo, not a bit of it,” said Anstruther. “She’s a canny one, though, is Aurélie Wentworth.”

“So she’s manipulating me, then?” asked Edward, lifting his gaze to Anstruther’s. “First simply ordering me to stay, then flattering me and batting her lashes in turn?”

Anstruther laughed a little grimly. “Better men than you, sir, have underestimated that lady’s will,” he said. “As to her purpose, none knows it save Aurélie Wentworth herself. Mayhap there is none.”

“You’ve known her a long while,” said Edward.

An inscrutable emotion flickered in his eyes, but when he spoke, his tone was as bland as ever. “Oh, aye,” he replied. “Miss Kate was a wee babe when I came to Bellecombe, and I was an auld face hereabout even before that. The previous Lady d’Allenay was my kinsman.”

“Yes, your godmother, Kate said.”

“Aye, that’s right. I’ve known Aurélie Wentworth long and well. Dinna be deceived, sir; the lady is far from a fool.”

They drank in silence for a time, and Edward was struck again with Anstruther’s sagacity. He was blunt and plain, both in speech and in appearance. He was exactly what you saw before you, and Edward did not doubt that his work habits were just as straightforward.

For a man who dealt with duplicity and dissemblance firsthand for a living, Anstruther was a heartening change.

“So, how many up at the house now?” asked Anstruther conversationally, cupping the whisky in his big hand.

“Well, your old friend Lord Reginald, for one,” said Edward with a half smile. “Lady Julia Burton, along with the Frenchman de Macey, and a young blade with whom I have . . . well, let us call it a passing acquaintance.”

The estate agent lifted his bushy eyebrows. “Aye, and I hear Lord Reginald is fairly weel known to you, also.”

Pondering what to say, Edward dangled his glass between two fingers, then set it down with a
thunk!
onto the desktop. “My club is by necessity a very private sort of establishment, Anstruther,” he said. “One cannot be both profitable and exclusive without a great measure of discretion.”

“Oh, aye,” said Anstruther evenly. “Gentlemen wishful of pissing away their money and time are ever in need of
that
. God forbid they be known for the fools they are.”

Edward laughed. “But I in turn must thank God for those fools,” he returned. “Without them I’d likely be nothing but a poor army captain living on half pay.”

Anstruther crooked one eyebrow. “No’ a gambling man yourself, then?”

“No, for I’ve observed that vice since boyhood,” said Edward. “But some men are bound and determined to throw away money on chance, Anstruther, no matter whether I exist. If I do not take their gold, some other enterprising chap will—and he may not be honest in the doing of it.”

“
Hmmph
,” said the steward with no malice in his tone. “And you are? Honest, I mean?”

Edward was turning his whisky glass absently around in circles atop Kate’s desk. “Well, whatever else people may say of me, I’ve never been called a cheat or a liar,” he said. “A hard-hearted bastard, perhaps—but I could hardly dispute either, could I?”

“ ’Twouldn’t be my place to say, sir,” Anstruther answered.

“Well, I can tell you this,” said Edward. “I know Lord Reginald intimately enough that I have found myself in possession of the estate which I believe adjoins this. I have relieved him of Heatherfields.”

“Ah, have you now?” Anstruther grinned.

“It was part of my purpose in coming to Somerset. Thank God I’ve remembered it.” He hesitated an instant, then forged ahead. “By the way, Anstruther—”

“Aye?” He lifted one eyebrow.

Edward carefully considered his next words. “Is there any need to worry about Lady d’Allenay being . . . well,
bothered
by Lord Reginald?”

“
Hmm
,” said Anstruther. “Up to old tricks, is he?”

“I don’t know his old ones,” said Edward grimly, “but I dislike what I’ve seen today.”

Anstruther scrubbed a hand around his jaw. “Oh, Kate can handle Reggie, I expect. But I dinna ken what her mither was thinking, to be honest.”

“Well,” said Edward, “perhaps I shall stay on a few days. I must, after all, see to Heatherfields.”

“Aye, someone better,” the steward grumbled.

“As to that, Anstruther, you strike me as a man of some knowledge,” said Edward. “I would welcome any advice you might have with regard to bringing the estate back to all it should be.”

“Aye, then roll your London money out here in a great wheelbarrow, Mr. Quartermaine,” said the steward, “for you’re to have need of it.”

“That bad, is it?” said Edward. “I suspected as much when I took title. I suppose, however, I held out some hope . . .”

“Well, abandon it,” Anstruther interjected. “The roof’s giving in o’er one wing o’ the hoose, and the outbuildings and farms are worse. One’s no longer even tenanted, for the rats won’t e’en take up in it. Reckon Lord Reggie might no’ have told you that.”

“He’s unaware, more likely, no more attention than he seems to have paid it.” Edward sighed. “Well. Time is on my side, I suppose.”

“Dinna ye mean to live in it, then?” The steward’s wary expression had returned.

Edward pinned the man with a steady gaze. “The estate is merely an investment, Anstruther,” he said certainly. “Once the place is habitable, I will not further trouble Lady d’Allenay.”

Anstruther lifted his massive shoulders. “As to whether or not you’ve troobled the lady, it’s no’ my place to say,” he answered. “Miss Kate can speak well enough for herself on that score. However, if it’s an investment you’re after, Bellecombe might look at it by way of expansion, and save you the cost of repair—assuming we could come to terms.”

Edward hesitated. “I misspoke,” he said. “
Investment
is not the right word. I’ve a purpose for the house, but it is not for me.”

Anstruther’s expression turned uneasy again, and Edward was searching for a way to clarify his words when a hard knock sounded upon the door and Nancy Wentworth flew in in a swirl of blue velvet and red-gold curls.

“Oh, I beg your pardon!” she said upon turning around and seeing Edward.

“I was just on my way out,” he assured her.

“Oh, not on my account!” Miss Wentworth perched herself on one corner of Anstruther’s desk, but she was looking at Edward appraisingly. “So, I hear you’re to switch allegiances?”

“Allegiances?” Edward looked at her curiously.

Miss Wentworth’s pretty face broke into a wide smile. “You’re to be Mamma’s guest instead of Kate’s and—oh, that reminds me!—Anstruther, we’ve a command performance after dinner. And Cook is making her famous leek soup. Perhaps that will ease the sting?”

On a great grimace, Anstruther cut an unhappy look up at the girl. “Dinner wi’ that lot?” he complained. “Have I nae choice?”

“Certainly!” Miss Wentworth had begun to brush what looked like sawdust from one shoulder of his tweed coat. “You may go to Aurélie and beg off. But I think we both know how that will turn out.”

Anstruther swatted the girl away. “Leave it, Nan,” he said, pushing himself up from the chair on a sigh. “Quartermaine, I beg your pardon. I’d better go and dress.”

The estate agent strode from the room, snatching his greatcoat from its hook as he went.

“Well,” said Miss Wentworth when he had vanished. “Let me try this again.” She extended her hand, along with her usual bright smile. “How do you do, Mr. Quartermaine? May I still call you Edward?”

There was something all too knowing in the girl’s eyes, and he regretted having snapped at her earlier. He took her slender hand into his own. “You may not,” he said, giving it an almost affectionate squeeze. “Not in company, miss. Do you understand me?”

Her smile turned teasing. “Oh, yes,” she said, dropping his hand, “because you operate an iniquitous gaming hell.”

“I think those terms are a trifle redundant,” he replied. “And who told you that, by the way?”

Her eyes glittered. “Reggie did,” she said conspiratorially. “And straightaway, too. He didn’t scruple an instant to tell me how wicked you are.”

“And if you’ve a brain in your head, Miss Wentworth, you’ll heed it,” said Edward, “as should your sister.”

The girl gave an impudent shrug of one shoulder, and slid off Anstruther’s desk. “Alas, we are Aurélie Wentworth’s daughters,” she said as her heels clicked onto the flagstone, “and likely haven’t a teacup of brains between the three of us.”

Edward did laugh then. There were enough brains between those three to overthrow the British government, he suspected, and it was entirely ludicrous that he should sit here discussing wickedness with a country innocent. Indeed, he wondered that Anstruther had left them alone together.

But no one at Bellecombe seemed quite as scandalized as they ought to have been, hardened, perhaps, as they were by the scandals that had come before him.

“Well, I’m off.” Miss Wentworth was already halfway out the door. “I shall see you,
Edward
, at dinner.”

This last was cast cavalierly over her shoulder, and it was on the tip of his tongue to call her back and chide her. But Nancy Wentworth had bolted after Anstruther, shouting something about his remembering to rosin his bowstring.

Edward went out into the cool shadows of the bailey, and watched them standing beneath the inner portcullis, chattering like the most amiable of friends. He liked this place very much, he thought again; liked the camaraderie and the cooperation of it. He was growing fond of the plainspoken Anstruther, just as he was with everyone else at Bellecombe, and was a little sorry Mrs. Wentworth and her friends had come to taint it.

But then, he had been here before any of them.

Yes, it was time for him to go. He knew it. Hadn’t he just said those very words to Kate’s estate agent?