Jane Feather - [V Series] (35 page)

“Oh, yes, sir, Mrs. Devlin, sir,” Mrs. Cunningham supplied helpfully. This gentleman could only be inquiring after
one
of her guests.

“Ah … Mrs. Devlin,” Marcus murmured with another smile. He’d been fairly certain Judith wouldn’t have registered under Lady Carrington and had been wondering if this would present him with any problem. But the eagerly helpful landlady had resolved his difficulty.

“And is she in?” he inquired, when the landlady seemed uncertain how to proceed.

“Oh, yes, sir. She has a lady with her, I believe.”

Marcus frowned at this, wondering who could be visiting Judith here. “Perhaps you’ll show me up.”

“Yes … yes … of course, sir. Dora, escort the gentleman.”

“Thank you.” Marcus moved to the staircase, then paused, one hand on the newel post. “Lady Carrington will be leaving immediately. If you would have her account made up, I’ll settle it directly.”

Lady Carrington!
Confusion and excitement played over Mrs. Cunningham’s countenance. “But, sir, nothing was said by Mrs. Dev—I mean, Lady …”

Marcus held up a hand, halting the tangle of protestation. “Nevertheless, ma’am, Lady Carrington will be leaving directly. I am Lord Carrington, you should understand.”

Mrs. Cunningham gulped, curtsied. “Yes, my lord … I didn’t know …”

“How should you?” he said gently, turning to follow Dora’s bouncing rear up the stairs. At Judith’s door, she raised her hand to knock with a flourish.

“No, I’ll announce myself,” he said swiftly. He waited until the disappointed maid had retreated down the stairs, then he opened the double doors.

Judith and Sally were sitting head to head on the window seat, deep in intense conversation, and both looked up as the door opened.

Judith stared at her husband, her color fluctuating wildly. “Marcus?” she whispered, as if unsure whether he was real or a vision.

“Just so,” he agreed. “It seems I must be the only person in London not invited to visit you in your self-imposed seclusion.” He heard the caustic note in his voice as he frowned at his sister-in-law. He’d prepared for this moment with great care, but Sally’s presence threw all plans into disarray.

Sally had jumped up and instinctively moved closer to Judith, who managed to ask in a cracked voice “What are you doing here, Marcus?”

“I’ve come to retrieve my wife,” he replied, shrugging out of his cloak. “Sally, I must ask you to excuse us.” He held the door in wordless command.

Sally hesitated, then stepped even closer to Judith. “I’m sorry, Marcus, but I’m here at Judith’s invitation.” She met his astounded stare without flinching, her shoulders stiffening as she prepared to defend her friend against all comers, including irate husbands.

First Charlie and now Sally, Marcus thought with resignation. What on earth had got into his usually docile family these days? Silly question … Judith’s influence,
of course. He repeated calmly, “Nevertheless, I must ask you to excuse us.”

“No,” Sally said, closing her lips firmly.

Marcus began to laugh. “My dear Sally, what do you think I’m going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Sally replied. “But I’m not going to stand aside while you bully Judith.”

Marcus’s jaw dropped at this, and Judith recovered the power of speech. “It’s all right, Sally. Why don’t you wait downstairs for a few minutes?”

Sally looked between them as if assessing the risks, then she said doubtfully, “If you’re sure …”

“Sally, I don’t want to have to put you out,” Marcus exclaimed in exasperation.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Sally fired back. “Judith, do you really want me to leave?”

Judith had sunk back onto the window seat, covering her eyes, aware that she was on the verge of hysterical laughter. “Yes, really,” she said in a stifled voice. “Marcus won’t hurt me. Anyway, I’ve got my pistol.”

“Well, if you’re sure. I’ll be downstairs, so just call if you need me.” Sally marched to the door, shooting Marcus a darkling look as she passed him.

“Good God!” he said, closing the door behind her. “I always thought she was such a mouse.”

“That’s because you intimidate her,” Judith said. “She’s not like that at all. She’s bright and funny, and a lot cleverer than either you or Jack could ever guess.”

“Well, if she was intimidated just then, you could have fooled me,” Marcus observed with a rueful chuckle. “I wish I knew why people imagine I’m going to do you some mischief. They’ve clearly never looked down the muzzle of your pistol.” He took off his gloves, tossing them with his cloak onto the sofa.

Judith watched him in silence. He seemed in great
good humor but that was surely impossible. For herself, her emotions were in such turmoil she didn’t know what she felt.

After regarding her for a minute, Marcus said, “You really are the most exasperating creature, lynx. What on earth do you mean by running off like that? How the hell was I supposed to explain it?”

“I’m not particularly interested in how you explain it,” she declared. “I’m not coming back.”

“Oh, but you are,” he said.

“I am not coming back to live in that prison you would construct for me!” she said, her throat closing as the hurt resurfaced. “You care only for appearances. Well, I don’t give a tinker’s damn for appearances, Carrington. You’ll think of something to salvage your precious pride and keep up appearances, I’m certain of it.” She swung away from him toward the window. “Just leave me out of it.”

“Come here,” he commanded.

Judith didn’t move from the window, where she stood staring out at the scudding clouds, the stark lines of the bare elm trees, a black crow sitting on the wall at the bottom of the garden.

“Come here, Judith,” he repeated in the same level voice.

She turned slowly. He was perched on the scrolled arm of the sofa and his eyes were quiet as they looked at her, his mouth soft. He beckoned, and she found herself moving across to him as if in response to gravity’s pull.

He stood up as she reached him and reached out one hand, catching her chin. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“What truth?” Her eyes seemed locked with his and the warm grasp of his hand on her chin seemed imprinted on her skin.

“That you didn’t know who was in the taproom.”

Shock flashed in her eyes. “How do you know?”

“Sebastian told me.”

She jerked her chin out of his hand. “He had no right …”

“Nevertheless, he told me,” Marcus said, reaching for her again. “Keep still and listen to me. It was unforgivable of me to assume the worst of you. I only wish you’d lost that formidable temper at the outset and put me in my place at once.”

He smiled, but there was a hunger and a yearning in his gaze. “It was unforgivable, lynx, but can you forgive me?”

Sebastian had betrayed her. He knew the real reason why she hadn’t been able to deny Marcus’s accusations, and he’d chosen to ignore them in order to patch things up. Because of Gracemere? Because of Harriet?

“Say something,” Marcus begged, running a finger over her mouth. “Please, Judith, say something. I can’t let you leave me, my love, but I don’t know how else to apologize. It was torment believing you had taken advantage of me, that you were only using our passion to your own advantage. It drove me insane to think I was no more to you than a means to an end. Can you understand that at all?”

“Oh, yes,” she said softly. “Yes, I can understand it.” And yet even now as his words filled her with sweet joy, she knew that she continued to deceive him. He was still a means to an end, and yet he’d become so much more than that.

“Judith?” Marcus said, softly insistent. “I need more than understanding.”

She grasped his wrist tightly. “It’s over. We’ll put it behind us.”

Marcus brought his mouth to hers in a hard affirming
kiss. Judith clung to him, desperate to grasp whatever happiness they could have in their remaining time together. Desperate to believe that there was a chance he’d never find out about Gracemere.

“How did you find me?” she asked, when finally he raised his mouth from hers.

“Through Sebastian.” He smiled down at her, touching the line of her jaw with a lingering finger.

“He didn’t tell you!”

“Not in so many words. I had him followed.”

“Good heavens,” Judith said. “How very theatrical of you.”

Marcus shook his head in disclaimer. “When it comes to theatricals, my love, you’re unsurpassed. That dead-of-night flight through a window was an outrageous piece of melodrama.” He bundled her into his arms, kissing her again.

“Just one more thing …” Judith murmured against his mouth. “All that other business …”

“Ah.” He released her reluctantly. “I’ve instructed my bankers that you’re free to draw on the account. We’re joint partners in this marriage and therefore in the fortune that maintains us both. I’ll not question your expenditure again, any more than you question mine.”

Hiding her bittersweet emotions at his trust in her, she gave him a brilliant smile. “Now that, sir, is an inventive and generous solution to an apparently intractable problem.”

“But no more high-stakes gaming.” He pinched her nose. “And if I see you within a hundred yards of a gaming hell, my love, I can’t answer for the consequences. Understood?”

“Understood. I’ll confine myself to social play from now on.”

“Good. And now we’re going into Berkshire for a
couple of weeks, so ring for the maidservant to pack your traps.”

“Into Berkshire? Now?”

“This very minute.”

“Why?”

“Because I say so,” he declared cheerfully. “Now, I’d better go and reassure Sally that you’re still in one piece.” He shook his head in amazement. “I wonder if Jack knows what a spirited creature she is when roused.”

“Probably not,” Judith said, chuckling. “And it’s clearly your fraternal duty to enlighten him.”

In his sister’s absence Sebastian devoted himself to courting Harriet. Lady Moreton watched with growing complacence, expecting each day to bring a formal offer for her daughter’s hand. Sebastian fretted silently over his powerlessness to act, but until he was in possession of his birthright, he had nothing to offer a wife. Only Harriet was sunnily untroubled by the waiting, secure and trusting in the knowledge of Sebastian’s love.

None of them was aware of the threat hanging over their happiness. The threat took concrete shape in a bedchamber in a tall house overlooking the River Thames. The mullioned casement rattled under the blustery winter wind from the river, and the fire in the grate spurted as needles of wind pierced tiny cracks between the panes.

Agnes drew a cashmere wrap tightly around her body as she slipped from the bed, her body languid with fulfillment despite the nip in the air. She went to the fire, bending to warm her hands.

“I swear the wretched chit sees and hears nothing that’s not done or said by Sebastian,” she said as if an interlude of passion hadn’t broken their previous conversation. “How many times did you compliment her on
her hat this afternoon before she seemed to hear you, let alone respond?”

“At least six,” Gracemere responded, flipping open a delicate porcelain snuffbox. “Give me your wrist.”

Smiling, Agnes straightened and held out her hand, wrist uppermost. The earl dropped a pinch of snuff exactly where her pulse throbbed and raised her wrist to his nose, breathing in the snuff. His lips lightly brushed her skin and then he dropped her hand and returned to the subject.

“Clearly Harriet’s not to be wooed and won, therefore she must be taken.”

“When?” Agnes moistened her lips. “You can’t wait until Sebastian has declared himself.”

“True enough. I will wait until I’ve bled Sebastian as white as it’s possible—which should ruin his chances with Moreton anyway. And then we shall act.” His lips tightened so that his mouth was a fleshy gash in his thin face.

“I don’t doubt you, Bernard.” Agnes touched his mouth with a fingertip. “Not for one minute.”

He grasped her wrist again, sucking the finger into his mouth. His teeth bit down and his eyes stared down into hers, watching the pain develop, the excitement flare under the defiant challenge to endure. Agnes laughed, making no attempt to free her finger. She laughed, her head falling back, exposing the white column of her throat.

Gracemere released her wrist and circled her throat with his hands. “We
are
worthy of each other, my dear Agnes.”

“Oh, yes,” she whispered.

It was a long time before she spoke again. “With Judith and Carrington out of town, you must be missing a degree of entertainment.”

Gracemere chuckled. “I have my plans well laid for her return. I may need you as message bearer, my dear.”

“Messenger to whom?”

“Why, to Carrington, of course.” A meager smile snaked over his lips. “There’d be no point compromising his wife if he’s not to be aware of it.”

“Oh, no,” Agnes agreed. “None whatsoever. I’ll convey the message of tarnished virtue with the utmost subtlety and the greatest pleasure.”

“I thought the role might appeal to you, my love.”

Judith clung to a shadowy corner of the conservatory. Her heart was beating swiftly with excitement and anticipation, her palms damp, moisture beading her brow from the exertion of the chase and the lush, hothouse atmosphere. The air was rich with the mingled, exotic scents of orchids, roses, and jasmine. The domed glass roof above her revealed the night sky, black infinity pricked with stars and the crescent sliver of the new moon offering the only light.

She had closed the drawing-room door that led into the conservatory, and the heavy velvet curtains had swung back, preventing the penetration of light from the house. Her ears strained to hear the sound of the door opening, the tap of a footstep on the smooth paving stones between the rows of shrubs and flowers. Would he guess where she was hiding? It was a relatively classic place for hide-and-seek. But then, it wasn’t as if she didn’t want to be found.

She stifled her laughter. Marcus had proved remarkably receptive to her penchant for nursery games. When she wasn’t teasing him with outrageously provocative comments, which always produced the desired results, she was challenging him to horseraces through the
meadow, making wagers on which raindrop would reach the bottom of the window first, throwing sticks from the bridge into the river and rushing to the other side to see which one was the first to emerge. They did nothing without laying odds, and the stakes were never for money. Indeed, they tried to outdo each other with the most imaginative and enticing wagers.