Jo Beverley - [Malloren 03] (23 page)

“Er, no, my lord. The earl had some other woman in his bed, and she’s gone, too. Sally was there . . . She was thereabouts on the orders of Lady Elfled.”

“I think you had better tell me all, Mr. Grainger, and rather speedily.”

Thus prodded, Grainger raced through his story, which was brief enough. Into an ominous silence, he produced his saving note.

Rothgar held out a hand and Grainger hurried around the desk to give it to him, thanking heaven again that he’d had the foresight to demand it.

Rothgar read it, then looked up. “You requested this, Mr. Grainger?”

A new chill starting, Grainger cleared his throat. “I thought it wisest, my lord.”

Rothgar rose. “Mr. Grainger, if you ever again question any order of any member of the family, you will be immediately dismissed. Continue with your duties.”

Badly shaken, Grainger watched the marquess enter the inner room, wondering if he would ever understand the workings of his employer’s mind.

In the private office, Rothgar slid Elf’s note into a drawer, then stood for a moment in contemplation. He suspected that God had smiled on them when He had delayed Cyn and Chastity’s departure. He rang the silver bell on the desk, causing the footman stationed in the hall to enter through that door.

“My lord?”

“Ask Lord and Lady Cynric to join me here at their earliest convenience, if you please.”

Cyn and Chastity interpreted this correctly, and appeared within moments.

“Lud, Rothgar,” Chastity said, gesturing at her traveling dress. “I haven’t had time to change out of my dirt.”

“My apologies.” The marquess settled her in a comfortable chair. “Matters have arisen that might be urgent.”

“Trouble?” asked Cyn, perching on the arm of his wife’s chair.

“I fear so. And it seems Elf might be involved.”

“Elf? She hasn’t been in trouble since she put pepper in Great-uncle Faversham’s snuff!”

“You forget Scottsdale.”

Cyn rose, hand on sword. “Are you saying she’s fallen into the hands of another adventurer?”

“I don’t know what she’s fallen into. I am about to visit Lady Lessington to find out. I thought you and Chastity might want to come.”

“Of course. What reason do you have, though, for thinking anything is amiss?”

Rothgar strolled toward the door. “Merely the fact that one of our servants was killed last night at Walgrave House, and she was there on Elf’s orders.”

“ ’Struth!”

“Oh. And did I neglect to mention that the earl is apparently missing this morning, along with an unidentified woman who was in his company?”

At the sudden silence, Chastity looked between the two brothers. “You don’t think . . . But she doesn’t like him at all!”

Cyn’s grip on his scabbard tightened. “But he hates Mallorens enough to attack us through our women. I’ll—”

“You’ll come with me to Lady Lessington’s,” said Rothgar.

“Praying to God Elf’s there,” added Cyn grimly.

Amanda was trying to enjoy breakfast with her beloved husband, despite a sour worry about Elf. A message had come from Sappho’s to say Elf was safe there, but it answered none of the questions seething in Amanda’s mind.

Elf had Lord Walgrave tied up. What on earth did that imply?

And would her friend be able to escape scandal?

When the footman announced that the Marquess of Rothgar had arrived asking for his sister, Amanda nearly dropped her chocolate cup.

Stephen immediately rose to attend their callers, and Amanda hurried after. She thanked heaven that the formidable marquess was here to take charge of this tangle, but feared for poor Elf. What would Rothgar do to her when the truth came out?

As she entered the best reception room, she found that the marquess had not come alone. “Cyn? Good gracious, I thought you on the seas!”

Cyn shrugged. “Winds all awry, and then the ship
sprang some sort of problem. It was decided to put off sailing for a month and there seemed no point in kicking our heels in Portsmouth.” Though he spoke pleasantly enough, Amanda couldn’t help noticing that he was unusually somber. “We’re here to speak to Elf.”

Stephen turned to Rothgar. “I only arrived home last night, my lord, but I gather Lady Elfled decided to spend a few days visiting a poetess by the name of Sappho.”

Amanda prayed that the story be accepted. Then she remembered that Elf thought Sappho was the marquess’s mistress.

Oh heavens, what now?

The only sign that the information might be of significance was that Rothgar took time for a pinch of snuff. “Sappho,” he repeated, dusting his fingers with a silk handkerchief. “Have you any idea, Lady Lessington, why she might have removed there?”

Fixed by those perceptive eyes, Amanda did her best. “Oh, she didn’t
remove,
my lord! All her clothes are still here. I mean,” she hastily amended, “
most
of her clothes, of course. We visited Sappho, you see. A few nights ago . . .” The more those dark eyes observed her, the more tangled her mind and tongue became. “Poetry reading. Quite unexceptionable! Elf must have taken a fondness for the lady—”

“So she left when?”

“Ah . . . Last night, actually.”

Stephen turned to her. “Last night? I thought—”

Amanda forced a smile. “It was an impulse. You know Elf.”

“I certainly thought I did,” said Cyn. “What the devil’s she up to?”

Stephen frowned at Amanda. “But you were at Lady Yardley’s masquerade last night.”

“Well of course we were, darling. That’s where you found me!” Amanda scrambled for a coherent story. “Elf met Sappho there, you see, and—impulsively—took up her invitation to stay.” She smiled fiercely at Rothgar. “You will find her there, my lord.”

Rothgar smiled as if he believed every twittering word. And wasn’t most of it true, after all? He kissed her hand. “Then we must proceed there, of course. My apologies for interrupting your breakfast, my lady. My lord.”

Amanda watched the Mallorens leave, then turned to face her husband.

“Amanda, my love, I think you had better tell me what has been going on.”

In the coach, the three Mallorens were silent, apart from Rothgar’s command to the coachman that they be taken to Harlow Street. Then Cyn said, “Strange story.”

“Extremely,” remarked Rothgar. “Particularly as Sappho strongly dislikes masquerades and has never been known to attend one. And Lady Yardley, of course, is Walgrave’s aunt.”

At Sappho’s Elf was feeling a little revived by food and coffee. Now she studied Fort, trying to detect any chink in his armor. Breakfast had passed without him showing the slightest interest in food. Surely he must at least be thirsty. Was the man human?

He must be sore and uncomfortable, but he sat perfectly still.

She knew her stare must be irritating, even though his gaze was fixed on the wall above her head. She hoped so. She wanted to irritate him. Any response would be better than none.

Sappho had left with the tray, so for a moment they were alone.

She rose to pace in front of him. “Did you mean to imply that the king is in no danger?”

When he didn’t reply, she put her face in front of his. “Speak to me! This is more important than our petty differences.”

He focused on her, and slowly, disdainfully, his brows rose. “Almost anything is. But yes. You can cease your fidgets. The king has been warned of the plot.”

“Thank God!” she exclaimed, straightening. “So this means you weren’t really involved in treason at all.” She
turned back to stare at him. “Murray was right. You were acting as an agent provocateur.”

“Not at all. An agent provocateur seduces people into criminal activity and then turns them in to the authorities. I seduced no one. Unlike you.”

Hot memories flooded her, not least of begging him for a night of pleasure, but she knew he wanted those memories, wanted her to feel uncomfortable. “Goodness,” she said, hands on hips, “are you suggesting
I
acted as an agent provocateur, seducing you into fornication? But at least I have no intention of turning you in to the authorities.”

“No? I rather thought you’d enjoy urging your brothers on to revenge.”

“I don’t deserve that.”

“You deserve everything that’s going to happen. If you don’t intend to stir up trouble, be assured that I do.”

She stared down at him. “What do you mean?”

He smiled, reminding her in a twisted way of his beauty. “I intend to tell the world about our adventures. In detail. Think of it. Items in the lower news sheets. Stories in the clubs. Cartoons in the print shops for the amusement of hoi polloi. It should all be vastly amusing.”

“Until Rothgar kills you for it.”

“I count on it, unless I am blessed by good fortune and manage to kill him.”

Every scrap of good she’d done was undone, and she’d added a whole new set of wounds so that he was scarcely sane. “Oh, stop this,” she begged. “Stop to think!”

At that moment, the door opened and she head Sappho say, “They are in here, my lord.”

Elf turned, stomach churning, to see not only Rothgar, but Cyn and Chastity, enter the room.

Before she had a chance to say anything, Fort turned his head toward the door. “Ah, the family! Elf and I were just discussing how best to tell the world about our night of lascivious passion.”

Elf turned on him. “You
fool
!”

By then, Cyn’s blade already pricked Fort’s throat and Rothgar was firmly pushing it aside by the hilt. “He’s bound, Cyn. Later, perhaps.”

Chastity hurried over to Elf. “Is it true?”

Elf grimaced at her sister-in-law. “Unlike in your case, yes. Any suggestions?”

“Lud, no. I was a lamentable failure at handling scandal. I won’t let them beat you, though. I promise.”

Elf saw in Chastity’s eyes that even months of freedom and marriage to Cyn hadn’t wiped away all the fear.

“They wouldn’t,” she assured her gently. “They’ll want to kill him, though.”

Chastity went white, and Elf remembered that Fort was her brother. “I won’t let them,” she promised, taking Chastity’s hands. She meant it, too, though she didn’t underestimate the difficulties. She remembered the Scottsdale affair only too well.

“Nor will I,” said Chastity, and went to stand behind her brother, facing her husband and Rothgar.

Elf thought of joining Chastity, but it would serve no purpose, and she wasn’t sure where her ultimate allegiance lay. She remembered telling Sappho that in the end she would care for her brothers more than for Fort. Now she could only hope it wasn’t put to the test.

“Bey,” she said to Rothgar, “there are serious matters involved here.”

He turned to her. “So I gather when corpses line the
path.” He was not noticeably in a rage, but she knew him able to conceal the strongest emotions.

“It’s a Jacobite plot to kill the king.”

“In Walgrave’s bed?” So, he was in more of a rage than he showed.

“No,” she said crisply. “That is an incidental we can deal with later.”

“An incidental,” said Fort plaintively. “I’m sure you didn’t think so when you howled for me.”

Cyn stepped forward. Chastity grabbed his sleeve, but it was Rothgar’s raised hand that stopped him. “Later,” he said again.

Elf noted that this time he left off the “perhaps.” She wished she’d had Fort gagged as well as bound.

Rothgar addressed Fort. “Since we apparently have matters of moment to talk about, Walgrave, please postpone your attempts at suicide. What of this plot?”

“Untie me.”

“I think not. It is preserving your life. Tell me about this plot.”

Fort’s lips tightened, but then he said, “A man named Murray has an insane plan to kill the king and restore the Stuarts. He plans to stuff a gift with gunpowder and have it blow up in the king’s presence. There’s no real danger. Grenville knows of it, and the king’s household has been warned.”

“But the malefactors have been left at large?”

“Grenville wanted to catch them red-handed.”

“Why?”

Fort resisted for a moment, then said, “Because Murray is a distant connection of Bute’s, and presently living in his house.”

“Ah. And a red-handed Murray would bring down Bute, leaving the way open for Grenville to become Prime Minister.” He contemplated Fort. “I wasn’t aware that you were of Grenville’s party. How did you become involved?”

“That’s none of your damned business.”

“Your father’s connections, no doubt. Are you aware that murder was committed at your house last night?”

“I understand that to be the case.” Despite being bound and disheveled, Fort had relaxed into an excellent representation of a belted earl in boring company.

“One of the victims was a servant of mine.”

“Doing a little pilfering?” Fort raised a brow. “On your behalf?”

“What could you have that I would want?” Rothgar queried, equally coolly. “Unless, of course, we are talking of a mechanical toy.”

Toy? It sounded absurd to Elf, but a sudden tension showed otherwise.

Color touched Fort’s cheeks, and he raised his chin. “Yes, I had it stolen from Rothgar Abbey for Murray to use in his plot. And yes, I hoped to cast some shadow over you.”

“And the device does not concern you now?”

“Why the devil should it?”

“Because it disappeared last night.”

Fort suddenly went pale. “God, I forgot . . . !” For a moment he looked at Elf, but flinched away as if he couldn’t stand the sight. “But it still can’t be the time. They had to get hold of some mystical stone.”

“The Stone of Scone,” said Rothgar, all illusion of laziness gone. “What, precisely, have the king’s household been told?”

“The Stone of . . . The
Coronation
stone? It’s
gone
?”

“What have the king’s household been told?”

Flinching under that tone, Fort matched Rothgar’s alertness. “To be careful of unexpected gifts.” After a moment, perhaps in response to Rothgar’s expression, he added, “Grenville didn’t want to be specific, fearing the king would tell Bute, and Bute would chatter of it.”

“And in your case hoping that some blame would attach to me. Which means, I suppose, that the toy will be sent from me and thus not be entirely unexpected.” He turned to Cyn. “To Malloren House for our fastest horse, then all speed to Windsor to warn the king.
Chastity, go with him and set Grainger to readying people to react on the instant. Send a message as well to Grenville.”

As the couple ran out, Rothgar turned back to Fort, who was fighting his bonds. “The king, as you well know, was much taken with that toy. I had planned to give it to him on the birth of his child, and he knew it. Do you seriously think he will let his gentlemen prevent him from winding it up and seeing it work?”

“They have been warned. Damn it. Untie me!”

“There is nothing you can do that others cannot.”

Elf interrupted the argument. “There was a large rock in the cellar where we were imprisoned.”

Fort stared at her. “What? You never said anything.”

“It was hardly of use in breaking out. It was about the size of a pillow.” She turned to Rothgar. “The stone is that, isn’t it? Just a flat boulder.”

“Lightning blast you, let me free!”

Rothgar ignored him. “So, they stole the stone, then put Walgrave out of action. In this cellar, I assume? I wonder why they didn’t kill you both.”

“Because,” said Fort, “a dead earl causes more questions than a missing one.” He had ceased his struggles, and sagged wearily against the sofa back. “I’m sure they wanted as little mayhem as possible. The bloodshed is probably all your sister’s fault.”

“Really!” exclaimed Elf. “How can that possibly be?”

He turned to her. “Because in typical Malloren fashion, you meddled. Murray didn’t know what to make of you, and it heightened his nervousness to panic. In addition, you brought your own people into it, and that’s doubtless where the violence occurred.”

“There may be some truth in that,” said Rothgar calmly. “But since they half killed the guard you had set on the toy, you can’t lay all the blood at our door. Do you know how long it would take to make the toy lethal?”

“I am not precisely in their confidence,” Fort snapped. “They planned to pack the inner cavity with gunpowder
and bits of metal so that when it was switched on, at a certain point it would explode, scattering shot all around.”

“The chances being that if no hit was fatal, infection might carry the victim off.”

Fort writhed once against his bonds, but then desisted, jaw tight. “I assume you intend to use this to destroy me.”

“I? I am a singularly undestructive person. However, I do wish to have some words with you. Elf, leave us.”

Elf looked between the two of them. “Not if you’re going to hurt him.”

Rothgar turned to her, brows raised. “He is bound. I wouldn’t dream of it. But I could bear to know your feelings toward him.”

She found it surprisingly difficult to give an honest response. “I . . . I do care for him. He didn’t force me or seduce me—”

“Lisette!” exclaimed Fort maliciously. “Are you forgetting when I took you prisoner and tied you to my bed?”

“Oh, be quiet! I remember perfectly well that you didn’t offend against me at all when you had me bound. And last night, I had the very deuce of a job to get you to agree to . . . to what we did.”

“Sex on the floor,” recalled Fort. “Sex in the bed. Sex on a coffin . . .”

Face flaming, Elf clenched her fists and let out a cry of pure exasperation.

“. . . sex, now I recall it,
in
the coffin.” He turned to her with a deceptively bland expression. “I’m quite surprised, actually, that you can walk.”

Elf turned away. “I think perhaps I hate him.”

“I think perhaps you don’t,” said Rothgar, gently touching her shoulder. “Unfortunately, I suspect he hates you or he would not try to shame you so.”

She turned into his arms, and he held her close, telling her without words that, as always, all his strength and
all his love was hers. She could have wept for shame at what she’d done.

“I am surprised,” he said. “I would have thought you the last person in the world to inspire such bitterness.”

“He has reasons, Bey. Not good ones, but reasons.” She pulled out of her brother’s arms and turned to meet Fort’s cynical eyes. “I was disguised, you see, so he didn’t know who I was. And when he was vulnerable, I pushed for answers to painful questions. I meant well, but he told me more than he’d ever want to tell a Malloren. I hope that one day he’ll forgive me.”

“My dear Elf,” said Fort, “I think the excitement has turned your brain. There will be no ‘one day.’ Cyn is going to kill me. I must admit that I had not counted on him being around. As you remember, I fenced with him once before and though I’ve been working at it, he is surely still my master.”

“None of my brothers will kill you unless I give them permission.” She turned to Rothgar. “Will they?”

After a moment he said, “Not for this offense.”

At that, Fort looked up at Rothgar. “I’m astonished at your inhuman calm. Can I at least look forward to the fact that you will beat her?”

“I doubt it. And you can take that in whatever way you want. Elf, go now.”

Elf saw just how tight a rein her brother had on himself. Despairing of any words to make things better, she left the room.

Sappho waited in the hall, a pile of men’s black clothing over her arm. “Is Walgrave likely to need these?” she asked. “I sent to his house for them, but a winding sheet might be more appropriate.”

“I gather he’s not going to die.” Lips unsteady, Elf touched the coat, seeing buttons she remembered from Midsummer Night on his boat. “Oh, God. I’ve created a disaster!”

“Not at all.” Sappho put an arm around her. “It is my philosophy to put all such disasters firmly to the credit of men, and to leave men to sort them out.”

Rothgar watched his sister leave the room and studied the closed door for a moment before turning to look at Fort. “Don’t brace yourself. I have no intention of touching you.”

Fort rested his head back, eyes closed. “I gather I am just to be bludgeoned with words then. Don’t you think, with a father such as mine, I have developed calluses against that?”

“I would be astonished to hear that he restricted himself to words. In fact, Walgrave, I need to offer you an apology.”

Fort’s eyes opened to rest on the older man. “Now you do surprise me.”

“I thought I might. My feelings about my sister’s involvement with you will depend largely on future events. That has little connection to my sin, which is that of misjudging you.”

“I am bewildered but entranced. Go on.”

Rothgar moved to sit in a chair a good ten feet from the sofa. “Before Cyn’s involvement with Chastity, you were no more than a name to me, only of interest as the heir to a man who had become my enemy. I had assessed you to be the common sort of young buck, interested only in weapons, women, and wine.”

“Ah, those were the days . . .”

Rothgar continued. “Having come into my inheritance too early, I lack experience of the tedium of living under the shadow of a father who will give his son no part to play. Our encounters over Chastity’s affairs merely confirmed that you were uninteresting. Except, perhaps, after the fencing match.”

“You were impressed because I didn’t sulk when beaten?”

“Precisely.”

Fort studied the marquess for a moment. “I don’t recall a warming of your attitude.”

“Few people ever do. Nor did I warm. I merely noted it, and subsequently forgot to take it into account. You
are correct in thinking I did my best to make you the instrument of your father’s death.”

Fort sucked in a breath. “And now you think an apology will make all right?”

“Not at all. Apologies rarely change anything. I am apologizing to ease my own conscience, and in the faint hope that it might help you come to terms with your situation. And I am not apologizing for using you. It was a completely logical strategy.”

“Oh, please. Tell me why.”

“I intend to. I had no fixed plan that night other than to show your father the proof of his treason and thus compel him to agree to Chastity’s marriage. Knowing your father’s temperament, I did hope to drive him to kill himself, for he was a dangerous poison to leave loose. I did not expect, however, that he would try to kill someone else. I should have. Suicide is perhaps the greatest act of self-blame. Your father never blamed himself for anything.”

“Another miscalculation. You must have been in an agony of self-blame. What a pity—”

“—I did not kill myself?” Rothgar smiled. “I have learned to handle guilt. I have, however, blamed myself for misjudging you. As your father raged in the hall, waving his pistol, you, Bryght, and myself were nearby with weapons of our own. I instantly decided that your father should die, but it really would have been inconvenient to have a Malloren do it. I and your father were known to be at odds, and in his ravings he was spewing lies about me and treason. I merely left it till the last moment, hoping you would prove to be the rather shallow man of action I thought you to be.”

Fort shrugged slightly. “As I am. I killed him.”

“You could have wounded him. You could probably have shot the pistol from his hand. You’re a good shot and you were close.”

Fort’s jaw clenched. “I thought this was an apology, not an inquisition.”

“Milles pardons.”
Rothgar inclined his head. “Of
course you had to kill him to save your family from ruin. The apology is because I misjudged you and gave no thought to you afterward. I assumed you to be the sort of clod who could kill a father—even a hated father—without a scar. I have come to see that is not so. As far as I can tell, your actions since becoming earl have been responsible and mature, except insofar as they concern my family. I have to suggest to you that as your father turned his own self-blame against me and Princess Augusta, so you are turning it against all Mallorens.”