Kasey Michaels - [Redgraves 02] (26 page)

“One night...one man who is soon to be your husband...and suddenly you’re a...you’re a slave to your passions?” Simon grabbed on to her wrists and rolled her onto her back. “God, I love you.”

Kate stopped struggling. She tilted her head slightly to one side, allowing his words to play inside her head a second time. He’d said that before. Well, not exactly said it. He’d said he wouldn’t say it, not while they were in the dower house, not while what she’d seen was still so fresh in her mind. Yes, that’s what he’d said. She remembered now. At the time, she’d just wanted to be alone...but she remembered it now.

“You don’t have to say that,” she told him, knowing she didn’t mean what she said.

He let go of her wrists, as if belatedly realizing she could believe he was holding her down, perhaps against her will. “That would be your opinion. Which, as it happens, doesn’t concur with mine. I love you, Kate. I’ve probably loved you since the first day, when you winked at me on the stairs. You’re beautiful, incorrigible, unexpected, passionate, brave, outspoken, beautiful—that bears repeating, probably headstrong does, as well—gentle, loving and caring, loyal, more than passably brilliant, and if you don’t love me I’ll probably wither and die without you, but I’ll go. Do I go, Kate? Because I love you enough to do that, if that’s what you want.”

She looked up into his face for a long time. Searched his eyes for any shadow in them, any hint of loathing linked to the sins of her father, her grandfather...and perhaps Trixie and Maribel, as well. What she saw in those beautiful eyes had nothing to do with anything but caring, loving, acceptance. No shadows, no barely leashed lust. Just...yes, just love. Only love.

“Don’t go,” she managed to whisper through her sudden tears. “Please don’t go. Never go...”

He kissed away her tears. Smoothed her hair back from her face, looked deeply into her eyes.

“I love you, Simon. I love you. More...I trust you. You’d never hurt me. You’d never lie to me. It’s just as you said. The past is the past, but it’s not our past. For us, there’s only the future. I see that now, finally.”

“Kate...sweetheart...we probably should talk about that a bit before—”

She put her hand over his mouth, just as he’d done to her earlier. “I think we’ve talked enough, don’t you?”

He sighed against her hand. Nodded. Pressed a kiss against her palm.

And then they made love. Created it, between them. Nourished with kisses, stroked with gentle hands, coaxed into bloom with their joined heartbeats, brought to fierce, healing flame with the melding of their bodies.

Each touch a benediction, every sigh an affirmation. Together, they were invincible, untouchable. As long as they had each other, nothing and no one they might face in the future would have the power to change what they built between them this wonderful night.

Like the Phoenix, they went into the fire and then rose out of it again, soaring high and free, reborn.

* * *

E
LSEWHERE
IN
THE
Manor, a woman cried, and was held, and at last found what she never dreamed existed in the arms of a most unlikely lover; a short, portly, gray-bearded man long past his first youth. A man whose name might or might not be Richard Borders.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“M
ORNING
ALL
!”

As “all” in the breakfast room consisted of Simon and Richard, both turned to see Adam Collier striking a pose in the doorway, clearly proud of his outlandish rigout.

“What in blazes are you dressed for, young man?” Richard asked around a bite of toast. “And where did you ever find those boots? You could fit another two feet into them.”

“True, true,” Adam said, advancing on what Simon secretly believed the brainless young twit considered his quarry. “There are only so many pair of my beloved shoes I am willing to risk, even in such an exemplary cause. These are Dearborn’s, worn he tells me, when a portion of the cellars flood during heavy rains, not that it matters. These horrendous trousers belong to my valet, who begged my pardon for having them in his otherwise dull but acceptable wardrobe. Brown? What
could
he have been thinking? We’re not tunnel hunting today?”

Simon and Richard exchanged glances. “No,” Simon said, “sadly, we’re not. But I’m certain Kate would be happy to join you.”
Unless she kills me first for foisting you on her.
He got to his feet, and Richard quickly rose, as well. “Mr. Borders and I have other plans. And we’re already wasting valuable time, aren’t we, Richard?”

“My fault, entirely. I overslept. Mr. Collier?” he said, bowing in Adam’s general direction. “The best of luck to you today.”

“Well, I should hope so! It would be quite bad form to wish me ill luck, wouldn’t it? I truly wish to help, you know. After a time of reflection I realized I don’t speak French, so Boney has to lose. I mean, the clothes are one thing—fine, very fine—but I don’t need the whole bloody bunch of them coming here, do I? Just the tailors.”

Simon shook his head and motioned for Richard to precede him from the room. “You get used to it,” he commiserated once they were some way down the hall. “The nearly overwhelming urge to bang his head against something solid until the action shakes awake some small bit of mostly slumbering brain.”

“He was made Gideon’s ward after his parents were murdered. Do you know, when presented with his sister after a few years lived apart, he didn’t even recognize her? He first attempted to romance her, and then denied her, called her a fortune hunter. Jessica, who’d been worried sick about the boy she remembered as sweet and shy—and much younger, of course—promptly told Gideon he could keep him and stomped out of the Portman Square mansion. I think that’s why Gideon married her—she’d bested him, you see. I understand not many can do that.”

“I know I’m not in any great hurry to try. I’m told you and Jessica ran a gaming house in London.”

The affable Richard suddenly looked anything but friendly. “And how would that be any business of yours, my lord?”

Simon immediately realized his mistake. “It wouldn’t, and I sincerely apologize.”

“Accepted. Now, here’s the key Trixie told me to give you. What’s the plan?”

“After finding a way to avoid Kate all morning, you mean?”

“Trixie’s taking care of finding something for them to do, although I doubt she’ll want to go searching for the other end of the tunnel, or cave, or whatever it is.”

“I don’t know about that, my friend. She’s quite the brave woman. And the farther from the Manor she can boost Kate, well, the better it will be for us.” Simon paused in the large entrance hall and looked up the staircase, just in case Kate was on her way down. He’d kept her awake until after four, and hoped she was still soundly asleep, perhaps even dreaming of him. But with Kate one could never be too careful.

He’d lied to her, a lie of omission, even as she’d praised him, saying she knew he’d never lie to her. He had that yet to deal with, and knew the discussion would probably take place uncomfortably soon.

And not one lie, but two, another lie of omission. Perhaps if there were only the one...?

“Richard, to save your own skin, would you allow a headstrong, admittedly capable woman to accompany you on what could possibly be a somewhat dangerous mission?”

“Should you take Kate along tonight when you meet with the smugglers? That is what you’re asking, isn’t it?”

Simon stopped dead on the flagstone walkway leading toward the dower house. “How—?”

“I think you know,” Richard said with a smile splitting his beard, showing off strong white teeth.

“Trixie. She bribes the servants.”

“No, she pays them. Quite well. Some to be obvious in their watching, their observation, and some to be devious as the devil, even going so far as to tidy up behind someone like Kate, should she be less than careful, in order to help her keep her secrets. Any day, I expect at least three of them to announce they’ve pooled their earnings and plan to purchase themselves a tavern, or perhaps a small island.”

“Are we being watched now?”

“No, not now. She gave strict orders. I might tell you this was not the easiest order she’s ever given, as her curiosity nearly overwhelmed her need to feel safe at last. This has not been an easy time for her, ever since Gideon approached her about the Society.”

Simon cocked a look over his shoulder at Richard as he inserted the key in the lock. “She confided in you?”

“Inside,” Richard ordered shortly. Once the door was closed behind them, he looked at Simon, and sighed. “I found her last night, weeping as if her heart would break. Yes, she told me. She told me many things. Now, where do we go from here?”

Simon explained the mechanism for the secret panel, and they took up candles before heading down into Charles Redgrave’s private hell.

Richard looked, sighed, but said nothing.

“The journals are in a room behind the altar.”

“Never give such an abomination that name, if you please,” Richard said at last.

Over the course of the next hour, all the journals covering the time since Barry Redgrave’s death were carried upstairs and neatly stacked atop two Holland covers spread on the floor in the entrance hall.

Next, the remaining journals were pulled from the shelves and tossed into a pile in the center of the reading room.

Sweat pouring from both men, even though the chambers were underground, and naturally cool, they rolled small barrels of lamp oil Simon had found in two of the cabinets into place. They then poured some over the piled journals, added to the troughs that snaked through the main chamber, filling each to the brim, allowing more to run over those rims and soak into the carpets and velvet cushions.

The last of the lamp oil became a fuse of sorts, running from the room, to the staircase, to the main floor carpets of the dower house.

Richard put down the small barrel he’d just emptied. “Do you really believe the fire will be hot enough to collapse this pile onto itself, tumbling it all into that hellhole down there?”

“With any luck, yes. And melt the rest, even the metal of the...”

“Restraints, yes, I saw them. Some of them too large for a woman’s wrists. Which of Dante’s nine circles of hell do you think that place is?”

“All of them,” Simon said, tying up the corners of the Holland covers, turning the dust sheets into sacks. “Limbo, lust, gluttony, greed, heresy, violence, fraud, treachery...even anger. All that’s missing is madness. Complete and utter madness.” He straightened once more, putting a hand to the small of his back. “Who would have thought arson could be such backbreaking work? Unfortunately, we’re not done. I need to be sure the pipes leading up to the surface aren’t blocked after all these years, as we need air to feed the fire once it’s set. But first we’ll get these journals to a safe place.”

Richard picked up one of the sacks. “I’ve been wondering about that. Did you have one in mind, by any chance? I can’t see us traipsing across the lawns and up the stairs of the Manor lugging them on our backs, do you? Although many others would,” he ended with a soft chuckle. “Still, Trixie assures me you’re brilliant.”

“I appreciate her confidence in me, but I’m actually taking a page from the Redgrave books, sparing an unfortunately unquenchable nugget of apprehension Kate somehow was able to refuse Trixie’s invitation and is still in the house somewhere. Still, I’m putting my faith in Redgravian audacity. It has worked for them, I believe, since the beginning. So yes, we are strolling across the lawn and up the Manor’s main staircase with these sacks flung over our backs. With heads high, talking and joking, looking anything but furtive, as if we all lug sacks about with us in Londontown as a daily occurrence. Can you manage that?”

“I earned my daily bread with a deck of cards for many a decade, my boy. I can bluff with the best of them. Shall we?”

* * *

K
ATE
HAD
GIVEN
in to her delicious laziness and agreed to take breakfast in her bedchamber. In her bed, actually, which she could barely remember returning to last night; early this morning, actually. Simon had carried her down the hallway, tucked her under the covers, kissed her lingeringly and then left her. She had probably fallen asleep before he was back in the hallway, softly closing the door behind him.

So only now, hours after she usually rose, bathed, dressed and made her way to the breakfast room, was she heading toward the stairs, eager to see Simon again, nearly as eager to load her plate with a hearty meal, for she was unnaturally famished.

The day would come when they’d spend each night together, wake to morning kisses and perhaps a pair of breakfast trays. Sally probably had best prepare herself to brushing crumbs from the bedsheets every morning. The thought brought a smile to Kate’s face, and she nearly called out to Simon when she saw him in the upstairs hallway, walking toward the west wing with Richard Borders beside him, the pair of them carrying— What the devil?

She stepped into a recessed doorway, just in case either of them happened to turn to look over their shoulders and see her, and then slowly peeked out her head to watch as they disappeared around a corner in the west wing.

The journals. They had to be carrying the journals. Moving them from the dower house in order to inspect them without having to spend any more time in that horrible chamber.

The members of the Society couldn’t have been prolific journalists, if all of their writings back to her father’s time filled only two sacks—no, Holland covers; they’d used the Holland covers. Brilliant!

And moving them to Simon’s own rooms certainly made sense. But couldn’t he have told her what he was doing? Didn’t he yet understand? Nothing remained a secret for long, not from her, at least. Although he was probably only attempting to protect her, keep
her
from having to return to the dower house ever again.

Which was very sweet of him. He was a sweet man. And he loved her.

She’d only make him suffer a little bit for thinking he could hide the journals from her.

Kate remained in the alcove, counting in her head, nearly reaching three hundred before Simon and Richard appeared once more, this time heading for the main staircase. Her body pressed against the door, she waited until the click of their heels on the wood stairs faded away before stepping into the hallway once more.

Figuratively, she rubbed her hands together, intent on heading straight for Simon’s bedchamber, and the journals. Just to...just to look, that’s all. One quick peek. Or perhaps two.

“Ah, there you are at last, slug-a-bed. Ready to go, I see, although this penchant for riding clothes day after day confounds me.”

Kate froze where she was. “Adam,” she said, pinning a painful smile to her face before turning around. “Ready to go where, may I— What the devil are you dressed up for? You look like one of the gardeners.”

He patted at his chest with both hands. “Not the shirt, surely. Purest Irish linen. Set me back three pounds six for only a pair of them, as I recall, and I highly commend myself for sacrificing this one in such a good cause. Not that I’d come within a dozen yards of my valet’s suggestion of donning his unbleached homespun. My skin chafes easily, you understand.”

How had the world, for the past nearly nineteen years, refrained from squeezing the boy’s neck until he turned purple? “Would you please get to the point?”

“The point? You mean I wasn’t clear? We’re going tunnel hunting, of course. Or cave hunting. Whatever. It’s my duty to lend my assistance, you understand, brought home to me by both the marquis and your good self. And Valentine, although I admit I thought he was only attempting to frighten me. Oh, and French tailors—very important, those fellows. I’ll have a go at it myself, if you don’t choose to accompany me. Time I became a man, and all of that.”

She looked down the hall of the west wing once more, and then resigned herself to humoring Adam, who probably wouldn’t last beyond a quarter hour at most, once he either spotted a spider or remembered he wasn’t at all fond of mud.

“All right, let’s go,” she said, sparing one last look down the hallway.

“Delicious! Your grandmother awaits us downstairs.”

Now he had her full attention! “I beg your pardon?”

“You do? It’s simple, really. The entire idea was hers. I awoke to a note from the dear lady, brought to me with my morning chocolate. I do adore morning chocolate, don’t you, even when delivered a full two hours earlier than expected. I usually don’t rise until now, which is only rational for a man of my sensibilities, but needs must when the dowager countess drives, or so Dearborn told me. Dearborn personally delivered the hot chocolate, piping hot. I think he likes me, which is more than I can say for most of the servants.”

“Adam,” she gritted out from between clenched teeth.

“What? Oh! I wasn’t finished, was I? I’m to accompany you ladies as you tunnel hunt. In return, she’s going to convince Gideon I need an increase in my quarterly allowance. Wonderful woman, the dowager countess. Smashing. And so understanding of the needs of a young gentleman of fashion on the strut.”

“I’ll just wager she is,” Kate mumbled under her breath as she made her way downstairs, her mind whirling. Why would Trixie agree to go tunnel hunting? Worse, why would she be the one to suggest such a project? It was almost as if—