Kathryn Smith (20 page)

Just enough that he wouldn’t be the first suspect that leaped to Moira’s usually sharp little mind. It was just a precaution, though. He knew he was one of the last people she would suspect.

Bitterness flooded the back of his throat.

Moira’s hand settled on his arm. It was meant to be reassuring, but he wanted to toss it off like an insect. How could she touch him? More importantly, how could he let her?

“Thank you for your concern, but there is nothing for you to be anxious about. I am not careless when it comes to security.”

No, just when it came to men, or rather one man. Him.

His mind set, already planning his next course of action, Wynthrope asked her to dance. He went through the steps mechanically, flawlessly, as his head worked out timing and details. Then, after the dance, he led her back to his friends, with the excuse that he saw a business acquaintance he wished to speak to, and the promise that he would be back for another dance after.

After he stole the tiara, he planned to make good on his promise. He had it all worked out. After going home for a change of clothing, he would break into Moira’s house, steal the tiara, and then take it back to his place and hide it in the secret compartment under his bed. Then, he would change
back into his evening clothes and return to the party. With any luck, no one would notice his absence, and if they did, Moira would deliver his defense. It was all very simple.

His apartments were quiet when he entered. He half expected Daniels to speak from the shadows, but the old man was thankfully absent. The Irishman was counting the money he would soon have, no doubt.

Wynthrope walked to his bedroom and lit the lamp. Then he slowly and methodically stripped off his evening clothes and replaced them with black wool trousers, sweater, and boots. Over the sweater he tugged on an old black coat that would keep him warm but not hinder his movements. He’d thought about wearing a mask or a hood, but that would work against him if he was caught in the neighborhood. Dressed as he was, he would raise some suspicion, but he could probably talk his way out of it.

Back outside, he rounded the building to the stables where he housed his horses. He saddled King, a black gelding who ran like the devil himself was on his heels, and hoisted himself up onto the horse’s back. Then, putting his heels to King’s flanks, he started off in the direction of Moira’s house.

He wasn’t yet halfway there when it began to snow.

Wynthrope had lied to her.

It was unfair of her to think it, but Moira couldn’t help it. He said he was going to talk to a business associate, but that had been more than half an hour ago and she had yet to see him again. To be sure, there were quite a few people milling about Leander’s ballroom—the same ballroom she used to preside over as hostess—but not enough to conceal a man like Wynthrope for long.

Perhaps he and this acquaintance were elsewhere in the house, somewhere they could sit and enjoy relative quiet
while they talked. That was a very plausible answer, and Moira didn’t believe it for a second. In her heart, she knew that Wynthrope had left the property altogether. He had left without saying good-bye.

It would be easy for her to think his absence was due to her, and that part of her that was still uncertain of her own appeal was convinced it was just that. However, none of his brothers seemed to know where he was either, especially North. He was closest to North. If he was leaving with no intention of returning, wouldn’t his brothers know? Or perhaps he had feared North would say something to her?

Nonsense. Wynthrope Ryland didn’t fear very much. People without much joy in their lives never did. It was an unfair assessment, perhaps, but a valid one. There wasn’t much in this world that Wynthrope would miss should he leave it. He would miss his brothers, and that was about it.

He might miss her, but Moira wasn’t certain. Was she someone he would regret losing? He certainly didn’t act like it, disappearing like this. She just knew it had something to do with her. She could feel it. Regardless of the fact that she believed him to be much more straightforward than that, his strange behavior over the past few days only served to reenforce her misgivings. His kisses hadn’t changed, the way he spoke hadn’t changed, but there was an underlying tension in him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. He seemed preoccupied and a little distant.

Perhaps he had tired of her and didn’t want to hurt her. That would be reason to not be his usual blunt self. Given their conversation of New Year’s Eve, that was unlikely, but not impossible. A lot could have changed over the last few days.

It was just her luck. She had finally found someone she thought she could trust with the secret of her marriage, and he was already withdrawing from her. The first man she ever
truly wanted to give herself to, and it seemed as though he no longer wanted her.

No. She refused to think this way. That was the old Moira talking. It was so easy for her to blame all this on herself, but that didn’t make it right. Wynthrope wasn’t the kind of man to play games without a reason. Perhaps he was involved in something he didn’t want to discuss with her. Perhaps there was trouble with some kind of business venture he had invested in. That could very easily be the reason for the change in him, and it had nothing to do with her.

Regardless of his reasoning, the party had lost much of its luster without him there. She had danced with many gentlemen, some of whom had flirted shamelessly with her. If nothing else, she had Wynthrope to thank for this newfound popularity. He had changed something in her. She felt more comfortable in public now. She could make conversation and not feel foolish. She was more at ease in her own skin. The changes were obvious to her, and they were obvious to others as well.

Still, that didn’t change the fact that she didn’t want to be there any longer.

“Octavia,” she said, turning to her friend. “I’m not feeling that well. I think I might go home.”

Her lovely face a mask of concern, Octavia frowned. “Do you want me to come with you?”

What a dear. “Heavens, no. I am not that ill. Merely tired.”

Blue eyes narrowed. Octavia saw too much at times. “It is Wynthrope isn’t it? He has upset you.”

Moira shook her head. “Not at all.” It wasn’t a whole lie. She cared about Wynthrope, but she wasn’t about to give him
that
much power over her.

That seemed to appease Octavia, even if she didn’t look totally convinced.

“Might I ask you to watch over Minerva, though?” Moira asked before Octavia could voice any more concern or questions. “See that she gets home, if it is no trouble?”

It would be unfair to ask her sister to leave now, when she was so obviously enjoying the attention of Lucas Scott, a young man of good fortune from an old and respected family. It looked as though Minnie had finally met someone who could hold her interest. Perhaps this was it. Minnie had found the man she would marry. The house would seem so quiet with her gone. Funny, just a few weeks ago, Moira would have done just about anything to be rid of her sibling, now she realized she was going to miss her. Life was so very puzzling at times.

Her friend’s smile was reassuring. “Of course it is no trouble. North and I will deliver her to the door ourselves.”

Moira gave her a brief hug. “Thank you. I will talk to you tomorrow. Be sure to keep track of any good gossip for me.”

Octavia would also be sure to tell Wynthrope that she had left should he choose to return. She would do this of her own accord, because Moira would never ask her to. Octavia had never made any secret of the fact that while she thought Wynthrope a good man, she also thought he needed a “strong hand” to guide him into a relationship. For some reason she thought Moira had such a hand. It made her smile. Everyone seemed to think she was stronger than she felt. Even Tony had thought her capable of so much more than she ever dared attempt.

She said her good-byes and made her way out of the ballroom. A footman had gone to collect her cape, leaving her relatively alone in the hall.

“You are not leaving, are you, Moira?”

She smiled as Tony’s cousin approached her. Leander Tyndale was a sandy-haired man, possessed of the Tyndale kind countenance and laughing brown eyes. He was taller
than Tony had been, and larger, stockier. He was the kind of person who made one feel safe and secure in his presence.

“I am afraid so, Leander. You will forgive me, I hope?” She kept her tone light, teasing almost.

A small frown puckered his brows. “You are not unwell, I hope?”

He was sweet to be so concerned. Everyone was so concerned about her. Obviously they didn’t think her
that
strong. “No. Just tired. Nothing a good night’s sleep will not remedy.”

“You are perfectly welcome to rest in one of the rooms here.” He gestured toward the stairs. “Your chamber is exactly the way you left it.”

A thoughtful offer, if not a strange one. If was as though he didn’t want her to go home, but what difference did her continued attendance make?

Good Lord, he didn’t have designs on her, did he? No, that was ridiculous. Leander had never shown any more interest in her than a cousin might. Perhaps that was why his solicitous behavior now was so strange.

“Thank you, but no.” Her gaze traveled around the hall of its own accord, every corner and nook painfully familiar. “As much as I love this house, it is no longer my home, and I’m afraid that chamber will only remind me of all the nights I lay awake listening for Tony in case he called my name.”

Just the mention of it brought back all those awful memories of Tony’s sickness. He had suffered more than anyone should have to, and in the end he had almost convinced himself it was because of his “deviance,” as he came to call it. Regardless, at the end, the only person he wanted with him other than Moira had been Nathaniel. He had loved him until his last breath, and Moira refused to believe God would punish him for such devotion.

Leander nodded. He seemed a little distracted, anxious
even. “You will be careful, will you not? There has been some thievery in the area as of late. I hate to think of you alone in your house.”

Dear God, not him too! Moira gave his arm a reassuring pat. “I am not alone. I have a houseful of servants there with me. You are sweet to worry, Leander, but I will be fine.”

So many people concerned with her safety and well-being. Whatever had she done to deserve such regard? It was enough to make one suspicious, especially when one of those concerned was someone who had rarely bothered with her before this.

A footman appeared with her cloak and gloves, and another footman informed her that her carriage had been brought round. Leander had no choice but to wish her a good night and allow her to leave, not that she thought he might try to stop her.

He was still frowning when she looked back at him from the foyer. Moira couldn’t begin to fathom what was bedeviling him so. Was he that concerned about the possibility of her being robbed, or was there something he wasn’t telling her?

Good heavens, she was in fine form tonight! Everyone had a secret agenda—what a ludicrous thought. Perhaps she really did need a good night’s rest. Lord knew she wasn’t quite herself at the moment.

It was snowing when she stepped outside, the fat flakes drifting lazily to the still bare ground. It probably wouldn’t amount to much, but she was glad that she was leaving now just in case. The last thing she wanted was to be delayed because of poor conditions. At least Minnie would have Octavia and North to keep her company. Moira would have nothing but her own thoughts, and she had quite enough of them already for one evening.

Luckily the drive to her own house was less than a quarter
hour from door to door. A light dusting of white covered the walk and steps, nothing of any consequence. She didn’t bother to lift her skirts to avoid dampening the hem, so convinced she was of there being no danger to the fabric.

After handing over her outerwear to Chester, Moira asked for water for a bath and went directly to her room. Normally she wouldn’t trouble her servants at such an hour, but she needed something to soothe her mind, something to relax her. A bath and a nice glass of wine would do just the trick. Then she would crawl into bed and, she hoped, spend the entire night in peaceful slumber, rather than plagued by troubling feelings as she was now.

It didn’t take long for the water to arrive as there was usually a huge cauldron warming in the kitchen, especially at this time of year. Footmen set the tub near the hearth where a fire banked, and emptied the buckets into it. A maid left her a decanter of wine and a glass while another laid soft, fluffy towels near the fire to warm.

Moira dismissed them all with thanks, telling them to leave the tub till morning and wishing them a good night. Once she was alone again, she added vanilla-scented oil to the steaming water and poured herself a full glass of wine. Then she extinguished all the lamps in her room and slipped out of her clothing and jewelry. Her gown ended up a heap on the carpet, her necklace and earrings left on the vanity. For a moment she thought of Wynthrope and Leander’s warnings about a thief. She would put the gems in her safe before crawling into bed.

She left her hair up so it wouldn’t get wet and climbed into the tub, wine in hand. A delicious shiver wracked her body as the hot water hit her skin. Slowly, with a sigh of delight, she sank into the copper tub, the metal already warmed by the water and the fire behind. Settling against the curved back, she reclined her head and sipped her wine, her eyes
closed. The wine danced on her tongue, warming her on the inside as the bath warmed her outside. The crackling of the fire and the scented water worked their magic quickly, and she felt the tightness begin seeping out of her muscles.

She was in a state of perfect languidness, her head and limbs heavy, the wine long gone when she heard a strange noise. Opening her eyes, Moira was astonished to see a man coming in through her balcony doors. He was dressed entirely in black, his movements almost perfectly silent. Only the lifting of the latch had given away his presence.