Lord Satan (13 page)

Squealing ecstatically, Irene followed suit. Tom looked
up. “Hey, Lib, this is something like. You should try some.” He stuffed a
dainty, paté-topped morsel of bread in his mouth.

Libbetty surveyed the food-laden table. “Do you think we
are supposed to eat it?” she asked.

“Of course, ninnyhammer. Do you think the food is just to
look at?”

“I didn’t mean that. I merely thought they may want to save
it for later. We had our dinner just before we came, after all.”

“We ate hours ago.” Tom devoured a sliver of ham.

“I’m sure it is permissible to eat now.” Mr. Murray picked
up a plate. “Tell me what you fancy.” Too nervous to eat, Libbetty chose a
lobster patty, two slices of buttered bread and some pastries, and Mr. Murray
prepared a plate for her. Laying aside his plate, Tom served Sybille Bassett.

Libbetty glanced around again as she began to nibble at her
food, surprising an angry glare from Mrs. Murray. Startled, she almost dropped
the Meissen china plate.

Mr. Murray coughed and flushed a deep red. “Excuse me.” He
hurried to his mother’s side. The woman spoke to him, and he made his way to
the Goforths and stood by Miss Georgina.

Libbetty exchanged glances with Tom, then looked away to
avoid the contagion of his broad grin. Lord Neil, in company with an officer
in scarlet uniform, converged upon Libbetty’s group and made introductions.

Captain Forsyth cut a dash in scarlet regimentals. He
requested the honor of a dance later in the evening. Libbetty agreed, and Miss
Bassett accepted for herself but explained that Irene did not dance. “Until
later, ladies,” Captain Forsyth said, bowing and then sauntering to Mrs. Dalrymple’s
side.

Two more London visitors joined Lord Neil and wasted no time
soliciting the ladies’ hands for dances. Libbetty made a strong effort not to
glance at Lord Neil. Miss Bassett, not sharing Libbetty’s shyness, shot him a
coy look. “Do you not dance this evening also, Lord Neil?”

“Possibly.” His lips twitched with the same amusement
reflected in his dark eyes.

The silence lengthened. Libbetty’s heart gave a curious
flutter as she waited to hear what he answered. Would he ask to dance with Miss
Bassett—and perhaps with her also?

Miss Bassett waved her fan. “If so, you should speak up
lest all our dances will be bespoke.”

“As your host, I most sincerely hope your company will be in
great demand. Such charming ladies as you,” his sardonic look included
Libbetty, “unquestionably will have your hands solicited for all the dances.
If you will excuse me.” He stepped away to speak to Lady Goforth and her
daughters, leaving an air of awkwardness among the group who remained.

“Well!” said Sybille Bassett, two splotches of bright red
staining her cheeks.

How could Miss Bassett’s have behaved in such a forward
manner? Her audacity almost deserved Lord Neil’s set-down. She had as much as
asked him to dance with her. Libbetty would never have dared do such a thing.

Still, Lord Neil had responded with discourtesy. Sybille
Bassett’s face crumpled, near to tears. Libbetty’s throat tightened and no
words came to her to comfort the young woman.

Lord Neil had not solicited Libbetty’s hand for a dance, either.
All her imaginings of the evening party had included such an event, and without
it, all her plans were set at naught. How was she to carry on her
investigation if she had no chance to talk to him?

“Take no notice of him,” said one of the men, a tall
gentleman with carrot-red hair and a lean, hawk-like face. “He does not care
overmuch for dancing.”

Miss Bassett tittered and said, “I shan’t regard it.” She
walked away, seeming serene, but Libbetty knew better.

Lord Cauldreigh strolled over to Libbetty. “I’ve requested
the orchestra to play some contra dances. They will begin soon. Will you do
me the honor of dancing the first set with me?”

She could not. Miss Bassett was upset. Libbetty should try
to cheer her. “Should not someone else precede me, sir?”

“That may be,” he conceded. “I don’t care for all that
falderal. I haven’t yet tried dancing on my game leg, and I won’t risk it if I
can’t dance with whom I choose.” He gave her a coaxing smile.

Libbetty made one more attempt. “I have already promised
these gentlemen….”

“No need to stand on ceremony,” said the taller man, whom
she believed Lord Neil had introduced as Sir Rodney Humphrey. “We weren’t
promised the first dance, anyway. I’ll have plenty of chances later.” He
chuckled. “If Cauldreigh don’t concern himself with precedence, I do, and he
precedes me.” He bowed to Libbetty, and Lord Cauldreigh led her away.

Seeing Miss Bassett standing with Mr. Colton in one of the
alcoves quelled Libbetty’s primary worry. Shortly, Sybille Bassett and
Jonathan Colton joined a second set, where Mrs. Dalrymple prepared to tread the
measure with Captain Forsyth.

“Is he one of your fellow officers?” Libbetty asked Lord
Cauldreigh.

“Yes, Christian Forsyth is a great gun,” he said.

Miss Georgina Goforth, partnered by Samuel Murray, and her
sister with one of the London visitors, stepped into the set with Lord
Cauldreigh and Libbetty. Edwina joined their set with Francis just as the
musicians began to play.

Libbetty placed her hand upon Cauldreigh’s proffered arm and
concentrated on following the music and not appearing clumsy. She had never
before danced with a man who was not her brother.

Fortunately, this set did not require her to change
partners, which would further have wracked her nerves. She soon realized Lord
Cauldreigh experienced some discomfort in his wounded leg, which prompted her
to forget everything else in solicitude for him. Convinced he would not wish
to have her fuss over him, she said nothing, but made her pace as decorously
slow and smooth as possible without falling behind in the steps.

While they waited their turn to take part in the dance,
Libbetty asked, “Why do you not wear your uniform, as Captain Forsyth does?”

“Do you wish me to wear it?”

“No, I was only curious. Is it not required?”

“Only on the battlefield, or in a review,” he assured her.
“Christian probably cannot afford another coat. Besides, when a soldier wears
his uniform at a social occasion, he usually hopes to impress the ladies. You
must admit I don’t need to wear bright plumage to have all the ladies’ eyes
upon me.” He grinned, his eyes twinkling.

“Indeed, I have noticed how the ladies all observe you,” she
returned laughingly. “They are quite green that it is I with whom you chose to
dance.”

Still, as she watched Captain Forsyth whirling through the
steps, she brightened inside. He had a reckless, care-for-nothing air that
heightened his appeal, and his uniform played an inconsequential part in his
attraction.

When the set ended, Lord Cauldreigh brought Libbetty to Mrs.
Hayes, who sat with Mrs. Murray and Lady Goforth at one end of the room.
Edwina returned to her mother’s side. Mrs. Hogwood stared balefully at
Libbetty and Edwina frowned, but gave her a little wave, hand low so her mother
would not see.

Sir Rodney at once gravitated to Libbetty, claiming her hand
for the next set. Libbetty glanced to see if Lord Neil danced. Would he lead
out Mrs. Dalrymple? However, he stood talking with Dr. Hayes, Squire Hogwood,
Mr. Bassett, and Sir Hubert.

Some time later, Libbetty had a moment to pause, no one
having solicited her hand for the dance. The evening had fleeted by. She had
danced with Mr. Colton, Mr. Murray, Francis, the guests from London, and even
Tom. Captain Forsyth led her through the steps of a fast reel. She had danced
with nearly every young man at the party—except Lord Neil. None of her
partners had stirred her pulses.

The younger ladies all danced as much as Libbetty, except
for Irene Bassett and a young woman in a dowdy gray gown whom Libbetty did not
know.

Tom managed one dance with Edwina. Later, Libbetty was
touched to see him patiently leading Irene Bassett through the steps of one of
the simpler contras.

Everyone paused for more food and punch. The older men long
since had disappeared into an adjoining room to play cards. Libbetty wondered
if Lord Neil had joined them as he disappeared for a time, but returned. What
was the matter with her that she kept searching him out? He had danced once,
early in the evening, with Mrs. Dalrymple.

The older ladies—Mrs. Hayes, Mrs. Murray, Lady Goforth, and
Mrs. Hogwood—sat and watched the dancing. Libbetty noticed Mrs. Hayes’s toe
tapped time to the music.

Perhaps Lord Neil also noticed, because he approached and
spoke to the doctor’s wife, and they joined a set just forming as the music
resumed. Libbetty excused herself and went to the withdrawing room set aside
for the ladies.

She discovered Miss Bassett there, seated before a mirror
adjusting her hair. It was Libbetty’s first chance to speak to her since Lord
Neil’s cutting remark. She wished to ease Miss Bassett’s distress, but did not
know what to say. She finally chose “Have you enjoyed the rout?” as innocuous
words that Sybille could take as a direct question about her state of mind, or
equally as a meaningless pleasantry.

“Oh, yes, it has been agreeable, although not especially
memorable among the parties I have attended.”

“It is my first party,” Libbetty said. I thought it all
lovely—except Lord Neil’s words to you. I felt wretched for your sake.”

Miss Bassett trilled an artificial laugh. “Lord Neil does
not appreciate his true friends. He may think differently in time, when he
realizes how the very people who have come to eat his food and dance to his
music hold him in opprobrium. But all men are the same. They have no
discernment about people.”

Did the older girl truly care for Lord Neil? Edwina had
implied that in her eagerness to marry, Miss Bassett would accept an offer from
any suitor not actually a murderer. However, Lord Neil had a certain
attraction. She could easily enough envision Sybille Bassett’s being drawn to
him.

Libbetty returned to the salon, and concealed herself in a
corner in one of the alcoves, unwilling to be obliged to make polite
conversation.

She did not see Lord Neil, and wondered where he had gone.
What attribute did he have that continued to fascinate her? Several of the men
in attendance were fine-looking. Lord Neil was not even the most handsome of
the men present. That honor fell to Lord Cauldreigh, although Captain Forsyth
also had a certain air.

No one looked for Libbetty. This was a perfect opportunity
to examine the parapet from which Lord Cauldreigh had nearly fallen to his
death. She might not find any clues, as in the site of the shooting a few days
ago, but she had to make the effort.

Libbetty slipped out and climbed the staircase. Two flights
up, the stairs came to an end, with no apparent way to the roof. She retraced
her steps to the ground floor and along the corridor towards the back wing,
closer to the medieval portion of Cauldreigh Castle.

She found the servants’ stairs and slipped up these. She
would have no convenient excuse if she were seen here. Fortunately, no
servants used the staircase at the moment. Still, her heart raced and her legs
threatened to give way as she crept up.

This staircase led farther upward than the one for residents
and guests. At the very top a narrow door led out onto the roof. Her heart
pounded even faster as she passed through.

Unexpectedly, flambeaux were set about at intervals along
the rampart. By their flickering glow she picked her way while her pulse
hammered in her head, like a voice yelling at her to flee. She ignored the
message, examining the stone wall for broken places. But the parapet was
smooth; no loose or missing stones marred the expanse.

A taller tower ahead blocked her view around the corner.
The sudden flare of a match and movement of a darker shadow against the tower
forced a gasp from her, and her steps faltered.

“The rampart has been rebuilt,” came a voice from the dark.
“It was the first repair ordered once Trevor became well enough to bear the
noise of workmen about the place.”

Her eyes, adjusting to the dim light, distinguished Lord
Neil’s figure outlined by lighter sky to the west as he leaned against the low
stone wall.

*

“Oh, I did not expect you would be here.” The girl’s voice
whispered, as though she had no breath for speech.

“I hope you’d not have ventured to explore if you realized
you would find me here. I trust you are not so foolish as to risk your lovely
body being found broken in the ditch below.”

He could not see her face, shadowed against the light of a
flambeau behind her, but he sensed her recoil at his words and her immediate
recovery. “If the loose stones have been reset, you could not rid yourself of
me that way without risking discovery.”

“Clever girl. I will have to think of something else.”
Neil grinned and waved his cigar in the air, concealing his dismay in his
jocular manner. He did not know how to dissuade her from her hazardous quest.
The girl had no idea how she courted danger from Trevor’s unknown enemy. Not
to mention that if she and he were discovered here together she would be
ruined.

“I don’t believe you would harm me at all,” she ventured.
“After all, I don’t know anything to the point. If I disappeared when I was
known to have come here, it would arouse questions.”

Lord, he admired her spirit. Too bad he had to push it to
its limits. “Do you believe evil people are ruled by logic? They are not, you
know. More often they act without weighing the cost. That is why the jails
and gibbets are so well used.”

“If you were such a person, you wouldn’t tell me this.” She
moved closer, peering at him. What a snare she represented.

“Do you really think you are safe with me?” He puffed on
his cigar and blew out again, watching the cloud of smoke hovering in the air
before it dissipated. Suddenly his serious mood vanished in a bitter laugh.
“Of course you don’t. You half believe I am the one trying to harm my nephew.
Or perhaps it is more than half. Do you have any doubt about my villainy?”

“How…what makes you think I believe that about you?”

“You do not know how open and revealing your face is, do
you? Everything you think plays across it, just as on a stage. It is an
entertaining sight.” Neil stretched his free hand toward her face as he spoke,
but stopped short of touching her, recognizing danger in his sudden compelling
attraction to the girl. Her innocent yearning toward him was a sweet
sensation, but if he took advantage of it, he would be a cad.

*

She felt as if her awareness of him limned him clearly in
the starlit darkness—his outline as he leaned toward her, the tension of the
muscles in his shoulders, even his expression, free of his usual mockery. She
breathed in his masculine aroma, of tobacco, shaving soap, and his own
fragrance. Her attention centered on his hand as it reached for her face. She
caught her breath, anticipating his touch, but he lowered his hand, stepped
back, and lifted the cigar to his mouth.

She bit her lip, chagrined he could read her so easily. Did
he see her fascination with him as well? Defiantly, she asked, “Are you the
one behind the attempts on his life?”

“I only know of one attempt, unless you refer to his wound
from the Peninsula. Although someone undoubtedly tried to kill him on that
occasion, he did not aim specifically at Trevor. He was merely one of the
unknown enemy to the French soldier who shot him. As for the rest, I do not
intend to answer you.”

Libbetty stepped back. “W-why not?”

“Because I would say, ‘No, I am not the one who shot at Lord
Cauldreigh.’ If I had shot at him, I would protest my innocence with as much
passion and sincerity as if I had not. You are much too young and innocent to
see the truth behind the lies of a practiced schemer, so what would it avail
you to hear my answer?”

Fury shot through her. “I am not as young and innocent as
you think me. I always know when my brothers lie to me.”

“I hardly think your brothers are the hardened criminals
that Trevor’s assailant is. You need not feel insulted to be told you are
young and innocent. Those are only conditions of your age and life so far, and
will pass with time.”

She did not know why his words gave her such discomfort.
She stood gazing up at him, yearning for something she could not name, thoughts
of murder receding.

He tossed aside his cigar, and silence lengthened between
them. He said, with almost the harshness he had used to Sybille Bassett, “You
had better go back to the others. You will do your reputation no good by being
here with me. I will wait a few minutes and follow, so no one suspects we have
been together.”

“I don’t care about that. Why should it matter, anyway?”

“If people found out we were out here together, you would
learn why it matters. Go back inside.”

Puzzled and hurt at the precipitous change in his mood,
Libbetty retraced her steps and returned to the salon. Nothing seemed
different. Music still played, couples still danced, and a mood of gaiety
still prevailed. She wasn’t the same, however. The scene had lost its glamour
for her.

Cauldreigh led her out a second time. He was just the same
as ever—carefree, full of life, and jovial, evincing no sign of a lovelorn
condition. Nor did her heart beat any faster in his presence. Her lack of
progress in charming him would dishearten her more if her enquiry into the
attempts on his life did not distract her.

“Who is that young woman in the gray gown?” she asked,
partly to turn her mind away from more serious paths.

Cauldreigh turned his head to see whom she had indicated.
“That is Miss Clark—a cousin or some such of Mrs. Dalrymple.”

That woman danced a second time with Lord Neil. Libbetty
emboldened herself to ask, “And who is Mrs. Dalrymple?”

“She’s an old friend of Uncle Neil’s, known each other
practically all their lives.”

Were they lovers? Unbidden, Libbetty clenched her teeth at
the thought. What about Mr. Dalrymple?. Did they have one of those modern
marriages one heard about where husband and wife went their separate ways? Or
was she a widow? She dropped the subject, not wishing to appear overly
inquisitive.

Miss Clark bore the stamp of companion, so the older woman
still paid lip service to convention. However, Mrs. Dalrymple had danced more
than once with Captain Forsyth, and he appeared bewitched.

As she watched the older woman, it occurred to Libbetty how
mistaken were her impressions during the encounter in Sidneys’ store, when she
supposed Mrs. Whitelow to be a Castle visitor. Although both women were
beautiful and dressed in a bold, dashing fashion, subtle differences in style
and speech proved Mrs. Dalrymple a lady born, while Mrs. Whitelow’s low origins
could not be hidden.

Tom asked Miss Clark to stand up with him, filling Libbetty
with pride at his kindness. No other man present had asked the two wallflowers
to dance. Miss Clark looked flustered, as though unused to receiving such
attention.

Most of the young men present solicited Libbetty for a
second dance. It had become obvious Lord Neil would not ask her. He lounged
on the sidelines, moving about the room and conversing with guests who were not
dancing. He did not even approach Libbetty when she sat out one set.

Several times she glanced his way, to have him catch her eye
and smile his infuriating smile. Why must he catch her each time she peeked at
him? She vowed not to look at him again, only to find her eyes seeking him
out.

The evening drew to a close. People said their farewells.
Mrs. Hayes came to collect Libbetty and Tom.

“We had a lovely time,” someone said to Lord Cauldreigh.

“Well, I did not!” Irene Bassett piped up in a carrying
tone. “It is not at all like the parties I have gone to before. I thought we
would eat cakes and ices and play games, like blind man’s buff and
hide-and-go-seek.”

There was a startled silence, and then Lord Cauldreigh
laughed as he spoke to Irene. “I am sorry that we overlooked the games. We
will play them next time, I promise you.”

*

The soft sound of his door opening and closing awakened
Neil. He sat up in the darkness. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me,” Letitia Dalrymple said.

Neil masked his annoyance in sarcasm. “Forgive my
lamentable memory, but did I invite you?”

She answered in a humorous tone, “You know you didn’t. I
thought we might take up where we left off.”

Neil reached for his dressing gown, drawing it around him as
he stood. He fumbled for flint to light the candle. After light flared in the
room, he said to her, “That time is past, Letitia. We’ve been friends for far
longer than we were lovers. Let’s not spoil it.”

“It’s the little redhead, isn’t it? You couldn’t keep your
eyes off her.” Letitia floated over to his bed and sat down, fluffing the
pillows.

Candlelight shone through the clinging folds of her
diaphanous nightgown, revealing her generous curves. As tempting as the sight
was, Neil had no desire to reignite the past. “Don’t be tiresome. She’s a
child.” As if in denial, a picture came to him of Elizabeth Bishop, lit by
torchlight, tantalizing almost beyond measure in her sweet vulnerability.

“Oh, but a ripe child. She won’t be a virgin much
longer—presuming she still is now. Why shouldn’t you have her first?”

“Damn it, Letitia, her father is the parish vicar.” He took
a cigar from the top drawer of his bureau and lit it from the candle. He drew
in a mouthful of smoke, keeping his back to her.

“My dear, are you harboring the illusion that the children
of clergymen have some untouchable virtue the rest of us don’t? How droll.
And I believed your cynicism was complete.”

Silence prevailed as Neil mastered the desire to shake her.
“You were fairly well amused by Christian Forsyth.”

“Did I make you the least bit jealous?”

“No, Letitia. You may have Christian with my good wishes.
You are an even match.”

“‘Amused by Christian’ is all I feel. You and I had much
more than that.” She slid off the bed and walked to him.

He felt her standing just within reach if he should turn.
The scent of her perfume brought back memories. “We had sympathy and caring,
and helped each other through troubled times. Don’t attach more significance
to our affair than that.”

Letitia moved toward the door, then stopped. “Do you know
how your esteemed guests talked about you tonight? Don’t count on finding
friends among the locals.”

“I am always talked about. I don’t expect anything
different, here or in town.”

“How does it go with Trevor?”

“You know. I’m sure my neighbors gave you all the facts.”

“I would help you.”

“I can manage.” Still puffing on his cigar, he turned to
see her standing by the door, the width of the room between them.

“Remember my offer. I will be your alibi if you need one.”

He closed his eyes against the pain her meaning brought. “I
appreciate the gesture, Letitia, but I’d never ask such a thing. No one would
believe you, and being the admitted intimate of an accused murderer would ruin
you. You would not only lose your allowance from the Dalrymples, but every
door would be closed to you.”

“I don’t care. Everything that matters to me has already
been taken away. I spend my time concocting forms of petty revenge, but that
palls as a purpose in life. Besides, I am sure you would see that my finances
did not suffer overmuch.”

“Thank you, Letitia. I will remember your kindness. Now go
to bed—your own or Christian’s.”

“Oh, unfair, Neil. You should take care not to alienate
your friends. Whatever happens between Christian and me, happens. So I shall
go to my solitary bed, and hope you lie here awake, regretting your rejection
of me.” She blew him a kiss and closed the door.

He threw the cigar in the dead fireplace and cursed under
his breath. Letitia knew him too well. He would be a long time going back to
sleep this night, but regrets concerning Letitia would not be the cause. Her
visit had stirred up thoughts he believed he had, with great effort,
banished—thoughts of a girl whose wide eyes asked for something from him. It
would be all too easy to try to give it, but wrong. He would not see her
brightness tarnished by his dark past and shadowed future.

*

On Monday morning, Libbetty sat in the drawing room sewing
clothes for the baby with her mother. A stranger came to call on the Reverend
Mr. Bishop.