Rapture Becomes Her (33 page)

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Authors: Shirlee Busbee

BOOK: Rapture Becomes Her
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His voice thick with emotion, Barnaby said, “I warned you that it was a damned sleeveless errand. Christ! You could have died, Luc!”
Seated beside Barnaby, Emily placed her hand over his as it lay on the table beside his cup of tea and squeezed gently, her heart aching for him. His hand turned and his fingers tightened on hers and in that odd moment all doubts about her coming marriage vanished. Why, we
belong
together she admitted, staggered by the insight. Her gaze dropped to their hands. Just as our hands were linked in some indefinable way, she thought, dazed, so are our very lives unalterably melded together. Together they were stronger, more complete and in that instant, she realized why: she was in love with him. Stunned by the discovery, her thoughts in a whirl, her fingers clenched even tighter around Barnaby’s.
His fingers gripping Emily’s as if he’d never let them go, when Lucien remained silent, Barnaby said, “Go on. Finish it.”
Toying with a small chunk of bread, Lucien said wearily, “When I first arrived in France, I stayed a few days in Calais and one night, I visited Marie’s establishment. There was some trouble in her place that night. . . .” His face went hard, and he said, flatly, “I settled the problem—much to Marie’s relief and gratitude. She swore she was in my debt and that if I ever needed a favor to call upon her.” He shrugged. “So when I showed up half-dead on her doorstep months later, she repaid the favor.”
Barnaby glanced at Jeb. “It seems that I am deeper in your debt than I realized. Thank you for saving his life and bringing my brother safely home.”
Jeb waved a dismissing hand. “Miss Emily is the one you should thank. If she hadn’t mentioned him to me, we’d have sailed from Calais with nary a thought of looking for Mr. Lucien.”
His eyes on Emily, Luc said, “It seems, soon-to-be-sweet-sister, that I am in your debt. You saved my life—it is yours to command.”
“Then I command you for your brother’s sake to regain your health and
try
not to cause him further anxiety,” Emily said with a glimmer of a smile in her fine eyes.
“Once you know him better,” Barnaby said dryly, “you will discover that the latter is beyond him. He is not called Lucifer for nothing.”
“Pay him no heed,” Luc replied airily. “My
petite
brother fusses like a hen with one chick.” He grinned. “It is good that his attention will now be shared between us. Keeping him distracted is a burden I will gladly share with you.”
With Lucien’s tale told, the group broke up, Jeb and Caleb leaving to return to the village. Shortly after that, having said a private good night to Emily, Barnaby bundled Lucien into the waiting Joslyn coach.
Sinking back against the luxurious padded dark blue cushions as the big coach lurched into motion and drove away from The Birches, Lucien shook his head. In the light created by the small candles burning in the four glass lanterns hung on either side of the coach doors, he regarded Barnaby seated across from him. Smiling faintly, he asked, “Your lordship? How the bloody hell did that happen?”
As the coach rumbled through the night, Barnaby gave an expurgated version of the events that had occurred during the seven months since they had last seen each other. “A viscount!” Lucien exclaimed when Barnaby was through. “And Lamb here with you.” He shot him a teasing look from between thick, feminine lashes. “With your penchant for acting like a broody hen I’m surprised you let Bethany remain at home and didn’t drag her to England with you.”
Barnaby hunched a shoulder. “I didn’t know what I was walking into here and she was adamantly opposed to leaving Green Hill. It seemed wisest to leave her behind for the time being.”
Naming Barnaby and Bethany’s uncle, Lucien said, “Fortier with her?”
Barnaby nodded.
Satisfied that all was well with his young half sister, and aware that there were some intriguing gaps in Barnaby’s narrative, Luc said, “Now tell me how it is that the lovely, fair-haired Amazon you plan to marry is at home with a gang of smugglers.”
Laughing Barnaby said, “You and Lamb! He’s called her my Amazon from the moment he first laid eyes on her.”
“Lamb and I often agree about women,” Lucien purred, “but I notice you’re not telling me about the smugglers.”
Knowing Lucien wouldn’t give up until he had the whole story, reluctantly, Barnaby related the main points.
Lucien nodded several times and when Barnaby finished speaking, he grinned at him. “You know, I am liking this Amazon of yours more and more—I predict she will save you from becoming a stuffy old man. And Cornelia . . .” Lucien chuckled. “If she were fifty years younger she’d steal my heart.”
“She will anyway,” Barnaby said, smiling.
“So tell me more of our cousins, Mathew, Thomas and Simon . . . and the possibility”—Lucien’s eyes narrowed—“that one of them is trying to kill my favorite brother.”
“I’m your
only
brother,” Barnaby reminded him drily.
“
Oui,
that is true,” Lucien observed, “which is why you are my favorite and why I would prefer not to lose you.”
The remainder of the drive to Windmere was spent considering the reasons and the identity of the person behind the attacks on Barnaby. “I think I liked it better,” Lucien said as the coach pulled to a stop at the front of the mansion, “when Mathew and Thomas were at your house where you could watch them. Who knows what they are up to at this Monks Abby.”
“Not to worry,” Barnaby said as he reached for the handle of the coach door. “They’ll be arriving back here on Monday for the wedding on Tuesday. In the meantime you can meet Simon and take his measure.”
In the darkness Lucien wasn’t treated to the full magnificence of the house, but stepping inside the soaring two-story foyer and the rich furnishings, his eyes widened. “
Mon Dieu!
I begin to see why our cousin might very well wish you dead.”
The tall, young footman, William Weldon, was there to greet them, and not as well trained as his butler, Weldon couldn’t hide his flash of astonishment that his lordship had returned home with a scruffy fisherman by his side and one whose features bore the Joslyn stamp. Barnaby grinned, liking the honest reaction, rather than Peckham’s expressionless features.
Upon reaching his rooms, Barnaby showed Lucien into the handsomely appointed sitting room adjoining his bedroom and rang for Lamb. He offered Lucien some liquor from the dazzling array of Baccarat crystal decanters that lined a mahogany sideboard on the far side of the room.
Lucien declined the offer, but sprawled gratefully on one of the sofas. “Nothing for me. I need a clear head,” Lucien murmured, “to endure a fierce scolding from Lamb.”
Lamb entered via the bedroom a moment later. At first he didn’t notice Lucien on the sofa and, smiling, he teased Barnaby, “I see your Amazon did not keep you long.”
“Which was probably just as well,” Barnaby said wryly, thinking of those passionate moments in her arms and how close he had been to seducing Emily tonight. He waved a hand in Lucien’s direction and added, “I’ve brought home a guest—you’ll have to find him suitable rooms.”
Lamb glanced at the bag of bones lolling on the sofa and froze. There was a second that Barnaby glimpsed the naked love and relief that sped across Lamb’s face, before it was instantly masked. Betraying little emotion, Lamb stared at Lucien and said calmly, “I’ve seen you looking better.”
“Indeed. I confess there are times that I have felt better,” Lucien replied just as calmly.
Barnaby had never understood the relationship between these two. He never doubted that they loved each other, but too often they were at daggers drawing. He could not decide for the life of him if it was because they were too much alike or because of an innate competitiveness. His mouth twisted. And he was usually caught in the middle of it.
Ignoring the pair of them, he splashed some hock in a glass. He took a swallow of the pale liquid and realizing that conversation was up to him, he related the high points of Lucien’s arrival.
When Barnaby finished speaking, Lamb quirked a brow and like Barnaby before him, he said, “A whorehouse? Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”
Unlike his reaction when Barnaby had made the same observation, Luc bristled and replied curtly, “You know me—any port in a storm.”
Barnaby stalled the sharp retort he sensed hovering on Lamb’s tongue by saying hastily, “The point is he is home and safe. He’s not fully recovered yet and the best place for him right now is bed.”
Lamb studied Lucien’s face and, not liking his color or the dull sheen in his eyes, didn’t argue. On his way out of the room, he said over his shoulder, “I’ll see to it immediately.”
Lamb was as good as his word and within thirty minutes Lucien was installed in a superb suite of rooms just down the hall from Barnaby’s. Lamb had assigned an eager young footman, Bertram Hinton, to act as Lucien’s manservant until other arrangements could be made.
With Lucien, now wearing one of the nightshirts Barnaby routinely ignored, tucked into bed, before he left the room, Lamb looked at him and shook his head. “You do have the devil’s own luck, you know—if you’d arrived only hours later . . .” Lamb’s heart clenched at how close they had come to losing him. Struggling against the tide of emotion that flooded him, he said softly, “Welcome home, bantling—we were worried about you.”
 
Barnaby looked up from the contemplation of his empty glass of hock when Lamb entered the room. “Is he all settled?” he asked as Lamb took the glass from him and refilled it.
“For now,” Lamb replied, turning back with the full glass and handing it to Barnaby. “He’s in the suite two doors down. I’ve assigned Hinton to act as his valet for now.” For several minutes they mulled over Lucien’s return as well as the attack by the Nolles gang tonight.
“It was only luck that Emily wasn’t with Jeb tonight,” Barnaby said, then added thoughtfully, “I’ll have to do something about Nolles and his gang soon.”
“But not before the wedding,” Lamb warned. “You are going to stand hale and hearty before Vicar Smythe and marry the Amazon Tuesday morning if I have to shackle you to the bed until then.”
Barnaby smiled. “That won’t be necessary. Once the wedding is behind us will be soon enough to tackle the Nolles problem.” Setting down the half-empty glass of hock, he asked, “All well here?”
Lamb rubbed his jaw. “There’s something smoky about that butler of yours, but I can’t put my finger on it.”
“What makes you say that?” Barnaby asked. “Peckham seems competent enough.”
“That may be, but I don’t like him.”
“Ah, well then, that explains everything.”
Lamb shot him a look. “Blast it! This is no light matter. I tell you, he was up to something tonight, but damned if I can figure out what it was.” He paused and said slowly, “Most of the staff had gone to bed by the time I started paying attention to Peckham. All evening he appeared to be waiting for something . . . or looking for something.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because,” Lamb said impatiently, “he kept darting in and out of the kitchen like a damn rabbit from a hole and I finally got curious about what he was up to and followed him. When he headed to the cellar, I thought that he was helping himself to a nip of brandy or wine now and then and sure enough, he headed right to the wine cellar.”
Barnaby shrugged. “I don’t begrudge the man some wine—Lord knows there’s enough down there.”
“Problem is,” Lamb said, “this time he was in the wine cellar a very long time. I got tired of waiting for him to return and decided to see what was taking him so long.” His voice heavy with import, he said, “Barnaby, I know it’s a big place—more like a cavern filled with rows of racks and barrels than a room, but I checked the area thoroughly and the cellar was empty—there was no sign of him.”
Interested now, Barnaby sat forward in his chair. “Secret doorway? Someone mentioned something about tunnels or passageways under the older parts of the house. Perhaps he’s found one of the entrances.”
“That’s my guess. I looked for it, but I couldn’t find anything that might be a hidden spring or handle.”
“What about when he came back? Did you ask him about it then?”
“The thing is,” Lamb said heavily, “he hasn’t
come
back. He’s disappeared.”
Barnaby stared at him. “Er, you mean like forever?”
“I don’t know. I just know he went into the wine cellar and I haven’t seen him since.”
A huge yawn overtook Barnaby. Shaking his head, he said, “Since it appears he disappeared on his own, I’m not about to wake the household and institute a search for him. The morning will be soon enough.”
 
When Lamb entered Barnaby’s room that Saturday morning the first words out of his mouth were, “Peckham’s back.” Grimly, he added, “Fellow was in the kitchen this morning as bright and cheery as a canary, acting as if nothing happened—and for all I know, nothing did.”
“But he did disappear—he went somewhere,” Barnaby reminded him as he left his bed and threw on the robe Lamb held out for him. Barnaby walked into the dressing room and after completing his morning ablutions, as he dried his hands on a towel made of fine Russian toweling, he said, “We’ll have to examine that wine cellar. If there is a secret door or doors, I want to know where they are and where they lead.”

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