Sapphires Are an Earl's Best Friend (11 page)

“I will have to ask the cook to be certain, but my impression was that it was enough food to feed a man for a day or so.”

“And now that man is also in possession of a horse.” Lily looked thoughtful.

“If it is the same person, yes.” The steward gestured to the stables. “Shall we go inside?”

“By all means,” Andrew said. “Give us one moment alone, please.” He waited until the steward disappeared from sight and turned toward Lily. “What do you know about this?”

“Nothing yet,” she said. “But it interests me.”

“Obviously. Are you some sort of Bow Street Runner?” He was joking, but she looked as though she was actually considering the question.

“Something to that effect. Your groom is waiting.”

She was impatient to see the man, which Andrew found strange. Why would she take such an interest in a groom? “After you, Miss Dawson.” He followed her inside and found Mr. Helms waiting outside the grooms’ quarters.

“We have him in here, my lord.”

Andrew entered and saw a young man lying on a pallet. Another groom sat beside him, but he excused himself with a deferential nod when Andrew entered. He couldn’t quite keep from gaping at Lily as he passed her, though. Unlike most beautiful women, she didn’t seem to notice the attention.

The injured groom tried to rise, but the steward told him to remain still. Andrew didn’t recognize the lad, who was really little more than a boy, and he understood this might have been the first time the groom had been in the presence of one of the family. “Be at ease, lad,” Andrew said.

“M’lord,” the boy rasped, grasping his side. “I apologize for losing Annabel. I’ll leave soon as I’m able.”

“Leave?” Andrew looked at his steward.

Mr. Helms took over. “Lord Darlington is not here to dismiss you, Abraham. He only wants to know what happened.”

“Has a doctor been to see this man?” Lily asked. Abraham turned his head, and his eyes widened considerably.

“I will summon the doctor at the earl’s request, madam,” Helms said.

Andrew nodded. “Do so, Helms.”

The steward nodded and hurried to carry out his orders, and Lily moved in, sitting on a low chair beside the groom’s pallet. “Is Annabel the hunter?”

“Yes, m’lady.”

She smiled. “I’m not a lady. You can call me Lily.”

The groom stared, slack-jawed. “Oh, no, miss. I couldn’t do that!”

“You’re very sweet, Abraham. Tell me about the man who took Annabel. Was it an ambush, or were you able to see him?”

“I think I should ask the questions,” Andrew interjected. This was his servant and his house, after all. It seemed he should do something other than stand about and watch her take over.

“By all means,” Lily said. “I have overstepped.”

That was better. “Abraham,” Andrew began, but he could not think of any questions. “Ah… were you able to see the man who stole Annabel?”

If Lily thought it amusing that he repeated her question, she hid it well.

“I did, m’lord. I were exercising her in the north fields—”

“Why not in the paddock?” Lily asked.

“The duke likes for the hunters to be ridden three times a week,” Andrew answered. “He thinks it keeps their hunting instincts sharp.”

“Yes, m’lord. We was taking a leisurely ride, and I spotted the man lying near a tree. Looked near dead to me. But when I got down to see if he was still breathing, like, he threw me over, kicked me”—he indicated his ribs—“and mounted Annabel. She protested, but he swore at her and kicked her hard, my lord. She were a good horse. She didn’t want to go with that blackguard.”

“What did he look like?” Lily asked. Andrew frowned, but she seemed to have forgotten about him. Again.

“He were dressed as black as the night, miss. He had longish black hair and black eyes. Reminded me of the Grim Reaper, he did.”

“Had you ever seen him before?” Andrew asked.

“No, m’lord. Never.”

“One more question, Abraham,” Lily said. “I know everything happened quickly, but did you happen to notice if the man had a white streak in his hair?”

The groom’s eyes widened. “You know him, miss? He had a patch o’hair was white as snow.”

“Thank you, Abraham. I hope you recover quickly.” She looked at Andrew. “I’ll wait outside.”

Andrew stared at her. Where the hell had that question come from? What did she know that she wasn’t telling anyone? He made some remark to Abraham and went after her. She hadn’t waited—not that he expected she would—and he caught up with her next to the paddock. She heard him coming and paused beside one of the whitewashed railings.

“Where the—?”

She held up a hand. “I already know what you’re going to ask, and I cannot answer your question.”

Andrew glared at her. She had bloody well better answer his questions. “Are you involved in this?” he demanded.

“Not in the way you think. I can tell you this. The man your groom described is almost certainly Lucifer.”

“Who?”

“A criminal of the worst sort. He was the owner of a gambling hell called Lucifer’s Lair. He is a thief and a murderer.”

“And he is here? You believe this man is the one who has stolen from us? Why? I fail to see how this Lucifer is connected to Ravenscroft Castle or to my family.”

Lily looked down, seeming to consider. Finally, she looked up again, and her eyes were hard emeralds. “If your father has what Lucifer wants, Lucifer will kill him to possess it again.”

Of course, she wasn’t certain Ravenscroft had what Lucifer wanted or exactly what it was Lucifer sought. She assumed it was the names of the Diamonds in the Rough—five elite spies responsible for supplying the information that led to Bonaparte’s ousting. She wanted that list too—as proof of Ravenscroft’s complicity. But Lucifer must have known the spies’ identities. There had to be more he wanted. There had to be something else Ravenscroft possessed. Something Lucifer wanted, and she already knew he was willing to steal and kill for what he desired.

She certainly cared nothing about protecting the duke from Lucifer. Ravenscroft had made his own bed. The very real certainty that Lucifer was prowling about told her Lucifer, at least, believed Ravenscroft had information he wanted. But that wasn’t enough to arrest the duke. The man was a peer of the realm—a wealthy, powerful peer. She needed proof he was a traitor, proof he possessed the rubies promised as payment to the assassins hired to kill the King’s men.

And if she discovered Ravenscroft was the infamous Artemis in the process, all the better. Unless, of course, he killed her first. She was walking a thin tightrope on this mission, juggling too many balls—Ravenscroft, Darlington, Lucifer. Something or someone was going to fall.

Darlington made some motion and caught her attention. He looked striking in his morning coat and perfectly tied cravat. He wore trousers, though, and they were snug but not nearly as tight as usual. When her gaze rose to his face, she forgot her worries for the moment and smiled at his expression. He stared at her in that perplexed way she adored. He so often seemed perplexed by those around him. He’d had the same look, though it had been mixed with anger, when Ravenscroft had announced their engagement. She sighed at the thought of that ordeal. How could Darlington believe she would marry Ravenscroft after what they’d shared together? She supposed he thought she did such things all the time. She was a courtesan, after all. And it was for the best he believed it. He was on the verge of returning to London. That would remove one of her juggling balls. And Darlington would be safe in Town. Much safer than he was here. Perhaps she could persuade him to take his sister as well.

“It probably is best that you return to Town. I’m sorry it’s under unpleasant circumstances, but you will be much safer. I’d really prefer you took your sister with you, if your father will allow it.”

“
I
will be safer?” Darlington asked incredulously. “What about you?”

She hoped he would not employ any misplaced chivalry. He’d not shown much propensity toward it before now. “I can take care of myself, I assure you.”

“Then you really expect me to believe that my father, the third Duke of Ravenscroft, is in league with a man named Lucifer, who is a thief or worse?” The sun was behind him, and the wind blew gently, ruffling the gold-limned curls in his dark hair. She wanted to reach out and stroke that hair, run her hands through its softness. “And not only am I to believe that rubbish, I am to then run away, leaving an old man and two women here with such a blackguard?”

“I said—”

“Yes.” He grabbed the arm she’d been gesturing with and held her wrist. “You say you can take care of yourself. I can well believe it, but what I wonder is how you came upon any of this information, and what it has to do with you.”

“I am not at liberty to divulge that information.”

“Not at liberty? Why? Does it violate some sort of Cyprian code?” His hand on her wrist clenched. “Is the Crown using Impures as spies now?” He laughed, and then his eyes grew serious. “Good God. Does Fitzhugh have something to do with this? I will kill the man if he’s involved you in one of his so-called missions.”

Her instinct was to defend Fitzhugh. The man was a decorated war hero. But she refrained, knowing it would only lend credence to Darlington’s suppositions. “I will not discuss it, my lord.” She pulled her arm out of his grasp. “Now, I suggest you and your sister remove yourselves before Lucifer grows bolder and enacts whatever plan he has fermenting in his wicked mind.” She had learned that sometimes disengagement was the only way to avoid revealing too much. She did not want to lie to Darlington. She had done quite enough of that. And she could not tell him the truth, not without putting him in danger. She wanted to tell him the truth. She wanted to share her fears with him, but that was her own selfishness—selfishness and the misplaced need to find someone she could trust and confide in. Darlington was not that person. And so she would tell him nothing. Instead, she started back toward the house. Her thoughts were jumbled with all she’d learned, and she bypassed the drawing room, which sounded as though it was occupied by numerous guests now, and started for her room.

The maid was changing the bedclothes, but she dismissed the girl and sat down at the small, feminine escritoire to compose a letter to Fitzhugh. She began it listing all she had seen so far and her current circumstances. She was describing her false engagement and Darlington’s suspicion when her maid, Anna, knocked on the door. “I’m sorry to bother you, madam, but this letter came for you. It’s from the Countess of Sinclair.”

“Thank you. You did right to bring it immediately.”

The countess had not had time to receive her letter, so Lily assumed this missive must have been written when Lily left Town, or perhaps even before. She set aside her report and broke the seal on the countess’s letter. It was brief and to the point, as was all of the countess’s correspondence. It stated Lily should be careful not to compromise her identity in any way. Lily knew the countess was warning her against going to see her son. Included was a brief report from an investigator the countess had hired a year or so ago. Lily read it incredulously. The countess had sent a man to travel to Nottinghamshire to ascertain that Lily’s son was being treated well by his adopted family. The investigator reported the boy had no idea he was even adopted and was treated as well, if not better, than any natural child would have been.

Lily felt tears well in her eyes for her son’s good fortune. No one could know how many hours she had spent worried and anguished over her baby, wondering if she had made the right decision, if he was well, happy, loved. Why had the countess never shared this information with her? Lily almost laughed, because she knew why. The countess did not want Lily blubbering all over her with gratitude. Lily’s own mother might have disowned her, but the countess was a more than adequate substitute.

Another knock sounded on the door, and with a sigh, Lily shoved the letters inside the desk drawer. Anna entered and informed her everyone was dressing for a light afternoon repast. Lily closed her eyes and consented to the tedious dressing ritual. Would madam prefer the gold or the brown gown?

The meal was, of course, a ridiculous waste of time. She had managed to avoid Kwirley the past few days, but she could not escape him this afternoon. He was sullen and almost abusive. That would all stop when Ravenscroft announced their engagement. She had persuaded him to wait until they both returned to London, so they might make the announcement at a ball Ravenscroft held in Lily’s honor, but she could not trust that he would wait. It was in her best interest to ensure news of the engagement was never made public, but she was also well aware she might have to sacrifice her own interests.

Her tension about what Ravenscroft would say or do, coupled with Kwirley’s insistence that every third sentence contained cutting remarks aimed at her, made the meal all but unbearable. And if worries about Ravenscroft and Kwirley were not enough to make her stomach hurt, Darlington did not join them. He had made his distaste for the guests clear, but now she wondered if he had learned some new information about Lucifer that kept him away. How she wished she had the freedom of a man. Right now she would have liked to walk the grounds and snoop a bit to see if she could find any evidence of Lucifer’s presence. She was not an expert at surveillance, but she knew what to look for. But if she mentioned going for a walk, half the men in the room would offer to accompany her. With her luck of late, she would end up on the arm of Lord Kwirley.

Afternoon turned to evening, and Lily was forced to change yet again. This time she donned a gold silk gown with a shimmery overlay. The V-neck bodice was low enough to display her favorite sapphire necklace, nestled in her cleavage. She had no time to complete her letters, but she was able to excuse herself after the fourth dinner course, claiming a headache. Once again, Darlington had not made an appearance, and she considered changing into a dark cloak and sneaking past the drawing room later, when the guests were quite foxed, to take a look about outside on her own. She would have to take her pistol, of course. Lucifer could very well be lurking.

Anna was helping with dinner and would then dine with the servants, so Lily knew she had plenty of time to herself. She opened her door, closed and locked it, and went immediately to her desk. She pulled open the drawer and inhaled sharply. Her letter to Fitzhugh, as well as the countess’s letter, were missing.

“Looking for these?”

She turned and watched as Darlington moved out of the shadows on the far side of the room. In his hand, he waved several sheets of parchment.

“Those are personal.”

“Yes, I’ve noted that. They are
quite
personal.” He stepped forward. “Are they true?”

She didn’t answer. She had been foolish to leave them in an unlocked drawer, but she did not think they revealed anything at a casual glance. She was still not certain what Darlington thought he knew. It was better to keep silent, rather than give anything away. “May I have them back?” She rose and held out a hand.

“No. I want to know what you’re doing here. Did Fitzhugh send you?”

She met his gaze in stubborn silence. She did not blame him for trying to discover her secrets. He was desperate to protect those he loved. But she would help him more by staying silent.

“Is he your superior? Is that why you are reporting to him?”

She knew every effective interrogation technique as well as she knew the lines on her palm. If he thought merely questioning her would succeed in gaining information, he was quite mistaken. He moved closer, and she tensed. He looked furious, and the hard glint in his dark eyes was dangerous.

“What exactly do you do for the Crown? Are you a spy?” He grasped her arm and hauled her against him. “Are you here to spy on me and my family?”

She merely stared at him. He knew more than she had anticipated, but he wasn’t certain. If he was certain, he would not be here, questioning her.

“You will answer my questions,” he said. “I deserve an answer.”

“No, you don’t. This has nothing to do with you.”

He released her, all but shoving her away from him. It hurt to see the contempt in his eyes, but engendering his dislike was the least of her worries. It was her own fault for allowing him access to her heart. And for daring to hope he might fall in love with her and forget, for one moment, the lovely Juliette. Oh, but how she wished she could confide in him. She wished she could tell him everything. But that was folly. Dangerous folly.

“If you will not answer my questions freely, then you leave me no choice.”

Lily felt a chill run down her back and into her legs. “What do you mean?” Her gaze flicked to the letters he held, and she caught her breath. He had read the one to Fitzhugh, but she had been careful in her wording. He could guess at what it meant, but he could not be certain. But she had forgotten the other letter she received—the one from the countess. The one that contained that detailed report. “No choice but…?”

“I read the letter from the Countess of Sinclair. You have a son.”

Lily shrank back, bumping against the desk and rattling the lamp on top. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered.

But Darlington was looking at the letter. He was reading it, and she had never felt so naked. She had never felt so exposed. “I followed you, remember? The Musgrove boy is yours. I cannot believe I never saw it before. He has your coloring.”

Lily clenched the desk, her blunt fingernails digging into the soft wood.

“I didn’t piece it together until now.” He waved the letter. “Who knows besides Lady Sinclair?”

She swallowed and attempted to force her lips to move. “You.” Her mind was whirling faster and faster, making the room swim. She had made a grave error—an amateur error. She should have burned the letter as soon as she received it. The countess should never have sent it, but she was not a spy. She was not expected to know the protocols. Lily was, and she did.

But she had not followed them, and now she would pay the price. The Diamonds in the Rough and the Crown would suffer for her own stupidity.

“This is privileged information then,” Darlington said. He was not taunting her. He was not crowing. She could see he took no pleasure in besting her. But he would not shy from using what he had, either. She knew the set of his jaw and the determined line above his brow. He would do what he felt necessary to protect his family. “What do you think the
ton
would do if it knew your secret?”

“I don’t care.” This was true enough. “I do not think they would care beyond the fact that it would give them something new to gossip about.” This was also true. There was hardly an Impure about who did not have at least one child. If the child was a by-blow of a peer, the gentleman usually provided for his offspring’s rearing. The prince regent even gave titles to his illegitimate children. Having the child of the prince was a mark of prestige.

But Lily’s child was not the son of a peer or even a gentleman. And she had not been a glamorous courtesan when she’d birthed him. She’d been a scared, lonely sixteen-year-old girl. All she had wanted was to survive.

She did not care if the
ton
knew her secret. But she did care, very much, that the identity of the boy should be revealed. What would the child’s life be like if he found out he was adopted? If he found out he was the child of a courtesan? Would his friends turn their backs on him? Would he be the target of scorn and ridicule? She could not allow that, not any more than she could allow another of the Crown’s men to die at the hands of a paid assassin.