Secrets of Surrender (24 page)

“A long time, it appears. I seem to have slept away half the day. That is not like me, but I believe that I can be excused.”

“Not so long. I did not rise until an hour ago myself.”

“You too can be excused.”

He did not pick up her playful cues about the night. Instead he stood. “I was not sleeping much.”

He walked toward the bed and she saw what the shadows had hidden. For all the joy of the night, there was no happiness in him now. His sober expression alarmed her.

He sat on the edge of the bed and turned his body to look at her. “I need to tell you something. I hate doing so, but I do not want you to learn about it elsewhere.”

Dread stretched its chilling fingers through her. “It is about my brother, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “He has already been brought back to England. Information has been laid down.”

She pulled the sheets up around her. “The one morning that I did not wake up worrying that such news would greet me is the morning that it does.”

He caressed her face. She took comfort in his touch, but the dread would not retreat.

“It is in the papers?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Then how did you learn of it?”

“I was told last night.”

Last night. He had greeted her return with a smile and had listened to her talk of the party’s success. An insignificant success, as he well knew, once her brother’s capture was known.

“You hid this from me.”

“There was nothing to be gained from your learning about it last night, except a few more hours of your unhappiness.”

“I understand, Kyle. You wanted me to enjoy my freedom for a while before I returned to my prison of scandal. You fed me a delicious banquet before unhappiness made it hard for me to even sit to a meal.”

“Something like that.” He stood. His blue eyes reflected sympathy, but also determination. “We knew this day might come. You will survive this. I will make sure that you do. For now, however, you should retreat from the world until I learn how things stand. If anyone calls on you except your family, do not receive them. Put it out that you are ill.”

“That will not be a lie. I am already sick at heart. Poor Tim.”

The hardness entered him much as it always had when her brother’s name came between them. “I promised that our marriage would spare you the worst of it, Roselyn, and I will make sure that you are protected. Whatever happens, remember that is my only duty and my only concern.”

His determination soothed her. Comforted her. Worry about her brother receded while she surrendered to Kyle’s aura of strength and confidence.

Memories from the night swarmed through her. Echoes of joy and pleasure pulsed inaudibly. He seemed to hear, though. The intimacy returned to the chamber and the air, despite the way he had girded himself for battling the gossip on her behalf.

“It must have been difficult for you to pretend last night that nothing was amiss, Kyle, especially since this will certainly affect you badly too. I am glad that you did, though. It was kind of you to spare me for a few hours.”

“It was not hard at all, Rose. I was too captivated by a woman who had found her own happiness to think much about what waited once I left this bed.” He cupped her chin in his hand and looked in her eyes. “And if we shared a banquet, it did not only feed my body, darling.”

He bent down and kissed her, then strode from the chamber.

Kyle paused outside the bedroom. He listened for sounds from the other side of the door.

He did not hear the weeping that he expected to commence with his departure. The strength that she had mustered on hearing that the sword had fallen still sustained her.

She would weep soon enough, however. He tried not to picture the unhappiness waiting for her. He felt it for her, as if the misery flowed without barrier from her heart to his.

He could not spare her the sorrow over Timothy. He could only do his best to make sure that she remained enough removed from the proceedings so that she might pick up her life with some dignity after her brother hanged.

He went below and called for his horse. Before he left the house he sent a message to Lord Hayden, telling him that Longworth had been caught. It would not do for Lord Hayden to be questioned about those events and those payments without forewarning.

An hour later he entered a coffeehouse on the Strand. He caught the eye of a man playing chess at a large table. Bare acknowledgment nodded in his direction before another move was made.

He took a chair near the large window and waited. A half hour later Norbury lost his chess match. None too pleased, he rose and walked over to Kyle. He took another chair, ordered some coffee, and sat back while he gave Kyle a long inspection.

“It is wise that you came,” Norbury said.

The message and summons had been waiting when Kyle woke this morning. It must have been written late last night. While passion had bonded two souls in one Mayfair house, in another house a man, no doubt still drunk and still angry from the argument in the gaming hell, had been plotting no good.

Kyle had not told Rose about that note. There truly were times when total honesty was not the best course.

“You need to apologize,” Norbury said.

“To you? You insulted me and my wife. It would be wise for us to have only the most formal association in the future, not casual meetings in coffeehouses.”

“I had the chess match arranged. I am not inclined to change my plan for such as you.” Norbury stirred his coffee with ritualized precision. “The business with her brother needs to be discussed, or I would have gladly spoken to you in the future only through my solicitor.”

“I have nothing to say about her brother.”

“The hell you don’t. We will be pressing to have the trial fast. You will have to give information at it.”

Kyle gazed around the coffeehouse. These were democratic establishments for the most part, although this one catered to men of wealth and standing. It announced its preferred patronage through its divans and upholstered chairs, and the expensive cigars available for sale. Kyle much preferred the Kendal Coffee House on Fleet Street, where civil engineers held their meetings and men of affairs congregated.

“I will not give information. When I said that I was out of it, I meant thoroughly out of it.”

“You will do as you are told unless you want that wife of yours in the dock too.”

Kyle did not ask for an explanation. It would come soon enough. Norbury appeared too self-satisfied for it to have been an empty threat.

“A most interesting whisper came my way last week,” Norbury said. “Lillingston was with his solicitor, and mentioned the matter of Longworth. His solicitor confided that Longworth’s solicitor had heard from the man, and received a proxy to sell that land that Rothwell protected. Thinking to discover Longworth’s lair, I visited Yardley myself.”

Norbury waited for Kyle to pump him. Kyle refused to satisfy the man.

“He told me about that letter, and what it contained, and how it had been written to your wife. You read it before you made him burn it, so you know that she was intending to go to him.
You must bring me the money.
That is what he wrote.”

“From the sale of the property. Nor was she going anywhere.”

“Well, who is to say if it was only the proceeds of the sale? Yardley’s recollection was not precise, and yours can’t be trusted.”

Would that be enough? People were inclined to think the worst. Along with Lord Hayden’s restitution on behalf of a man out of the hangman’s grip, and Rose’s ill-fated affair with one of her brother’s victims—this last piece, that letter, might make it enough.

“You were the only one not repaid,” Norbury said. “It should not matter. The forgery alone should send him to the gallows, but juries can be peculiar at times. And Lord Hayden may bring influence to bear on the judges. You are the one victim not made whole, and no one can make the argument that you saw a type of justice already. You must testify. You will, or I will make sure that she is tried alongside him.”

“I swear, you must be a bastard. It is impossible for a man like your father to have sired such as you.”

“You would do well to remember my father’s slipping hold on life before you forget your place and insult me so directly.” Norbury’s fist came down hard on the table. “You are too beguiled by that soiled dove to see the truth of it. Fine, be a besotted idiot. But you
will
speak at Longworth’s trial.”

Yes, he probably would. For a stupid man, Norbury had forged a snug net of steel ropes.

“Your tenacity regarding my wife’s family borders on madness. Your pursuit of her brother is unseemly, despite all his crimes. You were repaid, after all. As for Roselyn, you compound your dishonorable behavior toward her by now threatening a woman you know is innocent.”

“I know nothing of the kind. As for my interest in that family—no one makes a fool out of me without paying. No one.”

Kyle left without another word. He strode out to the fresh air. He had just been warned, but it was not clear that Norbury even realized that he had revealed his intentions.

Years ago a collier’s son had made a fool of Norbury. Last December he had done so again, and the Earl of Cottington’s shield of protection would be gone soon.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE

K
yle came to Rose that night but there was no passion. No pleasure or ecstasy, no joy or games. He just lay beside her, his arm embracing her while his heart beat out the minutes of the night into the ear she pressed to his chest.

He brought her peace as if he knew that was what she needed right now. She had spent the day trying to keep images of Timothy on the gallows out of her head, to little avail. Distractions did not last long before the swelling panic took hold again.

She did not know how long he held her like that, in a soothing silence and warmth. She wondered how long he would want to.

Right now, today, he sympathized with her sorrow. A week hence, or a month, would he still offer comfort? Would she continue to believe that he would have put justice aside if it meant seeing her spared?

Her raw emotions left her defenseless to his strength. She sensed its force most clearly tonight. It commanded that tranquility pervade the chamber so she would have a respite. It held the horrible images of Tim’s future at bay.

That only meant others could invade her head. Those of Kyle suffering society’s scorn because of his connection to an infamous thief. He had never really been burned by a scandal before. His role in the story about that auction had not reflected badly on him.

He knew nothing about how horrible it would be. He did not know what it was like when old friends abandoned you and heads turned away when you entered a shop or assembly.

It was not fair. His only crime had been to marry her. He would pay for that alliance, however.

She should have warned him more forcefully about that, when he offered this path to redemption. She should have seen that it might not work out the way he thought, and that instead of him saving her, her notorious family might damn him. She had been too willing to accept his optimistic view.

She tightened her embrace of him a little. It was a physical echo of the way emotion squeezed her heart. He kissed her crown in response.

“This is pleasant,” she said. “The dark and the silence. Your warmth.”

“Yes.” He moved until he lay on top of her, his hips nested between her thighs. Braced on his forearms, his face hovering inches above her own, he traced her features, her jaw and nose, her eyes and lips, with his fingertips.

“I saw Lord Hayden late today. He had already learned more than I would have in a week. Timothy went before the magistrate this morning, and was sent to Newgate. The trial will be held soon. There are men pushing it forward fast.”

Soon. Fast. Maybe that was for the best. For everyone except Timothy.

“Is it known that he is caught?”

“There were broadsides today. The papers will be full of it tomorrow.”

“And the next day, and the next, until it is over. I stayed in this house today the way that you commanded, Kyle. However, I do not think that I can bear to do so for weeks. Nor do I think that I should. It will appear that I am hiding. Or that I am ashamed. His bad judgment is unfortunate, but I do not think that I should act as if his crime is mine.”

She felt him gazing down at her in the dark.

“Are you sure that you want to face it, Rose? Are you confident that you can?”

Was she? Four months ago it would have been impossible to face the world and brave it out. Like a sacrificial lamb, she had taken Tim’s sins on herself and accepted the scorn for him as hers as well.

She was not inclined to see it that way anymore. She was Mrs. Bradwell now, not Longworth’s sister. A good man honored her with admiration and, yes, affection. Dread for Tim might rack her at times during the days ahead, and she would surely grieve, but Kyle had been correct this morning. She would survive this, because she would not allow her brother to make her a victim again.

More importantly, she would not let Tim do that to Kyle. And he might, if she hid away and did not face them all down.

“I am sure that I do not want to endure it. However, even more than my last scandal, I think that I must.”

“You will not be able to defend him. There is no defense.”

“I know that.”

“It might not be too bad. Alexia will be by your side. And Lady Phaedra, and their husbands.”

Oh, it would be bad. He did not know the half of it. Nor would he, either. She would not lay her misery at his feet every night.

“And you, Kyle. I think it will matter most if you are by my side.”

She felt his sightless gaze intensify. Then he kissed her. There was no demand in the gentle way his lips touched hers. No expectation. She stirred anyway. Her heart filled.

“You need to know something, Rose. Lord Hayden will be speaking at the trial. He will validate the way he paid the victims, but in doing so he will be proving the accusations most thoroughly. He has no choice. He will be called, and he will have to go.” He paused. “I too will be called, as one of the ones who saw losses.”

“Losses that were not repaid in your case.”

“Yes.”

He seemed to brace for her reaction. Perhaps he expected an emotional one full of tears. Maybe he thought that she would push him away in anger.

She would not. Could not. But she also could not deny that her heart rebelled at the implications of that “yes.” Of all the testimony at that trial, his would be the most damning.

“Must you?” she whispered.

“I fear that I must. If it stands between us afterward, or even now, I understand.”

She wished that she could say it would not change anything, but she feared it might. Already a door in her spirit was closing, to protect a private, vulnerable spot from disappointment. Even the Roselyn who had found herself again, who knew Kyle was good, would be hard-pressed to feel no betrayal if her husband was the one to send her brother to the gallows.

“Why must you? For honor? For justice?” The words snapped more sharply than she intended. “We can leave London. If you are out of the court’s jurisdiction, you will not have to speak.”

“I do not give a damn about justice anymore, and my conscience would give my honor no argument in this matter, either. I just must do it. I ask you to accept that and to forgive me, but I know that you probably will not.”

He moved back to her side, but the embrace was less peaceful now. She did not discourage him from staying. She accepted the comfort for what it still was. She tried not to dwell on what last night had promised it might have become.

The night before Timothy Longworth’s trial, Kyle found himself part of a peculiar party, one taking place in full view of society at the Drury Lane theater.

It began simply enough. Jean Pierre once more received a note from Easterbrook inviting him to use the theater box. Jean Pierre suggested that Kyle come too and bring Roselyn, to distract her from the distress waiting to engulf her. Rose had agreed that would be a perfect way to show a brave face. At the appointed hour Kyle escorted her into the very visible seats that Easterbrook kept at the theater.

They were noticed, to be sure. Rose had her smile ready and her dignity on full view. She proved that she could brave it out with the best of them, but he recognized the little signs in her eyes that said the stares and whispers pained her.

Soon, however, Rose ceased to be of much interest to the crowd. The box door opened and Lord Elliot entered with his unusual wife, Lady Phaedra.

“Bradwell. Aunt Hen,” Lord Elliot said. “My brother recommended tonight’s play. I did not realize that the pit would be treated to three of the most lovely women in London all at once.”

“Among the most scandalous too,” Rose whispered in Kyle’s ear. “Hen’s affair with your friend is quite the
on-dit,
I am told, and Lady Phaedra is notoriously
outré.
”

“Then you will need less courage if you share the attention with them.”

It heartened Kyle, Rose’s decision to come here tonight. She had spent the last week as if tomorrow held no particular interest. Except when they were alone together.

Perhaps he imagined the small caution that had entered their dealings with each other. There was nothing he could point to as evidence. No words or actions that proved the intimacy had lessened by subtle increments. It was just there, much as he had expected it to be once he warned her about the trial. She would not be human if she did not resent the role that he would play.

The only question was whether in the future, when it was all over, they would ever breech the final formalities again, and know the secrets waiting in that total surrender of self that they had begun sharing that night in Teeslow.

Jean Pierre angled behind Henrietta and caught his eye. Kyle leaned toward him.

“It is a curiosity, no, that Lord Elliot joins us? Now there is no danger that he will visit the marquess.” Jean Pierre’s low voice carried nuances of drama.

“You are mad, my friend. All those chemicals, no doubt.”

“Mad? Who is mad?” Henrietta asked, twisting to join their conversation.

“
C’est moi,
” Jean Pierre said. “Your beauty always does that to me.”

Beaming from the flattery, she turned her attention back on the other boxes.

The door to the box opened again. Lord Hayden entered with his wife and Irene.

Caroline insisted that Irene sit in front so they could gossip and watch the crowd together. That required rearrangements of the seating. Kyle found himself next to Jean Pierre in the back row this time.

“Almost full,” his friend observed with a meaningful glance at the heads arrayed in front of them.

“Everyone seeks distraction, that is all. The worst ordeal waits tomorrow. We know Rome will burn and we are fiddling tonight.”

“It burns for her only. For Lord Hayden there will be flames, but small ones. Yet all are here.
He
arranged this. And once more that big house is empty of all but him and his servants.” Jean Pierre tapped his nose.

Perhaps Easterbrook
had
arranged this. If so it had probably occupied his attention for a few minutes before he moved on. Kyle was grateful no matter how it had happened. Rose appeared to be enjoying herself. With all the other notables to notice, the world was not taking particular attention of her.

Halfway through the second act, the door opened one more time. Kyle heard the sound, then Jean Pierre’s elbow jabbed him in the side.

He looked back. The marquess had condescended to grace them all with his presence. Polished and pressed and appearing the lord that he was, he took a position against the back wall.

“If he wanted to gather his family at the theater with him, why did he not just invite them all?” Jean Pierre whispered irritably. Easterbrook’s arrival had quashed all speculation and hope for an interesting mystery tonight.

“I do not think that he intended to come. He does not appear all that happy to be here, either.”

The marquess’s gaze scanned the other boxes like a hawk. If he sought someone in particular, he must have been disappointed. He stepped forward, out of the shadows, toward the chairs.

His brothers noticed him. One could not miss the surprise in their eyes. The ladies rose in public deference to his title.

Rank has its privileges, and situating Easterbrook at the front of the box caused a gentle commotion. The marquess took command.

“Caroline, you and your friend will sit in the back so I do not have to hear your giggles. Mr. Bradwell will thrash any young bloods who try to sneak in to flirt with you. Gentlemen, I am sure that you will not mind if I surround myself with these lovely ladies tonight. They are yours again when the play ends.”

For the rest of the play, the marquess remained front and center, ostensibly absorbed in the action on the stage. Alexia had pride of place on his right side, a testament to his affection as much as to her role as the second brother’s wife. Lady Phaedra sat on his left. Completing the row were Henrietta and Roselyn.

“You are right, there is no mystery and calculation with this man. He is just capricious and odd,” Jean Pierre muttered.

Kyle had no interest in the marquess’s impulses. He only cared about the beautiful blond woman sitting there in front, probably causing young men in the pit to lose their breath when they gazed at her.

The effect was the same no matter what Easterbrook’s intention. A marquess had just greeted Mrs. Bradwell, whose brother went on trial for his life tomorrow, and had placed her chair near his. In the world she faced down tonight, that was all that mattered.