Seducing the Rake (Mad, Bad and Dangerous Heroes) (35 page)

“Only a moment ago, your lordship.”

Morland stared down at the bold scrawl on the heavy vellum sheet. Their captive criminal had taken some sort of poison concealed in his jacket. It didn’t look good, not at all. And he’d told them nothing. “Is the fellow still below?”

Whitby nodded.

“Then hold him. I shall have to reply.” Morland’s fingers tightened on the sheet. “Though God knows what there is to say.” He shook his head, wincing as pain shot through his still-bandaged arm.

Damn, when would he be free of this whole business? His thoughts kept turning to the room upstairs where Chessy waited, her hair a blue-black cascade upon his pillow.

Desire gripped him at the thought. His fingers twisted as heat shot through him.

He remembered how they had lost themselves once and then again as dawn crept over London’s heaving chimneys. And each time had been piercing, sweet in a way Morland had never thought to know.

Now all he wanted was to be back beside her, his fingers tangled deep in her hair, his body given over to the new universe he had just begun to discover in her arms.

But he could not.

Not with this bloody book in jeopardy and three years of foreign policy in danger of disarray. And there was the real possibility of a war coming…

His face hardened as he crumpled the vellum sheet to a tight ball. “I’ll need coffee, Whitby. A great deal of it, I’m afraid. And clothes.” He eyed the paper-strewn desk, with its secret drawer, realizing it might be hours until he was free again. There were codes to be completed, after all. And then there were informants to be contacted, even those in the most unlikely places.

His hands drove deep into his pockets as bitterness gripped him.

Why now? Why can’t you leave me alone, now that the war is over?

But he knew the answer too well. The responsibility had been his, the plan of his own design. Honor bound him, and he could no more have turned from Wellington’s request than he could cease breathing. Honor was the only thing that had kept him going for a long time now.

For ten years?

He muttered a low curse. “And Whitby?”

“Yes, your lordship?”

“Please, see to Miss Cameron. Food. Clothing. Whatever she requires. Let her know”—he raked a hand through his unruly bronze hair—“it may be rather a while.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“And after that send a note to Sevenoaks. I believe Jeremy’s tutor has a brother just down from Oxford. Tell him I have need of him in London. It is a project of some delicacy,” Morland added. “Ask him to bring his basic readers and several simple novels.”

“Very good, my lord.”

When the old retainer closed the door softly behind him, the earl was still at the window, staring out at the neat row of rosebushes by the rear garden. But he saw neither red petals nor green boughs.

All he saw was a woman’s face, glorious in its honesty, haunting in its sadness.

And he realized that he could never let her go, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life fighting, arguing, trying to understand her split-second mood shifts and making her the happiest woman on earth.

And he’d damned well succeed!

But not until this bloody business with James Cameron and the book was over and done with.

~ ~ ~

“And then he said he’d flay us both if we even
thought
of doing anything like that ever again!”

Chessy sat back, laughing, as Jeremy Langford ended his story with an engaging grin. “And that we didn’t, Miss Chessy. I can swear to you we didn’t. Even though Miss Twitchett—she’s our governess—makes us as cross as hornets with her carping all the time.”

He looked down as Elspeth tugged at his sleeve. Her eyes were wide. “What does
flay
mean, Je’emy?”

Her brother shook his head. “Not now, Elspeth,” he said importantly.

Chessy took pity on the girl. “It’s something—not at all comfortable, my dear.” She held out the plate with the last of Mrs. Harris’s delectable lemon tarts. “Why don’t you have the last one? I’m sure I couldn’t eat another bite.” She saw the girl frown as politeness warred with appetite. “It’s quite all right, really. Just think how desolate Mrs. Harris will be if we don’t finish them.”

Elspeth smiled and scooped up the last confection. Then she halted. “But—that is, p’raps you’d like to share it with me?” She gave Chessy a wide-eyed look.

Chessy patted her reed-slim stomach. “Oh, but I mustn’t. One must guard one’s figure, you know.”

Intent at polishing off his fifth blueberry scone, Jeremy frowned. “Wouldn’t think
you’d
need to worry about such things, miss. A real stunner, that’s what you are.” He coughed, and a faint flush stained his cheeks. “That is, but—ought I to have mentioned such a thing?”

Chessy smiled. “It’s a delightful compliment.” Her violet eyes twinkled. “The very nicest I’ve had in days, as a matter of fact.”

The boy beamed, reassured. “It’s no more than the truth. You needn’t worry a whit about your figure. And I’ll take great pleasure in thrashing anyone who suggests such a thing!” He looked quite belligerent, and Chessy hid a smile, finding a strange comfort in his protectiveness.

A sudden barrage of orders issued from the floor above.

Swiftly Chessy stood up, trying for nonchalance. “It—it must be nearly time for Lord Morland’s, er—medicine. I must go to him, see what he requires. You will excuse me, I hope.”

Jeremy was on his feet instantly. “Certainly. Give him our regards, won’t you? We don’t mean to be
any
trouble. I’ll even see to it that Elspeth doesn’t plague him to take her to Astley’s Amphitheatre this time.”

Booted feet crossed the hall above. Quickly Chessy made for the servants’ staircase.

“Miss—Miss Francesca?”

Jeremy’s voice, low and wistful, stopped her midstride. She turned at the door, her fingers upon the latch. “Yes?”

“He’s—he’s ever so lucky to have found you. He—he needs someone, you know. Ever since Salamanca, he’s been different. Like he’s—he’s pushed things down and has to keep moving or they’ll work their way free. Now he’s always busy, always going somewhere, doing something. He used to laugh, oh, just at anything. He used to have time to take us fishing or go looking for kittens hidden in the stable. Not that we are complaining. He’s been ever so good to us, considering…” The boy’s eyes gleamed with sudden moisture. “But now—well, he needs something more. Or
someone.
Someone just like you. Elspeth and I discussed it, and we both think so.”

As the flaxen-haired
girl
nodded her agreement, a lump formed in Chessy’s throat. Her fingers tensed upon the door latch. “How—how very kind you are,” she said softly.

And then she turned and fled into the darkness of the back stairs.

~ ~ ~

Something drew her back to his room one last time. She should have left immediately, of course. She should have slid out through the window or crept past the stillroom behind the kitchen.

Even marched right out through the front door.

But she didn’t.

She
couldn’t.

Instead, she slipped back to the place where she had learned the real meaning of loss and fear. Where she had found her first true taste of paradise. The place where she had discovered that dreams really could come true.

Just for a few moments, she wanted to feel him again. To smell the tang of his skin, fresh with lemon soap and leather. To slide her fingers across the crisp white sheets and remember how it had felt when he touched her.

When he had first taken her. In love.

Especially now, when Chessy knew it could never be that way again.

Just one last time, she promised herself. Just so that she could remember, when she was far away and the days were bleak and cold once more.

For he was too busy for her, pressed with more family and governmental duties than he could already manage. He was a man of rank and importance—far too important to be saddled with an awkward little nobody like herself.

His dressing gown was tossed across his bed. Chessy picked it up carefully and ran her cheek across the smooth dark silk. The fabric still held his scent—leather and tobacco and a faint tang of the lemon soap he favored.

A sharp, painful burning filled Chessy’s throat.

But she knew she couldn’t stay. There were too many years between them, too many differences of age and place and habit.

Most of all there was her father, still held captive by madmen.

No, Chessy had to go. With trembling fingers she laid the dressing gown down and clutched her black bag to her chest.

Good-bye, my forever friend. I-I love you … and shall love you always. If things were different…

Tears burned in Chessy’s eyes as she turned. Outside the hall was quiet. This time no servants were present to keep her from her course.

Now she might almost have welcomed their intercession.

She turned at the threshold and took a last, clear look. Closing her eyes, she imprinted the scene on her memory.

The violet damask curtains, swaying slightly. The rich rustle of their stiff folds. The fresh scent of beeswax and lemon oil polish. Sunlight glinting off gilt frames and a silver candelabrum.

How much she wanted to stay. To pull him down against her onto those crisp white sheets.

To touch him and to feel his hands in turn. Biting back a sob, Chessy spun about and slipped down the corridor.

She was at the head of the stairs before she realized the hallway below was occupied. Elspeth and Jeremy were standing stiffly to one side, arguing with Whitby, who was pointing toward the far corridor. Elspeth pushed past her brother and ran toward the earl’s study.

Her pounding feet echoed down the hallway, somehow in tune with Chessy’s racing heartbeat. By the time she reached the front alcove, Whitby had gone in pursuit of the children.

Chessy watched from behind a marble column as the study door was open. The earl emerged and was greeted with shouts of giddy laughter from the children.

Chessy’s eyes filled with tears as she watched Tony clasp Elspeth and toss her up into the air, then turn and sweep an arm around Jeremy’s shoulders.

Suddenly Chessy felt alone. Horribly alone.

Just the way she’d always felt, growing up on the outside of the close-knit British colonial community in Macao. Only then it hadn’t hurt so much. But now, oh, now, the pain was blinding.

She watched the earl lift Elspeth up onto his broad shoulders. “What are
you
doing here, imp? And you, Jeremy?”

Elspeth laughed in delight, clutching at his hair. “
More, Papa
! Higher!”

“Now, now, Elspeth! How many times have I told you not to—”

Chessy shrank back deeper into the shadows.

Papa.
The sound was a knife in her heart.

There was no possibility of a mistake, then.

He had children, a family already. A thousand bonds and responsibilities that closed him off from her.

East and West, forever divided.

She took one last look. Jeremy was hugging his father and talking excitedly. Elspeth was smiling down in triumph from atop the earl’s broad shoulders while a dust-stained and quite irritated servant stood grimly in the background.

A governess? And if so, what did it matter? It was not Chessy’s place to fret if the woman’s eyes were cold and her face was hard and unforgiving. So what that she was not at all the sort of person to be given the care of two such sensitive children.

No, not Chessy’s business at all.

Brushing at her eyes, she slipped down the stairs to the massive oaken door, blinking when she stepped out into the blinding light of midday.

A hackney moved along at a trot. Two prim nannies marched past, their charges tightly in hand. And then, through a blur of tears, Chessy made out Swithin’s gaunt, beloved face.

“Waiting for you, I was. And by heaven, miss—what has that devil’s son been doing to you? I’ll gullet the scoundrel with my own hands if—”

Chessy swayed and clutched the cold iron railing. “It’s—it’s nothing, Swithin. Let’s—please, let’s just go home.”

Home? That shabby little house on Dorrington Street?

She gave a ragged laugh.

Swithin took one look at her face, at her white, drawn cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. Muttering, he took her hand firmly. “Right then, miss. Home it is. Then to bed with you. Wouldn’t wonder at it if you was coming down with something. Something mean and nasty.”

Oh, yes, it was mean and nasty, all right. It was loss of the worst kind.

Chessy scrubbed blindly at her eyes, then took the arm he offered. Together they walked slowly down the steps, not another word said between them. They made a strange pair descending from that elegant house, the woman in black with a battered leather bag clutched to her chest and the grizzled old servant whose eyes were dark with anger and uncertainty.