Suzanne Robinson (20 page)

“You might as well tell me where he is,” she said. She put her bonnet on a side table and tossed her gloves into it. “I’ll go through every room if I have to.”

“Miss Grey, the marquess is with a sick man who may not live through the day.”

“Oh.”

Having satisfied himself that she was properly chastened, the man left her standing in the entryway and disappeared up the main staircase. Kate hesitated while two doctor’s assistants walked by and a maid dusted the banister. She’d
come to light into Alexis de Granville for exposing her to the ire of thwarted females. There wasn’t a woman in the castle—except Mama and Lady Juliana—who didn’t hate her after Alexis’s announcement last night. Mrs. Beechwith hadn’t come out of her room all day, and one of the Dinkles had tried to kick her. The kick was what had sent her looking for de Granville.

He was with a dying man, though. Somehow she’d gotten the idea that the marquess ran the Dower House from afar. It never occurred to her that he would interest himself in the individuals under his roof. Kate glanced casually at the maid. The girl was bent over a railing, dust cloth rubbing madly. There wasn’t anyone else around.

On tiptoe, Kate sidled past the stairs and cracked open a pair of sliding doors. Before her lay a room lined with windows and full of single beds. Set close together, each bed contained a patient. Several women dressed in black with white aprons moved among the rows. Kate slipped inside the room, closed the doors, and bumped into a woman carrying a stack of linens.

“Excuse me,” Kate said in a low voice. “The marquess?”

The woman craned her neck to see over the linens. “Oh, Miss Grey. His lordship is in that alcove.”

Following the woman’s nod, Kate spotted a recess at the back of the room. She thanked the woman and approached the alcove slowly. Most of the men she passed were asleep. Some tossed and turned; some watched her with curious eyes. She smiled at them and crept close to the single bed set in the alcove.

The occupant was young, hardly more than a boy. His face was the color of dough and beaded with perspiration. Where his legs should have been, there was only sheet. He lay still with his eyes shut, but he was whispering to the marquess. Alexis was sitting on the bed beside the young soldier, on the side opposite Kate. His head was in profile
to her, and she could see that he was having to lean close to hear what was said.

She wedged herself behind one of the supports of the archway that separated the alcove from the rest of the room. The soldier’s voice was weak, and his breathing uneven.

“My wife and the baby.”

“You shouldn’t have sent them away,” Alexis said.

“Didn’t want her to see me like this. Half a man. Less than half.” The soldier’s eyes flew open. He drew in a wheezing breath that ended on a cough. Alexis helped him sip water from a glass. “Didn’t want her to see me go, my lord. Didn’t want her to know I’m afraid.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Alexis said.

He was interrupted by a spasm of coughing that would have doubled the soldier over if he’d been strong enough to move. Alexis braced the young man while holding a cloth to his mouth. When he withdrew it, blood stained the white linen. Alexis tossed the cloth aside and called the soldier’s name as the patient collapsed in his arms.

A thin hand grasped Alexis’s jacket and attempted to pull the marquess closer. Alexis bent down to hear the whispers of the dying man. The hand that was twisted in the lapel of his coat suddenly became heavy. The whispering lips stilled.

Kate almost went to the two men, but couldn’t make herself take a step. Alexis remained bent over the dead man, bound to him by that leash of a hand.

“ ‘If I take the wings of the morning,’ ” he whispered, “ ‘and remain in the uttermost parts of the sea; / Even there also shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.’ ”

Drawn by the catch in his voice, Kate emerged from her hiding place. Alexis made no sign that he knew she approached. When she gently disengaged the dead man’s hand from his jacket, he said nothing. She put her hands
on his shoulders. Still no reaction. Kate called to a nurse. After asking the woman to take care of the dead man, she grasped Alexis’s arm and shook it. He looked up at her without surprise. There was a pale line about his mouth, and his eyes were bright with tears held at bay.

He smiled at her. “I don’t quite think that our allies, those Turkish sons of Allah, are worth it. Do you?”

“Hellfire,” Kate said. She pulled at his arm, and he stood up. Relying on his gentleman’s instincts, she put her hand on his arm. Immediately the arm came up to support her, his other hand covered hers, and he began to walk. They were crossing the lawn when he stopped.

“What are you doing here?”

He had recovered.

“I … uh … the antiques dealer and the draper will be here soon to take orders for Maitland House. I thought since your men will be living there, you might want to have a say in what is ordered.”

“I can’t. I’m going for a ride.”

“A ride?”

“Yes. Right now. I’m going to ride.”

She perused his rigid body and expressionless face. “You mean one of your gazelle-chased-by-a-lion rides?”

“I mean a ride, Kate.”

“Why do you—”

“Where are your bonnet and your gloves?” He shook a finger at her. “You’re engaged to me now. I won’t have you tripping about without the proper dress.”

“Is that so?”

“Definitely so. And another thing. You’re going to have to stop deliberately shocking my family and friends with your bluestocking opinions and mannish ways. You’re stuck with the form of a woman, Miss Grey. Leave the business of being a man to those equipped for it.”

She was about to take a slice out of his gut with her tongue, when she noticed the way he held his body, so
stiffly, and how his face was drained of color. Still, her irritation got the better of her.

“I know you’re upset about that boy dying, but you don’t have to try to make yourself feel better by insulting me.”

“Damn.”

He jerked his arm free and turned away. With his back to her, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He veered around and snatched her up in his arms before she could react. He kissed her. It was a hard, furious kiss, and he lifted her off her feet. As abruptly as he began, he dropped her back to the ground and cursed again.

“Unless you want to risk me dragging you back to the Clocktower, I suggest you allow me to go on my ride.”

Turning on his heel, Alexis stalked off. Kate watched him go, then returned to the Dower House to get her bonnet and gloves. Her lips still tingled from the kiss. Hellfire. He’d made her want him with little effort on his part, and she already knew what happened when he took the trouble to exert himself.

She should have gone with him to the Clocktower. She wanted to, but she couldn’t. She’d only just discovered that she liked the man. She wasn’t used to liking him. She was used to thinking of him as half snake, half satyr. And what was worse, she was very much afraid that she had too many feelings for Alexis de Granville. Disturbing feelings, some of them were. Like desire. She wanted to undress him and press and squeeze his muscles, run her hands over his smooth skin.

The desire had been tolerable as long as she had disliked him, but he was shedding his snake’s skin bit by bit. He was a loving friend to Val. He cared for the suffering of others. He was intelligent, courageous, beautiful, kind. Maybe kind wasn’t the right word. Compassionate.

And he hadn’t been with Ophelia the night of the fire. Alexis de Granville might be annoyingly domineering, but
she was sure he wasn’t a liar. Besides, she had since learned that the marquess had stayed up late talking to Fulke on the night of her cousin’s death. Altogether, it was most frustrating to find that one’s enemy possessed virtues.

He was a rich man. He could have financed his soldiers’ home through underlings and not involved himself personally at all. He could have spared himself constant pain. Instead he gave his own strength, and after seeing him with the young soldier, she believed he gave too much of it.

“I’m going mad,” she muttered. “One kiss and I’m as daft as a whiskey-drunk billy goat.”

She tied her bonnet ribbons, tugged on her gloves, and set out for the castle. He’d be furious if she sent a groom to follow him. Not that any of the staff would dare such a thing. Why did he do it, ride so recklessly? He was bothered by something, hounded. The strangest events would send him hurtling across fields and jumping hedgerows. A fight with Fulke was a sure harbinger of one of Alexis’s rides. Kate listened to the tap of her shoes on the drawbridge while she thought. The more she thought, the less she could make sense of Alexis de Granville. This being in love was more difficult than translating Latin.

She stumbled over her own feet, then stopped, lifting her gaze to the teeth of the portcullis. In love?

In love. Hellfire. What was she thinking?

In love. With that aristocratic, magical irritant.

There were no grammar texts on love. No tutor could give her a set of mathematical theorems that would prove whether she was in love or not. Kate thought about all the stories she’d read about love while she ran up the steps of the castle.

Romeo and Juliet
was little help. Infatuation at first sight didn’t work, as she well knew. As a matter of fact, too
many famous lovers died. Anthony and Cleopatra, Hamlet and Ophelia. Best not pursue the thought.

She was once more removing her bonnet, pondering love, when a man’s voice distracted her.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Grey.”

It was the Richfield butler, Hazelton. He always managed to disconcert her. Perhaps it was because he more resembled a cabinet minister than a servant. She smiled and nodded to him.

“Two gentlemen have called,” he said. “A Mr. Mungo Fettiplace and a Mr. Osbert Snead.”

“Drat. It’s the draper and the antiques man. Where are they?”

“In the small drawing room, miss.”

The interview with Fettiplace and Snead lasted until almost teatime. Most of it was spent curbing the desire of both men to stuff Maitland House with unnecessary accoutrements. At last she followed the two to the door of the drawing room, watching them struggle under the weight of samples and sketchbooks.

“And remember,” she said, “not one antler on the walls. No stuffed birds under glass. No doilies. No skirts on table legs. I want lots of light, a few paintings, which I will pick out, some mirrors.” She raised her voice as they turned a corner. “And no geegaws.”

Fettiplace swiveled his head around to her. “Geegaws, miss?”

“Feather flowers, wax fruit, seaweed pictures. Dust collectors, Mr. Fettiplace.”

“As you wish, Miss Grey.”

Fettiplace vanished, and Kate released the giggle she’d been holding back.

“You have style, Kate. Simplicity and elegance are to be commended.”

Kate put her fingers to her lips to suppress her laughter. “I didn’t see you, Lady Juliana.”

Alexis’s mother approached with her entourage of canine and feline retainers. The marmoset bounded around a corner and skittered into the drawing room.

“I must speak with you, my dear.”

Juliana closed the drawing room door after Kate and sat beside her on a sofa. “This engagement.”

“I know you’re surprised. I’m not English, and I wasn’t born into a noble family.”

Juliana patted Kate on the shoulder. “Hush, child. I have a great affection for you. And I thought we agreed about my son. That’s why I can’t understand this engagement.”

“I guess I changed my mind.”

“You shouldn’t.” Juliana’s gaze slid away from Kate. It flitted from object to object around the room as she talked. “Your original opinion was the correct one, but I see you’ve been exposed to Alexis’s corrupting ways for too long. That’s why I must tell you the truth.”

“Yes?”

Juliana stared down at her hands. They were clasped tightly in her lap, and she rocked back and forth.

“My son is worse than Cain.”

Kate shook her head, but Juliana wasn’t looking at her.

“Do you know why my son rides as if the hounds of hell were after him? It’s because they are. They have been since he murdered my husband and daughter when he was twelve.”

“No.”

Juliana’s rocking speeded up. “It’s true, though it was never proved. He fought with both of them, then went out and strung fishing line between two trees across the path they were to race on. Thalia’s head was severed from her body, and my husband’s horse fell and crushed him. The only person to see it was Alexis—because he was the one who laid the trap.” Juliana stopped rocking and lifted tortured eyes to Kate. “He says he doesn’t remember what
happened before they died, or what happened after. Nothing could be proved, and the authorities weren’t about to arrest a boy who had suddenly inherited the title and one of the greatest fortunes in England.”

It was impossible, Kate thought. Compassionate, phoenixlike Alexis a murderer? She tried to picture the man she knew as a monster child who could plan such a horror. Ridiculous. The act went against his nature.

“But nothing was ever proved,” she said. “Someone may have put the line there for another reason, or someone else might have wanted your husband dead.”

Kate’s words petered out under the unblinking stare of the woman beside her. Juliana went on as if Kate hadn’t spoken.

“My husband was my reason for being on this earth. When he died, I became a living wraith. Alexis may not remember what happened, but he still believes he did the murders. I think he went into the cavalry hoping to die. And then there are the women.”

“Lady Juliana, I don’t think you should be telling me this.”

“There was a mistress. When he was quite young. She vanished, and no one knows where she went. Another died in a carriage accident that wasn’t an accident. The wife of a general in the Horse Guards became his mistress two years ago. It was well known that she liked young, handsome cavalry officers. She especially liked them in her stables at night, on the floor of a stall, my dear. One morning she was found in a stall with her head kicked in by a stallion.”