The Rake's Mistress (12 page)

He was a scoundrel.

He had awoken again just before dawn. Rebecca had been asleep, fragrantly, peacefully. He had seen her lying beside him and had felt the soft, tempting warmth of her body and had been overwhelmed by an emotion he had never previously experienced. He had felt awestruck and exalted and terrifyingly happy.

And then he had felt afraid.

He had eased himself out of the bed, dressed with speed and crept away, like a thief in the night. With each step away from Rebecca his heart had dropped like a stone into the depths. Fear and guilt had warred within him, smothering the contentment that had come to him when he was lying in Rebecca’s arms. He had wanted her from the moment he had first seen her and now that hunger was not appeased, but raged within him with a dangerous intensity. Yet somehow that intimate lovemaking had unleashed far more than physical desire.

He felt angry and protective and
responsible
. He had never wanted to feel responsible for another
person, preferring the independence that had been his way of life until the previous night. He had not wanted a woman to look on him with love. To see the same selfless devotion reflected in Rebecca’s eyes that he had seen in his mother… It made him feel sick. His father had taken his mother’s love and had twisted it out of all recognition through his endless infidelities. It had been a salutary lesson to all his sons, but it was Lucas who had felt it most keenly.

Yet now it was too late. He had seduced Rebecca Raleigh, had taken her body with a rapture that he would not previously have dreamed existed, and in the process had been given her love, her soul. A part of him wanted it most desperately, but the other part shrank away.

Lucas got slowly to his feet and stumbled across to the ewer on the chest of drawers. He bent over the bowl and poured the water directly over his head. The cold was refreshing, but the headache remained. He rubbed a hand across his hair, smoothing it down, scattering water droplets on his bare shoulders. He leaned both hands on the top on the chest of drawers and stared at his reflection in the glass.

There was only one solution—he would have to marry Miss Rebecca Raleigh.

No matter that he had sworn not to marry, no matter that he did not want the love of a good
woman, no matter that he did not feel in the least worthy, he could not make a bad situation worse by behaving like a heartless seducer, taking her virginity and abandoning her after.

Oddly the decision to marry, so long avoided, soothed him. He felt immeasurably better, not only because it was the honourable solution, but also because it felt like the right one in some deeply satisfying way he did not care to analyse. He told himself cynically that this was because he had acted like a cad and was taking the only respectable course of action, albeit late in the day. He told himself even more cynically that once he was married to Rebecca he could experience that exquisite bliss every night. That was a decided benefit, one almost worth throwing away his freedom on.

His conscience, still tiresomely alert, told him that he was prevaricating and there was far more to his emotions than the satisfaction of honour and rampant desire. He told his conscience to be quiet.

He called his valet, dressed and made his way downstairs, stopping dead as he entered the breakfast room and found his elder brother already settled at the table, his meal complete, a cup of coffee before him and the
Morning Post
in his hand.

Lucas started forward. ‘Justin! We were not expecting you until tomorrow at the earliest.’

Justin laughed, put the paper aside, got up and shook Lucas’s hand. ‘I received your letter, Lucas,
and made what haste I could. I arrived late last night.’ He shifted his broad shoulders against the chair back in an effort to get comfortable. ‘I swear the roads get worse by the day. I feel as stiff as an old man.’

‘What do you expect, at your age?’ Lucas said, with an unsympathetic grin. ‘Dukes approaching their dotage must anticipate such troubles.’

‘Devil a bit,’ Justin said cheerfully, raising his coffee and taking an appreciate mouthful. ‘I have a few years left to me yet.’

He gestured to the coffee pot. ‘Are you having some, Luc?’ He was studying his brother closely. ‘You’re looking a little rough, if you will forgive me. Heavy night?’

Lucas hesitated. He looked with distaste at the litter of breakfast on the table. He had no appetite. ‘It was a somewhat unexpected evening,’ he said. He took a deep breath. ‘Justin, there is something I feel I should tell you—’

There was a knock at the door. ‘Tom Bradshaw is here, your Grace,’ Byrne announced. ‘Shall I show him in?’

Justin glanced at Lucas. ‘Can it wait, Luc? I saw Bradshaw briefly last night and he had some information I wanted to discuss with you at the earliest opportunity.’

‘Of course.’ Lucas felt strangely on edge. It was he who had set Tom Bradshaw on to investigate
and watch Rebecca Raleigh only a week before. It felt like a lifetime; a lifetime in which he had briefly forgotten the reason why he and Rebecca had met in the first place, so wrapped up had he become in all that had happened between them.

‘Bradshaw tells me,’ Justin said, folding his newspaper precisely, ‘that Miss Raleigh has provided the engraved glass that the Midwinter spies have been using for their cipher—’

‘It was her uncle who did the work,’ Lucas said, without letting his brother finish. ‘I do not believe that Miss Raleigh herself knows anything about it, other than that her uncle was fulfilling a commission for a client.’

There was a small silence. Lucas was very aware of Justin’s gaze resting thoughtfully on him. He shifted uncomfortably on his chair. He knew Justin to be very shrewd. It would be well nigh impossible for him not to give his feelings away.

‘I see,’ Justin said, in measured tone. ‘And the uncle himself?’

Lucas hesitated. He was aware of a very strong urge to say absolutely nothing at all. He wanted to protect Rebecca, not draw her into danger. And yet that was the precise reason that Justin was here.

He got up, thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers and paced across to the fireplace. ‘Her uncle was George Provost. He died recently. Miss Raleigh has carried on the work of the studio.’

Justin nodded. ‘I imagine that she is in some financial difficulty?’

Lucas could feel the screws turning. Justin’s line of reasoning was not difficult to follow. ‘Why do you imagine that?’ he asked expressionlessly.

‘It cannot be easy for a young lady to carve out such a living if she is alone in the world. I take it,’ Justin added, gently persistent, ‘that she
is
alone?’

‘I…Yes.’ Lucas shot him a look. He was remembering the bare bedroom, pristinely neat, unmistakably poor, where
he’d
left Rebecca this very morning. ‘She lives in some hardship, certainly.’

Justin gave him a long look. ‘So it would be entirely possible that she might succumb to the lure of a job that paid very well, even if it were…illegal?’

Lucas met his eyes. ‘It is possible in principle, but not in practice.’

‘How so?’

‘Because Miss Raleigh,’ Lucas said, struggling with a temper that suddenly seemed incendiary, ‘is no traitor, Justin. Besides, I have ascertained that no work has been commissioned for the Midwinter spies since the death of her uncle.’

Justin let that pass for a moment. ‘I see,’ he said pleasantly. ‘But you do not deny that this mysterious client who places his orders with the studio
might have instructed Miss Raleigh to keep the details of the commission secret?’

‘She gave no such impression to me,’ Lucas said, turning so sharply to look at his brother that he almost drilled a hole in the carpet. ‘Indeed, she was very open about the type of work the studio had engraved for him.’

‘So you believe her innocent of all this,’ Justin said thoughtfully. There was a spark of humour in his gaze. ‘In fact, you might just call me out if I imply otherwise?’

Lucas shifted uncomfortably under his elder brother’s observant gaze. ‘I believe she is entirely innocent, yes.’

‘And her connection to the Archangel Club?’

Lucas could feel the tension stiff across his shoulders. ‘Another commission, that is all.’

‘Miss Raleigh,’ Justin observed, ‘has commissions from dubious sources.’

Lucas drew a sharp breath. He could hear the note of impatience in his own voice, the tell-tale edginess that gave his feelings away more clearly than any words. ‘That is a co-incidence only.’

‘You are hot in her defence.’

‘I am.’

Their glances met and clashed like a sword thrust. Justin laughed.

‘I see. So you see yourself as some sort of knight errant who wishes to protect Miss Raleigh from danger.’

‘Hardly,’ Lucas snapped. His conscience flailed him again. Of all the people who had placed Rebecca in jeopardy, he was the most culpable.

‘Then,’ Justin said shrewdly, ‘your ill temper stems from a guilty conscience. You feel a scoundrel because you have deceived her as to your true interest.’

‘I have and I do,’ Lucas said, through shut teeth. He was within an ace of losing his coolness altogether. ‘I have deceived Miss Raleigh in more ways than I wish to count and the damnable thing is that I am convinced she is innocent.’

Rebecca had been innocent in many ways until he had laid a hand on her. Lucas thought of her trust and her generosity of spirit and closed his eyes briefly.

‘Would you prefer it if I were to go to Clerkenwell to interview her?’ Justin asked mildly.

‘No!’ Lucas almost shouted. The thought of Rebecca learning of his perfidy through a third party was even more unendurable than the idea of telling her himself.

Justin raised his brows. Lucas took a deep breath and smoothed his hair down.

‘I apologise, but Miss Raleigh must hear the truth from me, Justin. There is a particular reason for this. I wish to marry her.’

Lucas had not intended to announce his matrimonial plans in quite such a stark manner, but once the words were out he felt inexpressibly relieved. Justin, who had the reputation of being the coolest head in London, looked slightly winded. He opened his mouth to frame a response, but before the words were out there came a tentative knock at the door and Tom Bradshaw entered. From his apprehensive expression it was clear that he had heard the raised voices from behind the closed door.

‘Your Grace, my lord…’ He bowed. ‘Would you prefer me to return later?’

Justin glanced at Lucas, who shook his head abruptly. Whatever Bradshaw had to report, it was better to learn it now.

‘Take a seat, Bradshaw,’ Justin said, nodding to the chair opposite. ‘Lord Lucas and I may continue this…fascinating…conversation at a later time.’

Lucas went across to lean against the mantel. He had a disquieting feeling that the information Bradshaw was about to impart would not be to his liking. The servant was no fool either; his gaze went from one Kestrel brother to the other and his brows rose a little. Lucas could feel his tension balling in his chest. He saw Justin’s amused gaze
on him, realised that he was almost dancing with impatience, and forced himself to calm.

Tom Bradshaw looked at Lucas. ‘I have had Miss Raleigh’s workshop under surveillance for the past week, as you are aware, my lord,’ he began. He took a scruffy notebook from his back pocket and flicked the pages over. ‘The lady has few visitors and seldom goes out, but yesterday she delivered a package to the Archangel Club.’

Lucas was aware of Justin’s stillness and put his own construction on it. ‘It was a commission for Lord Fremantle,’ he said, ‘on behalf of the Club.’

Justin nodded noncommittally. ‘So I understand,’ he said. ‘Pray continue, Bradshaw.’

Bradshaw ruffled the pages of the book. ‘Yes, your Grace. A servant called yesterday afternoon to collect the other commission that Miss Raleigh had waiting, the one for the collector.’

Lucas stiffened. ‘Are you certain, Bradshaw?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

Lucas felt his stomach knot. ‘Did you overhear their conversation?’

‘A little, my lord. He was not there for long. He paid Miss Raleigh two hundred guineas and left with a package—’

‘Two hundred guineas!’ Lucas could not stop himself. He was remembering Rebecca telling him that the market rate for six glasses was twenty guineas. Either she had provided a great many
items for the mysterious collector or… The logic was obvious. Or he was paying her for more than the commission. For her silence, perhaps… Lucas shook his head sharply. He could not believe it. He simply did not believe it of Rebecca.

‘Are you sure?’ he said harshly.

‘Yes, my lord.’ Bradshaw looked nervous. ‘I heard him say so himself.’

‘It is a great deal of money,’ Justin said mildly.

Lucas thrust his hand through his hair. ‘Is there anything else, Bradshaw?’

‘Yes, my lord,’ the servant said. He swallowed. ‘I followed the man when he took the package away.’

There was a silence.

‘Where did he go?’ Lucas asked.

Bradshaw looked up. ‘To the Archangel Club, my lord,’ he said.

Lucas and Justin exchanged a look. Lucas could see sympathy in his brother’s eyes and it made him angry. The implication was obvious. Justin thought that he had been taken for a fool by Miss Rebecca Raleigh. He thought that he had lost his head and his judgement, and, to be fair, the evidence against Rebecca was strong. Yet instinct, deeper than any logic, told him that she was honest.

‘Do you wish me to bring the servant in, your Grace?’ Bradshaw was asking, cautiously. ‘He rents a room in the Feathers in Cheapside.’

Justin shook his head. ‘Nobody in the pay of the Archangel is going to talk to us. All it will do is raise the alarm. I shall go to the club and make the most discreet of enquiries, though I imagine I shall find precisely nothing. Lucas—’

‘Yes,’ Lucas said. ‘I shall go to Clerkenwell and speak with Miss Raleigh.’

‘She is all we have,’ Justin said. Lucas could hear the pity that tinged his brother’s voice. ‘We need you to bring her here for questioning, Luc. Innocent or guilty, she has to help us.’

There was a sharp silence. ‘If you do not care for the idea, then I shall go myself,’ Justin added.