Amber (Jewel Trilogy, Book 3) (39 page)

When Compton met Kendra at Amberley House's door with his silver tray in hand, her stomach knotted.

Received an urgent message from my shipping company's manager,
the note read.
Following the weekend, must go to London for a day. Be back Monday evening or Tuesday. Will explain later. My love, T.

Her legs felt leaden as she trudged up the stairs. London. Without her again. Did he truly even own a shipping company? Or had he made that up as an excuse to run off to his mistress?

Arriving in her bedchamber, she leaned against the door and drew a calming breath. Surely her imagination was running wild. As usual, she was jumping to conclusions.

My love, T.
She traced the words with a finger. He'd asked her to trust him. She had to believe him.

But three long, empty days yawned ahead, and she didn't have to stay at home pining for him, either. She was no Clytie. If he could spend his weekend in the "traditional" way, playing cards with the men, she could keep her tradition with the women.

In fact, Caithren was probably waiting for her, and no doubt Amy and Jewel would be at Cainewood, too. While the men did whatever it was men did at house parties, they could have a party of their own.

Decision made, she packed a bag and headed for the stables. In no time at all she was barreling toward Cainewood, trying to enjoy the wind in her hair as she coaxed Pandora to go even faster. The miles sped by, the landscape becoming comfortingly familiar.

Amy and Cait would help her put everything into perspective. Surely their marriages had gone through rocky times as well, yet they were both clearly happy.

She thundered over the wooden drawbridge, slid off Pandora, and ran toward Cainewood's double front doors.

A startled butler opened one of them. "Lady Kendra! I mean...welcome, your grace. What brings you here to Cainewood?"

"I wish to visit with Lady Cainewood. And—" Words failed her when she glimpsed her twin over the man's shoulder, pacing the upstairs landing with a contemplative look on his face and a beaker filled with bluish fluid in his hands. "Ford?" she called, stepping inside. "Why aren't you at the house party?"

"Kendra?" He blinked, looked down at her, then disappeared for a moment. Reappearing at the top of the stairs empty-handed, he ran down to catch her in a hug.

"What party?" he asked, pulling back. "Am I missing a party? Damn. Are there pretty ladies there, too?"

She frowned. "The card weekend, or whatever it is you men call it. Why aren't you with the others?"

"We've had no card weekends since your marriage. They were always at Amberley—didn't you know that?" Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he drew her down the corridor toward the drawing room. "What made you think there was a house party this weekend?"

Once in the chamber, she dropped onto a salmon-colored chair. Familiar, but not nearly as comforting as she'd hoped. "Trick. He told me he was leaving to play cards with the men, and he'd be back at the end of the weekend. Then he sent a note saying Monday or Tuesday." She bit the inside of her cheek. "Are you sure there's no party?"

"As sure as I can be. I'm sure Jason isn't playing cards, or Colin that I know of, either."

You'll have to trust me. Once you promised you'd trust me. Has that changed?

A lump rose in her throat as she hid her face in her hands. "I'm a fool then, aren't I? Over and over I believe what he tells me, but he always turns out to be hiding something."

"Perhaps he has a good reason." Ford sat in the adjacent chair, reaching to pull one hand from her face and hold it between his. "I cannot imagine—"

"No." She leapt to her feet, breaking the contact. Overwhelming sadness turned to bitter anger instead. "There's no good reason to deceive your spouse."

Trick had said there were things he couldn't tell her, and she'd accepted that, if rather reluctantly. But that wasn't the same as telling her an outright lie.

He'd lied to her from the beginning, before they were even married, starting by withholding the fact that he was a duke. Whatever had made her believe he'd change now? He'd implied that he needed to play the highwayman for the sake of the children, then claimed he owned a prosperous shipping firm. Which one of those facts was true?

My love, T.
Another lie. A man who loved his wife wouldn't treat her like this. Wouldn't say he was going one place and end up another.

"He's in London with his mistress." She gritted her teeth, pacing the patterned black-and-salmon carpet. "That's why he was in such a hurry to return from Scotland. And afterward, to leave me at Amberley so he could go back to London alone."

And he'd made such a fuss out of telling her how he felt about infidelity. Over and over! The nerve of him, deliberately lulling her into false security with his trumped-up moral standards.

"Men talk, Kendra, and I've heard nothing of a mistress in London."

She looked away from the concern in Ford's deep blue eyes. "You're my brother. He wouldn't tell you about something like that."

"For God's sake, you've been wed less than three months." The concern was gone from his voice, replaced by an impatience that set her teeth on edge. "The last card party was before you even met the man, and I heard nothing of a mistress then. Yet there you go, as usual, leaping to conclusions. Wait to hear what Trick has to say for himself, will you? I cannot believe we misjudged the man so keenly."

She crossed her arms. "Well, you did." She stared at a portrait of some stern, long-dead ancestor. Another controlling man, no doubt. Her brothers had misjudged Trick completely and pushed her into this marriage. It was their fault she was hurting now.

Their fault she had fallen in love.

Dear God. She turned away, bringing her hands to her cheeks. In love—in love with a man who could never return it. Never trust her, never open up and share his life. She'd tried and tried to be the sort of wife he wanted, to no avail. She'd tried to listen, to trust him like he'd asked, only to be slapped with this bald-faced lie.

"Kendra." Ford drew her gaze. "You need to reconsider this in logical terms. I'm sure Trick has an explanation."

She'd come for her family's love and support, to find her own twin was siding with Trick. Tears threatened, but she wouldn't let them fall. Had Ford not heard a word she'd said?

Well, of course not—he was a man. "This is your fault—yours and Jason's and Colin's. You stuck me with this lying adulterer of a husband. Where is Cait?"

"Upstairs, I think, probably napping. But Kendra—"

She was already out of the room.

Garrick's kitchen had clearly been unprepared for breakfast guests. Engaging in desultory small talk with their reluctant host, Trick and Pendregast waited a good hour before an aging maid brought a tray of meat pottage and coffee. Two trips later, the table was also laden with spiced bread, caraway-seeded biscuits, fruited wheatmeal griddle cakes, and currant buns.

Sweets. Kendra would love this breakfast, Trick thought, wincing at the resulting stab of guilt.

The three of them ate until the butler arrived in the doorway. "A visitor, my lord."

Garrick blotted his flabby lips, then stood and patted his even more flabby belly. "Enjoy your breakfast, gentlemen. I shall return posthaste."

"Five minutes, I'm guessing," Pendregast said when the man had left.

"I'm going to follow him," Trick said. "If he returns before I do, tell him I was in need of a chamber pot."

He rose and peeked into the corridor. Thankfully, it was deserted. Slipping out, he flattened himself against the wall, moving along it until he nearly reached the front door.

Having already closed it, Garrick was leading a short man down the other wing of the house. Trick waited, watching, until he saw them enter a room. Then he hurried after them and listened through the door.

There was a scraping sound, something heavy sliding open and then shut. Hearing no voices, he cracked the door open and took a look.

A study. Empty, just as he'd thought. He ducked inside and hid himself in the kneehole of an aging oak desk. It wasn't long before the grating noise came again. He bent his head to see between the desk's claw-footed legs. A section of bookshelves disappeared, then slid back into place as he watched.

Garrick set something down on the desk above Trick's head. "Very well. But I don't want to see you for another month. Send someone else in the meantime—we cannot risk having the same men traveling the roads all the time. Not until that blackguard is caught."

"Yes, my lord."

"I'll see you out."

When the door closed behind them, Trick scooted from the cubby. A pewter candlestick now sat on the desk, and Garrick hadn't bothered to extinguish the taper. How convenient.

Trick felt around the bookcase for a handle, a button...ah, there it was. A latch. Throwing it, he was able to push the shelves behind the ones adjacent.

He grabbed the candle and held it up to illuminate the windowless space beyond. A fair-sized room, if bare of luxuries. Atop a table sat three crucibles, a melting pan, dies, shears, and other equipment Trick didn't recognize. But the coins scattered over the surface were familiar indeed, as were the bars of base metal.

He'd seen all he needed to see.

A couple of minutes later he strolled back into the dining room, adjusting his breeches conspicuously. "Nice place you have here, Garrick." He aimed a discreet nod at Pendregast.

Garrick grunted. "I'm due for renovations."

"So you've said."

Pendregast pulled out a pocket watch. "Damn, I've forgotten an appointment. Garrick, my thanks for the fine food and company. Amberley, I'll stop by to see you later."

More senseless chitchat that lasted an hour, then longer. God's blood, Trick thought, would this never end? What the hell was taking Pendregast so long?

Garrick grew restless, pacing the chamber but unable to politely escape while Trick kept eating and engaging him in conversation. It got to the point where Trick wondered if he could cram in another morsel of food without vomiting, but he supposed the meal might hold him for the long ordeal ahead. Although this had been surprisingly easy, the next few days would be much harder.

But then this would be over. With any luck, by Monday night he'd be joining Kendra in their bed. For the rest of his life, if he had any say in the matter. And no more secrets.

At last the butler announced another arrival.

Trick followed Garrick to the door. "Sir Harold," Garrick said, finding Pendregast on the other side. "Have you forgotten something?"

"I'm afraid so," Pendregast said as a balding man with a scar across his cheek stepped from around the corner. "The sheriff."

"Kendra! Cait! Open up!"

Kendra scurried into the far corner of her old bedchamber while Caithren made her way to the door and opened it a crack. "Your sister doesn't want to talk to you," she told Jason. "Or Ford, either."

"Oh, for God's sake. Tell her it's dinnertime, and we've strawberry tarts for dessert."

Trust a man to think food would solve his problems, Kendra thought. Most especially a Chase man. Well, he wasn't going to coax her by tempting her sweet tooth. "Tell him I'm not hungry," she called to Cait. "Tell him I'm not going to eat until the absurd marriage he arranged is annulled."

"She's not hungry," Cait started. "She's—"

"Forget it." Jason stuck his boot in the doorway when Caithren would have shut it. "Tell her I'll be here when she's ready to talk. Tell her that until then she can starve for all I care. Tell her Cook is baking cherry pie for supper." He paused for a breath. "Are you coming down for dinner, then?"

"Nay. I believe I'll stay here with Kendra."

"Women." Following the single terse word, Kendra heard his boots stomp down the corridor.

Cait closed the door. "Cherry pie later, Kendra."

"Oh, my. I suppose I'll have to save some room." She went back to her dressing table, where a veritable feast was laid out, delivered by Cait's loyal maid, Dulcie. Sitting down, she stabbed her spoon into her second strawberry tart. "I believe I'll skip the sallet and asparagus, then."