Beyond A Wicked Kiss (12 page)

Blackwood lowered his gold-rimmed spectacles over the bridge of his hawk-like nose and regarded West with a surprisingly gentle smile and an invitation to proceed.

"Everyone is gone?" he asked.

West nodded. "I have just now come from bidding farewell to South's parents and North's mother. Lady Winslow and Sir James left only moments before."

The colonel was not surprised that East's family had also lingered. It had been like that since West's own mother died when he was yet at Cambridge. Long before then, a connection had been made to each of the other families, perhaps, Blackwood thought, because West was, for all intents and purposes, fatherless. No less a personage than the dowager Countess of Northam had been moved to call the duke a bloody bastard, championing West even though she still took umbrage with him for breaking the nose of her son when they were but boys at Hambrick.

The corners of Blackwood's mouth were lifted as he considered the temper and aggressive posture that had put West in conflict with every one of his schoolmates. He wondered what he would have made of young Evan Marchman if he had known him in those days. Would he have been as rigidly uncompromising as the Hambrick house masters, or would he have seen past the boy's fiercely held fists to the pain and confusion that made him so belligerent?

West did not recline in his chair. Instead, he sat forward slightly and rested his forearms on his knees. His fingers were loosely intertwined, and as was often his habit, he lightly tapped the pads of his thumbs together. He did not engage in pleasantries, but came immediately to the point.

"Why did you never tell me you visited him?"

Although the colonel had no difficulty divining West's meaning, the question still surprised. "I have never thought it necessary to apprise you of the names of even a quarter of the people I visit. Why should this have been different?"

"Do not pose a question to me that you can answer yourself."

Blackwood gave West a sharp look over the rim of his spectacles. "Actually, I am not certain I
can
answer it. Being Westphal's son did not entitle you to know every occasion I had to visit him. Indeed, given the estrangement between you, it seemed to me that you would be uninterested in my dealings with him."

"It is a different matter when you used those occasions to discuss me."

"I have never thought of you as someone prone to exaggerating his own importance. We also discussed things wholly unrelated to you."

West would not relent. "But you
did
share my activities with him."

It was rare that Blackwood hesitated, but he did so now. "Sometimes," he said finally. "Yes."

West straightened a little then and sat back. He did not know there was more hurt in his glance than there was accusation. "Why?" he asked softly. "Why tell him anything at all about me? Have you been as forthcoming to Lord Redding about South's activities over the years? I cannot imagine that you have ever informed North's mother about the things he has done, and continues to do, for you. And East? I am quite sure he would not thank you for apprising his—"

"I take your point," the colonel said. "And you are right. I have made it a point to say very little to others."

"Then why? Why would you—"

"They have never wanted to know. Lord and Lady Redding. Sir James and Lady Winslow. The dowager countess. All of them are more at their ease not knowing the particulars, and they will tell you as much if you press them. The duke
wanted
to know, and to the extent that he could be informed, I informed him. Your father was highly placed in the government, West. He came within a hairsbreadth of being made prime minister after Perceval was assassinated, and he had many supporters this last time around. Do you imagine he could not have found out whatever he liked? I should think you would prefer that he received his information from me. You can depend on the accuracy of my accounts."

"What I depended upon," West said without inflection, "was your silence."

Uncharacteristically at a loss for words, Blackwood offered silence now.

West eyed the whiskey decanter on the drinks cabinet and realized he had not the wherewithal to go there. He could not recall a time when he had been so lacking in energy, so boneless as he was now. The events of these last three days had conspired to tap both his strength and the soundness of his judgments. "He had not earned the right to know what I was about." In spite of surging emotions, his voice remained remarkably steady. "I thought that had always been understood between us. It was not for you to say, but rather for me. The duke should have addressed his questions to me."

There was no point, the colonel decided, in stating what they both knew to be true: West would not have responded to any question put to him by his father. Blackwood remained silent, offering no defense for his actions.

"You have nothing at all to say?" West asked.

"Save for an apology, I can think of nothing that you will wish to hear on the matter."

West waited, but the colonel's apology was not forthcoming. "Then you do not regret it?"

"I regret that I did not listen to my own counsel and inform you that your father was making inquiries."

West's eyes narrowed faintly as he regarded his mentor. "Why not?" he asked. "Why not trust your own judgment? Isn't that what you demand of us?"

"It is." His smile was rueful. "I can do the wrong thing for the right reason as often as any man. It is only in hindsight that any of us can know how wrong it truly was."

"And what of speaking to the duke about me? I have not heard you offer any regret for that."

By saying nothing, Blackwood said everything.

"I see," said West. He slumped more deeply in the chair so that he was almost reclining now and stretched his long legs before him. "Did you never wonder at the consequences?"

"Of course I wondered what you would make of it. I had hoped you would endeavor to understand."

"Understand? What I understand, Colonel, is that he's made me his bloody heir. He wouldn't have done that if he thought I was only a clerk in the foreign office. That's what I understand. You filled him with nonsense about some instrumental task I performed in Wellington's camp and—"

"Nonsense?" Blackwood bristled at the idea he ever spouted such. "I spoke nothing save the truth. I did not tell him one-half of what you were able to accomplish for Wellington at Fuentes de Onoro and Aluera. A year later you were in Madrid ahead of the army, taking considerable risk out of uniform."

West turned one hand over in a gesture that communicated both modesty and indifference. "I moved documents. Wellington moved an army. My contribution was—"

"Essential," the colonel said.

"I was not fishing."

"And I am not flattering. I am speaking the truth."

West wanted no more of this conversation. He knew what he had done was important work and he was proud of it, but he did not consider it more or less singular than the contribution made by others. He roused himself enough to come to his feet. Ignoring the decanters of whiskey and brandy, West walked to the window instead and drew back the heavy velvet curtains. The rain had finally turned entirely to sleet and the tattoo against the window was sharp and steady. He wondered about the road to Gillhollow, how difficult the travel might be for a coach and four. He wondered if Ria had gone on alone or taken her place with Tenley and his family. He wondered...

West allowed the drapes to fall back and turned away. Belatedly, he was aware that the colonel had wheeled his chair around and was watching him closely, seeing something more than he had ever meant to reveal. West plowed his fingers through his hair, discomfited by the scrutiny, out of patience with himself for lowering his guard. "You were saying?"

"Indeed," Blackwood said dryly. In truth, he had been silent, but he was not about to allow West's prompt to go begging. "I was hoping that you would humor me, and tell me the source of your information. I can think of no one save your father who was aware of my visits."

"The servants."

The colonel shook his head. "I did not forget to take them into account, but it is not possible that they spoke to you. They would not speak of it to anyone."

West could not entirely temper his smile. He shrugged to draw attention away from it. Blackwood had forgotten, however briefly, that he was now in the company of the Duke of Westphal. Those servants who had been loyal to his father were, for the time being, in his employ. They might have reservations about relating certain events to him, but they would not hold their tongues if he pressed.

"You will not explain it to me?" asked the colonel.

It seemed to West that he was being small by not telling Blackwood what he wanted to know. Getting a little of his own back was not a particularly pleasant feeling. "Miss Ashby," he said finally, watching the colonel's reaction closely. "I will not ask if you know who she is. I can see that you do."

Blackwood struck a thoughtful pose, cocking his head and tapping the right side of his nose with his forefinger. "She was at the Abbey today for the service?"

West nodded slowly. "In addition to the title and considerable fortune the duke has left me, I have also inherited a ward. What do you make of that, Colonel? It seems he was possessed of a sense of humor after all."

"I had not thought of it in that light."

"What else can I do but find the bloody humor of it?" asked West. "He is already dead, so however much I wish to do so, I cannot kill him."

The colonel thought it was a good sign that West's own sense of humor had finally surfaced, no matter how black it was. "I cannot conceive that Miss Ashby will upset the equilibrium of your existence. She can be the very least of the responsibilities you have inherited."

Both of West's eyebrows lifted. "She is a person. She is female. Female persons are always more difficult to manage than land and money. You smile, but you know it is true. You cannot help but have noticed that North is deuced unhappy with Elizabeth. And East? He has got himself between Mrs. Sawyer and Lady Sophia and would welcome a cup of hemlock at this juncture. Even South, who can be bloody brilliant on occasion, has been acting most peculiar. Mark me, there is a woman involved for he pressed me to loan him my cottage near Ambermede for a trysting place."

West saw that the colonel did not blink an eye at this last bit of intelligence. "Hah! You know about that, do you? I thought I detected your fine hand in the thing. Then it is not a tryst at all—or not
only
a tryst—but an assignment from you." He held up a hand. "No, I do not want you to confirm it."

"And I will not. The very last thing I need is the four of you tripping over one another. It seems to happen in spite of my desire that it be otherwise."

"It is rather remarkable that East has not shot one of us by now."

Blackwood's dark eyes dropped to West's boot. "More remarkable that you have not stabbed one of them."

"They say that very thing from time to time."

The colonel did not doubt it. "Tell me about Miss Ashby," he said. "How did you come to learn about my visits to the duke from her? I have never had occasion to meet her."

West related what Ria had told him. "Does she sound as if she is not a handful? She listens at doors, if you can credit it. That is just the sort of thing that causes no end of problems."

Since West was called upon to do it frequently in the course of his work, the colonel thought he was being somewhat harsh in his assessment of Miss Ashby. "I doubt it is her practice to engage in eavesdropping."

"I couldn't say. She only apprised me of this one instance."

The colonel coughed to cover his chuckle. "Careful, West, your tone puts me in mind of Northam at his most priggish. You would do well to avoid that comparison. Even his own mother can't stand him when he adopts that tone."

West was much struck by that. "Then you see firsthand what Miss Ashby is capable of, for no one has ever accused me of priggishness."

"Indeed," Blackwood said softly. "Your ward has had an unsettling influence."

That described it very well, West thought. He returned to his chair and hitched one hip on the arm. He waited for the colonel to turn himself around before he spoke. "You might well wonder how we had such a conversation at the service. In truth, we did not exchange a single word there. Miss Ashby arrived on my doorstep last evening—
sans
chaperone."

"The devil you say." The colonel did not try to conceal his surprise. "I confess I know little enough about your ward, but it seems unlikely the duke would have countenanced such behavior."

"The duke is dead."

"Ah, yes—well, there you have it."

"There can be no getting around the truth of that." West's chest rose and fell, his sigh inaudible. He decided then that he would tell Colonel Blackwood everything.

* * *

Ria hugged Amy Nash to her breast. The girl was inconsolable, and it did not help that Ria felt very much like giving in to a frenzied bout of weeping herself. Instead her expression was bleak, although this was only evident while little Amy's face was buried against her. Each time the girl looked up to gauge Ria's reaction, Ria masked her anxious concern with a fair approximation of an encouraging smile.