In the Brief Eternal Silence (37 page)

By sitting there and observing, he became
aware that although his lordship and young Mister Tempton appeared
to be having conversation between them, that St. James nonetheless
was turning every so often in his saddle, his mind obviously only
half attending whatever Ryan was saying to him, as his intent eyes
took in his surroundings behind him. And when he turned back to
face forward, his eyes scoped far up ahead of him and even from the
distance between them, Tyler caught a chill as their gold depths
settled on him with a snap and his lordship (who unlike Ryan had
been holding both the reins and the lead in one hand, leaving the
other hand free) pressed his hand to the inside of his open coat
(unusual in this weather) and half-drew a pistol before he
recognized the groom.

Tyler, who out of surprise had spat his
entire cud of tobacco from his mouth in preparation to calling out,
saw at once that this simple act may have saved him, for his
lordship evidently recognized his particular habit. He waited no
longer, but kicked his horse forward, and trotted down to meet
them.

“Mighty nervous, milord,” he said as way of
greeting even as Ryan exclaimed surprise at his unexpected
appearance.

“A tad,” St. James replied. “Take this horse,
will you, Tyler,” and he passed the lead over to his groom, leaving
him more control of his own mount. He did not button his coat, but
the pistol he had half drawn was again out of sight.

Ryan, oblivious to his lordship's strange
actions, asked, “Whatever brings you here, Tyler? And however did
you find us?”

As way of answer, Tyler opened the pocket
flap of his coat and pulled from it a handkerchief, handed it to
St. James, whose gold eyes left off their restless circling for a
moment to appraise it. “Bloody Hell!” he exclaimed as all the
possible implications must have ran through his mind. He shoved it
without ceremony into his own coat pocket, turned to Ryan. “Let's
try to get out of this rain, shall we, Ryan,” and with no further
warning of his intent, kicked his horse into a gallop.

Ryan and Tyler urged their horses along after
him, the black filly seeming to merely lope along, but the smallish
cob of a horse that Tyler now led with its awkward head and heavy,
swaying body did nothing but labor and slow them down. Still, they
made good time, and Tyler was as satisfied as he could possibly be
in the situation.

They rode through the rain for an hour, the
drenching downpour not slackening and neither did their horses. As
they entered the West End of London, St. James slowed his horse and
said to Ryan, “I'll be going straight to my home, Ryan, if you
should care to join us.”

Ryan, drenched and all the excitement he had
felt at riding out with the infamous duke quite squashed with the
weather and the rather mundane way in which their day had turned
out after all (for the duke had remained most disappointingly calm
and tractable throughout their excursion), said with some relief
that he really should head home as he was still to go to Almacks
that evening.

St. James nodded once, took the lead from
Ryan's hand, told him, “Well, I shall see you there then, I
expect,” and rode off with his groom, leaving Ryan to ride on to
his own residence.

Fifteen minutes later, the duke and Tyler
rode into the stables, where their horses' bodies began to steam,
and they each dismounted. Two undergrooms came running up, as Tyler
had enjoyed the position of head-groom now for many years, and they
took the four horses, two on leads and two under saddle, from Tyler
and his lordship. “Come into the house with me, Tyler,” St. James
bade, “for I shall have to talk to you while I change, for it is
getting late.”

“Aye,” Tyler responded. But his hand went
with longing for his chewing tobacco only to leave it alone.

St. James, with a little grin, said, “By all
means, indulge yourself. Only spit in the fireplace is all I
ask.”

“Aye. Thank you, milord,” Tyler said with a
note of relief in his voice.

St. James turned and together they strode out
of the stable and into a back entrance of the house reserved for
servants, startling a good deal of the kitchen staff into sharp
curtsies as they went through. St. James went first to his study,
with Tyler companionably at his side, for they worked together as
more than employer and servant. St. James ruffled through the mail
on his desk that had arrived that day by either post or by
messenger, found a smallish envelope that he had apparently been
looking for, and opened it for a brief look inside. “Thank you,
grandmother,” he murmured. “Knew I could count on you.” Then he
dropped the envelope back into the pile and they left the study as
quickly as they had entered it.

They trotted up the stairs, panting a little,
and Tyler said between his breaths, “Your hand was rather quick
t'your pistol today.”

St. James glanced at him. “So it was,” he
agreed between his own gasps. They reached the second floor
hallway, and he continued a little more quietly, “You caught that
did you? Ryan did not! I'm afraid that boy is feeling a great deal
disillusioned, for he was quite certain I would be about some sort
of trouble that would entertain him.”

“You very nearly were, from t'looks of it,”
Tyler countered. “I'd have not noticed it meself except I had
stopped t'watch you. Quite a bit shocked at that sorry piece of
horseflesh you were leading. Do not tell me you purchased it?”

St. James was delayed in answering for as
they entered his rooms, Effington appeared in the door behind them,
and he nodded at his valet before saying, “I did. I believe my new
messenger boy should have a horse. By the by, Effington, send that
boy up to me, would you?”

Effington drew himself up. He was already
most unhappy to see a groom in his lordship's rooms and now his
employer's request seemed designed, as usual, for no other reason
than to deprive the valet of his rightful duties. “Do not think you
are going to send me on some unimportant task just so you may
change your clothing yourself, milord!” he warned.

But St. James was in no mood for their
ongoing game today. “Go,” he said. “Or you may resign on the spot
as you have so often threatened, Almacks or no Almacks
tonight!”

Effington seemed to be in a true struggle
over this ultimatum, but in the end his lordship's use of the word
'Almacks' bore down his outrage and with haughty deference, he
sniffed and said, “Certainly, milord.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, St.
James pulled his two pistols from beneath his dripping coat, laid
them on the table and then began tearing off his wet clothes. He
paused long enough to dig the handkerchief from his pocket before
dropping his sodden coat to the floor. He tossed the handkerchief
to Tyler. “Who found it?” he asked.

“Earl Larrimer.”

St. James paused in unbuttoning his shirt.
“Could have been worse,” he said. Then he let out a steam of
curses. “What in hell was I thinking!”

“I'm afraid it was worse, milord,” Tyler told
him and caught the towel that St. James picked up from beside his
wash basin and tossed to him. He proceeded to dry his neck as he
spoke. “Lady Larrimer was there t'see it found, which had a
convenience about it that I could scarce credit t'bein' accidental.
And Miss Murdock was there t'catch the full shock of what looked
t'be a great deal of outrage on yer aunt's part. I fear that with
it takin' me so long t'find you today, that poor Miss Murdock has
likely already been grilled.”

“Damnation!” St. James peeled off his
breeches, undid the laces of his shorts in sharp, preoccupied
movements and dropped them as well. He turned and took his dressing
robe down from the hook where it hung and shrugged into it. Then he
ran both hands through his wet, dark hair and tied the belt of his
robe about him. He turned back to Tyler. “If I show up now without
knowing what Miss Murdock has said, I may very well only make it
worse.”

“I'd say t'is a distinct possibility, milord.
If you had been more available. . .”

“You needn't tell me. I could have arrived
and perhaps made some excuse for it being there that would mollify
my aunt. As it is, there is no telling what excuse Miss Murdock has
made, and if I

should contradict her, it will make her out
to be a liar.”

“I don't think she'd baldly lie about it,
milord,” Tyler observed.

St. James' gold eyes focused on him. “Quite,”
he said sounding a good deal grimmer than he had the moment before.
“Mayhaps she has at least been evasive. If my aunt has somehow
contrived to get confirmation of her suspicions from Miss Murdock,
I fear that she will use it if for no other reason than to further
blacken my name and to hell with Miss Murdock.”

“I fear t'same,” Tyler said. “Otherwise I'd
not been ridin' about in t'rain in search of you.”

“I can not credit I was so careless!” St.
James admitted with sudden, savage anger. “I am never careless. And
if I am being careless about something like that, what else am I
being careless about? Damn it, Tyler, this whole plan is turning
into one bloody fiasco.”

“Be that as it may, milord, but what I want
t'know is what did you get wind of t'make you so ready with yer
piece today? You were ridin' with one hand free even 'fore you saw
me.”

St. James, who had begun pacing the room with
his thoughts, whirled, his robe fluttering about him. “I was being
watched today, Tyler. I could feel it from the time I left the
Tempton's with Ryan. And I've come to the conclusion that it must
be by more than one person, for I could not catch the same face
twice! And do you know,” he added, “that my begging off last night
was because I had been summoned to Buckingham Palace, and the Queen
wished to congratulate me on my upcoming nuptials to Miss
Murdock?”

Tyler's old salt and pepper eyebrows rose a
great degree.

“Yes,” St. James confirmed. “And she offered
herself the observation that if she is able to keep track of my
activities, others are equally as able. So I do not think I am
suffering a sudden case of the nerves. I believe I am just enjoying
a heightened awareness.”

“What's t'cob for, milord?” Tyler asked.

“Steven, as I said.”

And as if cued by his name, there was a tap
on the door, and Effington escorted that young man in. One glance
by the valet at his lordship undressed and in his robe caused
Effington to say, “Milord!” But St. James waved a hand at him.

“You may stay, Tyler,” St. James said as his
groom made a motion to leave. “And you also, Effington, for if I am
to make it to Almacks at a decent time tonight, you had better
start your dreadful ministrations.” Without pause, he turned to
Steven. “By the by, Steven, have you still your clothing that you
arrived in yesterday?”

“Aye, m'lord, though I much prefer me new
ones I must say.”

“And so you may keep your new ones. But I
have a little job for you to do tonight, and it might be better if
you did not look like one of my servants. Are you willing? I doubt
if it will be dangerous, but I still must ask you to use caution
and a degree of common sense.”

“Am I to rouse Miss Murdock from her window
again tonight?” he asked with eagerness.

“No, not tonight, you wretched lad, and you
should not bandy such information about, although Effington here is
the only one that was ignorant of that young lady's name and he,
fortunately, is endlessly discreet,” St. James ended, his voice a
little mocking.

Effington gave him a withering look and as
his own form of snide retaliation asked, “Was it she who did the
slapping, milord?”

“Just go about your business, Effington, and
nevermind,” his lordship retorted. “If you are sure you wish to
help, Steven, this is what I wish for you to do.”

And for the next hour, Effington worked as
efficiently as he could at dressing the duke, who could not remain
still as he hashed through plans and thoughts, putting forth
different summations and conclusions only to discard them as Tyler,
sometimes Steven, and even Effington brought up a differing point
of view that either disproved one theory or seemed to point to
another. He seemed very much like a war lord, but in fact his only
council was a groom who, smelling rather damply of the stables,
spat tobacco into the fire, an eager street urchin who seemed more
excited than cautious, and a valet who was trying to listen, advise
and ready his lordship with growing frustration.

At the end of this hour, Effington pronounced
himself done with a great deal of pride and, frankly, relief. “Ah,
you look as they used to speak of you when you were 'the catch of
the decade',” he murmured. “Except, of course, for Miss Murdock's
palm print upon your face.”

And St. James was diverted enough by this
announcement to ask his valet, “Good God! Do not tell me that old
nonsense is what prevailed upon you to come and work for me?”

“Indeed, milord,” Effington admitted. “It
swayed me quite completely, for I knew if anyone were to be able to
help you to your former standing, it was I!”

“And how very disappointed you must have been
to find I have no desire whatsoever to reach those lofty and
unsought heights again,” St. James observed. But as he stood at the
end of his words, the deep wine red of his velvet coat and matching
tight knee breeches with wisteria colored silk cravat and
stockings, his gold buckled shoes, his dark hair brushed back from
his pale brow and tied in a ponytail with a matching wine colored
ribbon, seemed to prove his own words wrong.

But for once, Effington had mercy upon his
employer and did not point this out to him.

Tyler, rather less concerned with any
delicate feelings his lordship may have, guffawed without
restraint.

His lordship's gold eyes caressed over him in
amused tolerance. “Hush, Tyler. If I am to go to Almacks, I must be
willing to put on the required show of a man hopelessly and rather
foolishly in love.”