Kasey Michaels - [Redgraves 02] (3 page)

She truly didn’t understand his concern. She was who she was, just as her brothers were who they were, and what was good for the goose should also be good for the gander. Who’d decided only men could be comfortable? Probably a man. “Oh, dear. Surely I should be locked up. Or is that shot?”

Valentine ran his hand through his own thick thatch of dark hair. “You’re a motherless child, raised by Trixie of all people, and in the company of three older brothers who probably set a bad example.”

“Probably?”

“I’ll ignore that. But you aren’t a Redgrave brother, Kate, no matter how much you may have wanted to be. You’re a female, and these things matter. You were in London for less than a week when you went to Almacks and performed your little party trick. Now I’ve got a friend coming to stay with us for a few weeks. A sophisticated gentleman. A marquis.”

“Oh? And you’re ashamed of me, is that it? Wait—it’s worse than that, isn’t it? You’re
matchmaking?
I refused to go back to London for a second season, so you’re bringing London to me? With all that’s going on here, Val, with the search for the journals, the caves where the Society met? Have you entirely lost your senses?”

“As you just said, probably,” Val muttered, turning away from the glass, refusing to meet her gaze. “All I’m saying, Kate, is...well, it’s time to grow up, be a lady. You can do it, I know you can, Gideon made sure you had lessons. You
need
to do it.”

But he turned back at the sound of a short, hurriedly cut-off sob, and held out his arms to her. “Aw, Kate, I’m sorry. Come here.”

Kate walked into his arms, to lay her cheek against his chest. Her brothers were all such sweethearts, they really were. But even her love for Valentine wasn’t enough to contain her giggles for long, and he soon put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her away from him enough to see her grin.

“Why, you—”

“What’s wrong, Val? I just acted like a lady. You should be overjoyed I didn’t fall into a ladylike swoon. Oh, but if this marquis of yours begins courting me on orders from you—”

“Now wait a moment, Kate. It isn’t as if I deliberately invited the man for you to practice on. We were both bored hollow with the season, and Gideon had already asked me to come here to watch over you. I just opened my mouth and heard myself inviting Simon to join me,” Valentine corrected quickly. “The rest was an afterthought.”

“Well, that at least sounds like you. Always quick to lend assistance. And, as I always remind you, one day you’re going to drop yourself into trouble, being so helpful.”

“I just think it would be a good thing for you to get in a little...practice before you descend on London next spring. Because you are going back, Kate, and at twenty-one some will already say you’re getting a bit too long in the tooth for a debutante. Gideon’s already working on securing another voucher for Almacks, although I doubt even he can manage that miracle.”

“Right up there with the loaves and fishes, I gather? Bunch of high-in-the-instep matrons who think they’re more important than they are. But tough nuts to crack, hmm? Maybe Gideon ought to petition the heavens for help.”

Val pointed a finger at her. “See?
That’s
what you do. Young ladies don’t say things like that. What you need is practice, and me for a mentor, God help me, because I’m the only one available except for Trixie, and we can all see how that turned out the first time. So practice on the marquis while he’s here, and I’ll guide you.”

“That depends, Val. Can he join in our treasure hunt? We can call it that, at least. Gideon said there may also be a treasure of sorts in the cave when we find it, remember? A golden rose with a diamond in it as big as a pigeon’s egg, perhaps?”

Valentine’s eyes went wide. “Who in bloody blazes told you about the rose?”

Really, men were so simple. “Nobody. I just happened to hear something about it somehow. You’ve only just confirmed it for me, thank you. And gentlemen don’t say
bloody
in front of ladies, even sisters. I’m not the only one in need of a mentor, it seems.”

“Never mind that. Eavesdropping, were you?”

She jammed her fists onto her hips. “How else am I supposed to learn anything? Of course I eavesdrop. The members of the Society all wore a golden rose in their cravats, to show they’d brought a virgin into bloom, correct? And, somewhere on the estate, there’s possibly a very large golden rose, with a diamond in it as big as a pigeon’s egg. Maybe. Perhaps. Or at least Gideon was thinking that way early on, when he suspected someone was poking about the grounds last winter. You know, lights moving through the trees, that cave-in in one of the greenhouses that exposed some bit of collapsed cave or tunnel?”

“Do...do you have any idea what you’re saying? About the rose?”

Kate lowered her head, this time truly close to tears. “Yes, I think our father was an exceedingly bad man who did exceedingly bad things, much if not all of it done here, at Redgrave Manor. I can’t ask Trixie, because that might hurt her. That her son was evil. Our father was evil. I’ve stared and stared at his portrait in the long gallery since I returned from London. He was very handsome, like some sort of blond god. I don’t see evil, except perhaps in his eyes. They’re cold, aren’t they, and mocking. He’s got one of the golden roses stuck in his cravat. That couldn’t have made our mother happy, could it? No wonder she shot him.”

Valentine pinched at the bridge of his nose. “God, I’m done. I came here to protect you, and you already know more than you should.”

“I know you’re all after a murderer, who probably killed Jessica’s father and some of the other older members of the Society who possibly didn’t agree with the new leader. Trixie said that right in front of me in London. She was half in her cups, poor thing, but she couldn’t help it. After all, her lover had just—”

“I know what happened that night,” her brother said, looking pained.

“I’m sorry. I’m simply trying to help, that’s all. I should be allowed to help. Tell me about the murderer. Who all did he murder? What other bad things has the Society done?”

Valentine shook himself back to attention. “Now we’re more than done. You learned about the journals, and Gideon decided you could search for them, certain you wouldn’t find them, that Trixie had found them years ago and burned them all. And then he had second thoughts. Concentrate on the journals, Kate. Finding them would be an immense help.”

“So you won’t tell me about the murderer. Why? It’s all of a piece, isn’t it? The Society, the journals, the murderer?”

“We believe the
murderer,
as you call him, is the new leader of the Society. Murder is not their true purpose but only, as I said, a weeding out of the members from our father’s time who might not agree with what’s happening now. Tell you what, Kate. Find the journals, and I’ll tell you the rest. All you have to do is promise me you won’t open them, and that in the meantime you won’t badger me incessantly to know what nobody wants to tell you. That’s a fair bargain, isn’t it?”

“Is there a lot I don’t know?”

“God, I sincerely hope so.”

Kate considered this for a moment. Either way, she’d learn the whole of it, eventually. But if it made Valentine happy? “All right. We’ll shake on it.”

“We bloody well will not. Women don’t shake hands to seal a bargain. If they do anything, they offer their hand and allow us gentlemen to bow over it.”

“So stuffy, Val. All right, pretend I just did that, assuming you agree to the rest. We’ll let this marquis of yours join in the treasure hunt, unaware of what we’re really looking for. If we don’t, and you insist on being with me as I search in case I find something—which I’m determined to do—he’ll have nothing to do all the day long otherwise but twiddle his thumbs. That and have his ears banged on by Adam, which isn’t always as jolly as it sounds.”

“And,”
Valentine said, apparently feeling he had the advantage now, “you’ll behave like a lady in the man’s presence. Seriously, Kate, much as we all adore you, you need the practice.”

She could give in, but never completely. It wasn’t in her nature. “I’ll
try,
that’s the best I can say. However, if he should be so impressed with my ladylike behavior that he attempts whatever step three is, be aware, Val, I’ll kick him hard in the fork. I really will, and then I’ll blame you.”

“I need a drink. Go get dressed.”

Kate held out one side of her dressing gown and sank into a deep curtsy. “La, sir, you’re so very masterful. I shall of course rush off now, begging your leave, to do your bidding.”

“Two. Make that two drinks...”

CHAPTER TWO

S
IMON
R
AVENBILL
,
LATE
of his majesty’s navy and now marquis of Singleton, both thanks to the unexpected death of his older brother the previous year, reined in his curricle at the crest of a hill overlooking Redgrave Manor.

This is where it all began,
he thought, looking down at the enormous fieldstone country mansion that had probably stood there for well over a century, with each new earl adding his own touches by way of wings that seemed to jut out willy-nilly on three sides. Spread around the main grounds were at least a dozen more stone buildings of varying sizes, as if the main house had pupped and the hodgepodge of structures was the result of several strong litters.

There were sheep milling about, their purpose to keep the acres of grass neatly gnawed, but the animals were kept away from the buildings and gardens by means of a ha-ha, a gracefully meandering but rather formidable sunken fieldstone wall. Simon eyed the height of the wall from the distance, took in the several high stone pillars fitted with heavy iron gates that kept the ha-ha from completely circling the grounds. The road leading to the gates took the same deep dip and rise of the ha-ha trench, rather like a moat.

He decided sheep weren’t the only unwanted visitors that could be kept at arm’s length.

The ha-ha’s wide top was encrusted with bits of colorful broken glass and sat level with the scythed lawns nearest the buildings. The wall must be a dozen feet high, seemingly grown up out of the twenty-foot-wide ditch that then gently sloped back up to the level of the rest of the property. A sheep could amble in and out of the grassy ditch easily enough, but only on the same side on which it had entered. The same could be said for any man hoping for entry anyplace other than one of the gates, unless he brought his own ladder with him, and a stout pair of leather gloves.

Green grass, white sheep, the sunlight dancing on the broken glass and setting off small rainbows of color. Bucolic. Picturesque. Deceptively deadly.

All that was needed was a drawbridge. Then Simon remembered where he was: southern Kent, not more than a mile from Hythe and the Channel. Beautiful, but with a sometimes violent history. Smugglers had been active here for centuries, and probably would see the coast for what it was, a spot seemingly fashioned perfectly to ply their trade.

Invading armies saw it likewise, most recently Bonaparte himself. Although Simon agreed with the current theory that the new self-proclaimed Emperor Napoleon was now too busy annexing every country in Europe to attempt an assault of England by sea.

All the strong brick Martello watchtowers hastily constructed along the southern coast in earlier years of the new century were left now to inferior troops who spent their days napping and their nights in the local dockside pubs as guests of the friendly local smugglers.

Hopefully, nobody noticed the building of the towers, mostly abandoned a few years ago, was quietly taking place once more, with the goal of having more than one hundred of the things fully manned before they were done, their cannons all aimed out over the water.

It took an army to win a battle, but only a few determined men could completely alter the tide of a war. That those men could be English, and their goal the collapse of their own country was why Simon now found himself the guest of a man he’d met only the once, and a reluctant actor in a romantic farce dreamed up by Prime Minister Spencer Perceval himself in order to appease Gideon Redgrave and gain his cooperation.

Or as the earl had affably stated as he relaxed in Perceval’s office as if it were his own: “We Redgraves will see these traitors brought down, I assure you. However, if you wish for me to continue to share information, you’ll do things my way. I keep you apprised, you keep me apprised, and nothing appears so much as vaguely suspicious at Redgrave Manor.” He’d then stood up, shot his cuffs and smiled one of the most appealing yet threatening smiles Simon had ever seen. “We’re agreed? Otherwise, good day, gentlemen, and good luck.”

Only days earlier Simon had still thought Gideon Redgrave a possible traitor himself because of who he was, and suddenly his family was to be their savior. He didn’t like it. In fact, he was all for bringing in troops and ripping Redgrave Manor apart, and the devil with this tiptoeing about as if the man were in charge.

But as the prime minister had pointed out, Simon hadn’t made much progress on his own in the matter. With one of the two men he’d been investigating now dead, and the other claiming illness and retiring to his country estate, Simon had to agree. Now, thanks to the Redgraves, they had hopes of more information, and had already uncovered one nasty plot at the Ministry level to criminally divert the timely delivery of food and ammunition to their troops on the Peninsula.

Perceval was no more comfortable with the thought he’d been unknowingly harboring traitors in his own midst than Gideon Redgrave had been to realize his family’s long-ago shame could end up trotted out for another airing, this time with high treason not an accompanying rumor but a proven fact.

“All of which has resulted in me arriving here, about to play houseguest to a man I don’t know and possible suitor of his bound to be half-witted sister, if she’d be fool enough to believe any of it.” Then, wondering when he’d begun to talk to himself out loud, he released the brake and the matched pair of bays in the traces responded to his light touch on the reins. “That’s it, boys, let’s get this over with.”

Redgrave Manor got larger as Simon drew closer, even as, in parts, the sparkling top of the walls of the ha-ha disappeared here and there, following the rises and dips in the land. He kept to the well-tended road, which he was certain had run through the huge expanse of property during the last mile of his journey, noticing a grassy avenue lined with ancient trees off to his right. Could that have been the scene of the long-ago duel turned murder?

To his left he could see what had to be only a small part of the extensive gardens drifting away from the rear of the mansion, along with a moss-covered stone ruin. It was probably a true ruin, and not especially built to appear to be one, as there was at Singleton Place, thanks to Holbrook, who’d thought them the height of good taste.

Then again, his late brother had harbored many strange tastes. And, as it had worked out, one of them had proved fatal.

As he approached the main gate a pair of what could have been farm laborers sidled out from small doors cut into each of the massive stone pillars. Now that he was nearly on top of them, Simon could see the pillars were actually a clever pair of gatehouses, complete with colorful potted flowers below the windows and stout iron bars behind the leaded glass panes. Again, it was discreet, but the place had all the beauty of a fairy tale while carefully disguising its many defensive strengths.

He gave a moment’s thought to the existence of a dungeon in the cellars, one with a well-greased rack.

The servants stood at their ease just behind the gates. Nonchalant. Waiting. One of them raised a hand to poke a finger in his ear, wiggle it and then visually examine what he’d managed to dislodge. It would appear the Redgraves didn’t stand much on ceremony. Either that, or they liked their visitors caught off guard and more than slightly confused. Was he facing two none-too-intelligent country dullards, or was he facing a fortress?

“Good afternoon, my fine fellows,” Simon called out cheerfully if facetiously. “The Marquis of Singleton, to see Mr. Valentine Redgrave. Is that sufficient information for you, or is there also a password?”

The two young men exchanged puzzled glances before one of them tugged at his forelock and pulled a large iron key from his pocket. “You’re expected, my lord. I’ll just open these gates and Liam here will hop up behind you lickety-split so as he can take your horses around to the stables and see they’re bedded down all nice and tight.”

“That sounds reasonable. Tell me, are these gates always locked?”

Again, the servants looked to each other before the one called Liam answered. “I’ll be bringing up that there trunk you have tied up behind the seat, my lord, once I’ve got those pretty horses tucked up. You want to open the gates now, Dickie, I suppose?”

Simon thanked him as the lad hopped up behind him. So much for any idea of cultivating the servants for gossip. Redgrave had trained them well, if not then dressed them accordingly. Suddenly eager to see more of Redgrave Manor, and its inhabitants, he released the brake again, only to set it a minute later as he reined in his team halfway around the wide circle that sported a gray, weathered sculpture at its center. He couldn’t be certain, but he believed the marble had been chiseled to resemble Hades, Greek god of the underworld. Why else would the marble hound seated next to him have three heads?

“If you’re so concerned about rumors and speculation, you don’t invite it in by greeting visitors with
that,
” he murmured under his breath as he hopped down from the seat just as one of the massive front doors opened and the tall, darkly handsome Valentine Redgrave bounded down the stairs, his right arm extended in greeting.

“Simon!” he said, pumping the man’s hand as if they were old school chums reunited. “I heard someone was loitering up on the hill, and hoped it was you. Gives a grand view of this pile, doesn’t it?”

“And a grand view of anyone loitering up on the hill, obviously. You have sentries posted, sir?”

“No, no, not sir. And not my lord. Val and Simon, Simon and Val. We cried friends months ago, somewhere in Sussex, I believe we’ll say.”

“I met you for five minutes in Perceval’s office, and told you then I’m not happy about this ridiculous playacting.”

“So you did,” Valentine said, draping a companionable arm around Simon’s shoulder and walking him away from the open front door. “I advised you to learn to like it, which you better have done, because Lady Katherine is about to do some playacting of her own, which might put you a little off your game unless you apply yourself.”

Simon stepped away from the man. “Excuse me? She knows about the deception?”

“Not quite. She leaped to an erroneous conclusion this morning and I allowed her to leap, even pointed her more firmly in that direction one might say. Kate’s a stickler for the
why
of things, so it seemed best to have her think she’d guessed correctly.” Valentine hesitated a moment before continuing. “Oh, about that. She thinks I invited you here so she can ‘practice’ on you. Let me explain. Some would say she didn’t fare well during her first foray into society. You may have heard of it?”

A truly splendidly delivered right cross, Singleton. You should have seen it.
“I may have heard a few whispered words at one of my clubs. Should I consider wearing some sort of protection?”

Valentine immediately glanced down at Simon’s crotch, which unnerved the marquis just a little bit. “No, of course not. Look, Simon, it’s simple. I told her you’re my friend, we’re both bored with London, I invited you here for some respite and, hopefully, to let her practice her feminine wiles a tad before we haul her back to the city next season. It was too soon to take her back this year. You, however, have no idea you’re here to act the role of interested
parti
in between searches for those damn journals and hopefully, a cave or tunnel that hasn’t yet collapsed from age.”

“Have you poked around that statue? It could be the portal to the
underworld.
” Simon wasn’t feeling particularly cooperative.

Valentine laughed. “Good point, we’ll have to give it a look. Maybe one of the hound’s heads swivels and opens a stairway or some such thing? We call him Henry, by the way. Hades, not the hound. String him with holly at Christmastime. Our grandmother told us, in the old days it served to keep the locals on their best behavior, but now Henry is mostly a family joke.”

“Do you have many such
jokes
about the place?” Simon asked.

“Well, there’s the ha-ha, but that’s only funny if you’re not sixteen and don’t attempt to climb it after you’ve stayed out past the time the gates are locked, enjoying the company of the extremely accommodating barmaid at the Eagle.” Valentine looked down at his palm. “I can still make out a few of the scars.”

“From the broken glass embedded in the top of the wall, or the extremely accommodating barmaid?”

Valentine threw back his head and laughed. “No, she left her marks on my back, as I recall the thing.”

Damn. Simon was beginning to like the fellow. Probably because that’s what he was supposed to do. “All right,” he said, deliberately turning back toward the open front door. “So I’m playacting as your friend, brought here by you to distract your sister, hiding the fact I’m really here to find the journals—which she doesn’t know. In her turn, Lady Katherine is set on finding the journals, but now she’s also playacting as a—what?”

Valentine sighed. “Much as it pains me to say it, she’ll be playacting as a lady.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t concern yourself. I’ll soon be saying those same words to you, if you aren’t careful. The thing is, it’s imperative she stops searching for those godawful journals on her own. Imperative. One of us has to be with her at all times. She
cannot
read them, not so much as a single page. Remember, Simon, I’ve read one of them.”

“I haven’t. Your brother didn’t pass it along to us.”

“As Gideon convinced Perceval, there was no need. That journal is only the first small piece of a very large puzzle. But since we can’t stop her, I could be called away at any time, and nothing less than binding her hand and foot and shipping her off to one of Gideon’s other estates will even begin to put a spoke in her wheel—like a pigeon, she’d somehow find her way back here again—we’re doing three things. Distracting her with your handsome face—but carefully, my friend, or I’ll be constrained to hurt you—keeping her on her toes as she attempts to impress me with her ladylike accomplishments and accompanying her on any searches. Those are our goals. She’s really quite acute, Simon, and beyond tenacious. If those journals still exist, she’ll find them better and faster than any dozen hounds we could put on the scent. Gideon will have both our heads on a platter if she finds them without us.”