Kasey Michaels - [Redgraves 02] (6 page)

“And again, no, you wouldn’t,” Valentine said, shaking his head. “We especially dread finding anything our father wrote. And our grandfather, as well. Believe me, Simon, this isn’t easy for any of us. According to our grandmother, the Society members kept yearly journals from the beginning, during my grandfather’s, shall we say, tenure as leader of the group. And then the Keeper, as that privileged member is called, the latest one being Adam’s father, gathers the journals every year, compares them and dutifully records everything into their unholy bible. All the names, the secrets, the intrigues, the debaucheries, the supposed crimes, going back all those years. God knows who some of their
guests
were. Prime ministers, royal princes, men of letters, leaders of our military. Seduced, corrupted, blackmailed. Sometimes eliminated. Nobody knows the true extent of the Society’s activities. But we’re certain of one thing, none of that information can ever see the light of day.”

“I begin to see your point.” Simon had to tamp down his excitement at this revelation. The answers were in the bible. He had to find the bible. “I hadn’t heard of any bible. Just the journals.”

“Really? Gideon always did play his hands close to his chest. The journals will give us more clues, we hope, although we’ll be dealing with those blasted codes. Only the supposed bible will give us everything, all neatly spelled out for us. My brother has hung his hopes on it, at least. But now that you’re here, you might as well know the rest. We’re looking for one other thing.”

“And what would that be?” Simon spoke quietly, aware Valentine was speaking with some reluctance.

“Not what, who. The seventeenth earl,” Valentine said, forcing a smile. “A tree fell against the mausoleum last winter and broke a lovely stained-glass window—not that you need know all of that. We don’t visit inside the family’s final resting place unless we’re walling up a Redgrave, so nobody had noticed our father’s crypt had been broken into, or knows when, but we’ve decided it had to be shortly after he was interred. In any event, the old lech’s remains have been taken, providing we don’t believe he somehow got up and toddled off on his own with a whacking great hole in his back.”

The Redgraves had a lot to hide. Their sordid history going back two generations—and now a missing earl. “The Society took him? Why?”

Simon shrugged. “We don’t know. Gideon believes they propped him up somewhere and held their own ritual. Remember, the rumors include that of devil worship, and Barry was their exalted leader or some such rot.”

“Yes, I’d heard about that aspect of the Society. Rites, rituals, rumors of virgin sacrifices.”

Valentine looked at him curiously, and Simon realized he just may have said too much. The man bantered so easily, it was easy to forget he was a Redgrave, and probably much more intelligent than he let on. Gideon Redgrave got what he wanted through sophisticated intimidation; Valentine Redgrave probably did just as well with his outward charm.

“Is that so. Well, that’s discouraging, isn’t it? How would you know about that?”

“I’ve been investigating the two men you found for more than a year before you Redgraves joined the party, we could say. That included familiarizing myself with hellfire clubs in general. Scratch most anyone in one of the London clubs and they’ll soon come up with stories their grandfather told them about Sir Francis Dashwood, and others like your father,” Simon answered carefully, because he hadn’t heard any of that, not officially. But he’d made it his business to learn anything and everything he could about the Society. In the past six months, he’d made the Redgraves themselves targets of his investigation, half hoping they were behind it all and he could get back to his own life.

Then again, who could say whether or not the Redgraves were acting out of loyalty to the Crown, or in some convoluted, self-serving way meant to take suspicion away from them? Give the Crown one small success to prove their loyalty, and then be able to operate with Prime Minister Perceval’s full assistance. Simon wished he wasn’t so inclined to like this odd family. Especially when it came to the quixotic Lady Katherine.

“In any event, we hope he’s here, somewhere on the estate. We already know there were tunnels, because one caved in last year, as well as caves, although I’ve never seen one, so if they exist they’ve been cleverly disguised. It’s a large estate.”

“I’ll agree with that.”

“Our grandmother doesn’t know. We just want to find him and put him back. Barry was a rotter to his toes, from all accounts, but he was her son.”

“And your sister knows this, as well? That the body has gone missing?”

“She does now.”

Both men turned to see Kate standing at the other end of the balcony, more than half-hidden in the shadows. She stepped forward, her face pale in the moonlight, her arms wrapped about her as if she’d taken a chill. Simon felt an insane urge to go to her, hold her in his arms, comfort her.

“When were you going to tell me, Valentine? When I tripped over him?”

“Kate, I—”

“Never mind. I probably know the rest. The journals, the bible and the rest of it—the reborn Society and its plans to open England’s door and let Napoleon stroll in. I’m a woman, yes, but I’m a Redgrave first. I’m a part of this. God help us, it’s our heritage. So now that the farce is over, and not a moment too soon, we’ll meet tomorrow morning at seven to take that ride, and then resume the search. Oh, and one thing more. Simon, I don’t know how you’re involved, or why Gideon allowed you here, but know this. You stay the bloody hell out of my way or I’ll have your liver on a stick.”

With that, she pulled open one of the other French doors and was gone.

Valentine took a long pull on his cigar and then rather violently tossed it down into the garden. “My apologies, Simon,” he said tightly. “I didn’t have a chance to introduce you before she took her exit.
That
was my sister Kate.”

Simon was still looking at the empty spot where Lady Katherine had stood. He felt incredible helplessness, not unmixed with guilt. “Shouldn’t you go after her? Clearly she’s upset.”

Valentine looked at him in some surprise. “That’s what you got from that? She’s upset? She’s homicidal, man, not that I blame her. Hell of a way to find out about old Barry.”

“I wouldn’t care for the method, no. Does she even remember him?”

Valentine shook his head. “No, she was only an infant. I don’t even remember him, or my mother for that matter. You can look at Barry in the Long Hall, but Maribel’s portrait is up in the attics if you want to see her—or you could just look at Kate.”

Simon thought for a few moments. “Sometimes it’s more comfortable to build castles in your mind than to actually live in one.”

“How marvelously obscure. But I understand what you’re saying. Kate probably built our parents into perfect beings in her mind, victims of circumstance and a cruel fate. They were far from that. Our grandmother told her everything she felt she had to know before her first season, but these past weeks have been a painful revelation to all of us. Kate probably most of all. You’re right, I have to go to her. If I don’t appear by the time our mounts are brought round tomorrow morning, check to see if my body has been stuffed behind a rosebush. Here, take your cigar.”

Simon nodded his thanks, but then slid the cigar into his pocket for later in the evening, as he doubted he’d find sleep easily tonight, so a head-clearing walk in the gardens might be in order. For the moment, he was going to find his way back to the long gallery and take another look at Barry Redgrave, and then hunt up the portrait of his father, the sixteenth earl, as well. He’d thought he’d seen something in the background of Barry’s portrait earlier, but he’d dismissed it. Now he wanted a closer look without Dearborn standing behind him, because he’d imagined he’d seen the faint outline of a draped tartan painted in one dim corner inside the frame.

Not the Hunting Stuart tartan, which could be worn by anyone, but the distinctive red and green of the Royal Stuart, reserved for members of the Stuart line, and worn only with the permission of the king.

But that would be insane....

CHAPTER FOUR

K
ATE
WATCHED
AS
Simon mounted his horse, a fine shiny brown stallion with a white blaze on its handsome face. The horse was ready for a run, but the marquis controlled it beautifully. Not that she’d compliment him on either his fine judge of horseflesh or his horsemanship. Not now, and not if he cleared two five-bar fences while sitting backward in the saddle, playing the flute.

She wasn’t feeling in charity with Simon Ravenbill this morning. She wasn’t very happy about the world in general.

At least Valentine had now answered all her questions, promising he was holding nothing back and there would be no more unpleasant surprises.

The marquis of Singleton wasn’t Valentine’s new friend, but working for the government, and here with Gideon’s blessing. She was only the silly young female who should be hoodwinked, tricked, cajoled if necessary, even romanced, just to keep her from knowing what any fool could see was happening beneath her own roof.

Gideon would get a scathing letter from her in the next few days. Valentine had already received notice of her displeasure with him, and Simon Ravenbill could just go hang, for all she cared.

“Where are we off to?” Valentine asked from atop his bay gelding. “Kate, which fields are lying fallow this year?”

“The entire West Run, but first I want to see the mausoleum.”

“Kate,” Valentine warned, but his tone was resigned. “All right, as I’d rather you didn’t go on your own. Do you mind, Simon?”

Kate looked at him, her chin raised defiantly.

“Not a bit,” he said affably, and then raised one eyebrow at her as if to say
happy now, brat?

Clearly the gloves were off, for both of them. She didn’t like him, and he— Well, she didn’t know what he thought of her. Nothing good, surely, not after her explosion last night on the balcony.

She really should attempt to be a better hostess. If only any of her brothers ever brought home somebody
normal.

Valentine dismounted, tossing the reins to one of the grooms. “You two go on ahead,” he said as he walked toward the door. “I’ll hunt up Dearborn and get the key.”

Kate felt her stomach do a small flip. She did not want to be alone with the marquis. “No, we’ll wait for—”

“Excellent idea,” Simon interrupted. “Is it far? Hector here is on the frisk. I’d like to give him a short run rather than have to fight him.”

“Kate, take the long way,” Valentine called back over his shoulder. “I’ll meet you there.”

Kate was considering hot coals heaped on Val’s head, and didn’t immediately respond.

“You’re thinking up a way to lose me in the woods?” Simon asked, drawing his mount up alongside her Daisy, who wasn’t shy about indicating her interest in the stallion.

“No,” she answered honestly. “I was mulling punishments for Val. But you were next on the list. What are your feelings as to thumbscrews?”

“I’m not particularly enamored, thank you, anyway. You know, I’d wondered if there might be a dungeon somewhere in this great pile of stones.”

Kate acknowledged the jab with a small smile as she urged Daisy ahead at a walk. “I suppose I should apologize for my behavior last night.”

Simon returned her smile, still easily controlling the eager stallion. He didn’t pull at the horse’s mouth by trying to rein it in, or dominate the animal. It was his calm manner that had Hector obeying him. She could admire that sort of talent and understanding. And he really was quite handsome. He couldn’t help that his hair was blond.

“The eavesdropping, or the designs on my liver?”

“Excuse me?” She’d really have to begin concentrating on what he was saying rather than how he looked. After all, he was only a man. She refused to be impressed.

“I was inquiring as to the possible subjects covered in your apology.”

Now who wasn’t listening? “I didn’t apologize. I said I supposed I should.”

“Ah, yes, you’re right. I see the distinction. Would you mind if I apologized?”

She shook her head. “No, that would take too long, as I consider the list to be quite lengthy. I’ll just graciously accept.” They were clear of the circle now, and about to pass through the gates held open by Dickie and Liam. “To the top of the hill, my lord, and then bear to your right and follow the trail. It eventually leads us back around to the other side of the stone fence. You’ll be able to see the mausoleum tucked into the trees at the crest of the far hill. Show off if you feel the need, as I’m certain your mount can best mine, but please don’t frighten the sheep.”

And with that warning, she was off, urging Daisy into a full gallop.

She needed this. The morning sun on her face, the breeze blowing away the cobwebs in her head and easing the heaviness in her heart. Kate’s life had been one long fairy tale here at Redgrave Manor, and even Trixie’s explanation of her parents’ tragic end had been something out of a storybook, made romantic in her mind. A misunderstanding, an impetuous challenge. A warning shot gone mortally astray. A devastated mother forced to leave her beloved children to escape arrest, but vowing to return for them, only to perish in the French Terror. Nearly a Shakespearian tragedy.

Kate could have been content with that fairy tale for all of her life, knowing she was deceiving herself, still embracing the deception. Now her world had turned upside down, and she’d been forced to grow up and face the truth. Oh, how that hurt. It hurt so much.

And it seemed every day brought a new revelation, a fresh ugliness to light. Kate couldn’t go back to her carefully constructed cocoon of wishful dreams, but she couldn’t look away from the nightmare. That the world could end up knowing every Redgrave secret was to be averted at all costs. That Simon Ravenbill already knew those secrets was humiliating past all bearing.

But there was no getting rid of him, not if Gideon approved of his presence. She’d have to face him every day until the journals were found. If she hadn’t had good reason to search for them before, she certainly had one now. Every time she looked at the marquis she would know he knew. And probably judged. Who wouldn’t be suspicious, at the least, and disdainful at the most, of any offspring of two such immoral, deadly monsters who were their parents?

She heard the sound of hoofbeats behind her and moved to the side of the riding trail.

“I’ll be mindful of the sheep!” Simon called out cheerfully as he and his mount blew by her as if Daisy were moving at a sedate trot.

“Show-off, indeed,” Kate muttered, watching him go, the stallion’s hooves kicking up great clouds of brown dust from the dirt trail, the breeze blowing it all straight back at her. She now had two choices: ride the rest of the way eating dust in Simon’s wake, or reining in the mare and only following once he was off the trail and onto the grass. She chose the latter alternative. “Daisy,” she said, brushing dust off the shoulders of her dark blue riding habit, “I do believe this means war. And as he threw down the gauntlet, it’s left to me to choose the weapons—or something like that.”

Wasn’t it strange? She felt much more in charity with Simon when he treated her as her brothers did...as his equal. But this was still war, and he had to be taught a lesson!

By the time she’d reached the mausoleum, Kate had made her choice. Valentine wanted her to practice? She’d practice. But she’d do it her way, as herself and not as some simpering debutante, and Simon would either tumble madly in love with her or go running back to London in fear for his sanity. After all, she was a Redgrave, so it could go either way. And, either way, she’d have his solemn vow to never speak a word of what he knew before she, at least figuratively, kicked him out the door.

Yes, it was the perfect plan. Hadn’t Trixie told her women always win any battle between the sexes, because they are born with more interesting weapons. Kate at last believed she truly understood what her grandmother had meant.

Simon, who had already dismounted and had been sitting on an iron bench placed outside the mausoleum, quickly rose and went to assist Kate from the saddle. But she was far ahead of him, intent on being Kate: she merely tossed him the reins, then lifted her leg to disengage from the pommel, kicked her other leg free of the stirrup and lightly leaped to the ground.

“Very neatly done,” Simon complimented her coolly. “And here I had been so hoping to help you dismount. A man lives for such opportunities, you know. My hands spanning that narrow waist, drawing you closer as I slowly lower you to the ground. A chance for an accidental brushing together of bodies...”

“And an even greater chance of suddenly finding yourself rump down in the dirt.” Kate, far from missish or easily flustered, responded without heat, already looking past him to the large stone mausoleum. She ignored completely the small tingle just then running up her spine. What a maddening man—up close like this, he even smelled good!

“A risk I’d eagerly accept.”

“Then more fool you.” He wasn’t going to stop, was he? This called for a change of subject. She kept her eyes on the mausoleum, certain if she looked at him his green eyes would be laughing. How dare he find her amusing! “But thank you for your attempt at distracting me, although it hasn’t worked. Imposing up close like this, isn’t it? And even larger than I remember from the one time I thought it might be interesting to peek inside, although the stained-glass windows prevented that.”

“All right, I’ll stop teasing you now. Yes, quite imposing, like everything else at Redgrave Manor. The pillars make for a nice touch. Do you come up here often?”

“Never.” Kate shook her head. If she visited her father’s grave, it would only remind her of her mother’s probably unmarked grave in France. But she wouldn’t tell him that. “Trixie always says the dead can keep each other company well enough. It’s not as if they’re really
here,
you know.” She shook her head again. “Well, Barry isn’t, that’s for certain, not unless he’s haunting the place, looking for his body. Do you believe in ghosts, and talking to the dead?”

Simon had tied Daisy’s reins to a tree branch on the opposite side of the mausoleum from his stallion, and now stood beside Kate once more as they both stared at the family tomb. “I don’t think I’ve given the subject much thought. I would like to speak to my brother, though. A lot of questions could be answered if we had the chance of hearing a voice from beyond one last time.”

Once again Kate thought about her mother. Had Maribel lingered long enough to kiss her infant daughter goodbye, or had she just run off with her French lover? She sighed and turned away. “But we might not like the answers.”

Simon put his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward him. “Look, Kate...every family has its share of scandal of one sort or another. I’m not judging, and I wish to God I didn’t need to know what I need to know. But I am here to help. Not to be overly dramatic, but lives depend on us finding those journals, that supposed bible. So, can we forget yesterday ever happened, and begin again? With you being you and me being me, and all three of us dedicated to the search.”

“I don’t know,” Kate answered, avoiding his mesmerizing green eyes, his open and honest green eyes. She felt so...
drawn
to him. The idea that had seemed brilliant not ten minutes earlier was now hastily discarded as she remembered swords cut both ways. Trapping him, she could end up trapping herself. Trixie had never mentioned that possibility. Her grandmother could snap her fingers and walk away from anyone except her adored grandchildren, whom she’d kill for if necessary, and without a blink. Love was a game she played well, but Kate was surprised and dismayed to realize perhaps she didn’t share Trixie’s prowess.

She took a deep breath and turned to look at him, determined to face him down. “In other words, no more outrageous comments such as the one you made about helping me dismount?” And felt her knees melt as he smiled at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief once more.

“Ask me not to breathe. It would be simpler.”

Oh, enough of this! Kate willed her knees to stiffen and then rolled her eyes at such blatant nonsense. She didn’t know if she was impressing him, but her defensive actions hadn’t done much for her still slightly wobbly knees. Compliments, sweet words, made her nervous, that’s all it was; she never knew how to respond. “So, you being you means you’re prone to spouting ridiculousness like that at the drop of a handkerchief—not that I’m dropping mine, let’s be clear about that. If so, you could stop now, because I know you don’t mean it.”

“I don’t? Are you certain of that?”

“I’m certain you’re nothing like anyone I met in London.” She rocked on the heels of her riding boots, every nerve in her body tingling with an awareness the two of them were quite alone at the top of this dratted hill and out of sight of the house. Next thing she knew, Simon would start waxing poetic about her fetching smile, or some such rot—and how would she respond to that? When one was complimented, did that make one beholden to send a compliment winging back? And where would that lead? At the rate Simon was moving, she’d soon find out what step four is! Oh, where was Valentine? What was taking him so long? It was only a stupid key.

“That’s probably because I was never meant to be the marquis.”

“What?” Kate realized her mind was wandering, perhaps even running in panicked circles.

“You said I wasn’t like any men you met in London, and I offered that this might be because I wasn’t raised to be the marquis. I happily chose a more rough and tumble life, as suited my embarrassingly plebeian nature. Or so my late father said as he happily agreed to buy me a commission and pack me off to sea. London truly does bore me. In the Royal Navy, the chain of command has a reason. In society, it’s all a bunch of self-important people deciding who should bow lower to whom because of who their father was.”

Exactly as she felt about the patronesses of Almacks. How strange. “People bow to my brother Gideon because they’d be fools not to,” Kate pointed out, not without pride. “It certainly can’t be because of who our father was. Gideon is his own man.”