Miss Charity's Case (26 page)

Leatrice's shrill laugh cut through Charity's confusion better than any words of consolation. “Who would have guessed Charity Stuart would be so thoroughly bamboozled?”

“Hush,” ordered Lady Eloise.

Seeing the gleeful anticipation on Leatrice's face being echoed by her great-aunt's expression, Charity knew the explanations would be long and, for her, painful. She turned to her sister, but Joyce was as still as a sleeping babe.

Sitting next to the settee, Charity folded her hands in her lap. With her head high, she said, “I thank you for your help in this matter, my lord. Where did you find Joyce? How did you get her away from Kerry Field?”

“Have patience,” her great-aunt ordered through pursed lips. “You have shown superior sense in coming here today. Now cooperate with Lord Heath. He has been kind enough not to reveal your idiocy publicly. His affection for your sister has prevented that.”

Charity said, “I have not come to be belittled or to be complimented. Pray say what you will, Lord Heath.”

The brown-haired man blinked at her sharp words, but smiled. She noted how narrow his eyes remained. He was furious, for he must know—as well as she did—she did not trust him. That Joyce had reappeared might have nothing to do with the awful tales he had spoken about Oliver. She put her hand on her sister's forehead. It was cool. At least it was not a fever that had caused her swoon.

“I convinced your sister to come to me.”

“I thought she went to Ker—”

“Who?”

Charity was about to explain, but some intuition told her to guard her words. “My mistake, I believe.”

“I believe you are right,” he said with a smile as he raised his hands to silence her question. “You must listen. Joyce was quite willing to when I explained what could befall you both.”

“When you met in Hyde Park? Is that where I have seen you previously?”

He laughed tightly. “You forget little, Miss Stuart.”

“I try to forget nothing where my sister is concerned, my lord,” she retorted. “You are suggesting danger to us? From what quarter?”

“Oliver Blackburn, of course,” grumbled Lady Eloise. “Charity, stop being such a nincompoop! Just because the man beguiled you is no reason not to see the truth when it is presented to you.”

Leatrice snapped, “Do listen. Lord Heath has proof, Charity.”

“Proof?” Charity looked at the man who had his hands clasped behind his back. His smile showed his delight with her suffering. She hoped she was misreading his expression. “What proof have you, Lord Heath?”

Settling himself casually on the arm of a chair, he locked his hands around one knee. “That Oliver Blackburn is a criminal, who has played a part for the French in trying to effect this nation's destruction.”

“Oliver? An ally of Napoleon?” Charity laughed. She could not help it. “That, I assure you, is most ridiculous.”

“But true. At first, I suspected you were working with Blackburn, Miss Stuart.”

“I have no idea why you would think such a thing.”

Standing, he laughed. “You play your role of innocence so well. One would guess you never assisted your father in his work.”

“Papa?” Joyce stirred, and Charity whirled to her. “Lady Eloise, why are we speaking of such moonshine when Joyce is clearly unwell? It is ludicrous to be listening to this fairy tale Lord Heath has devised.”

Heath scowled at her, but said nothing as Lady Eloise called for a pair of strong lads to carry Joyce to her bedchamber. When Charity followed them toward the stairs, Heath stepped forward.

“Our conversation is not yet over, Miss Stuart.”

“My sister is not yet herself, Lord Heath,” she returned in the same icy tone. “Once Joyce has regained her senses, I shall be glad to try to endure the rest of your story without laughing.”

“Even the part about your father working with Oliver Blackburn?”

Charity stared at him in disbelief. “Oliver barely knew Papa.”

“Is that so?”

“They met only by chance when Papa was ministering to sea-crabs.”

He played with the pearl-tipped pin in his cravat. “Only by chance? Is that what your father told you, or Blackburn?”

“Papa never—” She tried to edge past him. “This must wait until I see to Joyce.”

Heath seized her arm. When she gasped, unprepared for such boorish behavior, he said, “You shall listen until you have heard all of this, Charity. I shall not have your sister in danger simply because of Blackburn's lust for you.”

Charity flushed. “My lord, you have overstepped all bounds of propriety.”

“And you have been quite deluded. I am not surprised. Blackburn can be quite persuasive.” He smiled as he drew Charity back to the settee where Joyce had been. As he pushed her to sit, he said, “The Reverend Clarence Stuart considered Oliver Blackburn one of his confidants.”

Seeing Lady Eloise's smile, Charity clenched her hands in her lap. She wanted to shout this was all wrong. Oliver loved her.
But he will not reveal the secrets he is hiding. If he loved you, would he not trust you?
Telling her own disquiet to begone, she raised her chin. She must trust Oliver … and her own heart.

“No answer, Miss Stuart? I thought you would leap to the defense of your darling earl.” Heath smiled at Leatrice. “Bring her some wine, Miss Hoyle. She is quite pale with shock.”

“I do not want any wine.” Charity stood. “I have heard enough of this. I shall go and collect my sister. Joyce will be honest with me. We shall not force you, Lady Eloise, to suffer our presence under your roof any longer.”

Even Leatrice gasped when Lord Heath shoved Charity back onto the settee.

“My lord, there is no cause for such—” began Lady Eloise.

“How else do you expect me to persuade her to listen?” he snarled.

“True.” Lady Eloise sniffed loudly. “She is as addled as her mother. She has let a man woo her into believing his lies. That Lord Blackburn possesses a title means little. He is as unprincipled as her father was.” Gripping Leatrice's hand, as if she needed strength, she continued, “To think that she could have had a duke, but she shunted the Duke of Rimsbury aside to Lady Thyra.”

“Rimsbury? Lady Thyra?” Lord Heath's laugh was bitter. “I should have guessed Blackburn's plot was not as simple as playing the Judas goat. This isn't the first time Blackburn and his equally black-hearted mistress have stolen a wealthy man from an innocent woman.”

Charity choked, “Mistress? What mistress?”

“You thought Lady Thyra was his sister?”

She met his mocking eyes. “Of course not. Oliver is Thyra's guardian.”

“Is that the game they are playing this time?” He sat across from Charity, then leaned forward to clasp her hand.

She flinched, pulling away. His skin was too dry and cold.

Lord Heath said, “Oliver Blackburn and Thyra Estes play their masquerade with skill, and this time you were caught in their trap along with the hapless Duke of Rimsbury. Lady Thyra offers her favors in exchange for a promise of marriage.”

“Thyra would not—”

“She has!” snapped Leatrice. With a self-satisfied smile, she went on, “I have seen her flirting with men who later would lament that even expensive gifts were not enough to buy her affections.”

“Thyra loves Myles Hambleton!” Charity asserted.

Lord Heath shook his head. “She loves his wealth. No doubt, the duke has already begun to lose it to her and her paramour. Blackburn enjoys challenging his prey to cards. Just the two of them alone.” When Charity gasped as she recalled the men playing cards last night and how Myles had spoken of his losses, Lord Heath chuckled lowly. “I see you are not unfamiliar with his ruse. An endless quantity of drink later—with his victim three sheets to the wind—Lord Blackburn has amassed a grand pile of winnings. It happens again and again, until poor fools like Rimsbury are bled dry of every copper.”

Charity stood. Blindly she walked to the window that overlooked the square. Her hands fisted on the sill. She could not accept these stories. Oliver might be no saint, but he would not break her heart to gain his own ends. Even more important, she loved him.

Tears stung her eyes as she turned to face the trio. “Why should I accept your lies?”

Lord Heath said quietly, “Because Blackburn murdered your father.”

“Don't be caper-witted!” Charity retorted. “Oliver did no such thing.” Her voice strengthened as she went on, “He has saved my life more than once.”

Lord Heath cocked his dark brow at her. “You did not see it as a coincidence he was conveniently nearby to rescue you each time you found yourself in peril?”

“So you think Oliver played me for the fool to convince me to offer Myles to Thyra?”

“Yes,” Lady Eloise said as she struggled to her feet with Leatrice's help. Her smile broadened when she tottered toward Charity. “You played their pawn so well, Charity, that I suspect he intended to keep you around to use you again.
That
is why he decided to wed you instead of simply destroying your reputation.”

Charity said with slow dignity, “I am sorry. I do not believe you. You have not given Oliver a chance to defend himself.”

Lady Eloise shuddered. “I shall not have that beast in my house again.”

“Then Joyce and I shall, as I told you before, leave.”

“No, you shall not.” Lord Heath's smile grew wider. “You are back where you belong, Miss Stuart, where your own feminine weakness will not betray you.”

With her fists clenched at her side, Charity wondered if he would think her so weak if she gave him a facer. It might be the only way to escape. Then a burst of hope strengthened her. Thyra knew the note had come from Lady Eloise. When Charity did not return, Thyra surely would contact Oliver. Then he would come to clear his name … and ease the fear in her heart.

Lord Heath's smile returned. “You shall find Lady Eloise can provide for your needs as she has in the past.”

“I must insist you send for my things. There are certain irreplaceable items I do not wish lost,” Charity said coolly.

He strolled toward her as if he was the master of the house. “I have told you we have enough things here for you.”

“But nothing of mine. Oliver retrieved my things when I left with nothing but the small case I brought to London.”

“A small case?”

Charity laughed sharply when she heard his astonishment. It might have been his first honest sentiment. She pushed past Leatrice and Lady Eloise and walked toward the door.

“Stop!” called her great-aunt.

She did not listen.

“My lord, stop her!”

Charity glanced over her shoulder. Lord Heath strode toward her. She ran. He caught her before she could reach the door. When he grasped her wrist, she moaned in pain. He did not loosen his grip.

“Enough of your games,” he grumbled as he pulled her up the stairs to her room.

She waited for Lady Eloise to protest his overly familiar behavior. There was only silence as he shoved her in her room. As she turned, the key turned in the lock. She heard his victorious laugh as he walked away.

Seventeen

“At last!” breathed Thyra, running to the door.

Oliver smiled. “That is a charming greeting.”

“Charity may be in trouble!”

“What sort of trouble?”

Thyra quickly explained how Charity had left in midafternoon to call on her great-aunt. Her words came faster when Oliver swore under his breath. “I sent Myles to retrieve her,” Thyra said. “We thought Lady Eloise would receive him.”

The street door crashed against the wall. Rimsbury raced up the steps. “Is she back?”

“No!” Thyra swayed, and both men reached for her at the same time.

Oliver let the duke have the honor of helping her into the sitting room. Ringing for some of the muddy tea that Thyra adored, Oliver asked, “Charity was not at her great-aunt's house?”

Rimsbury whirled, his eyes widening as if he was noticing Oliver for the first time. “Blackburn! You are a damned fine sight at this juncture. Miss Stuart may be in a bit of a difficulty. I did not see her at Lady Eloise's house, but I believe I saw her sister there.”

“Joyce?” gasped Thyra.

Oliver motioned her to silence. “Who else, Rimsbury?”

“The dashed footman would not let me in, but I heard Lady Eloise speaking with a man. I demanded to be let in.”

Thyra whispered, “You did not do something out of hand, did you? Myles, you promised to keep your temper in check.”

“Let the man talk,” Oliver ordered. “Did you see the man, Rimsbury?”

“When I was leaving, he stood near the window. A tall man, square of jaw, and, I believe, dark hair. Dressed well and—”

“Damn! Your carriage, Rimsbury, is it at the door?”

“Yes, but—”

“I shall return it when I can.”

As he spun, his cape flowing behind him like two dark wings, Thyra cried, “But where are you going, Oliver?”

“To save Charity—if I still can.”

All of Charity's efforts to unlock her door were for naught. Her hope that she could speak to Joyce evaporated when she realized the dressing room door was locked as well.

Hélène said nothing as she assisted Charity into the gown that had been ordered from
Madame
Purviance before Charity left Lady Eloise's house. Charity was dismayed by the low cut of the neckline across her breasts. When Charity had been informed she would be attending a dance this evening, she agreed only because it would allow her to speak with Joyce.

As her hair was being brushed into place, a knock resounded on her door. It opened to reveal Lord Heath.

“My lord,” Charity said as she rose from the low dressing table stool, “I do not recall giving you
carte blanche
to enter my bedchamber.”