Miss Prestwick's Crusade (27 page)

"Who's there?"

At the sound of the familiar voice, slicing through the soft, night air, Helen started. She hastened her steps, but the sound of approaching footsteps halted her.

"Helen, is that you?"

She took a quick breath and stepped forward.

"Yes, sir,” she said, with only the barest quaver in her voice.

In a moment, she saw him. In the moonlight, it could be seen that he was again without his jacket, and the scented, April breeze ruffled his hair.

"Another late night stroll. Miss Prestwick?” His voice was warm with amusement, and Helen stiffened slightly. When he spoke again, a slight chill had crusted his tone. “You seem to make a habit of nocturnal rambles."

"Oh, no—that is—” Helen's heart was racing so that she could hardly speak. “I found myself fairly creaking after so many hours at my worktable. And I thought a breath of fresh air might drive the odor of spirits from my nostrils. I—I was just returning."

"Ah. Then I shall bid you good night.” Edward swung away from her and headed toward the back of the house.

Helen would have given all she possessed, meager though that might be, to have simply bade him good night and strode into the house. She gritted her teeth.

"Um."

Edward paused. “Yes, Miss Prestwick?"

"I have—that is, I cannot—"

This time the amusement was plainly audible. “Do not tell me you have locked yourself out again."

Helen expelled a shaking breath. “Oh, dear. I was
so
careful to leave the door unlocked behind me, but when I tried it just now— Yes, I'm afraid I'm locked out."

Edward chuckled. “I'm afraid you have me to blame. When I am the last to seek my bed, I always check the house. When I found the front door off the latch, I carefully secured it. I went back to my study to retrieve a book I'd forgotten, and that's when I, too, decided to shake the cobwebs from my brain with a stroll. Come.” He held out his hand. “When I left my study, I brought a key with me."

Oh, Lord, thought Helen. This was absolutely the last course of action she should be taking at this moment. She had just, within the last few minutes, reaffirmed her decision to play least-in-sight where Edward Beresford was concerned. Every time she saw him, her heart bled a few more drops until it was a wonder she wasn't pale as a ghost. Being with him, very simply, hurt too much, and she was going to maintain her distance. She bad retreated from her position of taking her meals alone, but she had vowed that from now on, she would avoid him at all costs otherwise and speak to him only in monosyllables when they did meet.

"Yes. Thank you,” she mumbled, placing her hand on his sleeve.

But Edward, after an initial few steps toward his study, swerved and led Helen away from the house. Soon they were following a path that led to the ornamental lake.

Helen halted. “What—?"

"Please.” Edward had come to a small stone bench placed by the path, and he seated her gently. “I shan't take a moment. I was going to tell you this in the morning, but since you are here, I have more information for you."

Unseen in the darkness, Helen whitened, but Edward sensed her deep unease. “No more bad news, I promise. It's merely that the reason I was so late in retiring is that I wished to get through the pile of correspondence on my desk. I had already told-you of the missive from Ffulkes telling me that farther investigation at Doctors’ Commons had produced no record of the Reverend Mr. Binwick. Well, I'm pleased to tell you, that the last letter to claim my attention tonight was a letter from Babcock. In this one, he was pleased to report, that he finally managed to track down our elusive minister."

"Oh, Edward!” Helen gasped.

"No, no—we still do not know where he is now, but we do know where he was before he left England for Portugal. He was ordained in 1743 and took a living in the minuscule little town of Middle Teesbury in Durham. He remained there until his retirement in 1798. His wife had passed away in 1772, and the minister, having no family in this country but possessing a distant cousin who lived in Lisbon, packed up and moved there as well. Nothing is known of him after that, but presumably he found city life not to his liking and moved later to Evora."

"Oh, my,” breathed Helen. “Then—there will be no investigation into his possible fraud."

"No, indeed. Apparently the Reverend Mr. Binwick was a bona fide cleric of the Mother Church, and lived a blameless existence during his many years of service."

"But we still do not know where he is now."

Edward sighed. “No, unfortunately. But, as I believe I've said once or twice, the man has to be someplace. English citizens rarely vanish from the face of the earth without leaving a trace. He did plan to leave for England upon his departure from Portugal, no?"

"Yes. At least, that was his stated intention. He had formed a friendship with another cleric over the years, and the two planned to share a house—but I have no idea what the man's name was or where they planned to live."

Edward took her hand, and the warmth of his fingers seemed to permeate her entire being.

"Helen, we
will
find him. And in the meantime, we will continue our search for the marriage certificate."

A silence fell between them. Helen knew she should move away from him—and she wondered in some desperation why Edward did not move away from her. For a man who had recently addressed her in tones of utmost disdain and disappointment, he was making it extremely difficult to fulfill her vow of avoiding him like a case of poison ivy. She breathed in the leather and spice scent of him and her senses swam.

"Helen,” said Edward at last in a hesitant voice.

"W-what?” asked Helen mindlessly. Without actually having physically moved, he seemed to be much closer.

"Helen,” he said again, this time in a harsh growl. “I have been the most unutterable idiot."

To this, not unnaturally, Helen could not think of a suitable reply.

"I was so very angry—and devastated—that you had not behaved according to the Edward Beresford Rules of Behavior, it never occurred to me to consider . . .” He drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Helen, I have never been in a position that caused me to be abandoned by those whom I loved and who I thought loved me. It must have been unspeakably devastating for you.

"And then, along came my exalted self, so sure in my precepts. It was only when I mentally reversed our positions that I realized what a selfish, pompous clod I had been."

Helen lifted her eyes to his face. “Are you saying—?” she choked.

"Before, you asked my forgiveness, Helen. Now, I am asking for yours."

Forgiveness.'
And friendship? Was that what he wanted now? A return to that pallid relationship they had shared for the past weeks? She had told him she wished for no more from him. Was that now all he wished from her? She found that she was unable to think clearly. But perhaps this was not the time for reason. She felt bathed in the warmth of his nearness, and his eyes were dark pools of need. She was afraid she might just drown in them. She closed her eyes.

Without volition, she wrapped her arms about him and lifted her mouth to his.

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Edward ground his mouth against Helen's in an urgent kiss, and she pressed against him as though she depended for her very sustenance on the warmth of his lips against hers.

She caressed the crisp curls that lay against his collar. When his mouth left hers, she heard herself whimper, but a moment later he pressed more kisses, featherlight and incandescent in their heat, against her cheek and her jaw and along the pounding pulse in her throat. She thought she would die of the pleasure of it.

When his fingers encountered the laces at her throat, she unthinkingly lifted her own to help him undo them. This action, however, brought her abruptly back to her senses. With a little gasp she drew back. Edward stilled at once, and after a moment, he, too, pulled away—very slightly, still retaining her hands in his. He laughed shakily.

"May I take this as an affirmative response to my question?"

"Oh, Edward.” Helen thought he must hear the thundering of her heart. “You have no need to ask. I did a terrible thing in not telling you, and—"

She was silenced by another kiss, so tender, yet so filled with such yearning, a shuddering response caught her up in its maelstrom. This time it was Edward who drew back— at length.

"This brings me to another point, my dear,” he said softly. “A while ago, I promised no more importunities on my part. I said that friendship with you would be enough. I'm afraid I lied.” He brushed her lips with his once more. “And I must say, if you continue to kiss me like that—"

"Oh, Edward. It was I who lied when I prattled all that nonsense about being respectable—well, I am respectable, of course, although I must say I don't feel so right now, because—you see—oh, Edward, I love you—and I know respectable ladies don't say things like that. Oh, dear God, I'm babbling. Can you not help me out here? We have not known each other a long time, but I am more sure of that than I have ever been of anything in my life."

She halted, breathless, as Edward swept her into yet another embrace.

"But I have loved you from the first moment I saw you.” His voice was little more than a harsh rasp, and Helen chuckled, sizzles of happiness skyrocketing through her.

"I was a laggard. For it was several days before I realized you were not the devil incarnate, and a good two weeks after that before I knew you were the most wonderful man in the western hemisphere."

For a long moment there was no further need for words. Nothing was heard in the vicinity of the stone bench for some time except the rustling of leaves and the humming of night insects and the murmuring of lovers in the eternal retracing of the steps that had led to this magical instant in time.

At last, Edward spoke. “I very much fear that if we do not return to the house, my virtue will be utterly compromised."

"In which case,” replied Helen throatily, “I shall, I suppose, be forced to marry you."

She gasped at her own boldness. Barney had advised being honest with Edward, but, really—for a respectable female, she was fairly leaping beyond the pale. She was rewarded, however, by a fire in Edward's eyes, clearly visible in the moonlight.

"I was afraid it might be too soon to mention marriage,” he said, all the blaze of a hearth in midwinter in his voice. “But, since you bring it up—"

"Which I should not have done,” Helen completed with an effort at severity. “It is indeed too soon to think of marriage, but—oh, Edward, what are you doing?"

"Trying to convince you that a wedding had better take place in short order, or it is very possible we shall have no need of one."

"That will do, my good man. You take liberties."

Edward sighed. “Yes, I do—and I intend to take a great many more—but you are right.” He rose, and grasping her hands, brought Helen to her feet.

They made their way, very slowly and with a great many pauses, to Edward's study. It was not until they had nearly reached the French windows that Helen halted abruptly.

"Whatever is going on?"

At this, Edward, too, looked into the room. It was impossible to see very far into the interior of the study, but a shadow flickering grotesquely in front of the candle Edward had left burning indicated the presence of someone in the chamber. Silently, they approached the window.

"Good God!” whispered Edward. “It's Stanford!"

"Mr. Welladay! But what is he doing here? Isn't he in London?"

"He's supposed to be. More to the point, what the devil is he doing in my study?'

Immobilized by surprise, they watched for a few seconds as Uncle Stanford, having apparently just finished searching Edward's desk, glanced elsewhere around the room. He moved at once to the shelf behind the desk, where he scooped up the little box containing Chris's portrait and Trix's other mementos.

Galvanized into action, Edward flung open the windows and bolted into the room, followed closely by Helen. Uncle Stamford whirled about and, at sight of Edward, his eyes bulged in horrified astonishment.

"Urk!” he exclaimed before he pulled himself together to allow a sickly grin to spread across his features. It could now be seen that, in addition to the box, Uncle Stamford carried a small pouch. “Ned,” he said in a calmer tone, “I did not expect—that is, I did not think you would still be up. I arrived home just a little while ago and—bethought me of Chris's portrait. I—I never did get a good look at it and decided to have a peek."

During this ingenious speech he sidled closer to the door, the little box tucked tightly under his arm and the pouch clutched in one hand.

"I'll be seeking my bed now. I—I'll return these items to the shelf in the morning.” He reached for the door handle.

"Welladay!” roared Edward. “Stay where you are! What the devil are you about? You just happened to arrive home? Do you generally travel in the dead of night? You just happened to think of Chris's portrait? Good God, Welladay, you were stealing the thing—just as you have stolen a number of other items from Whitehouse Abbey!"

Mr. Welladay's jaw dropped open in injured bewilderment. “Stealing?—
Stealing?
Ned, I am appalled that you would think such a thing. What would lead you to . . . ?"

He did not finish his sentence, but instead, throwing a chair to the floor as an impediment, he bolted through the study door, slamming it after him. By the time Edward was able to make his way out of the room, only Mr. Welladay's coattails could be seen founding the corner at the far end of the corridor.

He was soon seen to possess a startling agility for one of such sedentary habits and burdened physique, but, still he was easily overtaken. Edward caught up with him in the Hall.

By this time, Uncle Stamford's face was quite empurpled and his breath came in wheezing gasps. Edward, exercising, he thought, great restraint, did not knock him to the floor but contented himself with retrieving the little wooden box.

This proved difficult, for the older man had engulfed the container in a sort of death grip, clutching it to his plump bosom. After a moment, Edward, while not releasing his grasp, paused in his efforts.