The Return of Lord Conistone (10 page)

She dragged breath into her lungs. ‘Strange, I thought all of Hampshire knew. Thanks to the Earl, all our creditors, including the bank that holds our mortgage, withdrew their loans. Which is why we now have not a feather to fly with, as the gossips like to say. Why we must sell everything’.

Lucas looked stunned. ‘My grandfather. Verena, you should have told me! I begged you to trust me!’

‘Trust
you?’ Again she felt disbelief, confusion, swimming through her head. Harlot. Deb. Her throat tightened. ‘Lucas, I should not be alone with you, like this—’

He was grim-faced. ‘Rest assured I will say nothing of my stay here’.

Of course
. She flinched.
He was ashamed, of being here at Wycherley.…

She swept towards the door, saying in a bright voice, ‘Naturally. Imagine the shock, my lord, if your friends knew you were reduced to lodging at such a lowly place! If Lady Jasmine knew.…’

‘Lady Jasmine Rowley?’ He looked angry and bewildered. ‘What the devil has
she
to do with it?’

‘They—they say you are about to become betrothed to her, Lucas!’

‘Am I?’ he said sharply. ‘Then it’s the first I damned well knew about it’.

She stared. ‘But—everyone said…’.

‘Who said?’ His face was tight with anger; he was breathing hard.

Pippa had warned her it was just London tattle
. Her stomach lurched. Impulsive, stupid to come out with it.… ‘Does it matter?’ she breathed.

‘It does to me, if you’re listening to damned lies! ‘

A rebuke she deserved. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘I had better leave. You have your ten guineas back, Lord Conistone, and I apologise again for my family’.

‘Oh, rest assured,’ he drawled, leaning tiredly back against the pillows, ‘I can deal with your family! And by the way, it was twelve guineas I gave your mother, not ten’.

Her hands flew to her cheeks. ‘Twelve! Believe me,’ she said, blindly, ‘I’m sorry, I will make sure you get it all back’.

‘Don’t be silly,’ he retorted. ‘Pretend you’re charging me for board and lodging. It’s nothing to me’.

‘No doubt’. Already she was pulling from round her
neck a tiny gold locket. And she almost slammed it down on the table with the purse. ‘This was from my father. I trust that will go towards covering our debt, my lord, until I can refund you the money in full! ‘

‘Oh, for God’s sake’. Lucas was tired now, tired and in pain. ‘I’m not arguing any more, but I’m not taking it. Verena, listen to me before you march off in high dudgeon. Have you really no idea who your attackers were last night?’

She shook her head stubbornly. ‘I told you, they sounded like Portsmouth men, but I would much rather forget it—’

‘Portsmouth men. Yes, you
did
say that. But I wondered if you might have changed your mind, because I, personally, found it strange that they had French pistols’.

She stared. ‘How could you—?’

‘Thanks to your lantern, I glimpsed the weapon that was fired at me. It was French. I know quite a lot about guns. I was in the army once’.

He knew.

Just then she heard Bentinck’s loud whistling of ‘The British Grenadiers’ coming nearer along the corridor, and the heavy tread of his feet, and she only had time to say, quite desperately, ‘Please, Lucas, I know the Wycherley men would have nothing to do with anyone who would wish me harm! You said you wanted to help me and my family; if so, please, I beg you, say nothing of this’.

His face was grave. ‘I won’t, believe me,’ he emphasized. ‘In return, you must promise me that you won’t go anywhere by yourself’.

‘But—’

‘If you need to leave the house, tell Bentinck to accompany you’.

‘Bentinck?’

‘I mean it,’ he said in a low voice. The door was opening. ‘I mean it, Verena’.

She bit her lip and left, exhausted by the welter of emotions that surged through her.

She could not trust him again, ever. And she must not let herself be alone with him again, either, because quite clearly she could not trust herself.

You practically threw yourself into his arms, Verena. You can’t stop wanting to feel the sweet caress of his lips on your hands, your lips, your breasts.…

You fool. You stupid fool.

* * *

Her mother was waiting for her at the end of the corridor. Looking—gleeful.

‘Cook told me you were taking in Lord Conistone’s soup!’ Lady Frances pronounced in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘But next time, Verena, wear something more
flattering
, for heaven’s sake!’ She tugged at Verena’s demure neckline and reached to pat at her few stray curls. ‘A little rouge, perhaps, also; you are too pale. It’s a start, though. A start!’

Verena closed her eyes in despair.

Why had Lucas come here?

She had been resigned to her fate. To the sale of her beloved house. To finding herself some death-in-life post as a governess, or a lady’s companion. And now.

Oh, Lucas. Oh, how unspeakably bereft she would be when he left.

* * *

Bentinck waited until the door had shut behind her, then muttered darkly, ‘She really has no idea at all, milord?’

Lucas lay back wearily.

What in Hades had his grandfather been up to? And why did Verena blame
him
for it?

His arm was hurting like hell and the encounter had exhausted him. Not least because he’d found himself becoming spectacularly aroused as her luscious breasts heaved beneath the confines of that ridiculously outdated gown and her lovely eyes flashed fire at him.

Hell and damnation, didn’t she realise how he ached for her? Probably not. She was an innocent. A virgin. He replied heavily, ‘She has no idea about many things, including the fact that there are some remarkably dangerous people after her’.
Not least of them myself
. ‘Did you get over to the steward at Stancliffe?’

‘Old Rickmanby? Aye, and a miserable soul
he
is.… but he told me the Earl should be back any day now’.

‘Good’. It was time—more than time—for Lucas to tackle his grandfather.

Bentinck, who was busying himself with the fire, suddenly swung round on Lucas again. ‘I know I’m harping on, milord, about those fellows who shot you—’

‘You are indeed, Bentinck’.

‘But Miss Verena, she’s got a sharp brain, as well as bein’ a prime piece, beggin’ pardon—she must surely guess those men who attacked her were Johnny Frogs, so why isn’t she saying anything?’

‘She does know. But she’s afraid that if she confirms her attackers were French, then the villagers will be charged with helping the enemy to land. And we’ll say nothing either, Bentinck. Is that clear?’

‘I suppose so, milord. But—who lit the fire to guide them in?’

‘I wish I knew,’ said Lucas, laying his head back against the pillows and closing his eyes.

Bentinck looked dubiously at the cooling dish of gruel. Then he burst out, ‘We should get you to Stancliffe Manor. You’re not amongst friends here’.

Lucas opened his eyes again, narrowly. A visit to Stancliffe Manor was most definitely required. But— ‘While I’m here, Bentinck, I have the perfect opportunity to find what I need. And to discover who else is after it’.

‘The maps and that diary, you mean? Pity you ‘ad to take a bullet in the arm to get yourself in here!’

‘It’s not exactly what I planned, admittedly. But make use of every minute, will you, Bentinck, to search and listen?’

‘She’s on to me. Doesn’t trust me a damned inch. A shame you couldn’t tell her exactly why you left the army—’

Lucas cut in softly, ‘If you whisper one word of it, Bentinck, I’ll have your guts for fancy garters. I mean it’.

‘Have you tried just askin’ her, milord? For the diary and things?’

‘I’ve asked. She’s told me she has no idea where any diary might be. She
certainly
wouldn’t let me see her father’s private papers—I know that without asking. Questioning her again would seem distinctly suspicious; besides, I rather fear that the diary might give the game away’.

Bentinck made one last try. ‘Would it not be easiest to be honest with her, milord? To kick the blarney and tell all, so to speak?’

‘Two things: firstly, her ignorance is, at the moment, perhaps her greatest security. And, Bentinck,’ Lucas went on softly, ‘if I were—as you say
—honest
with her, she would pitch me out of this house and aim a pistol at me herself. Straight to the heart. For which I would not blame her, in the slightest’.

And that was the trouble, he thought, lying back with a stifled groan against the pillows. She really did have no idea, about anything. She had no idea that, weak though
he was, her visit just now had been a torture of self-control for him.

A prime piece
, Bentinck had called her. Yes, indeed, she was as utterly ravishing as he’d remembered, with her clouds of rippling chestnut hair and her amber eyes that gleamed like molten gold in the candlelight. And what made her even more entrancing was that, thanks to that ridiculous family of hers, she had absolutely no idea of her own beauty.

She was lovely, and vulnerable. And though clearly afraid of what life had cruelly thrown at her—not least his damned grandfather—she sought to mask her fears with cool efficiency. But beneath that coolness, he knew, raged tempestuous fires. That autumn she had been full of life, and hope, and love, and at the harvest feast he’d felt her tremble in his arms when he’d kissed her.

And the devil of it was, he knew she had not changed. Dear God, the thought of awakening her to the delights of full passion made his loins throb again, damn it. Last night on the clifftop path, as his mouth caressed hers, and he felt her tender breasts peak against the hard wall of his chest, he’d known she was the same Verena, the girl he had fallen in love with two years ago.
Before everything changed. Before the catastrophe that had altered everything irrevocably.

He cursed himself softly. To indulge in any sort of hope that things could be as they were before was impossible. Tiredly he picked up the purse and the gold locket that she’d left on the bedside table and saw that the locket was, in fact, made not of gold, but of a cheap alloy.

Well, he wasn’t going to be the one to tell her
that.

When Bentinck came back in, he said sharply, ‘Bentinck. You must follow her every time she leaves the house. Keep her in sight at all times, do you understand? And—get this
message to Mayhew the attorney’. He handed Bentinck a folded sheet of paper. ‘There’s something I wish him to investigate’.

‘Thought you hated legal fellows!’

‘This one’s better than most. And…’. Lucas shifted himself on his pillows ‘.…I’ve thought of a way to help the Sheldons’.

Bentinck grunted morosely. ‘Hmph. Just don’t expect them to be grateful, milord. That’s all’.

‘I
heard that Lord Conistone was staying here, Verena! This is a terrible situation for you’.

It was ten in the morning. Another day and night had gone by since Lucas had been brought to the house; and Captain Martin Bryant had galloped round to call at Wycherley, his amiable face full of concern.

‘Perhaps even more terrible for Lord Conistone,’ said Verena. ‘He was shot’.

She had not visited Lucas again; she mistrusted him deeply, herself even more. Dr Pilkington still called three times a day, and reported that Lucas needed to rest. But surely now he was well enough to travel to Stancliffe Manor?

And yet—and yet…

‘Yes. I heard what happened!’ exclaimed Martin. ‘That you went down to Ragg’s Cove and were physically attacked. My dear girl, did you see your assailants? Did they speak to you?’

Poor Martin. He was well meaning and well mannered, except when he was proposing marriage, and Verena,
sighing inwardly, decided to keep things on a businesslike footing by offering him tea in the parlour, while Cook bustled to and fro nearby.

‘They made quite sure I didn’t see their faces,’ she replied, calmly pouring the tea. ‘It was dark, of course. And as for their voices—no, they were remarkably silent. It was all over within minutes’.

He clenched his fists. ‘Some of the Revenue men reported rumours that a boat full of Frenchmen landed somewhere along the coast that night! A sinister coincidence, surely, Conistone arriving here at the same time as the French are said to be around! Perhaps Conistone is not only a coward, but also a spy!’

Verena spluttered over her tea. ‘Lord Conistone a spy? What nonsense you do talk, Martin! He
saved
me from my attackers!’

‘Convenient, that he was there on your trail,’ Martin muttered. ‘I still say he might have been in collusion with them’.

‘As I pointed out—he was
shot
, Captain Bryant!’

‘And so you are burdened with him! Having to go up and down all day to see to him…’

‘He is in the back parlour, so there’s no need to go up and down at all. And his valet Bentinck sees to most of his needs, so it is no burden, I assure you!’
Unbelievable
. Martin’s objections were actually forcing her to
defend
their unwelcome guest.

Martin didn’t give up. ‘It is a gross inconvenience for you and your mother, none the less. You take too much on yourself, Verena, you really do’. He stood up. ‘You must not allow money and social position to sway you!’