To Tempt the Devil (A Novel of Lord Hawkesbury's Players) (12 page)

“I may be a poor crone, but I’m a great fishmonger’s wife,” he said.

“I’ve never seen a fishmonger’s wife as big as you.”

“You should go to the Low Countries. They breed them large there. The fish too.”

She giggled, her anxiety eased by his ridiculous banter.

He stood and nodded at her hair, still uncovered. “You’d best keep it that way for today, to be safe. The rest of the costume too. I don’t trust Treece.”

“Nor I. Will you remain in your disguise?”

“No, I have a better one in mind for when I leave.”

“Leave! You can’t leave, they’ll see you!”

“Hence the disguise. Don’t fret, wife, I’ll be quite safe.”

“But why do you need to leave?”

“To find out what I can and get more supplies. Now, I’m starving.” He shed a layer of his extra clothing. “Shall we see what delights the servants prepared for breakfast?”

She gave him a withering look but followed him down the stairs. Once in the kitchen, Lizzy removed the wads from the insides of her cheeks and the padding from beneath her clothes.

Rafe worked side by side with her to cook the bacon and warm the leftover pie. He chatted amiably and didn’t mention her nightmare or their conversations about fear. Indeed, Lizzy didn’t feel afraid of him at all as they ate together at the kitchen table. He was friendly, fun, and she was dressed as someone else, someone with a tongue in her head and the wits to use it.

Why couldn’t she be like that all the time?

Seeing as she had a voice, she might as well say something. “How will we prove our innocence?”

He set down the piece of bread he was about to bite. “I’ll take care of it, Lizzy, don’t worry.”

“Don’t brush me aside, Rafe. I want to know what you think. And I want to know what you know.”

His gaze met hers. “What makes you think I know anything?”

She hadn’t but she did now. His lack of denial proved it. “I’m not a fool, Rafe. I might not talk much but I can think for myself.”

“I know that.”

“Then don’t treat me like a child.”

He pushed his empty trencher aside and leaned forward. “I’m sorry, Lizzy, I wasn’t aware that I did.”

She sighed. “You don’t. Not usually. But over this matter…well, I know you’re not telling me everything.”

He sighed too and folded his arms over his chest. He no longer wore all the padding of his disguise and he’d removed the pustules so his face was once again handsome if somewhat troubled. “There is someone who wants me…punished. I think he’s the one who claims to have witnessed us committing the murder.”

“Who—”

“A former colleague.”

“The madman you warned me about?”

He nodded.

“Why does he want you implicated?”

“A…business matter didn’t work out in his favor.”

“It seems an extreme measure of retaliation over a failed business agreement. Did he try to hire your services as a mercenary?”

“It’s more complicated than that.” He stood and picked up the trenchers and just like that she was dismissed. He’d told her nothing. Worse, he’d told her just enough to make her worry even more.

How far was the disgruntled man prepared to go for his revenge?

She snatched the trenchers off him and plunged them into the cauldron of water warming over the fire. “Is that where you’re going? To confront this man?”

“I’m sorry, Lizzy, but it’s for the best if I don’t tell you. Trust me.”

“Trust
you
? Ha!”

He sighed. “At least you’re speaking freely to me now.”

Yes, she was, she realized with a start. And it felt good too.

He came up behind her, very close. Every piece of her tensed deliciously, waiting for the warmth of his breath on her hair. None came. She glanced over her shoulder and caught him staring at the back of her bare neck, his fingers hovering as if he contemplated touching her there.

“I was just, er…” His face reddened and he strode out the back door.

She smiled and her irritation faded.
She’d
made
him
blush for once. It was quite a heady experience.

He came back in with an armful of wood. His face was no longer red, nor did he look at her directly. “Stay in your disguise for the rest of the day,” he said.

“All day? Even if Treece doesn’t return?”

“Aye. You talk to me easily dressed like that. I like it.”

“Oh? You didn’t seem to like it a moment ago.”

He chuckled. “If we agreed on everything life would be dull. Now, about that fishwife disguise. Could you help me?”

She wiped her hands on her apron. “You’ll need more than my help, you’ll need a miracle.” She grinned and he grinned back and the last of the tension vanished altogether.

Rafe stepped into the enormous skirt and Lizzy pinned it to size at the back. She helped him with the bodice and cloak and arranged a cap to cover all his hair then she stood back to survey her work.

“How do I look?” he asked.

“Like a man dressed as a woman.”

“Not even an ugly woman?”

“Not yet. You need something down the front of your bodice.” She went into the storeroom and considered all the items they possessed. The cheese and pigeon would be too smelly and lumpy but the grain would make a shapely chest. She tore off pieces from the sack and returned to the kitchen.

Rafe handed her the sewing kit and watched as she sewed the cloth into pouches.

“You’re very good,” he said. “Very fast.”

“My sister, Alice, was better. Her stitching was the best in London and she had a flair for designing costumes and gowns.”

“I remember Alice.”

“Everyone remembers Alice,” she said with a rueful smile. “Everyone noticed her. She used to think no one did but she was wrong. Being so tall and pretty and fair, how could she be missed?”

“Particularly by Lord Warhurst?” Mischief danced in his eyes. If
he’d
ever noticed Alice in that way, it certainly didn’t matter to him now.

She smiled. “Especially him.”

He fingered the first pouch while she sewed the second. “You’re connected to nobility now. You could demand a better marriage for yourself.”

“Better than James?”

He shrugged one shoulder without looking up. “If you wanted to. I’m sure Lord Warhurst could find you an eligible knight or baron in need of a pretty young wife.”

She laughed. “They would be disappointed when all they got was a plain old seamstress.”

“There is nothing plain or old about you. As to being a seamstress, Lord Warhurst wanted your sister enough to marry her and she was a tiring house assistant too.”

“Alice is beautiful and fun and lovely.”

He stared at her, his eyes very wide, not blinking. “And?”

She sighed. “I sound like I’m fishing for compliments and I’m not. Truly. But Alice
is
special. She worked hard to make herself a worthy companion for someone like Lord Warhurst. She practiced talking and walking like a gentlewoman every day from a young age. She learned to read and write much better than I, better than Mama and Papa. She’s teaching our
sister the art of being a lady up at Warhurst Hall. Jane will be the one to attract a noble husband with her high spirits and beauty. Everyone says so.”

He spun the pouch on the end of his finger, round and round. He seemed entirely focused on it, concentrating to not let it fall. “You could too,” he said quietly. “If you wanted to.”

She shook her head. “I don’t. Going up there and being so far away from home, in a world I don’t really belong to…It isn’t me. I’m happier here in London with Lord Hawkesbury’s Players. Besides, I’m much too shy and awkward to turn into an accomplished lady. Jane is a far better choice.”

“You’re not shy and awkward now.” The pouch flew off his finger and landed on the table. He left it there and regarded her through heavy lids.

“That’s because I’m not being myself here.” She waved a hand to encompass the house, her disguise, and his. “I’m dressed as an old crone, I’m being sought for murder, and I’ve spent the night alone with a…a man.” A very handsome, virile man, she’d almost said. “Nothing about this situation is normal.” She set down the finished second pouch. “You make it sound like you don’t want me to wed your brother.”

He snatched up the pouches and stalked off into the storeroom, lifting his skirts so as not to step on the hem. “Of course I want you two to wed,” he tossed over his shoulder. “James needs you.”

She sighed and instantly regretted it. It made it sound like she was having second thoughts about marrying him when she wasn’t. She should be proud to be James’s wife. She
was
proud. He was a good soul, kind and gentle.

Rafe emerged carrying the full pouches, one in each hand. He held them up. “Do you think they’re big enough?”

Men! Always concerned with size. She took one from him, sewed up the opening, and swapped it for the other. She sewed that one closed too, then watched as he stuffed them down the
front of his shirt. The bodice was tight enough to hold them in place.

He squeezed them and gave a nod of satisfaction. “Now do you think I’m ready?”

“Two more things. First you should wear the hat I found in the trunk. It has a veil attached to the back but it’ll look just as good if you wear it back to front with the veil covering your face. That’ll solve the problem of your very…”
handsome
“…masculine face and this morning’s growth.”

He rubbed his chin. “What’s the second thing I need?”

“Me.”

He stopped rubbing at the same moment his jaw dropped. “You are not coming with me, Lizzy.”

“I am.” She’d never felt so thrilled, so
alive
. It was like a pressure had built up inside her, so slowly she’d hardly noticed it, but now she was finally releasing it and she felt wonderful. Free. “I am in as much trouble as you and I want to do everything I can to clear our names. I think we should pay Sir Robert Blakewell a visit. He might know more about the situation.”

“You know him?”

“We’re distantly related and I trust him completely.”

“No,” he said emphatically. “It’s too dangerous for you. I’ll go alone.”

“I’m in disguise, a better one than yours might I add.” She brushed past him and fetched the hat from the dresser cupboard. “Don’t worry, I won’t hinder you and I promise I’ll do what you say.” She held the hat out to him.

He ignored it. “I’m not concerned about that. I am concerned about everything that could go wrong.”

She waggled the hat and he took it. “Do you worry this much before every mission?”

He narrowed his eyes. “This is different.”

“Just treat me like one of your colleagues.”

“You are nothing like Orlando or Cole. They’re not nearly as pretty.”

She should have blushed but her face didn’t heat. She curtsied instead. “That’s because they haven’t got the benefit of this disguise. Now, put the hat on and let’s go.”

He did and lowered the veil. It seemed she’d won that argument.

She put her own cap back on to cover her ash-gray hair and together they went out the back door into the yard.

“Y
ou are not to move from my side,” Rafe said, hooking his arm through Lizzy’s. She seemed even smaller and more fragile dressed as an old hag, but somehow less vulnerable. Perhaps because he knew the authorities weren’t looking for a craggy-faced crone, but more likely because of the change in her manner. He’d often suspected there was a sharp tongue in her mouth, now he had the proof. She hadn’t shrunk from him since donning the disguise, and she hadn’t held back her opinions either. It had been a good thing, until she’d insisted on coming with him.

“Don’t look around,” he told her. “And don’t forget to hunch your back and squint hard for those wrinkles.”

“Anything else, master?” She closed both of her hands around his arm, clinging on. Part of her disguise or because she wanted to?

Why did he care?

“Or should that be mistress?” she went on. “Or Lady Beardly perhaps?”

He blew out a breath and the veil puffed up like a cloud. “I’ll have you know I used to be a beauty in my youth. Skin like butter and hair of silk.”

“On your head or chin?”

He laughed and squeezed her arm. How did James ever match wits with this woman? Or was she shy around him too? He hadn’t seen them together long enough to know.

James. Rafe needed to see him. He’d planned on going to the Marshalsea today in his disguise but he couldn’t with Lizzy in tow. He had to go soon, however, or his brother would starve or be beaten or both.

A dray pulled up in front of them and the driver offered the “poor old ladies” a ride into the city. Rafe helped Lizzy onto the back and they settled against the bales of straw. Behind them, caged hens protested the jerky start with a series of clucks.

“Any sign of Treece and his men?” Lizzy asked. She still held on to his arm. There was no reason to ask her to remove it.

Rafe scanned both sides of Borough High Street before he shook his head. “He’ll be near, though. We haven’t shaken him yet.”

“I do not doubt it. A tenacious man, that one.”

“Let’s hope he’s not too tenacious.”

The dray rattled up to the bridge and they crossed the river into London proper. They’d agreed to keep away from their homes as it was likely Treece had a man watching them. Instead they would speak to Blake, a kinsman of her sister’s husband. He would know for certain if Barker was the false witness, and if he didn’t know, he could find out.

They hopped off the back at the corner of Thames Street and walked up to Dowgate, deliberately keeping their pace slow to avoid attention. So far they’d been left alone. No one seemed to notice two women, even though one of them was unnaturally tall and well built. It was a good disguise.

“You’re swaggering again,” Lizzy told him.

“I am not swaggering.”

“You are. It’s not feminine.”

“No one could think me feminine, even when dressed like a woman.”

“That’s for certain,” she muttered. “Just keep the veil low. One glimpse of that jaw and the illusion will be completely shattered.”

“I have done this before,” he ground out. “Successfully and without your help too.”

Her step faltered. She looked up at him, squinting to screw up her face and add wrinkles to her otherwise perfect skin. “Why?”

“What?”

“Why have you needed to dress up?”

Bollocks. He’d said too much. “I can’t tell you that.”

“There is an awful amount of your past which you refuse to talk about.”

“For your own benefit.”

“Why not let me judge that?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Lizzy, do you think you could
pretend
to be demure and fearful again? Life was so much easier before you became this character.”

She stiffened and let go of him. “I…I’m sorry, I…”

He stopped and she stopped too. He touched her chin to force her to look up at him but even though her head lifted, her eyes didn’t meet his. “It was a jest. Do not stop being who you really are. Understand?”

She nodded, but he could see she wasn’t convinced. For one thing, she said nothing. For another, she walked off. No more linked arms. He cursed himself. One day he would be able to say what he liked to her and she wouldn’t be afraid of him.

They made it to Blakewell House but the steward told them to use the back entrance and speak to the cook. The cook let them wait in the kitchen while she sent a maid to fetch the master. Moments later Sir Robert Blakewell entered with a little girl attached to his leg.

Lizzy beamed at the child. The girl clung tighter to her father and turned her head away.

“Annie, it’s me! Aunt Lizzy.”

Blake stepped closer, eyes narrowed. “Good lord, so it is!” Apparently the child was satisfied too because she stretched
her small arms out and Lizzy took her. The girl wrapped her entire body around Lizzy and hugged so tightly Rafe thought he might need to separate them.

“Lizzy, thank God,” Blake said on a breath. “Are you all right?”

“Perfectly well, thank you. Do you know James’s brother, Rafe Fletcher?”

Blake nodded a greeting. Rafe nodded back then realized his veil was still lowered, so he lifted it. Blake smothered a laugh. “You are an ugly woman.”

Rafe batted his eyelashes. “You should have seen me in my youth.”

Blake cracked a smile. “I’m sure men were throwing themselves at your feet.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Rafe said, playing along. “A big, strong wench like me would be a godsend to any shopkeeper. How many women do they know who could lift a barrel with one arm and a basket of fish in the other?”

Blake laughed. “I’m glad Lizzy is with you. It eases my mind somewhat.”

Lizzy glanced back and forth between them, frowning. Rafe wondered if he was the only one who noticed the uncertainty in her eyes.

“Is Min home?” Lizzy asked, jiggling the child on her hip. “Or the boys?”

Blake shook his head. “The boys are out riding with their instructor and Min’s meeting Style about her next play.”

Lizzy’s face lit up at the mention of Style. “How are the players faring? I miss them so.”

“They miss you too. They’re very worried. The authorities have been crawling all over the Rose, asking questions, going through your things looking for clues to your whereabouts.” He tilted his chin at Rafe. “They’ve been to your place too, looking for James to ask him questions about you.”

“He’s away,” Rafe said quickly. “He charged me with taking care of Lizzy in his absence.”

“He’s conducting business for his master,” Lizzy added. She handed little Annie back to her father and promptly sat on the bench seat alongside the table.

“Lizzy?” Rafe asked. “Are you tired?”

“Cook, bring Lizzy something strong to drink,” Blake said. The cook scuttled out of the kitchen, wringing her hands in her apron.

“I’m well enough,” Lizzy said, rubbing her forehead. “Just worried.” She looked up at Blake. “My parents…?”

Blake sat beside her, straddling the seat to face her. “Don’t fret.” He clasped her hand in his own and gave her a reassuring smile. “Min and I are taking good care of them. They’re worried, of course, but you need not fear for their comfort in your absence.”

She gave him a watery smile in return. “Thank you, Blake, you and Min are so good to me.”

“We’re family.”

“Not quite,” she said but kept smiling.

“We are. The children call you Aunt Lizzy, that makes you family. Now, you just let Rafe protect you. If I’m not mistaken, he’s the sort of man who’d be good to have on your side in a situation like this.”

Again she frowned and glanced quickly between Rafe and Blake.

The cook returned with a tankard and handed it to Lizzy. “Drink up now,” she urged with a flap of her apron. “You’ll feel better with some of this in your belly.”

Rafe shrank back and watched the scene like he was in the audience of a theatre and they were actors. They played their parts perfectly. The motherly servant, the sweet little girl, and a man and woman who clearly cared for one another.

A dull ache pressed down on him and he sagged against the wall under its weight. It wasn’t that Lizzy and Blake looked at each other adoringly. There were no simpering, longing gazes. It was the trust in her eyes, and the faith. As if she knew without a doubt that Blake would take care of things if she let him, and that he would never let her down.

She should be looking at Rafe like that.

They were in this together after all. He was the one who always took care of things. He’d taken care of his brother and mother up until he’d left, then he’d taken care of whatever task he was paid to do. He was bloody good at it too. Efficient and fast, leaving behind no mess and no mistakes.

Not until Barker.

He closed his eyes. Breathed deeply, emptying his mind of all except what was important—protecting Lizzy and stopping Barker. He opened his eyes again and the strange aching sensation was gone so that he could watch them objectively. Blake was talking to her, reassuring her again about her parents. She listened, thanked him over and over, and asked questions. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

Just like that, the ache returned heavier than before. Rafe couldn’t breathe from its oppressiveness. “Tell us what you know about the witness, Blakewell.” It came out rougher than he meant it and both Blake and Lizzy glanced at him with uncertainty. “Have you heard anything?”

Blake stood. “As soon as I heard what had happened, I went to the sheriff’s office. The sheriff is a good, honest man, and a friend.” He shook his head. “But he couldn’t tell me who claims to have seen the murder. The name has been kept even from him. For the witness’s own protection, apparently.”

“His own protection?” Lizzy frowned. “But who would…Oh.” Her gaze lowered to her lap but not before she glanced at Rafe beneath her lashes. Her fingers twined together, the
knuckles white. She thought he would hurt the witness to get him to retract his statement. Perhaps even kill him.

She was right. He would. Did that make him a monster?

It seemed it did, in her eyes.

Blake cleared his throat. “I’ll keep asking. Someone might know something.”

“Thank you,” Rafe said. Blake appeared to be a good man, capable, someone you wanted on your side. Rafe would have to trust him.

“I did learn one or two things that may help.” Blake glanced at his daughter, playing with a wooden spoon and pot the cook had given her, and beckoned Rafe out of earshot. “There was no weapon found in Gripp’s office, but he was killed cleanly with a blade to the throat.”

Clean meant the murderer knew what he was doing. “Anything else?”

“I asked some of the people who worked for him if they saw anything. It seems many of them saw you and Lizzy with Gripp that morning but no others either arriving or leaving after you. Not much help, I’m afraid.”

“Actually that’s very helpful.”

Blake raised an eyebrow in question but Rafe told him nothing. No one in London knew about his job as an assassin working for Hughe. And no one must find out, not even James. If they thought he was little better than a thug when he was a mercenary, what would they think knowing he’d been an assassin? James would be ashamed of him, Lord Liddicoat would end his employment before it began, the Privy Council would want to either recruit him or behead him, and Lizzy…Lizzy would be even more afraid of him. No one must know. Besides, Hughe’s, Orlando’s, and Cole’s safety depended on their anonymity.

He had to stop Barker.

“Lizzy,” Rafe said, “we must go.”

She nodded sadly.

“Wait here,” Blake said and left the kitchen.

Lizzy rose. “I need to speak with Blake,” she said and followed him out.

“She’d make a good mother, that one,” the cook said, picking up the little girl.

“Uh, yes. A very good one.” Rafe coughed and crossed his arms but that made one of his grain-breasts shift to the left. He dug a hand down his bodice and rearranged it.

The cook erupted into a fit of snorting giggles.

“Blake,” Lizzy said upon entering his study. “A word, if you please.”

“Of course,” he said, unlocking a casket on the desk. When she didn’t respond, he glanced up. “What is it, Lizzy?”

“You don’t seem too concerned that Rafe and I are forced to spend time alone with each other.”

“Are you worried he’ll betray his brother’s trust and…” He cleared his throat and the skin above his ruff reddened.

“No! Not that. But…do you know the story behind his departure from London years ago? You can’t possibly or you wouldn’t be so relieved that he is with me now.”

Blake replaced the casket lid and came around the desk to hold both her hands. “I know what happened. As much as anyone does, that is.”

“And you’re not afraid?”

He smiled. “I’m not afraid. You were a child then and probably weren’t made aware of all the facts. Perhaps if you were, you’d feel safer around him.”

“The fact is, he almost killed his own stepfather.”

“True, but he never hurt anyone else, including James or any of the witnesses to his crime.”

“What about the fights he was rumored to have started at the alehouses before that day?”

“I thought we were dealing with facts, not rumor. Listen, Lizzy, Rafe Fletcher is a capable man and that’s what you need now—someone who can take care of you. Besides, if James didn’t trust him, he would hardly have asked Rafe to take care of you in his absence.”