To Wed a Scandalous Spy (38 page)

Thaniel knows his duty
. The words went through Nathaniel like a spear. Could Randolph have
known
? All along, could he have known that Nathaniel was working for the Crown, that taking the blame for the Knights of Fleur had been an act of patriotism?

He'll know that I'm only doing mine.

Balm settled over something old and raw inside Nathaniel. Randolph had known somehow, possibly even about Nathaniel being a member of the Royal Four, and was only doing his part. Not daring to know more than his own assumptions because of himself as security risk, not willing to compromise Nathaniel's sacrifice with any public sign of forgiveness, Randolph had been
supporting
him, in the only way he'd believed available to him, by going along with the sham completely.

Nathaniel shut his eyes hard for a long moment.
Randolph, you bloody idiot. You would never
—could
never—
have failed me
.

When he opened his eyes, Nathaniel saw Willa gazing at him with warm sympathy. She could not possibly know what was going through his mind, but it was likely she could tell something had relieved his mind, for she smiled softly, gladly, just for him.

Victoria raised her head, a spark of anger in her eyes. "But Randolph never felt the same about me then. He told me that he rejected you in part because he wanted to keep you away from me. Me! Can you imagine?"

"Do tell," drawled Myrtle.

"Randolph never truly spoke to me again." She let her shoulders fall as if she'd dropped a great load. "So, yes, when he died he knew the truth."

Willa said nothing, only gazed at Nathaniel over his mother's head. He closed his eyes for a long moment, then took a deep breath. "I wish you joy of the money promised you, Victoria," he said quietly. "I see that you have reasons for your dissatisfaction in life. I pity you and I do hope you find some. I don't blame you for your actions, but I must confess… I don't love you for them, either."

"Oh, Nathaniel. I—you must understand that I did my best by you—"

Nathaniel watched his mother through eyes that saw the good and the bad clearly. She was an angry woman, who had suffered many disappointments, it was true—but she had chosen to wallow in her bitterness of her own volition.

"Victoria, perhaps someday—but if you please, not now." He turned to Willa and bowed shortly. "Willa, Myrtle—if you will excuse me, I wish to be alone."

He turned and left them there without a word.

Daphne wasn't happy.

Of course, she was rarely satisfied, even at the best of times. There was always something else she wanted to acquire or someone else she wanted to best or to impress.

The drive to the country was not going well, what with the carriage wheel becoming lodged in the mud and developing a break, and they had been forced to alight only a few hours from London.

She flipped aside the simple muslin curtain that covered the single window of the inn room Basil had secured for them. She gazed down at the town in boredom. Wakefield. From here it looked like little more than a mud hole.

The dissatisfaction increased. So she turned to Basil, who was lounging in a tatty chair by the fire with his eternal brandy glued to his hand.

"Basil, I wish to go shopping."

Basil stood willingly enough. She could always count on Basil to do as she wished. Boring, but useful. In the mirror atop the chest, Daphne paused to correct her hair. The glass showed her what it always showed her. She was beautiful. Then her fingers slowed in their motion as she tucked a strand of hair away.

She was more beautiful than Willa. So why was Willa so irresistible to Thaniel and nearly everyone else who met her?

Daphne was the beauty. Daphne was the elegant one, the refined one.

Could it be that everything she'd ever been taught to be was a lie? Could it be that being the most agreeable, the most beautiful, the most fashionable woman in sight would not make her content?

So what was beauty worth, then? Daphne had always depended on her beauty. Daphne Danville, always the absolute glass of fashion. For what?

To be attractive? To marry well? She was the most attractive, she knew it, yet she'd married second-best, there was no denying it.

She gazed at her familiar, perfect, beautiful face in the mirror.

Willa wasn't actually beautiful, but she was still admired. If Daphne's beauty were gone, would anyone admire her?

Then she shook off the silly thought. She was just as she should be. She took Basil's arm and left the inn.

A couple passed them, vaguely familiar but inconsequential. Well, this was the best road north. Not surprising that they should spot a few familiar faces. The man and woman looked at them curiously, then whispered together as they made haste down the walk. Daphne smiled slightly with satisfaction. Even in mourning, even in a backwater like this, she was making a splash.

Basil belched. She cast him a reproving look. He shrugged.

"Sorry, love, but what do you expect when you drag me for miles when I've not had time to digest?"

"Do not be common," she murmured as she motioned for him to open the door to the milliner's. "And please do not call me 'love.' You sound like a Cockney chimney sweep."

Then she swept into the shop and made her seat very prettily, arranging her gown about her with practiced grace. Not for her the standing at a counter, haggling over pennies. The milliner rushed over, her gaze admiring. Daphne preened. She knew she looked a picture.

She had better. She had spent all of Basil's quarterly allowance on this ensemble. Of course, that was if one didn't count the mink-trimmed mantle she wore. That was most of next quarter's allowance.

It scarcely mattered, anyway. When Basil's aunt Myrtle passed on, she, Daphne Danville, daughter of an upstart shipmaster who had bought himself a knighthood, would be one of the wealthiest women in England.

Posing exquisitely in the window of the shop, pouting prettily at the offerings of the milliner, Daphne dreamed of the day she would be one of the pillars of the
haute ton
. Then she heard the whispers from the two women at the counter.

"So romantic! Lord Reardon is a hero! And they say he saved his new fiancée from a pair of innkeeper's sons and she fell in love with him immediately! Willa—isn't that the most adorable name?"

Willa? Lord Reardon a hero?

"What? What is this? What are you saying?" She gazed over at the faces that now turned to her.

She, Daphne, was the acclaimed beauty of two Seasons running, who had managed to throw the fete of the year two evenings past, and was gowned like a queen—and the center of the social storm was still
Nathaniel and Willa
?

She stood, her lips parted in protest. "But… Nathaniel is a traitor! His wife is a… a tavern maid!"

"Not according to what we've heard," one of the women said archly. "Lord Reardon and the lovely Willa, who they say is a favorite of the Prince Regent's, by the way, are the most romantic tale ever! He was so brave, like a hero of legend," the woman sighed theatrically.

Daphne was scarcely able to breathe. As it was, the woven straw crackled in her fist. "Willa Trent is a common, overblown country mouse who could only attach a man by knocking him out with a rock!"

"I heard that rumor, too," said the woman. She sniffed. "But I never believed it."

"No, not for a single moment," declared the first woman. Then she peered more closely at Daphne. "I know you. You jilted Lord Reardon, abandoned him in his hour of need!" The woman sneered. "I'm terribly sorry to inform you, but your husband's cousin is by far the handsomest, most heroic gentleman London has ever seen. If you don't think so, then perhaps you are the traitor here."

The two women approached them, eyes narrowed. Even the milliner stepped forward to snatch her bonnet back. "I'll not serve the likes of you!" she hissed at Daphne and Basil.

Oh dear. Basil leaned close. "Time to go, love."

They left the shop hurriedly, then slowed to walk more normally back to the inn.

"The gall," Daphne said heatedly to Basil. "When we inherit from Aunt Myrtle, and buy our house, I am never allowing those women to step foot in it. I will cut them at every event. I will—"

"Ah, about that," Basil said breathlessly. "It seems Myrtle did not take kindly to the way you wouldn't call off the ball when Randolph went down."

Daphne turned to Basil in horror. "What?!?"

"She cut us off, I'm afraid," Basil said sadly. "But don't fret, pet. We can still live on my expectations—"

Daphne could not control her hand. It flew up and struck Basil across the cheek, right there on the street, like some sort of common… common tavern maid! "Basil, you don't have any expectations! Thaniel and Willa are going to have a passel of sons and you'll be last in line. Haven't you seen the way they act together? He's her willing slave, idiot male that he is !"

Basil put a hand to his cheek. "Idiot," he repeated dully.

That's when the first handful of mud struck Basil. It burst on his chest, splattering Daphne's gown and mantle and staining them forever.

Alone in his father's study, Nathaniel sank into the large chair and put his face in his hands.

To know that Randolph had even doubted the story would have been a comfort—to learn that he not only had suspected the truth but also had acted in part to assist the cover, that was a heavy weight from Nathaniel's heart.

To lighten his pain further, Nathaniel tested the depths of his other old resentment of Simon, the replacement son. Oddly, he couldn't seem to find it anywhere within him. Simon had proved to be more brother, or at least comrade, than Nathaniel could have dreamed was possible.

So much of his pain had been eased, so much of his burden lifted… it was going to take some time to remember the man he had been before. If that was even possible.

A short time later, Ren Porter limped into Randolph's—no, Nathaniel's study now—without knocking.

Although he'd actually been contemplating leaving to tell Willa the things he'd unraveled, Nathaniel narrowed his eyes. "I believe I left word I was not to be disturbed."

"You can brood later. I have a few things to say to you at the moment." Ren eased himself down to a chair without being invited. He looked vastly better, although he was still pale and weak. The dramatic facial scars still showed dark on his pallor, but his eyes seemed steadier, purposeful. "First, I thank you for your hospitality, but I think I should be on my way."

"You need not go. I think we would all like for you to remain until you are better. Willa especially."

"Hmm." Ren looked away. "No, I think it is best I leave."

Nathaniel spread out one hand. "As you wish. Where will you go?"

Ren smiled wryly. "Didn't you hear? Simon caught me up on my family matters. While I was sleeping, it seemed, my cousin died and left me pots of coin. There's even a tidy little estate in the Cotswolds that I've never seen. I thought I'd hire my own carriage. If I go slowly, I think I'll make it there alive."

Nathaniel refrained from commenting on the private travel. If Ren felt it necessary to hide, that was his business. Who was he to force someone to face his demons? "And the Liars?"

"I'm not ready yet." Ren looked down at his hands. "I have some things to carry out."

Nathaniel couldn't deny that the man had some healing of his own to do. "I wish you well of it, then," Nathaniel said mildly. "You know you may return to us at any time."

Ren gave a short nod. "Second, I wanted to warn you… Well, perhaps there is no point."

"Warn me of what?"

"It is simply that… Basil came to me the night of the fire. He seemed entirely interested in my further plans for doing you in."

"Ah. I am both surprised and not surprised. Frankly, I'm stunned that Basil would actually exert himself." Nathaniel smiled wryly. "How nice to know he cares."

"Keep your eye on him, then." Ren leaned back in his chair. "How did you ever manage to survive this family, Reardon?"

Nathaniel shook his head. "It's a gift."

"No," Ren said shortly. "Willa is a gift."

Willa was a bloody divine intervention. One that Nathaniel was very worried he was going to waste. Could he balance what his father could not? Could he be the Cobra and be the man whom Willa loved?

The memory of Victoria's acrid bitterness stung his throat. If he did that to his lovely, giving Willa—if he turned her sour with his secrets and preoccupation—that would be more betrayal than Lord Treason had ever accomplished.

"A gift," Nathaniel murmured. "That she is."

Ren locked his fingers over his stomach. "One you had best appreciate. If you don't, you might find that I will."

Nathaniel's gaze locked on Ren's. "You're in love with my wife, Porter?"

Ren didn't flinch. "Can you blame me?"

Nathaniel actually felt a moment of sympathy for Ren. Willa was a force of nature. A man caught in her beams had little chance of surviving unchanged.

Then the moment of commiseration dried up and male protectiveness took over. Willa was his. "Thank you for visiting. Now, I hope you understand if I rescind my previous invitation. In fact, forgive me if I wish you far away from here."

Ren bowed his head. "Of course." He stood to leave. At the door, he turned. "Just you remember what I said. If I ever find out you've devastated that fine woman… well, there's a few things I learned from the Liars…"

Nathaniel shook his head. "If I destroy her, I'll be the first in line. You'll have to take your turn."

Ren nodded sharply. "Good." Then he was gone.

«
^
»

Willa had never felt less as if she belonged in a family.

Victoria was busily choosing fabrics for her mourning wardrobe and readying herself for the purchase of a small house of her own with the allowance that Myrtle had promised her.

"In Brighton, I think," she'd stated in an offhand way, as if there were no pall of awkwardness over the supper table. "London is too concerned with the Marriage Mart. I've done with all that."