Trapped by Scandal (24 page)

At the end of the lane, she stopped at a small, whitewashed cottage with a neatly thatched roof, a carefully tended front garden dominated by an apple tree, and, most unusually, a gate with a low stone wall separating the garden from the lane. She was suddenly at a loss. Impulse had brought her this far, but what now? There was no sign of the cottage's occupants, no one to ask. The lane was quiet, just the quiet, rhythmic sounds of the farm animals. No sign, either, of William's hackney.

“I'm sorry, William, if I've brought you out on a fool's errand.” Jeanne brought the coffeepot to the table. “But I was anxious . . . and now you're here, I feel as if I overreacted.”

“No, you did right to send for me, Jeanne.” William broke bread into the runny yolks of the eggs on the plate in front of him. “Would you feel safer if I move you and Marguerite to somewhere further in the country?”

Jeanne shook her head vigorously, taking a sip of her own coffee. “I don't think it would be good for the child
to move her again, as I've said before. Not without some concrete evidence of danger. And there's been no sign of the itinerants since the knife grinder.” She shrugged, an elegant movement of her shoulders beneath the cashmere shawl. “I didn't have that absolute feeling of danger, just a nervous, crawling sense . . . I don't know how to describe it.”

“It's called gut intuition,” William said grimly. He took up his coffee. “I would never discount it, but if you don't think it wise to move now, then I'll put a man to watch you.”

“He couldn't stay here,” Jeanne exclaimed, horrified. “What would the village say?”

William shook his head. “No, my dear, of course he couldn't. But my men are trained to be unobtrusive. You wouldn't see him, and neither would anyone else. But you would always know that he was there. Would that give you peace of mind?”

“Immensely,” Jeanne said. “He would be armed, of course?”

“Of course.” He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “You know as well as I do, my dear, that fire can only be fought with fire.”

Jeanne shook her head, doubt in her eyes. “This is such a peaceful village, and Marguerite knows nothing of such evil. Isabelle would not have wanted it.”

“No,” he agreed, his mouth twisting. “She would have hated it. And look where that took us all.”

Into the moment of uncomfortable silence, a voice called from beyond the kitchen door, “Tante Jeanne . . . Tante
Jeanne . . .” And Marguerite burst into the room, her muslin nightgown billowing about her skinny frame. “Oh, Uncle Guillaume, no one said you were coming. Why did no one tell me you were coming?” She directed an accusing glare at her aunt.

“Because it was a surprise,
ma petite
,” William said, making room for her on his lap. “I happened to be passing and decided to drop in and see you.”

“But I was asleep,” Marguerite objected, dipping a piece of his bread into his egg. “I would like an egg. May I have an egg, Tante Jeanne?”

“Certainly you may,” Jeanne said. “But you need to fetch it from the henhouse. Take the basket, and collect as many as they've laid this morning.”

In answer, Marguerite waved her bare feet at her aunt. William lifted her off his lap. “Put on your boots and your cloak, and collect the eggs. It's not cold outside.” For a moment, Marguerite didn't move, her lower lip extended in a distinct pout. William held her gaze in silence, and then she turned and went to get her boots.

“She needs you,” Jeanne said softly, almost under her breath.

“She'll do well enough as long as she's safe.” His voice was harsh, but Jeanne understood why, and her own heart ached for William . . . for all of them.

Standing at the gate, looking at the deserted lane, the cottage's closed door, Hero had the feeling that nothing of significance could ever happen here. And yet, deep in her
inner self, she knew that here in this unremarkable cottage on this unremarkable lane lay the secret to William's heart.

But unlocking that secret was less important than making sure he knew what had happened with Dubois. The Lizard could be plotting anything at this point and William needed to be on guard. She'd taken a risk coming here, but it was an acceptable one, given how careful she had been, and the degree of emergency. She put a hand on the latch of the gate, and the door opened as she did so.

TWENTY-THREE

W
illiam carried Marguerite on his hip as he stepped through the front door, his head turned towards Jeanne, who was following him out.

Hero stood transfixed, her hand still on the garden gate as she prepared to shut it behind her. She didn't know what to do next. The quiet intimacy of the three people in the doorway shook her to her core. She hadn't realized William was capable of being part of such an ordinary tableau. A man, a child, a woman, held in a circle that shouted familial understanding. The woman laid a hand on his shoulder, leaned in to kiss his cheek, and the child's arms around his neck seemed to clutch tighter. And then he turned, a half smile on his lips, and saw Hero. The smile vanished as if it had been erased on paper. His face whitened.

She didn't move, watching as William came towards her, still carrying the child. “How did you get here?” His voice was cold and impersonal, as if he was talking to a stranger on the street.

Hero said calmly, “Hackney. I came in a hackney. I told
the jarvey to wait at the inn. There's something I need to tell you.”

“Go back to the inn and pay him off. Wait for me there.” Nothing in his tone or expression gave any indication that she was anything more to him than an ill-met chance acquaintance.

“Who is the lady, Uncle Guillaume?” the little girl demanded, pushing against him in an effort to get down.

“No one you need concern yourself with, Marguerite.” He held on to her wriggling body and turned his back on Hero. Jeanne had stepped closer on the path, her eyes fixed on Hero with unabashed curiosity. Over William's shoulder, the little girl gazed open-eyed at the stranger.

Hero turned away back to the lane and walked towards the village green and the inn, her skirts gathered above her ankles as she negotiated the puddles. Her mind was alive with questions but she also understood that she had stepped into forbidden territory. William's boundaries were absolute. He had never made any secret of that. But maybe, just maybe, he might learn to understand that those boundaries forbade the emotional commitment that was the only way to any kind of a future for them.

The hackney was drawn up outside the small inn, the jarvey leaning against the traces, his face obscured with his muffler as he picked at his nails with a sharp twig. He glanced up as Hero came close.

“We off, then?” He sounded thick, as if he had a cold.

She shook her head. “No, I'm staying. You may return. What do I owe you?”

“Two shilling.” He held out his gloved hand to receive
the two silver coins she produced from her coin purse. “Thankee.” He touched his cap, climbed back onto the box, and drove away.

Hero watched him go. This was not the moment to run scared. William needed to know what had brought her here. His hackney was standing to one side of the inn, the horse chewing contentedly on a nose bag, a youth in attendance, sitting on a water butt idly sucking on a straw, regarding Hero with a degree of interest.

And William owed her some truth, Hero thought, the image of the man, woman, and child vividly alive in her imagination. After everything they had been through together, after the hours of loving and companionship, she knew two Williams, and if this moment gave her the opportunity to marry the two and discover the one true man, then it was to be embraced.

She walked back down the lane. When she reached the garden gate again, William was deep in conversation with the woman, and the child was picking daisies on the small lawn. She looked up as Hero approached, and ran to the gate.

“Can you make a daisy chain? Aunt Jeanne can.” She indicated the woman talking with William.

“I used to be able to,” Hero responded, leaning over the gate to take the crumpled flowers from the little girl. For some reason, she wasn't able to make herself open the gate.

William spun around at the sound of her voice, and a strange expression crossed his face as he saw what she was doing. He took half a step towards the gate, and then Jeanne laid a hand on his arm and he stopped, turned
back to her, leaving Hero and Marguerite to their flowery construction.

Patiently, Hero split the daisy stems with her fingernail and threaded them together until she had a passable chain, while the child looked on, head tilted with a slightly critical appraisal of her handiwork. “There.” Hero held up the necklace she had made. “May I put it on?”

Marguerite ducked her head as Hero dropped the delicate chain over her. “That's so pretty. What's your name?”

“Marguerite,” said the girl, her head lowered as she lifted her necklace and examined it carefully. “That means daisy.”

“Yes,” said Hero, smiling. She stretched a hand over the gate. “Show me how it looks.” With a forefinger, she tipped the child's chin, and a pair of glowing golden eyes gazed up at her. The jolt of recognition almost took her breath away, but she managed to say easily, “A daisy chain for a daisy.”

Marguerite laughed and clapped her hands. She turned and ran up to William and Jeanne. “See, Uncle Guillaume. I have a daisy chain to match my name. A daisy chain for a daisy, the lady said.”

“Did she?” William voice was flat. Her lifted Marguerite and kissed her, lingering for a moment to inhale the sweet child fragrance of her skin and hair before setting her on her feet again. “Be good, now. I'll be back soon.” He kissed Jeanne on both cheeks.

She took his hand for a moment, but her eyes were on Hero, still standing outside the gate. “You have lost so much, my dear,” she said softly. “Be careful you don't lose any possibility of happiness.”

He seemed to freeze, then shook his head. “I have to do what has to be done, Jeanne. You know that.”

“I know only that you have to do what you
believe
you have to do, Guillaume,” she returned, before taking Marguerite's hand. “I'll look for your guard, but of course, I know I won't see him.” A smile touched her lips before she urged the child inside, and William turned back to the gate, where Hero stood waiting.

“I told you to wait at the inn,” he said, opening the gate. He brushed past her where she stood in the lane, and walked briskly in the direction of the inn.

Hero followed, refusing to run to keep up with his fast stride. She felt her resistance to his anger growing by the moment.

The innkeeper emerged from within at the first sound of their arrival in the yard. “A pot of coffee for your lordship,” he said, with a bow and an inviting wave through the door behind him. “And madam, I'm sure, would be glad of some refreshment.” His gaze was greedily inquisitive as he looked at Hero. It was clear he didn't know where to place her on the social spectrum, but her confident manner suggested a position somewhat at odds with her ordinary dress. Hackney carriages and their passengers were rare visitors to his establishment. It was too close to town for a refreshment stop on a long journey and too undistinguished for a pleasure trip.

“We have no need of anything,” William stated curtly.

The man looked put out. “And what of the horse's feed, sir, and the jarvey had a pot of ale and a cheese pasty?”

William merely handed the man a guinea and turned
away to open the cab door. Wordlessly, he offered his hand to Hero to assist her up into the carriage, then followed her, pulling the door closed behind him with what struck Hero as unnecessary vigor.

He sat opposite her and fixed her with a blazing stare. “How and why?”

Hero folded her hands in her lap and returned his stare as steadily as she could. “I had something to tell you that I didn't think could wait, so I came to Half Moon Street at dawn. I reached your house just as you were getting in a hackney. I overheard you tell the jarvey where to go. You looked worried . . .” Her voice faded for a moment. “I have never seen you look worried before. So, I decided to follow you, but only when I'd made sure it was safe to do so. I went home, waited for an hour, and then I took a cab . . . No one knows where I am or where I was going because I didn't give the jarvey the direction until we were well away from Grosvenor Square.” She paused for a moment under his cold-eyed stare, then repeated quietly, “I had something you needed to know.”

William's gaze was suddenly sharply attentive. “Go on.”

Hero took a deep breath and jumped in. “Last night I met the Lizard at Almack's. I'd never come across him before, I didn't even know he was in London. He asked for an introduction and we danced.” She stopped, twisting her fingers together. “I may have been a little indiscreet and I'm afraid he recognized me from the fishing boat.”

William's eyes closed briefly in the dimly lit carriage. “Indiscreet how?”

She told him, saying at the conclusion of her sorry
tale, “I was a fool to think I could match wits with him. I am sorry.”

His moderate response surprised her. “You're not the first, and unless I can do something about it, you won't be the last.”

There was an uneasy silence for a few moments before Hero said with quiet vehemence, “I'm sure no one followed me to Knightsbridge. I would have noticed a horseman or another carriage, but I could swear there were no other travelers. They would have to have followed me from Grosvenor Square and that couldn't be done on foot. So I don't see how there could be any danger at the moment.”

There was sense in it, William was forced to admit, and if they had managed to avert danger this time then he would be doubly prepared for it from now on. Hero was clearly now in danger, and also posed a danger to every other of his associates. But what was he to do with her? If he sent her to Hampshire, she would merely endanger Alec, Marie Claire, and the baby. But there were other places.

“You're going to have to go away for a while,” he said.

“Go away? Why? Where?”

“You know perfectly well why. I don't know where yet, but I'll put a plan together as soon as I can.”

Hero looked at him, clear-eyed and resolute. “You don't have the right to send me away. I don't belong to you. You've made that abundantly clear, William.”

“And you've made it abundantly clear that you will have no hesitation in interfering in my most private business,” he returned, his voice once more frigid, cold and
flat. “What made you think you had the right to follow me, Hero?”

“I love you.” The statement seemed to make itself, the words she had withheld for so long. She shook her head with a gesture of resigned disbelief. “You were in trouble. I wanted to help if I could.”

She could not interpret the look that flashed across his golden eyes, but when he said nothing, she continued in the same quiet tone, “She's your child, isn't she, William? The likeness, the eyes, it's unmistakable. Marguerite is yours.”

He said nothing, and that silence was affirmation enough.

“She said the woman with her was her aunt, so where is her mother?” She hesitated for a second and then declared, “I have a right to the answer, William.”

“Her mother is dead.” It was a flat and brutal statement.

Hero absorbed the implications of this. “So you were married?”

William gave a short laugh. “What makes you think that? I hadn't thought you so naïve, Hero.” His eyes flared with anger again. “Why do you always appear where you are not wanted, where you can only make trouble?” He seemed to fling the words at her, and she felt them like a body blow.

There was suddenly no more to be said. She had spoken the only truth she had and once again he had rejected her. Winded, Hero turned from him, moving aside the curtain
at the window, trying to conceal the depths of her shocked distress. They were so far apart now that there was no possibility of common ground. And Hero didn't know how it had happened, how so much love and promise could so quickly become a mere chimera. A figment of her naïve and overactive imagination.