The Secret Heart, page 10
“No. I am used to being alone.”
Even as Lily reached instinctively for her hand, Millie laughed and stood up. “Do you not think this is quite a dull party? Shall we go?”
Lily was happy enough to follow her lead, though she hoped the plan was not to go on somewhere else, where they might encounter Pennington. But Millie merely instructed the coachman to take them home.
In the friendly gloom, Lily said, “Are you unhappy, Cousin Millie?”
“Of course not. I am merely miffed at George for not being with us.”
“And at Lord Pennington?”
Millie laughed. “What is the use of an admirer if he is not there to admire? Oh, look, Lily, that is Hay House, Papa’s official London residence.” Impulsively, she reached up and knocked to make the carriage halt.
It was a fine, tall house standing behind a wrought iron gate. It was in darkness.
“Do you know,” Millie said impulsively, “I think I will just fetch those rubies now.”
“Now?” Lily said, startled. “But Lord Torbridge won’t be there, and it looks—”
“Oh, the servants are bound to be up still. It’s only just after eleven.” Millie opened the door and jumped spryly down without the steps. Lily could only follow her.
The hinges of the gate made no sound, and the paths were clearly well-cared for. But still, there was something empty, something lifeless about the house. Were there really servants here?
“When did your parents come here last?” Lily asked, nervous for no valid reason.
“Oh, years ago. My father used to come up occasionally to sneer at Torbridge, but his health has kept him in the country for the last two or three years. Mama does not like London.” Millie lifted the knocker and gave a peremptory rap.
“Then Lord Torbridge lives here alone?”
“More lodges than lives,” Millie said wryly. “I think he comes and goes so often that even the servants don’t know when he’s at home unless he rings for them.”
To Lily’s surprise, the front door opened to reveal a superior manservant, presumably the butler, holding a lamp and looking displeased. However, almost at once, his eyebrows flew up in surprise, and he stood back with a bow, opening the door wide.
“Lady Millie! His lordship is not at home.”
“Oh, I know, Church, isn’t it annoying of him?” Millie swept in, waving vaguely at Lily. “This is our cousin from Ireland, Miss Darrow, who has never seen the house. But I’ve just come for the rubies. I presume they haven’t been moved?”
“No, my lady, but—”
Millie handed him her cloak, which was quickly passed to an underling who had materialized behind him. Lily added her own cloak to the servant’s arm while Church walked into the nearest room and lit a branch of candles and another lamp. It was a large, well-ordered room. A reception room, where less welcome visitors were no doubt deposited while his lordship decided whether or not he was at home.
“Allow me to light the way, my lady,” Church said. “Would you care for some refreshment?”
“Oh, no, we’ll just be in and out. Lily, wait for me here if you wish, or come up and look around.”
Lily, who was sure somehow that the butler would know her for the fraud she was, elected to remain in the soulless reception room. Until Millie and the servants had retreated from her view. She waited a moment or two, restlessly drumming her fingers on the arm of the chair. But this was where Lord Torbridge lived, and she couldn’t pass up the chance of looking just a little deeper, of feeling just a little closer.
She rose and picked up the lamp, walking across the hall, where she discovered a large room filled with books. It, too, had the immaculate air of little use, although a few of the shelves had erratic spaces as though books had been removed and not returned.
Besides this, she found another small sitting room, which had all its furniture in Holland covers. She began to understand what Millie meant about her brother merely lodging here. Nothing in these rooms spoke of his character, his learning, his humor…just his enigma.
She crossed the hall again, moving toward the back of the house, and here at last, she found what appeared to be a comfortable breakfast parlor. The walls here seemed more recently painted and in an unexpected shade of yellow. On a bright morning, she thought, it would look like sunshine.
She moved through the room with greater comfort. She could almost smell that he had been here. There were a few more appealing pictures on the walls, a painting of the sea, another of a countryside scene, and a portrait of a couple from the last century—a man with a gentle face and a sword at his side, and a lady with twinkling eyes.
At the far end of the room was another door, which she opened. And beheld chaos.
*
Lord Torbridge had finished his business with unexpected speed and returned to London just after dark. The household was not expecting him, so he let himself in with his key and walked across the dark hallway with the confidence of familiarity.
Of course, it was always possible that one of the servants had left some obstacle in his path for him to fall over, but it had never happened yet, and it didn’t happen this time. Torbridge was used to the dark. He liked it because it saved him pretending, even here with only the servants to see him.
Without difficulty, he quietly opened and closed the breakfast room door and walked straight toward his study. There he paused, for a faint but definite light showed in the crack under the door. A muttered expression of disgust preceded a dull bump of something hitting the floor. Another voice hissed angrily for silence.
Not the servants, then…
Torbridge set his hat on the table and flexed his fingers before taking a tighter grip of the cane he carried. Conscious of a suddenly fierce longing to assuage his frustrations in a fight, he walked silently to the door and threw it wide.
It was as well they had brought a light, for he could never have walked safely, let alone fought over the upturned furniture, and the books, ledgers, and papers strewn across the floor. He had time to take in that there were two of them with a shaded lantern, and that his favorite brandy decanter was in pieces by the fireplace. And then they flew at him.
Torbridge waited no longer but rushed forward to give himself momentum, crashing straight into one man while he struck the second twice with his cane. Falling back as the second man fell, he turned on the first, who had produced a pistol from his shabby great coat.
A gun changed the nature of the proceedings. If they were both armed…
Torbridge twirled the cane and slammed it into the wrist of the armed man who yelped and dropped the gun. From nowhere, the second man dived in and threw himself at the pistol on the floor. Torbridge whacked him on the back of the head, and he slumped over the weapon. Fortunately, it didn’t go off.
But with fury, the first man launched himself at Torbridge, knocking him over and wrapping his fingers around his throat. Torbridge bucked and rolled, elbowing his attacker in the face, which served to loosen his grip. Then it was Torbridge on top. His stick was useless at such close quarters, so he sent it rolling across the floor. Then he struck his opponent on the chin hard enough to make his eyes roll back in his head.
With one hand, Torbridge reached up to the desk drawer where he kept lengths of rope for just this kind of purpose. His sore knuckles knocked against the open drawer, which, of course, no longer had anything inside it. Reaching around the floor, he eventually found what he wanted, and heaved his victim onto his stomach just before he began to struggle. Torbridge twisted his arms relentlessly and tied them, then his viciously kicking feet.
“You’re dead!” the bound man uttered.
“Not even close,” Torbridge said and stuffed his handkerchief into the man’s mouth.
Rising, he found some more rope and bound the still unconscious man before lifting him somewhat gingerly off the unfired pistol. He picked that up and placed it in his desk drawer. It seemed almost ludicrous to close the drawer so tidily amongst all this mess.
He put the sofa back on its feet and dragged both men behind it and left them on their fronts. Then, with a sigh, he stepped over the carnage, cleared a space on the sofa, and sat where he couldn’t see his captives.
One matter had just been concluded with efficient success, but it seemed the larger picture was shattering. He did not believe for one moment that these men were normal burglars. They had taken nothing, and they must have known that all the most valuable trinkets were upstairs. Instead, they had concentrated on one unimpressive room where he clearly worked.
From whom could they have learned that?
From whom could they have learned that he did anything of importance at all? And what exactly had they been looking for? He would ask them when they had time to wake up properly and stew for a bit. Perhaps tomorrow.
He glanced with some irritation toward the broken decanter lying in a sticky pool of brandy. Then he laid his head in his hands and tugged once at his short hair. He had begun all this, had insisted on doing it alone. He had no right to feel so isolated. He didn’t even know what he wanted, except, for some reason, it seemed to have Lily’s face.
And then, some faint sound made him look up. And there she was, staring at him.
That she should be here, now, was so unlikely that he blinked to clear the hallucination. But she didn’t vanish. Instead, she almost jumped over the obstacles in her path, shoving others aside in her hurry to get to him. Before he could rise, she had flung herself at his feet and taken both his hands.
“Oh, my dear, what is it?” she whispered. “What has happened?”
She called him her dear, gazed up at him with such anxiety, such sweet care for him, that there seemed to be only one thing he could do. He leaned forward and kissed her.
God, he had known she would taste like this, like a flood of sunlight into darkness, like fresh flowers in winter, like everything he had ever wanted or needed. He had dreamed of her lips parting and yielding to his, just as they did now. Even before their pretend kiss at the opera, which had been so unexpectedly heady… But he had never hoped her mouth would cling quite so passionately, that she would press her breasts against him and close her eyes.
He could do nothing but deepen the kiss, savoring her breath, the texture of her lips, her tongue, her teeth, exploring and devouring. She flattened her palms on his knees, and he reached up to take her face between his hands, holding her steady for the onslaught of his mouth and the caress of his fingers across her smooth cheeks, the corners of her mouth, her long, graceful throat.
“How very sweet you are,” he whispered against her lips. “Is this sympathy?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know. It’s everything…”
Enchanted by her inarticulate answer, he sank his mouth into hers once more. Her hand lifted to his cheek, stroking with a shy wonder that almost broke his heart.
What in God’s name am I doing?
Something thudded against the legs of the sofa, and she gasped, drawing back in startlement. “What is…?”
His first instinct was to prevent her from jumping up and peering over the back of the sofa, but in truth, he was rumbled, and there was no way he could prevent her seeing—or at least asking.
She knelt beside him and peered down at his captives with shock. She closed her mouth and swallowed. “Who are they?” she asked with commendable calm.
“I have no idea,” he admitted.
She frowned, and to his surprise, reached for his hand again, peering at the split knuckles she must have felt already. Her gaze lifted to his. “You did this to them?”
“They made a mess,” he said mildly.
“I can see that would be annoying. Have you sent for the Watch?”
“Why, no, not yet.”
She sat back on her heels. “You won’t, will you?”
“Probably not,” he admitted.
“You’re not meant to be here,” she said, as though just remembering.
He blinked. “I’m not meant to be here?”
A breath of laughter shook her, and he wanted to kiss her again. “I came with Millie,” she said. “She wants the family rubies to take to Pennington Place.”
“And she just had to collect them at midnight?”
“Well, it’s not quite midnight,” Lily excused her, “and I expect she’ll be busy tomorrow.”
“I expect she will.” Pulling himself together, he rose and held out his hand to Lily.
After a moment’s hesitation, she took his hand and twisted around to stand beside him. He led her inexorably to the door, and she picked up the lamp she had brought.
It gave a pleasant glow to the breakfast room when he closed the door.
“It upset you,” she said quietly.
He dragged his hand through his hair, trying to shrug it off. And yet, he answered her as he would no one else. “I feel it falling apart. There should be no reason for this. No one should know to give me even a second glance.”
“You have kept it secret, I think, for ten years.”
Oh, yes, there was more reason than her beauty for his infatuation. The girl was altogether too quick, too perceptive. Much as he did, she put tiny pieces of information together and learned more than the sum of the parts.
“But you had to reveal something of yourself over the last year,” she murmured. “To Lord Verne, and therefore Lady Verne. To Madame de Renarde. To Captain Cromarty. To Sir Marcus Dain. None of whom would betray you any more than I,” she added hastily. “Or my father, who knows you are more than you appear. But word travels. A careless word, something overheard, a rumor.”
He nodded. “And so, the illusion shatters, and I am useless.”
“Why?”
His brow contracted.
“Does it matter if people know? It is not you, surely, but those who work for you, who need to be covert.” She drew a shuddering breath. “And as for assassination by the French, surely if you are in the open, you can be openly protected?”
“And hemmed in by that protection,” he felt compelled to point out.
“I do not that think it is beyond you to get around that.”
He gazed at her, reading her open faith in him. Her eyes faltered, and he smiled, reaching up to touch her soft cheek one last time. “You do amaze me, Lily. How did I ever manage without you?”
“Lily!” came Millie’s voice from the hall beyond. “Where on earth are you?”
Lily moved toward the door, then glanced back at him. “Aren’t you coming to greet her?”
He shook his head. He had things to do. In the study.
Perhaps he imagined she was disappointed. So was he. As the door closed behind her, he knew she would not mention meeting him here to Millie. But five more minutes of her company would have been infinitely preferable to the task ahead.
Chapter Ten
Although it rained for most of the journey to Pennington Place, they had set off early and arrived in late afternoon sunshine. This was what the last two weeks had been leading up to, and Lily was excited. This was where she could really help Lord Torbridge.
And if she dwelled too long and too often on his wild, passionate kisses the night before last, at least she knew better than to take them seriously. It had been a moment of weakness for him. She understood that. She knew that gentlemen kissed and even bedded without much meaning. But still, she could not help but treasure his tenderness.
She had steeled herself to ride opposite him in the carriage all day, hiding her heart. But in the end, he had driven himself in his curricle while the rain battered off his hat and great coat. They had met only during pauses to change horses and enjoy rushed refreshments.
“He’ll have pneumonia by the time we get there,” Sir George had observed.
“Torbridge is never ill,” Millie had replied in a distracted kind of way.
And then the sun had come out when they were already on Pennington land, and they could see the magnificent house rising up from the most beautiful park Lily had ever seen.
“Oh, my goodness,” Lily said, awed. “It makes Audley Park look like a cottage and garden.”
Sir George laughed. “Hardly. And you aren’t meant to have seen Audley Park, are you?”
“No,” Lily admitted, recovering her accent. “In any case, I’ve only ever seen it from a distance.”
Some guests had clearly arrived earlier, for several people had spilled out onto the terrace to enjoy the sunshine. As Lily alighted from the carriage, her legs feeling stiff and awkward from the long journey, she saw Lord Torbrige laughing and shaking the rainwater off his hat as he greeted the dowager Lady Pennington and a few other guests.
Jack Hill strode across to them, grinning. “Welcome! What a pleasure to see you here. I was beginning to fear you wouldn’t get here before tomorrow, but instead, you have brought the sunshine with you. Will you be shown directly to your rooms, or would you prefer to bask in the warmth first? I think Torbridge is actually steaming…”
“Let us get rid of our travel dirt, first,” Millie suggested, and immediately a maid was summoned along with two footmen who carried the baggage.
As she was about to mount the steps into the house, something made Lily glance upward. From the nearest first-floor window, Lord Pennington watched them. Although his expression was impossible to read, his gaze was on Millie.
Getting to their bedchambers felt a bit like walking from end to end of an entire town, but it was worth it. If Lily had imagined her room in the Mastertons’ townhouse was luxurious, this one was splendid. Its sheer size awed her, as did the intricate moldings on the ceiling, and the fine silk and velvet hangings.
“Goodness, George, we even have separate rooms,” she heard Millie exclaim.
It was an odd custom of the upper class, Lily had discovered, that they maintained separate bedchambers. Sir George and Millie did at home, which Lily had always thought a shame. She thought sharing a chamber and a bed would make it easier to solve the distance between them.
In fact, when she had washed and dressed obediently in the gown Millie had told her was suitable for the afternoon, she found that Millie’s chamber shared a connecting door to Sir George’s, for he stood in the doorway, in suitable afternoon attire, admiring his wife’s dress. She seemed quite pink with pleasure.
