The Secret Heart, page 13
“Oh, excuse me,” she gasped. “I am in your way. I just turned my ankle, and the weakness made me clumsy.”
His eyes sparked annoyance. She had the feeling that if other people’s attention had not been attracted by her cry, he would simply have walked around her and carried on his way after Millie. As it was, he had to ask solicitously after her wellbeing and make sure she could put her weight on the ankle before he strode off.
Lily, satisfied she had given Millie enough time to reach the protection of the house and servants, met Torbridge’s gaze and received the faintest nod of acknowledgment. As usual, his face betrayed little, but something about his posture was undoubtedly grim.
He caught up with her before she reached the house and held her back from the group she had been with. “What happened?”
“He treated her the way some men feel entitled to treat the taproom maids.”
He swore under his breath. “You had better say nothing to Masterton.”
“Will Millie not tell him? Will he call Pennington out?”
“He would, which is why Millie won’t tell him. We’ll have to watch out for her until I can deal with Pennington.”
Short of a duel, she couldn’t quite imagine how he could deal with Pennington, though somehow, she didn’t doubt that he would.
“Lily,” he said abruptly. “Have men treated you that way?”
“In the taproom? Occasionally. But unlike many, my father made sure I didn’t have to put up with it. He kicked out anyone who laid a finger on me. As a result, the other girls are largely left alone, too.”
He strode faster, and she followed, wondering miserably if her revelation had tainted her in his eyes.
She found Millie alone in her bedchamber, waiting, she said, for Prince to come and help her change. Lily unfastened the riding habit for her.
“Has he done such things before?” Lily asked bluntly.
“Of course not. I would not be here if he had. As it is, I would have imagined it was merely accidental if I had not seen the look in his eyes.” She shuddered. “Why are men so…disgusting?”
“Sir George is not disgusting.”
“Not to me,” Millie said with enough wistfulness to make Lily frown.
“You believe he isn’t faithful?” she asked.
“How can I tell? He is gentleman enough to maintain discretion, but if he does not touch me…” Millie waved the rest away with impatience. “It needn’t mean anything. But none of them are angels.”
“Not even Lord Torbridge?” she asked and hated herself.
“Oh, he plays by the rules, and he is not married, so who cares? I am married. Did I ever do anything to make Pennington believe that anything beyond civilized flirting was acceptable to me?”
Lily, who did not quite understand the rules, merely shook her head. “I think the question is rather, why did he do such a thing now?”
“Because as the guest of his mother, I cannot make a fuss without creating a scandal and appearing ill-mannered to boot.”
“Then we must make sure you avoid him. Lord Torbridge will help, and perhaps you should also confide in your sister.”
“I thought he was my friend.”
Whil, lonely and untouched by her husband, she had soaked up his admiration like a sponge. His apparent admiration.
Frowning, Lily asked, “Have he and Sir George ever quarreled?”
“Lord, no, they move in different circles, and George is not the kind of man to easily give or take offense.” She paused in the act of pulling pins from her hair. “He and Torbridge knew each other at school. Pennington was a few years older, but I don’t think he was kind to Dolph.”
“Did Lord Torbridge tell you that?”
“No, Pennington did. He seemed to think it was funny.”
And still, you called such a man friend? Lily thought indignantly.
In disbelief, Millie said, “You think in flirting with me, he was merely carrying on a childhood quarrel with my brother?”
Lily shrugged. “Not really. It would make more sense if it had been Torbridge being unkind to Pennington at school. I think he is probably just not a very pleasant person.”
“I could have found a better flirt,” Millie observed with a sigh. “Or none at all.”
Lily leaned closer. “Tell Sir George how you feel. About everything.” With that, she hurried out to change her dress, for Prince had just come in.
At luncheon, she was a little too gratified when Torbridge sat beside her. However, he spent at least as much time talking to the charming widow on his other side as he did talking to her. Piqued, she smiled at the young man on her other side. She didn’t even know his name.
Only as she made to leave did Torbridge stand and murmur, “Library,” under his breath.
She gave no sign of having heard him, but she knew what he meant. Jack Hill was working in the library. Although it was a sensible place to work, she couldn’t help feeling it was somewhat public for sensitive information, especially if one meant to betray it to the enemy. Anyone could wander in there, as indeed Lily meant to.
After luncheon, most of the guests either retired to rest in their rooms or took walks about the elegant formal gardens. A few gentlemen played cards in one of the salons, while a group of young ladies gossiped close by, chaperoned by a severe matron working on her embroidery. Millie spent the time with her sister and her children. Of Pennington or Torbridge, there was no sign.
Lily drifted from group to group as though restless and then wandered around the huge house, looking for the library. She began to suspect that it might get to teatime, with Mr. Hill’s duties completed, before she even found the library. Most of the doors to the great apartments were open, so it was easy to see that none of them were the room she sought. Eventually, she asked one of the footmen.
“Is there a library here?”
“Yes, Miss. This way.” To her delight, he did not have to lead her far to a closed door, which he threw open for her.
“Thank you,” she said and tripped inside.
It dwarfed the library in Brook Street. It even had a mezzanine gallery and an open spiral staircase leading up to it. The ridiculously high ceiling was supported on thick, Grecian pillars. From behind one of those, a frowning Jack Hill pushed back his chair and peered across the room.
He jumped to his feet. “Miss Darrow!”
“Oh, this is where you are working,” she said. “I did not mean to disturb you, but I have finished my novel and thought I might find another here. Do carry on, sir, I shall be gone in a moment!”
Of course, it was not as simple as that, for she had no idea where in the magnificent library to begin looking for novels, and it was easy to be sincerely distracted by other works of history and science. As she moved around, she felt Hill’s gaze on her, as though he was no longer even trying to work.
Eventually, she wandered close to his desk and caught his eye. “Sorry,” she murmured.
Grinning, he stood up again. “You can’t find the novels, can you? I’m afraid my mother disapproves of such reading matter, so she had them all put up there.” He pointed to the gallery.
“Oh dear, I think I would get dizzy up there. Perhaps a travel book would suit me better.”
“Nonsense. What do you like? Scott? Mrs. Radcliffe?”
“One of each,” she said promptly, not having any very clear idea about either of them.
Mr. Hill immediately sprinted across to the spiral stairs and clambered up. Behind the cover of the pillar, Lily finally let herself look at the piles of documents on the desk—almost like Millie’s desk when she had been sorting through the correspondence. But these were much more official-looking documents. She began hastily with the smaller pile. One was a letter to someone at the Turkish embassy, signed John Hill. Under that was a more complicated document mentioning dates, various army regiments, and foreign-sounding places. The name Wellington sprang out at her.
Her heart lurched. Was this Torbridge’s document?
“Have you read Waverly?” Hill called down.
“No, but I would love to!”
The document had a note attached, in the same hand as the letter Hill had signed. This should not have come to me. Send directly to L. Castlereagh.
His footsteps clattered down the stairs, and she hastily recovered the document with the Turkish letter, moved back several paces, and reached for the nearest book on the shelf, a botanical treatise.
“How will these do?” Hill asked cheerfully.
She glanced at them without really seeing them and forced a delighted smile. “Oh, wonderful! Thank you, sir. I shall take them both, and this one, if I may? I’m sorry to have disturbed you…”
She hurried out of the room, just as though she really were sorry, and closed the door behind her. Coming toward her across the empty hall was Lord Pennington.
His smile was not quite pleasant, his bow barely civil. “Miss Darrow. How is it I keep running into you?”
“Bad luck,” she said promptly, “for one of us.”
She spoke from instinct and anger at his earlier behavior, though she softened it almost immediately with a vague smile, worthy of Millie herself. Hopefully, he would imagine her words not rude but simply foolish. Then, clutching her books, she hurried up to her chamber to think.
*
An hour later, she went down to join the others for tea in the drawing room. Encountering Jack Hill on the landing, she said lightly, “Are your labors ended?”
“Ended, bagged, and gone by morning! I may count myself a free man, provided nothing else turns up from London tomorrow! Which book did you read in the end?”
“I read the first line of The Castle of Otranto,” she confided. “Several times. And then I woke up. It seems I disturbed you for nothing.”
“Well, you have them there now for whenever you need them. And it was a pleasure to help. Shall we go in to tea?”
As she turned, she glanced over the banister to the entry hall below and glimpsed a man crossing toward the back of the house in a dignified manner. For a moment, she couldn’t remember where she had seen him before, then realized it was the man who had passed her in the passage leading to her bedchamber last night when she had gone to fetch Millie’s shawl. And that she had not seen him since.
“Who is that man?” she asked Jack, pointing downward.
“That? My brother’s valet. Why?”
She laughed to cover her embarrassment. “Why, he looks so grand, I thought he was a guest I had not yet met!”
Jack grinned. “That’s Francis for you. I couldn’t be doing with such a superior, bossy fellow myself, but he seems to suit Pennington.”
They strolled into the drawing room together, and Lily was glad to see Millie seated on a sofa with Ella.
Lady Pennington presided over the teapots, and everyone helped themselves to the dainty offerings provided. Lily, watching from the corner of her eye, saw a maid speak to Ella, who stood up with a murmured apology and hurried out, presumably to her children. Almost at once, Lord Pennington dropped into the vacant place beside her.
Lily, sitting by Mrs. Bradwell, murmured instinctively, “Do me a favor, ma’am, and ask my cousin to sit beside you on some pretext.” Then she stood, taking her cup and saucer with her, and went to speak to a couple of the younger ladies by the window. A moment later, she saw Millie beside Mrs. Bradwell, apparently deep in conversation, and was satisfied.
Lord Torbridge sauntered in shortly after this, but despite her impatience, she could hardly rush up and tell him everything. It was only later, as they strolled in the gardens, that she found a moment’s opportunity to speak to him in private.
They were both examining the fountain in the center of an open lawn, and no one else was close by.
“If the document was something about the army and Wellington, he has it,” she murmured. “It should be in a bag with the others, ready to be taken to London tomorrow.”
“Still in the library?”
“Probably. He does seem almost criminally open about it all.”
“He is surrounded only by gentlemen,” Torbridge said wryly. He cast her a quick glance. “And ladies.”
“He attached a note to the document saying it shouldn’t have come to him,” she blurted. “Why would he do that if he was sending it to France instead? I really don’t think he is our man.”
Chapter Thirteen
Torbridge had done a good deal of work, tracing the past missing documents to Jack Hill’s hands. The last thing he wanted to hear was that he was wrong. And yet, he trusted Lily’s judgment of character. She had said almost from the beginning that she doubted Hill was a traitor, and this newest evidence of his note did seem to back that up.
What he really wanted now was to sit down on the nearest bench with her and discuss everything, to see what emerged. The sort of conversations he usually had with himself. With Lily’s insight, perhaps they could get further.
But they were on full public display, and he didn’t want Hill alienated from her just yet. So, he turned away, and they began to walk back toward the terrace.
“We’ll talk later,” he murmured, though he wasn’t sure that was a good idea either, for entirely different reasons.
Holding Lily’s barely dressed person in his arms last night was a mistake he could not afford to repeat. The next time—if he allowed a next time, if she did—he doubted he would be able to leave her. Wanting her was a constant ache, blazing into a fire whenever he touched her. Whenever he looked at her. More than that, her presence was becoming so necessary to him that he felt unsettled without it.
Oh, yes, things had reached that point where he could no longer return to the Hart. When this matter ended, he could never see her again.
Unless I find a way to make this work, his brain whispered.
He shut it down at once. There was no way. He could not thrust her into a society where she would be despised and laughed at as the innkeeper’s daughter, who had somehow snagged a marquess. She would be shunned and horribly isolated. Nor could he make her his mistress, depriving her of her own people’s respect.
And yet, her eyes, her kisses, held such heat and passion. For some reason, she wanted him, too. Even here among much more personable and handsome gentlemen. Dear God, he was even jealous of them, of Jack Hill, whose company he had deliberately thrust her into. The whole thing was out of control.
“Lily,” he said urgently before they could be overheard. “If this is wider, if we need to look beyond Jack, you have to be vigilant of everyone.”
Her eyes widened, and a singularly sweet smile dawned on her lips. “You believe me.”
“Of course I believe you. Why do you think I brought you?”
And then they were among people again, and all private conversation came to an end.
*
The evening progressed much like the one before, only Lady Pennington and several of her guests agreed to retire early and sleep late so that they would be fresh for the ball the following evening. And Lily did not sing. He was pleased to see she did not allow Jack Hill to monopolize her company, but spent much of it with Millie, as was only right if she was meant to be her companion. Admittedly, a much favored and indulged companion.
He was glad, too, to see the family subtly keeping Pennington from Millie. He was never allowed to exchange more than a few words with her before she was called away or someone else joined them. Being observant, he also noticed that Mrs. Bradwell had become part of this league.
Shortly before people began to retire, he made a point of being beside Mrs. Bradwell, making idle conversation until they had a few moments of relative privacy.
“You have become quite a friend to my cousin, I think,” he observed.
“Miss Darrow? She is a charming girl.”
“Indeed, she is. And you appear to have found an unusual affinity in a short space of time.”
She inclined her head. “If I had been blessed with a daughter—as well as my two large sons!—I hope she might have been a little like Miss Darrow.”
Torbridge held her gaze. “I don’t suppose you have ever been to the Hart Inn in Sussex?”
She was good. She did not blink. There was not even a twitch of one eyebrow, only the involuntary curling of one finger, which he saw from the corner of his eye. He did not look directly at her hands.
“I doubt it,” she replied calmly. “I don’t care for inns. I prefer to stay with friends when I travel.”
“One can generally be more sure of the sheets,” he agreed. “I only ask because you remind me of a lady I once met there. Incidentally, thank you for looking after my sister.”
“A lady should not be annoyed by attentions.”
“No, she should not,” he agreed.
“Will you excuse me, my lord? I believe I shall retire.”
He stood at once, bowing with perfect courtesy. His brain was busy with possibilities he should not even be considering. Not when he had a traitor to catch.
*
When he entered Lily’s chamber, he could not help being disappointed that she had not undressed for bed. In fact, she wore a shawl held tightly over her breasts, and with a surge of heat, he worked out why. Someone—Prince or one of the chambermaids, probably—had already unlaced her. Her gown, all her clothes would fall off with one gentle tug.
Hastily, he swung away to the window, forcing his thoughts from such dangerous channels to safer, yet more important waters. He almost succeeded before she said abruptly, “My lord, where is your chamber?”
He stared at her. “How very forward of you.”
She flushed adorably. “I’m trying to work something out. Yesterday evening, when I came up to fetch Millie’s shawl, I met a man in the passage. I mistook him for a guest, but in fact, he is Lord Pennington’s valet.”
Torbridge scowled. “Was he carrying a message to Millie’s room?”
“No, for he came from farther along, and he did not stop at my chamber or hers. Are the family’s quarters not all on the other side of the house?”
