The Secret Heart, page 14
Torbridge nodded. “Yes. Pennington’s valet would have little reason to be in this passage unless he was carrying a message. And since all the guests were at that time in the drawing room, it seems unlikely.” He searched her face. “You are afraid he was searching my chamber, which is, in fact, at the end of this passage.”
“Did you see signs of such a disturbance?” she asked him.
“No such carnage as they made of my study. If my chamber was searched, it was done carefully and discreetly. And it would mean our traitor is aware of my position.”
She moved distractedly across the room and knelt by the fire, much as she had last night. “The valet—Francis—could be the connection between Jack and the disappearing documents.”
“Yes,” he agreed, covering his annoyance that she called Hill by his Christian name, “but it’s a thin connection. Here, at least, they are under the same roof. In London, Hill has his own rooms, and it’s not as if the valet could simply wander into the Foreign Office to visit him.”
“But he does look like a gentleman,” she insisted. “At least to someone like me. Or like those villains who upended your study.”
He gazed at her consideringly while he walked to the fire and sat beside her, drawing his knees up under his chin. “The valet as the conductor, the gentlemen as the players… Interesting.”
She was silent, staring at him in expectation, and he followed his urge simply to talk, to share his thoughts.
“If you are right about him, perhaps Hill is innocent of everything except excessive trust, excessive openness. He and his brother meet frequently. Pennington has called on him more than once at the Foreign Office. Hill probably talks about his work. Pennington will listen, so could the valet in certain situations, with or without Pennington’s knowledge. As for Jack Hill, he has all a gentleman’s disregard for servants. He wouldn’t notice the valet’s presence.”
“Then it could be the valet, or Pennington himself,” she said excitedly. “I would not put it past either of them.”
Torbridge shook his head. “No, it has to be both of them. Pennington undoubtedly needs the money, and he has to be involved in the loss of at least some of the documents.”
She nodded. “He has children, too, including a daughter for whom he will need a dowry. He is both proud and desperate for money. Even his dislike of you could be down to the fact that you are richer, even before your inheritance.”
“It could be part of it,” Torbridge admitted. “For the same reason I’ve probably discounted him. I’m wary of attributing guilt to people I dislike. It’s too easy to be misled without logic or evidence.”
“Why do you dislike him?” she asked curiously.
He smiled vaguely. “Oh, children can be cruel. It doesn’t make them bad adults, but the relationships made at school color what comes later. But I think he knows he is doing wrong, and he is distracting himself—or trying to—with unsuitable, even impossible liaisons. Millie is not the only woman he’s pursuing.”
“And the valet?”
“I shall look into him.”
She jumped to her feet. “But there may be no time! The document may be stolen already and about to be sent on its way! We should be watching the doors for—”
“I have people watching the roads, ready to follow.”
A smile flickered across her face. “Of course you do.” She sat back down on the floor opposite him. “Then what is there left for us to do?”
“Find out if the document truly does go back to London, or if it’s removed from the bag first. If it’s the former, either we are rumbled, or I have been completely wrong about the whole thing.”
“Is that likely?”
He shrugged. “In all modesty…no. But it is possible.”
Her lips quirked delightfully, and he found it difficult to look away from them. Kissing Lily was a temptation, an addiction he found increasingly hard to resist. He knew he should go without touching her, and yet he didn’t. Instead, he said, “Lily, were you born at the Hart?”
She blinked. Clearly, it wasn’t what she had expected him to say, but she nodded, a little warily. Perhaps she had grown to dislike reminders of the differences between them.
“And you are the Villins’ daughter by birth?”
She frowned. “Of course I am. Is there any other way?”
“Well, yes. Adoption. Did they adopt you, Lily?”
“No, of course not! Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I’m just speculating. Sometimes I think you are not very like them.”
“Nonsense,” Lily said indignantly. “I am frequently told I am exactly like my mother. I am proud of that.”
“So you should be,” he replied. “Did you go to school in the village?”
She nodded. “For longer than the other children. My mother wanted me to read and write well enough to correspond with guests who might book in advance, and to count well enough to keep accounts.”
“And that is why, with so little practice, you speak with correct grammar.”
“It’s a bit like speaking two languages,” she confided. “One for the local people, and one for more refined guests. I suppose they grew into a mixture, which is how I normally talk.”
“And now you have a third language.”
Her smile was a little twisted. “Lady Lily.”
He couldn’t help reaching out to touch her cheek. “I did not mean to confuse your place in the world or make your life difficult.”
“I’m not confused. I know what I am.”
He smiled. “No, you don’t, Lily.”
At that moment, the bedchamber door opened abruptly.
“Lily?” came his sister’s voice, low but unmistakable.
They both stared at her guiltily.
She stared back, then deliberately closed the door. “Torbridge, what the devil are you doing here?”
“Talking to Lily, of course. We have many things to discuss.”
“Not in her bedchamber after midnight, you don’t.”
“Oh, take a powder, Millie,” he advised. “You know dashed well, there is no impropriety.”
“No improp….” she trailed off and swallowed. “Is that what you would say if you found Pennington in my chamber in so intimate a scene? I don’t think so.”
“I am not Pennington,” he said severely. “Fortunately, I think we’ve discussed all we need to for the night, so I am going to bed. Good night, Lily, and thank you.”
She murmured some incoherent reply as he rose to his feet. He had a feeling she was laughing, and when he glanced back, her eyes were indeed dancing with mirth. He grinned back and departed under his sister’s baleful glare.
*
It was not yet dawn when Torbridge rose, dressed, and made his way down to the library with a solitary candle. Even the servants were not yet abroad, although they would be soon. And then Jack Hill’s bag of documents would be gone.
He kept his wits about him, all his senses on high alert, for these were the last minutes, surely, when the document could be removed. Besides which, he had imagined hidden eyes upon him since he’d arrived here, and Lily’s theory about Pennington and his valet was more than possible. They could be waiting for him in the darkness.
If they were, he could neither hear nor smell them. The library door was closed but not locked. He pushed it open, leaving his right hand free to defend himself, but sauntered in as though he had every right to be there.
He closed the door, listening intently as he raised his candle high, as though examining the bookshelves. He kept up this attitude, until he passed the pillars, which were the only hiding places in the room, and confirmed that he really was alone. Instantly, he strode toward the desk on which lay a leather pouch. Inside, he found a large packet of documents, tied with string and sealed with wax at the front. Making short work of the string, he then eased open the sides of the packet, leaving the seal intact, and slid the documents out.
He went through them twice to be sure. But the Wellington document had gone.
He replaced the papers in the packet, tucked the sides back in, and rebound it with the string before returning it to the bag. He was right. Someone in this house was a traitor.
It could still be Jack, but Torbridge took Lily’s opinion seriously. Now it was up to his men to see who rode out of the estate today. By his guess, there would be two messengers going in different directions. Both would be followed.
Even buried so deep in thought, he knew the moment the door began to open, slowly and silently. Halfway across the room as he already was, there was nowhere to hide. He kept walking and snatched a book from the nearest shelf, ready to hurl it at an attacker if necessary.
A solitary candle entered the room, illuminating Lily, wary, hesitant, and still the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.
Her eyes widened as she recognized him, and she hastily closed the door behind her and rushed to meet him.
“What on earth are you doing here?” she whispered furiously when she stood close enough that he could feel her breath on his chin.
“You know perfectly well, and it’s gone,” he murmured. “What are you doing here?”
She scowled. “Wasting my time, apparently. We did not discuss which of us would come back here.”
“That is true. Blame my sister.” His gaze drifted from her indignant eyes to her parted lips. “For future reference, your duties consist of apparently innocent inquiries and observations by daylight. Creeping about in the dark is mine. But I’m sorry we didn’t get the chance to say a proper goodnight.”
Her breath hitched. “I thought it was most proper with Millie present.”
“It depends on your definition.” He dipped his head slowly, giving her time to avoid it if she wished.
It seemed she didn’t. She tilted her face toward him, and he took her mouth. With their hands full of candles and books, they could not hold each other, but their bodies touched, and he almost groaned as she melted against him.
Somehow, despite the blissful distraction and the imminent danger of discovery, he made a decision in those precious moments. He would find a way, and he would not let her go.
For now, the servants would be moving soon. He broke the kiss with reluctance and led her silently to the door. He looked into the darkened hall before he let her out, and followed her to the grand staircase, where he waited at the foot for her to run back up to her bedchamber.
He climbed slowly after her, an involuntary smile stretching his lips. He had never felt so euphoric in his life.
*
“Dolph, what do you mean by that girl?” Millie demanded.
She had come barging into his room when he was only just dressed, and high-handedly dismissed his valet. Higgins had glanced at him before his departure, but when Torbridge nodded, he effaced himself with speed, leaving Torbridge at the mercy of his sister.
“Nothing ill,” he assured her. “You know why she is here, why I asked you to look after her in the first place.”
“It’s she who looks after me,” Millie said bluntly. “And not just my financial muddles. In truth, I forget mostly that she is not my cousin.” She sat on his bed, frowning at him in the glass as he made trivial adjustments to the folds of his cravat. “But she isn’t, Dolph. You know who she is, what she is, and you can’t ruin her.”
“I know.”
“I’ve seen the way you look at her.”
“I can look,” he said mildly. Kissing might be more reprehensible, but he had no intention of sharing that with Millie.
“She looks, too.”
He met her gaze in the glass, his fingers frozen on the cravat pin. “Does she?” He hoped he didn’t sound as wistful as he thought he did.
“She adores you, Dolph. You have to take care. For her sake and yours.”
“I know.” Abruptly, he rose to his feet and swept up his coat. “Everything will be fine. The Hart, you know, is a lucky house. Shall we go to breakfast?”
He just hoped that the luck would hold beyond the inn’s walls.
Chapter Fourteen
No formal expeditions were planned that day since even more guests were expected to arrive—those not favored with a longer-term invitation. But the more energetic among the party went walking or riding in informal groups. Inevitably, Lord Torbridge was among the riders. Lily was sure he was off to hear the reports of his own men and itched to go with him.
“Stay around the house,” he had murmured as they met at the breakfast sideboard. “I need you to keep an eye on things here.”
She understood he meant Millie as well as Pennington and the valet, and though she was disappointed, she had to acknowledge the sense in one of them remaining behind. There was a strange awareness, a secret excitement in standing beside him in full view of several other breakfast guests with the memory of his kisses still warming her.
Something had changed. She didn’t know what or when, but he meant more than casual kisses or even seduction by her. Perhaps he guessed that she loved him, that she had always loved him. Or perhaps—sweet, heady thought—he loved her, too. It was still impossible, of course, but there was such happiness in being with him, in knowing he returned her feelings, in some measure, at least. She would not think of the future.
Both the Hill brothers seemed to be enjoying a lazy day, emerging for a late breakfast and lounging around with books or idle talk. Lily drifted from room to room, always keeping the windows in view, but she saw no sign of the valet either inside or in the nearby grounds.
Torbridge came back in time for luncheon in the garden, but it was an annoyingly long time before she had the chance to exchange words with him. Only as she returned to the house with Millie, did she find him on her other side.
“Messengers from here, taking the London road at speed,” he murmured. “No sign of anyone else at all. All other travelers seem to be coming here.”
“Why would they keep the document here any longer?” she wondered. “Could they mean to pass it on to someone here?”
“Another traitor? Let us hope not! No, I think rather they’re waiting until we’re all distracted.”
“The ball!”
He smiled and veered off to speak to friends.
Then it had to be the valet who would carry the document, she thought excitedly. For Pennington’s absence would be too noticeable.
*
To save Prince having to rush from chamber to chamber, Millie summoned Lily to prepare for the ball in her room. She felt a little like a doll, letting them dress her and play with her hair. Although she insisted on wearing her one necklace, Prince clipped a pair of small, delicate amethyst drops in her ears without permission, and she was obliged to admit they looked very pretty with the pendant.
Millie, giving up feathers and turban in favor of a jeweled tiara for the evening, looked both magnificent and younger than usual, and Sir George’s appreciative gaze seemed to be all the compliment she needed.
“Ah, here is Torbridge at last,” Millie exclaimed. “Dolph, give Lily your arm, and let us go down.”
But for an instant, Lord Torbridge didn’t move. His gaze was fixed on Lily for so long that she blushed, wondering wildly if the neck of her ballgown had slipped or her hair was sticking up. Then he smiled, and before he veiled them, she glimpsed something like awe in his eyes.
“You take my breath away,” he said, offering his arm. He spoke lightly, a gentleman giving a compliment to a lady in public, and yet the words and that look stayed with her, in danger of eclipsing the real importance of the evening. Pleasure and hope surged as she laid her hand on his arm and walked out of the room.
For Lily, the evening began to seem more like a fairytale than real life. This was her first ball, and it instantly cast all the other society parties and theater events she had attended into the shade. She marveled at the sheer brightness of the hundreds of candles burning in the ballroom’s magnificent central chandelier and in the many sconces about the walls and staircase. Everywhere was decorated with spring flowers and greenery, and the guests glittered with jewels. On the gallery, an orchestra played quietly, a pleasant background to the hum of chatter.
Stunned by the splendor of the sight, Lily murmured, “Oh, goodness. Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?”
“Yes,” Torbridge said.
Immediately, she adopted a more languid air, and he laughed.
Lady Pennington welcomed them formally to the ball, her elder son by her side. The younger hovered close by and all but pounced on Lily for the first dance, which was about to begin.
Lily would have preferred to dance with Torbridge, but since he gave her up at once, there was nothing she could do but accept gracefully and walk away on Jack’s arm.
The first half of the ball passed in a whirl of gaiety. She danced constantly and enjoyed much laughter and amusing talk with her partners. In between times, she remembered to keep an eye on Pennington, who did not stray farther than the card room. If he tried to dance with Millie, he never got near her, surrounded as she was by admirers and family members.
Her one moment of uneasiness came as the supper dance approached, and she saw Jack Hill weaving through the guests toward her once more. Although from the beginning, she had used few wiles to attract him, she had to confess it was what she had set out to do. When she had believed he was a traitor to his country, the feelings of distaste and guilt were easy to banish. Now, she could not but recognize she had treated him unfairly. After all, in the real world, she would do no more than serve him ale and dinner. He would not even notice her.
Torbridge had noticed her. From the beginning, when he had carried the wounded Lord Verne into the inn.
“A waltz, Lady Lily?”
As though she had conjured him from her mind, Lord Torbridge spoke softly beside her, and since it was what she wanted most in the world at that point, she smiled and laid her hand on his sleeve. Neither of them asked permission of Millie, her formal chaperone.
With her hand in his and his arm at her waist, she followed his steps without thought, gliding and turning across the floor to the beguiling rhythm of the music. Every nerve seemed to spark into excited awareness, and yet it wasn’t remotely uncomfortable. It felt very close to bliss.
