Unmasked by her Lover, page 17
“But you are very focused on his ring,” she observed. “Because it was the last thing he gave you? Because you have not yet given it to Mrs. Dewar?”
“I suppose so,” he replied vaguely.
“It was taken from you twice,” Aline observed. “And both times, you pursued it at some personal risk.”
“Don’t be silly,” Harry said lightly. “On the second occasion, I merely asked you to return it. It was you who took the risk to do so.”
“Oh, trust me, the risk was yours,” Aline said in a way that made Meg’s gaze jerk to hers. But Harry did not seem to notice. He was still staring at the ring.
“It was over his knuckle,” he said suddenly. “When I found Dewar, the ring was half off his finger.”
Meg’s breath caught. “Or half on.” She reached across and took it from him, ignoring the frisson as her fingers brushed his. “His wife gave him the ring, and he wanted you to return it to her.” She ran her fingertip around the inside. “It is engraved.”
“Yes,” Harry said. “With his wife’s initials and his.”
Meg leaned back, holding the ring up to the sunlight, peering closely. “There it is. M.D. and C.” And something else. Her breath caught. “Harry, did he have a…a dagger, a small blade of some kind?”
“Yes, of course. A small knife for eating and many other purposes. Why?”
“Because something else is scratched inside the ring. Very faintly, so you can’t really feel it, and not elegantly like the other initials. But…” She passed it over to him. “It looks to me like a letter G.”
His eyes widened as he, too, held the ring up to the light. “By God, you’re right.”
“Garrow,” Aline said with satisfaction. Then she frowned. “How did we all miss this?”
“Because it’s not obvious,” Meg excused.
“And because I didn’t put it all together,” Harry said in disgust, dropping his hands into his lap. “Garrow shot Dewar rather than hand over the orders, and as Garrow fled back to Wellington, Dewar scratched the name of his killer, the traitor, on the one thing he knew I would take care of personally. Only I didn’t see it. It never entered my head. And he never spoke of it, only asked me to take it to his wife, which I’d already promised I would.”
“He didn’t know who to trust,” Aline said. “Oh, I don’t mean you, my lord, you were the only one he did trust. But he didn’t trust anyone else not to overhear. An innocuous request and a hope you or even his wife would see his accusation and understand.”
“We might understand,” Harry said flatly, “but it is not proof. The G could be a C with a scratch beneath it. It could even be all scratch if we didn’t know what we were looking for. Despite this discovery, we are no farther forward.”
“But we will be,” Aline said. “He is still here, still waiting for something. Even having decided you are no threat, he is making no excuse to leave early. If anything, he grows more tense, more excited by the day.”
“You think he is still working for the French,” Meg said slowly. “That he is meeting someone here at Calvert Court to give or receive information of some kind?”
“Perhaps,” Aline said, rising to her feet. “I believe we should all watch him. If you wouldn’t mind.”
“I would be happy to return your favor to me,” Meg said, “even if this didn’t affect all of us.”
“You found the scratch on the ring,” Aline replied. “Let us not count up favors! Come, Basil, shall we look for the kittens before the construction of your castle threatens all these plants?”
“It was very clever of you,” Harry said, pocketing the ring once more as Aline and Basil walked away together. “It never entered my head he had taken off the ring and tried to put it back before I found him.”
“You had more to think about. Violence and loss and Mrs. Dewar.”
His lips quirked. “You are a perceptive creature, Meg Winter. In some things.”
“Thank you,” she said wryly. “I thought the fulsome compliments would not last long.”
“I’ve never spoken a word to you that is not true. Are your parents still nagging you to marry me?”
“Actually, no. I think Martha warned them off somehow. And they can see the scandal has not yet ruined me. Perhaps they have come around to the view that it is not necessary. And once we hobble Lord Barden…”
“We will be free,” Harry said with odd intensity, “to do exactly what we wish.”
Sudden hurt clawed at her. Whatever she felt, whatever she imagined growing between them, he was as anxious as ever to be rid of this responsibility. She had dragged him here, obliged him to stay…
His face changed. He reached for her hand. “Meg—”
She jumped up, avoiding his hand. “I’m sure breakfast will be served by now,” she said with a quick, bright smile before she set off back toward the house, without waiting to see if he followed.
Chapter Seventeen
Lady Juliet’s arrival at Calvert Court caused something of a stir. Not for any of the reasons Meg might have expected, but because the largest dog she had ever seen leapt out of their carriage and hurled itself at passing guests on the terrace.
Inevitable feminine shrieks and male shouts followed before a young man jumped down, bellowing, “Gun! Sit!” over the top of all the other voices.
It had the effect of silencing everyone. In the midst of the shock, the massive dog skidded to a halt on its haunches and looked expectantly around at the young man, ears flattened as though expecting approval.
“Good dog,” the man said cheerfully and turned to hand Lady Juliet down from the carriage.
“Oh dear, did Gun startle you?” Lady Juliet said, laughing. “I’m so sorry, but he is perfectly harmless and very good-natured. He just gets a bit excited. Martha!” She greeted her hostess with both hands held out. “Allow me to present my husband, Mr. Daniel Stewart. Dan, this is Lady Calvert.”
Mr. Stewart, who was very handsome in a careless kind of way, smiled disarmingly and bowed over Martha’s slightly bemused hand.
By then, Juliet was embracing Meg. “I only know who is who when I see you side by side,” she confided. “Dan, this is my friend, Lady Meg Winter. She is Lady Calvert’s twin sister, in case you didn’t guess.”
While everyone else scattered toward the house, the dog stood up and strolled toward its masters.
“This is Gun,” Juliet said, patting the huge head. “So-called because he’s liable to go off like a bullet, with accompanying fire. Would you mind him in your stables or kennels, Martha? We couldn’t bring ourselves to leave him behind because he would pine for Dan.”
“He’s big enough to have a stall of his own,” Martha said frankly.
“I’ll take him round,” Mr. Stewart said. “Otherwise, he might not settle.” He snapped his fingers to the dog, and the two strode off after the carriage.
Martha linked arms with Juliet. “My dear, he is the handsomest creature! Where in the world did you find him?”
“His grandfather, Lord Myerly, is a neighbor at Hornby Park,” Juliet replied.
“He’s not remotely like Catesby,” Martha observed.
Catesby had been betrothed to Julia before the scandal struck.
“Not remotely,” Julia agreed happily. “But are you sure we aren’t ruining your party?”
“Not in the least,” Martha replied. “The story is that Meg was here all along, so they cannot accept her and doubt you.”
“Besides, Hazel is here, too,” Meg added, “and we’re still hoping for Deb.”
“Are we really going to draw the snake’s fangs?” Juliet asked eagerly.
“If you mean the regent’s snake,” Martha said, referring to Barden’s uncomplimentary nickname, “then I hope so. We’ll have a private conference tonight, for we expect Barden tomorrow before the ball.”
*
As the afternoon wore on, Meg became aware of a growing headache. Her mind could not be still, torn between worry about traitors, excitement over engineering Barden’s fall, and anxiety over her turbulent feelings for Harry, to say nothing of his for her. And then there was the state of Martha’s marriage. And having to constantly smile for guests and help with the ball preparations.
In all, she was so absorbed in thought that she did not notice the figure lurking in the small dining room until she was yanked inside by the arm.
She blinked up at Harry, who closed the door and turned up the lamp.
“I might have known!” she exclaimed indignantly. “You startled me to death.”
“You are looking a little peaky,” he allowed, searching her face. “But nowhere near death. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. You were meant to notice me like the practiced conspirator you are. What is wrong?”
“Nothing.” She rubbed her forehead absently and stopped when she realized what she was doing. “A slight headache, only. What are we conspiring about now?”
“Just you and me. I think I expressed something badly in the garden this morning, and you have been avoiding me all day.”
“I would have to think of you in order to avoid you,” she retorted.
“Ouch,” he acknowledged. “But I said we would be free to do what we liked, not that I wished to be free of you.”
“Harry, it doesn’t matter,” she said tiredly, turning away. “You and I are old enough friends not to get in a miff for—”
“Just friends?” he interrupted.
Her gaze flew back to his. He stepped closer, his eyes smiling ruefully as he took her hand. “Meg, my Meg, can we please stop beating about the bush?”
Her heart drummed so fast it made her breath tremble. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he said, raising her hand to his lips and kissing first her fingers and then her palm, “that I think we have been beyond friends for many years.”
Poised for flight, she could not make her feet move. She was desperate to hear more.
He cradled her hand to his cheek. “I love you. I have loved you since I was fifteen years old. And now…”
“Now?” she prompted in wonder, for his eyes held her spellbound, even as he leaned closer.
“Now, you obsess me,” he whispered. His breath kissed her lips, catching at her breath. “I want you to be free to choose me for love. As I choose you.”
She gasped as his mouth closed on hers, hot and tender. His arms went around her, gathering her close against him, one hand on her sensitive nape to hold her steady. Her own freed fingers clung to his cheek.
She could not speak. She did not try. Kissing him seemed to say it all. She melted, throwing her arm around his neck in both surrender and demand. One kiss merged into another, and another, until she was smiling and lost in love, in blind, wondering sensuality.
And then, into the daze of happiness, the door snapped open, and her father’s voice said, “Yes, but dash it, Calvert, I can’t allow… Good God.”
Meg tore herself free. Behind her father and Calvert, she saw other shocked, wide-eyed guests.
“Don’t,” Harry said forcefully. He was staring at the duke.
Her father, after his first shock, ignored them both. “Ah, the secret appears to be out. My daughter Meg is engaged to Lord Harry de Vere.”
*
Harry groaned softly. What idiocy had impelled him to propose here? No room in the house was ever free of people for long. But dear God, could His Grace not have stayed out of it for another two minutes? Just to let him propose and be accepted? And she would have accepted. Her surrender was complete. He had won her love, her acknowledgment of that love.
And now, they were back where they had been two weeks ago in Grosvenor Square. He could see it in the appalled expression of her eyes, eyes which only moments before had been clouded with passion and happiness. Now her smile was mechanical as she accepted Calvert’s enthusiastic good wishes. He suspected his own was, too, as Calvert pumped his hand, and the other guests expressed congratulations and happiness in their news.
By the time they managed to escape the room, her lips were set in a determined line that boded ill.
“Don’t worry,” she uttered below her breath. “I will never hold you to it.”
“Can I hold you to it?” he asked ruefully, but she had already slipped away, rubbing her forehead, as though her headache was back.
Somehow, they got through the evening, smiling and chatting, but Harry knew she was miserable, and therefore, so was he.
One pleasant thing about the evening was talking to Daniel Stewart, Lady Juliet’s husband, who turned out to be amusing company and asked intelligent questions about the late war.
Afterward, when they had rejoined the ladies in the drawing room, Martha sat down beside him.
“How did you mismanage that so badly?” she murmured.
“Enthusiasm and bad luck.”
“I told them—my parents—to leave you both alone, and it would happen naturally.”
“I thought you had. Another minute and you might have been right. But now she is so determined not to trap me…”
“She is impossibly stubborn sometimes. Shall I speak to her?”
Harry shook his head. “No. I will fix it.” He just wasn’t yet sure how to go about it.
*
Because of the ball the following night, everyone retired early, which made the inevitable secret meeting in Johnny’s chamber a little simpler. Fortunately, since their numbers were now enlarged to include Calvert as well as Juliet and Daniel Stewart, Johnny had found a couple of extra chairs.
Meg smiled at everyone in general as she came in with Martha. His heart ached for the unique looks of understanding or secret amusement they had always shared. After the years apart, he had grown too used to them again. Along with those other expressions, the delicate flush of her skin that spoke of physical awareness.
Oh, no, he was damned if he would lose all those things if he would let her plunge them both into solitary misery for the sake of her pride or principle or whatever she imagined this foolishness was. Not now, when happiness was within his grasp.
He was no longer the boy desperate to face the French but too unsure to fight for his love. But as his bold plan formed and excited him, he noticed Martha waving a letter with an air of triumph.
“From Mrs. Halland, your Deb,” she exclaimed. “She and her husband are at the local inn. They did not wish to arrive so late and were unsure we could accommodate them. I have already written back to the inn to say they should come up, but we won’t see them before tomorrow.”
“A pity,” Harry said. “I would like to know Mrs. Halland’s story before we make our final plans.”
“She does say she has seen Lord Barden,” Meg offered. “She wrote to us—to Hazel and Juliet and me—but, of course, none of us are where she expected us to be, so the letters have not caught up yet. She will tell us all tomorrow, but she does warn us, Barden is more than merely socially dangerous. He tried to kill Deb.”
Amid the exclamations of horror and outrage, Harry’s hand gripped his knee hard, wondering if he could deal with this without involving Meg or the other ladies at all.
“She was shot only last week,” Meg said, “but the wound is not serious, she says. In fact, she and Mr. Halland were already leaving on their postponed wedding trip when our invitation caught up with her.”
“How strange,” Juliet mused, “that we are all setting out on our wedding trips at the same time. Meg, you must hurry to be married and join us.”
Meg flushed, but she was saved replying by Mr. Stewart, who said, “That’s not really the point, though, is it? He was thwarted and humiliated by both the Sayles and by us. But he was violent with Mrs. Halland. I think he is desperate.”
“I think you are right,” Harry said grimly. “He clearly had a well thought out plan to make everyone jump to his tune and solve all his problems while settling some old and new scores. And none of it has worked out. He is clearly angry and dangerous, and Meg is his last throw of the dice. Whatever he wants of her, he will fight for it ruthlessly.”
Sayle nodded. “I suspect that is so. To be honest, I thought we had convinced him to end his silly game, but he clearly hasn’t. What do you propose, my lord?”
“Harry,” he corrected distractedly. “And I propose we take him by surprise. Which means hiding the presence of all of you until the ball. I don’t want him lashing out until we are ready.”
“Ready for what?” Lady Sayle asked with unexpected eagerness.
“To make him confess in public. Thus, ruining himself and exonerating all of you.”
“Neat,” Sayle said, “if we can bring it off.”
“None of you ladies can be alone with him,” Harry said severely. “Particularly not Meg. Or Martha, since I doubt he can tell the difference.”
Calvert sat up straight, frowning.
“The difficulty,” Harry said, “will be pulling this off without giving him the opportunity to harm anyone.” He cast Martha a quick grin. “I wouldn’t like to spoil your party.”
“Oh, it won’t be spoiled if people are talking about it for months afterward,” Martha drawled. “As for this Barden, he deserves everything he gets, and I shall be proud to be the hostess who helped ruin him.”
“One small matter we should all be aware of,” Sayle said. “Barden is the regent’s snake, and His Highness might not take too kindly to our part in this.”
“Will this harm you?” Harry asked.
Sayle’s brows shot up. “Me? Lord, no. In fact, I’ll be happy to help frame it all in a way that makes His Highness delighted with the outcome. I merely mention it. I believe we’re all happy to follow you in this.”
“Good. Then Martha or Meg will send you word as soon as Barden arrives, and you should keep to your rooms until the ball.”
“I’ll have your dinner sent up,” Martha said, “and make your excuses if necessary.”
“People may still mention us as being here,” Juliet pointed out.
“It’s possible,” Harry agreed, “but if Martha can place him carefully at dinner—perhaps between Meg and Mrs. Garrow—then it is less likely.” He shrugged. “It’s not the end of the world if he finds out. I just prefer shock tactics. Johnny, can we meet here once more, once the Hallands and Barden arrive? By then, our plan should be more detailed.”
