Dangerous Lover, page 22
He loved Evelina, and he would always protect her to the best of his ability, but he couldn’t remember when this had changed from responsibility to fun. Probably round about the time Alexandra Battle had come into their lives.
But Miss Battle, it seemed, misunderstood his hesitation. “Your father is too busy today, Evelina. Another day would be better when you are not distracted by new friends.”
Unused to being spoken for, Nicholas blinked. Alexandra glanced at him at last, and her gaze was cold, almost accusing. It shocked him, that look. He was used to her disapproval, her reluctant approval, even her anger. But she had never before looked at him with such ice in her eyes. It shocked him into silence.
Evelina, clearly itching to be up and moving, watched impatiently as Alexandra popped the last morsel into her mouth.
Nicholas said, “Evelina, why don’t you go and wash and prepare for your outing, I would like a word with Miss Battle before you go out.”
Evelina ran happily into the playroom. Alexandra rose and followed her. For a moment, he thought she was actually going to walk out, but she merely closed the door and returned to her chair at the table.
“You shall have it in writing by the end of the day,” she said calmly. “But I wished to tell you in person that I am resigning my post. I shall serve the month’s notice that was agreed, unless you would rather I did not.”
If she had slapped his face, he would have been less astonished. As it was, he stared at her, searching her face for the joke and then for the reason. He learned nothing, for her expression was carefully blank, her eyes veiled. And yet, something about her straight, tense posture told him she was held together by a mere thread.
He sat back, giving himself time to think. “Is this because you feel insulted by my behavior last night? Or, worse, you feel unsafe?”
She waved that aside so impatiently it might have meant nothing. That chilled him more than her coldness, more than her promise of resignation. “We both know why I am doing it, but yes, I owe you the truth, and so I shall tell you everything.”
“That sounds ominous,” he observed, but no light of humor crept into her eyes or curved the lips that had kissed him so passionately.
“The man you asked about last night. The man who visited me.”
“Your cousin,” he prompted as she paused.
She dragged her gaze free of his. “He did not leave yesterday afternoon,” she blurted. “I’m sure you know that, too. He stayed the night in my room. He is not my cousin.”
The pain of jealousy, the fear of loss ripped through his stomach. He had thought she was different, thought he knew her. Damn it, he did not know her, and he would not lose her to some other betrayer.
“Then who?” He tried to keep his voice carefully neutral, years of habit causing him to hide his hurt. It came out somewhat flippantly, but it was better than whining.
And at least, she met his gaze once more, her chin lifting with that little hint of pride that he loved. “My father.”
Relief swamped him like a tidal wave, so forceful that it was several moments before his brain could think beyond the joy that she had not gone straight from his arms to those of a lover.
And then it hit him. He frowned. “Your father is dead.”
She shook her head. “No. We faked his death, his friend—a doctor—and me. In order to avoid the charges of fraud and theft that would have sent him to prison. I took his ‘body’ with me when I left Italy with the Laceys and helped him escape when the ship docked in Barcelona. I did not see him from that day until yesterday when he popped up in the market. He seemed well, said he had money but needed somewhere to stay for the night. I didn’t ask why, didn’t want to know, to be honest, so long as he promised to go away and not ruin my life again.”
He searched her face, no longer quite veiled enough. “Your father hurt you.”
She dashed her hand over her eyes. “My father always hurts me. And yet there I was, pleased to see him and sorry to see him go. Anyway, there you have my crime—less than you thought but no less worthy of dismissal, and so I save you the time. I am sorry, for Evelina’s sake, but I no longer have your trust.”
She sprang up, taking him by surprise once again, “As I said, my formal letter of resignation will be with you by the end of the day.”
She would have bolted to the door, too, except he finally caught up and seized her arm. He stood, towering over her, saw the misery in her eyes, and the desperate warmth he had known was there all along.
“I do not accept your resignation,” he said softly.
She didn’t back down. She stared straight back, making no movement to be free. “Then why are you seeking another governess?”
His heart hurt because she didn’t know. She really didn’t know. “Guess,” he challenged and tugged her hard against him—just as Evelina bounced into the room, and they sprang apart.
“I’ll get my bonnet,” she said shakily as she dashed away.
He wanted to laugh, except it wasn’t quite funny.
*
Griz woke when Dragan’s hand closed around hers. That was not at all unusual. Nor was the spike of hot excitement as he pushed against her. So, it took an instant of complete disorientation before she realized their sitting position was wrong and far too hard and that there was nothing amorous in Dragan’s hold. It was a warning.
Her eyes snapped open. Footsteps had entered the front door of Ricco’s dwelling. It could have been Inspector Harris, who knew they were there, watching from the inside, or one of his men who were supposed to be discreetly watching the outside. Or it could be Ricco himself.
Silently, Dragan flexed his fingers, arms, and legs and picked up the notebook and pencil beside him. They were hiding beneath the kitchen table, with a decent view of Ricco’s hiding place. Early morning light shone somehow through the kitchen window.
The footsteps hurried up the narrow hall and into the bedroom. Griz heard the creak of the wardrobe opening, the swish of clothes hitting the bed. She exchanged excited looks with Dragan. He was packing.
This was borne out when he walked into the kitchen with an open carpetbag in his hand. Dragan gazed at him, unblinking, as his pencil began to move silently and at speed across the paper. Griz concentrated on not breathing.
Ricco, a tall man of distinguished features with black hair greying at the temples, dropped the bag on the floor near his hiding place and tossed his tall hat on the table above them. Griz started, but somehow managed not to nudge Dragan’s sketching arm.
She didn’t recognize Ricco, but she could understand why he had been mistaken for a gentleman. Perhaps he was, by birth. His clothing, too, was decent, the garb of a respectable, wealthy man, only somewhat crumpled and grubby, as though he had worn it for days on end. He had not stopped to change his clothes, so clearly, he was in a hurry. Perhaps he suspected, or even knew, he was being watched and hoped to get away by the surprise of getting in and out so quickly.
He knelt behind the door, by his hiding place, penknife in hand, and froze when he realized the nail he wished to pry up was not there. Cursing beneath his breath, he used the knife to lever up the floorboard instead and plunged both hands into the space, searching dementedly for his treasure.
He hurled himself upright, furiously kicking the removed board, which hurtled across the floor toward the table. Dragan shifted his foot to prevent injury, but Ricco was in no state to notice so faint a sound. He swore, and at length, both hands clutched in his hair.
Then he dropped his hands, glancing furtively toward the window before he bent and fastened the bag and snatched it up. He strode to the table once more, and Griz tensed. Dragan’s pencil stilled.
But Ricco only grabbed his hat and strode out of the room and down the tiny hallway. The front door opened and closed quietly.
“I hope Harris’s men are awake enough to arrest him,” Griz whispered. “Should we go after him?”
Dragan regarded his drawing, which, although not finished, bore a clear resemblance to Mr. Ricco. Griz had known it would. “I think we have to leave the police to their business. Besides, if he somehow eludes them, we have this now to help track him down. Let me just finish a few more lines before they blur in my memory…”
The pencil flew over the paper again. The speed and accuracy of his sketches still fascinated Griz.
“And then?” she prompted, as he slowed.
“And then I think we should go home to bed,” he said deliberately.
Griz warmed and leaned her head on his shoulder—not his drawing shoulder—and he smiled as he scribbled a last piece of shading and put the notebook and pencil away in his pocket.
They crawled out from under the table, and Dragan helped her to rise.
“If he escapes them,” Griz said, “he will surely run to anyone else involved in this business, and Mr. Harris can arrest them all. If there is anyone else, of course. He may just find someone else to rob.”
“As long as they don’t lose him again.”
“Perhaps we should just have arrested him here.”
“Perhaps.” The conversation had got them to the front door. Dragan paused, frowning, with his fingers grasping the handle. “The ‘gentleman’ thing bothers me. It’s as if he has a double life.”
“Well, at least we can prove to Mr. Harris that it is not Nicholas Swan.”
“But it might be someone who knows him,” Dragan opened the door and closed it again behind them before offering her his arm. “Did you not find something familiar about him?”
“About Ricco? Not really. Did you?”
“Yes, but exactly what eludes me.”
Griz finished her careful quartering of the yards, middens, and outbuildings nearby. “There is no sign of him,” Griz noticed with satisfaction. “And Harris’s men have gone.”
“Let’s hope they’re with Ricco and not their breakfast.”
“Breakfast,” Griz repeated happily. “Now there is a good idea.”
“Better than bed?” he inquired.
“Well, no,” Griz said, flushing and surreptitiously stroking the inside of his arm. “Obviously not better than that…”
*
Alexandra was both surprised and alarmed to receive an invitation to visit Lady Nora that morning. Usually, she only went to accompany Evelina, but this morning, her ladyship’s maid brought the invitation to her in the schoolroom and then departed hastily, as if she could not bring herself to leave her mistress for any longer.
It worried Alexandra. Everything seemed to worry her now. That Sir Nicholas was looking for a new governess, that he claimed he would neither dismiss Alexandra nor accept her resignation, that he had kissed her two days ago, that he had not touched her since…except that almost embrace yesterday afternoon, interrupted by Evelina.
Her whole world seemed to be in turmoil. He had joined her and Evelina for dinner last night and had been good company, but afterward, he had made no effort to speak to her alone. She felt in limbo and unable to ask for clarity. What could she say? What do you mean by kissing me? Are we pretending it didn’t happen, or do you expect me to hang around in case you want to do it again?
Even the questions didn’t make sense to her. And on top of that, she was still expected to attend his brother’s ball in Brook Street this evening. Where she would stand out like a sore thumb in her plain green evening gown. She would have to ignore supercilious, pitying, and contemptuous glances and probably blatant rudeness.
From one day at a time, she was down to dealing with one hour at a time.
Accordingly, when she let Evelina have a break that morning, she did not join her but walked around to Lady Nora’s quarters.
The outer room was brighter than normal. Draped over a chair was a rather beautiful silk gown in a gorgeous shade of purple, both unusual and eye-catching. Once, probably not so long ago, Lady Nora would have looked stunning in it. Spencer came out of the inner bedchamber, smiled, and beckoned her inside.
She went, hoping she was not about to discover Lady Nora at death’s door, no doubt with her hand in Sir Nicholas’s, for he would not let her die alone.
But the sick woman was by herself, propped up on a myriad of pillows. She seemed no weaker than before. In fact, there was a sparkle in her eyes that Alexandra could not recall before.
“Lady Nora, how are you?” Alexandra curtseyed and took the proffered chair beside the bed.
“I am excited to hear you are going to the ball.”
Alexandra wrinkled her nose.
“Don’t you wish to go?” Lady Nora asked in surprise.
“To be ignored, save for a few looks of resentment, curiosity, and pity? No, I can’t say I am looking forward to it. I am still hoping my invitation has been forgotten, and I can stay at home.”
“No chance. And I see no reason you would be regarded with pity.”
“Lady Nora, you have seen my evening gown. It is the best I have.”
“No, it isn’t. Spencer, bring the gown,” Lady Nora instructed and smiled at Alexandra’s bewildered gaze. “We are of a similar height and build, I think. Spencer has updated it a little and can finish any minor alterations once you have tried it on.”
Alexandra stared from her to the purple gown in Spencer’s arms. “Oh, no. I couldn’t. It’s much too fine for…”
“For the governess?” Lady Nora said tartly. “Then wear the green. But if you do not wish to be pitied, you will do better in the purple.”
Alexandra closed her mouth.
“At least try it,” Lady Nora said, closing her eyes.
Alexandra glanced wildly at Spencer, who grinned conspiratorially, set the gown at the foot of the bed, and set about unfastening Alexandra’s dull day gown.
Two minutes later, Spencer led her across the room to a full-length mirror, and she stared at herself in wonder. The gown was beautiful, shimmering, perfect in length. Her hair had escaped its pins and had tumbled around her face. She looked like some wealthy, decadent beauty. Spencer lifted her hair, rolling it into the softer, looser style Alexandra had used to favor. The decadence faded.
Alexandra swallowed.
Spencer smiled and led her back to the bed. “My lady.”
Lady Nora opened her eyes, swept them up and down, and nodded once. As her eyelids fluttered closed again, she said, “You will do. You will draw all eyes and brazen it out in style. It can be fun, you know. Good luck, my dear.”
“What if he does not want me there?” Alexandra blurted.
“He does,” came the surprisingly strong response. “Why do you think he made sure you were invited? Why do you think he is looking for a replacement governess?”
Alexandra blinked. She knew a surprising amount for an isolated invalid. “Why?”
Lady Nora smiled without opening her eyes. “Because he has different plans for you. And I will be glad, when I die, to know that he has a friend as well…” Her voice died away into sleep.
“Perhaps the smallest tuck at the shoulders,” Spencer commented. “The rest is fine. I’ll bring it to you this afternoon.”
*
Nicholas was playing hide-and-seek with his daughter in the garden and wishing Alexandra would join them when Dragan Tizsa strolled out of the house to join him.
He was still counting up to fifty while Evelina hid. “Tizsa,” he interrupted himself. “You find me on important business.”
“So I see.”
“Has Harris come to arrest me?”
“No, because I’ve seen our Ricco, and he isn’t you.”
Nicholas glanced at him. “Is he arrested?”
“No,” Tizsa said regretfully. “We let him leave the house. The police followed him, but before they could catch him up, he vanished. Griz and I are annoyed since we had left him for the police.”
“Fifty!” Nicholas called randomly. “Here I come, ready or not!” He strolled forward. “Then what can I do for you?”
“Look at this?” Tizsa said, drawing the familiar, well-thumbed notebook from his pocket. He flipped quickly through it and showed him the pencil sketch of a middle-aged man. “Do you know him?”
“Is this Ricco?”
Tizsa nodded.
Nicholas halted to look at the picture more closely. Reluctantly, he shook his head and walked forward past the ever-watchful James. On impulse, he stopped again. “James, do you know this face?”
The man drew his gaze away, presumably from wherever Evelina was hiding, and glanced at the picture. His eyes widened, and he took the book from Tizsa, staring at it.
“Yes. Funnily enough, I do.” He stabbed his beefy finger at the page. “That is Miss Battle’s cousin.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Once dressed for the evening, Nicholas went to say goodnight to his daughter, who was in her nightclothes, having her hair brushed by Anna.
“You look very handsome, Papa,” Evelina approved.
“Thank you,” he said gravely.
“Will you dance all evening?”
“I might dance once or twice.”
“Well, don’t sit all night talking and being boring,” his daughter scolded. “And you must make sure Miss Battle has fun because I don’t think she really wants to go, and one should want to go to a ball, shouldn’t one?”
He frowned. “Yes, I believe one should.” So why didn’t Alexandra? Had it something to do with him? Or with her father? When she had spoken of her parent the other night, he could have sworn the feelings were genuine. He could even relate to that conflicting mix of love, anger, and frustration which he had felt for his own father.
So it was possible she was still helping Alexander Battle escape the law. But he did not believe for a moment she had been part of the kidnapping plots. Quite aside from the fact that it was she who had pointed out the cloaked man—presumably Battle himself—it was just not in her nature.
But…was it possible she would refuse to dance with Nicholas?
He could not even laugh at himself for the anxiety. Instead, he thrust it aside and bade Evelina be good for Anna.
“I will,” she assured him. “But will you come whisper goodnight when you are home?”
