A Belated Bride (26 page)

Lucien’s hand strayed from Arabella’s collar to her chin. He lifted her face to his and smiled down at her, his teeth white in his soot-streaked face. “Easy, love,” he whispered. “Come. Wilson is calling for us.”

She managed a shaky smile and, hand warmly enveloped in his, followed him to where Wilson stood by the remains of the burning shed. It had collapsed inward and only parts of each wall remained standing, flames still crackling among the smoking pile.

Lucien stared where Wilson pointed. “Bloody hell.” “What is it?” Arabella asked.

Wilson spoke over his shoulder. “The door was blocked shut from the outside. Whoever it was pushed a cart against it.”

“Maybe it rolled there by accident.”

Lucien’s green gaze flickered to her. “Whoever moved the cart also stuffed straw under the door to make sure it would burn quickly.”

The old groom spat, then cast a sideways glance at Lucien. “Looks to me as if someone was tryin’ to kill ye.” “Why would anyone want to kill the duke?” asked Ara-

bella.

Lucien frowned. “I don’t know.”

Arabella looked at the blackened hull of the shed and a tremor shook through her. “Perhaps they were not trying to kill the duke. Maybe they were trying to kill me.”

Wilson’s mouth opened, but no words came out. “Who would want to kill you?” Lucien asked, his

brows drawn.

“Bolder. He was so angry when we made him renegoti- ate the shipment, and—”

“Here, now, missus,” said Wilson, sending a startled glance at Lucien. “There’s no need to tell everythin’.”

“I already know about the smuggling,” Lucien said. “I followed you and your nephews from the Red Rooster two days ago.”

“Ye did, did ye?” Wilson said, obviously affronted. “The duke is not threatening to turn us in, Wilson. He

wants our help in discovering something else. There were jewels in one of the casks.”

Wilson’s eyes widened. “Jewels?”

Lucien nodded. “Apparently Bolder has been dabbling in something far more serious than cognac. From what I can discover, he plans on selling them to fund an effort to free Napoleon.”

“Gor’! No wonder he was so brash wif us.” “Wilson,” Arabella said, “we must stop free trading.” “Oh? And jus’ what made ye decide that?”

Arabella tilted her head toward Lucien.

Wilson eyed Lucien with new respect. “I’ve been tryin’ to tell her it ain’t the thing fer a gently raised lady, but she’d none of it. If ye’ve got her to agree, ye’re a better man than me.”

Arabella sniffed. “I am not admitting any such thing. But with things the way they are.. .” Her gaze drifted to the smoking shed and she shivered.

Wilson rubbed a gnarled hand along his unshaven jaw and sighed. “These are havey-cavey times, they are.” He sent a concerned look at Lucien. “But there’s more. Someone found the cave last night and took every last cask.”

The news just got worse and worse, Arabella thought bleakly. Not only was her profit gone, but her entire busi- ness. How would she ever make Harlbrook’s last pay- ment? She dashed a hand across her eyes and turned to Lucien. “I need to go. I promised Aunt Jane I would visit one of the tenants today.”

Lucien nodded. “I’ve an errand to run this morning, but I should return by noon. We’ll go then.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll take Wilson with me.”

He slid a hot green gaze across her. “We’ll go when I return.”

Without quite knowing how, Arabella found herself bustled into the house and delivered into the safety of her aunts’ arms. Aunt Jane took one swift look at Arabella’s soot-covered face and ordered a long hot bath. Aunt Emma bustled to the kitchen to see to the preparation of some nice hot soup. Arabella was too shaken to do more than agree, her mind churning as she sat in the gently steaming water.

No indolent lord would bother to investigate a smug- gling operation, especially one as small as the one she and

Wilson ran. No, Lucien had been after something more valuable.

Arabella soaped one of her legs, her movements slow- ing as her tumbled thoughts finally locked into place.
He put the answer in front of me last night. The jewels.
It was the only thing that made sense.

Perhaps they were also the reason someone had tried to kill her and Lucien. But how had Lucien known to look for the jewels in Yorkshire? Perhaps he was helping the owner? The thought reassured her and she almost smiled until she remembered where he had found the gems—in
her
cave.

She slid further into the tub and sighed heavily. A month ago, she had been ready to swear everything in her life was finally heading for the better. Now...

Damn Lucien. Whatever his reason for returning to Yorkshire, he wasn’t leaving until he’d thoroughly ex- plained himself to her. That decided, she rose, dried her- self, and dressed.

nm

Chapter 18

A

rabella rested until noon, waiting impatiently for Lucien to return. Her mind too fraught with the occurrences of the day, she finally rose and went down- stairs. After assisting Mrs. Guinver darn linens for a desul- tory half hour, she went in search of her aunts to see if they had any commissions for her while she was visiting

the tenants.

Lucien had told her to wait until his return, but she had a pressing need to do something,
anything
. She was just walking through the vestibule when the murmur of voices halted her. Low and feminine, they drifted up the steps from below.

Strange. What were Aunt Emma and Aunt Jane doing in the storage hall? Frowning, Arabella descended the stairs, pausing on the last step when she heard Aunt Emma speaking.

“Oh, Jane! What will you do now? We are sunk. Not even the Captain can help us now.”

229

Arabella peered around the corner to the old store- room. Emma was perched on a barrel of flour while Jane paced up and down the narrow aisle between the salted pork and dried herbs.

“I hate Sir Loughton!” exclaimed Jane, her arms crossed beneath her sparse bosom as she marched. “The lecher.”

“It was most ungentlemanly of him,” agreed Emma, swinging her feet to and fro, her heels thudding against the wood.

“I’ve known that bounder was not a gentleman from the first day I met him.” Jane’s booted feet clipped a steady beat as she paced. “That . . . rapscallion! If I were a man, I would call him out.”

“Yes, but if you were a man, he would not have offered to dismiss your gaming debts for a quick roll in the hay.”

Arabella almost lost her balance, catching the railing just in time. Gaming debts? A roll in the hay? She tried to imagine gruff Sir Loughton making such an improper proposition, but could not.

“Ha!” Jane’s voice rang out. “If that man thinks I will allow him to so much as kiss my hand after such a request, he has another think coming.”

“There’s no need to get so upset,” Emma said, tilting her gray head to one side, her face taking on a dreamy look. “If you feel you cannot make such a sacrifice, then I will . . .” She stopped and cleared her throat before saying in a brave voice, “Jane, if you think it will help,
I
will sleep with Sir Loughton.”

Jane halted in her tracks. Arabella could not see her face, but her back was ramrod stiff. “And just what,” said Jane in a thinly stretched voice, “do you mean by
that
? You have a tendre for that lecher, don’t you?”

“Oh, no! Please, Jane! I can see that you are upset. If I

had realized you meant to accept him, I never would have said a word.”

“Of course I am not going to accept him! Do you think I have taken leave of my senses?”

“If anyone has taken leave of their senses, it is Sir Loughton,” said Emma stoutly. “
You
are perfectly sane.”

Jane resumed her pacing. “I was a fool to think I could talk that man into coming to a genteel settlement on the notes he won from me last month.”

Arabella leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. Just how much did Jane owe?

“Yes, but . . .” Emma’s voice clouded with doubt. “Do you think it was wise to wager him double or nothing on a single card?”

“You do not understand the rudiments of the game,” Jane said in a haughty voice. “Furthermore, you do not understand the code of conduct expected in such circum- stances. I could not, in all honor, refuse such an offer. I mean, double or nothing!” She slashed through the air with her hand. “I could have wiped out the entire debt in one fell swoop.”

“Yes, but now we owe twice as much and I don’t know where we are to get it. Ten thousand pounds is a great deal of money.”

Ten thousand pounds.
Arabella sank to the top step, dazed.

“Maybe there is
one
thing we can do,” Emma said. “What does Sir Loughton want more than anything else?” Jane stiffened and Emma added hastily, “Besides you.”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

“The sheep tonic. Maybe he would trade us your notes for the sheep tonic.”

For an instant, Arabella’s heart took flight. But then Jane sighed and resumed her pacing. “No, we cannot.

While I don’t mind making a small batch of tonic now and then for our particular friends, it would be an error to think of Sir Loughton in such a way. His sheep compete against ours at market. If both of our farms produced an excessive amount of lambs, the prices would fall immedi- ately.”

“Then we would be right back where we started from.” Emma gave a heartfelt sigh. “I suppose our only hope is that the duke will see his way to win Arabella.”

“It is just a matter of time,” Aunt Jane said firmly, “before they realize what nodcocks they’ve been. I’m sure of it.”

Blindly groping for the railing, Arabella rose and made her way back to the foyer. Once there, she sank into the first chair she found and sat staring straight ahead.
Ten thousand pounds
. Arabella pressed her hand to her fore- head. It was yet another care, another impossible feat she had to accomplish. But whatever happened, she could not allow Aunt Jane to exchange her virtue for a few notes.

Within the space of one short day, her smuggling ven- ture had collapsed about her ears, threatening Wilson’s welfare, if not her own; someone had tried to kill her and Lucien by setting the shed on fire; and now Aunt Jane had been lured into wagering a staggering sum to Sir Loughton. Arabella rested her elbow on the arm of the chair and cov- ered her eyes. What on earth was she to do now?

A knock sounded at the door and Mrs. Guinver bustled forward from the hallway. She stopped when she saw Ara- bella. “Heavens, missus! What are you doing sitting here in the foyer?” Concern shadowed the housekeeper’s plump face. “Are you ill?”

Arabella gathered herself as best as she could. “No, I’m fine, thank you.”

“You don’t look fine to me. You look as pale as snow,

which isn’t to be wondered at, considering all of the excitement we’ve had this morning. Perhaps you should come into the library and settle yourself on the settee whilst I fetch you a nice pot of hot tea.”

Arabella was long past the point where a cup of hot tea could solve anything, but perhaps if she sat quietly and mulled over her predicament, an idea would come. She managed a weak smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Guinver. I will—”

The knocking sounded again, this time more insistent. Mrs. Guinver made an exasperated sound. “You run along, missus, and I’ll get the door.” She bustled away before Arabella could get to her feet.

Mrs. Guinver opened the door and Arabella heard Mr. Francot say, “I need to see Miss Hadley at once. Is she—” He caught sight of her at the library door and took an impetuous step forward, crowding the housekeeper out of the way. “There you are! I hope you are feeling better.”

“I’m quite well, thank you.” She wished him to perdi- tion at the moment, but at the relieved look on his face, Arabella softened. “I was going to have some tea. Would you join me?” Somehow, she didn’t really want to be alone just now.

His face brightened. “Of course.”

Mrs. Guinver shut the door and took the solicitor’s hat and gloves. She favored him with a sour glance and said, “I’ll bring ye some tea and cakes, but ye can only stay a minute. Miss Hadley needs to rest.”

He sent a sharp glance at Arabella and must have con- curred with the housekeeper, for he nodded once and said, “I won’t tax her, I promise.”

The housekeeper gave a satisfied nod and left as Mr.

Francot followed Arabella into the library.

She waited until he had seated himself before she

perched on the edge of a chair. “Mr. Francot, I’m glad you returned. I need to speak with you.”

Twin spots of color appeared in his cheeks. “Indeed, I
had
to come. I wanted to see for myself that you were not harmed this morning.”

Arabella waved an impatient hand. “I’m fine, thank you. Mr. Francot, at one time you—” The words clogged her throat, but she swallowed and continued. “You men- tioned you knew someone who might be interested in buy- ing Rosemont.” She lifted her gaze to his. “Do you think the buyer would be willing to renew his offer?”

A brief look of surprise crossed his heavy face. “Of course. I’m sure he would. May I ask what has happened to make you change your mind?”

“I just . . . I want to sell the house, and as quickly as possible. Would you speak with your acquaintance?” Each word tasted of metal, bitter and cold. “I will need the offer in writing.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” He placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “Miss Hadley . . . Arabella, I hate to see you in such a taking. If you could but see your way to . . . if there is anything you need, I hope you will . . .” His face turned a bright red, his emotions seeming to grow stronger by the minute. “I—I care for you, and I would do anything in my power to offer you some relief from these horrible circumstances.”

“Thank you, Mr. Francot,” Arabella said, wishing mis- erably she could think of some other way out of her predicament. But no brilliant idea came forward.

“Yes, but I—”

He stopped and delivered such a look of burning pas- sion that Arabella slapped a hand over her eyes. “Mr. Francot, please don’t—”

It was too late. The solicitor had already dropped awk-