Bella and the Beast (28 page)

One thing was certain. If he was anyone legitimate, he'd have come to the front door instead of sneaking in from the mews.

All of a sudden, she lifted her arms and hugged the man. He did the same to her, too, drawing her close to his body.

That tight, heartfelt embrace was a punch to Miles's gut. It drove the breath from his lungs. In the next instant, a flood of fury sent him sprinting out of the study, striding swiftly down the corridor to the antechamber that led into his private apartments.

A fire burned on the marble hearth in the ducal bedchamber. The covers had been turned down on the massive, four-poster bed. With a look of surprise, Hasani stood with an armload of linen in the middle of the rug. “Your Grace! Have you decided on an early night—”

“Go,” Miles snapped. “I won't need you tonight.”

He stalked past the servant and went to the row of glass doors that led out to the garden. Wresting one open, he proceeded out onto a covered stone terrace. The damp chill of the night air restored a measure of his senses. He slowed his stampede down the steps to the garden path. He didn't want to alert Bella to his presence.

At least not yet.

He advanced swiftly, stealthily through the shadows toward the place where they stood, by the gate to the mews. The scent of early roses mingled with the fecund heaviness of wet loam. All the while, his mind worked feverishly.

This furtive meeting cast a new, sinister light on Bella's other actions. He'd caught her poking through his study, then the archives. She had been searching for something in particular, he felt certain of that. What? Could it have something to do with this man?

Was he a thief?

Miles clenched his jaw. Perhaps he'd been wrong about Isabella Jones. What did he know of her, really? She'd come to him out of the blue, purporting to need a job, the daughter of a man who'd broken his trust to Miles. What if she had inveigled her way into Aylwin House in order to rob him? What if that was why she'd held him at arm's length after their lovemaking?

What if she was playing him for a fool?

No. He didn't want to believe it. He couldn't believe it. Yet on the very next night after seducing him, she'd crept out to the garden and embraced a stranger. Whoever the bastard was, she'd hidden his identity from Miles. At the very least, she had been less than honest.

Keeping to the concealment of a boxwood hedge, he neared the couple. They stood in the gloom of an elm tree. They were no longer embracing, though Bella was gripping the man's arms, her head tilted up as she spoke earnestly to him.

Miles couldn't discern their whispered conversation. But they seemed to be having a disagreement. Her companion shook his head and appeared to be pleading with her. Then he put his hands on her shoulders as if to embrace her again.

And Miles saw red.

He surged forward, making no attempt at stealth this time, his swift steps crunching on the gravel path. Just as they started to turn toward him, Miles seized the man by the scruff of his neck and jerked him away from Bella.

“Hey!” cried his squirming prisoner. “Lemme go!”

A wild fist swung out, but Miles easily deflected it by grabbing that skinny wrist and twisting his arm behind his back.

Bella gasped, her face stark in the moonlight. She came charging toward him. “Miles! For pity's sake, release him at once! He's just a boy.”

“Am not,” the stranger objected in an adolescent's sullen tone. “I'm as full grown as any man.”

Miles dragged him out of the shadows. The moonlight fell on a young man's face that looked as if he hadn't quite grown into its angular contours. He had sandy hair and Bella's blue eyes. He was barely old enough to sprout a beard.

Taken aback, Miles released his captive's arm and scowled at Bella, then the boy. “What the devil—” he bit out. “Who are you?”

“Sir Cyrus Jones,” he declared, puffing out his bony chest while rubbing his arm. “And I shall report you to the magistrate for attacking me.”

“
You
could be the one tossed behind bars for trespassing,” Bella scolded him. Defiance firmed her expression as she turned her eyes to Miles. “Your Grace, may I introduce my younger brother, Cyrus.”

*   *   *

For once, Bella was glad to see the cool mask descend over Miles's face. His fury had been a sight to behold. When he'd come charging at them from out of the darkness, she had been stunned by the feral harshness of his countenance.

He had looked fit to kill.

A quiver snaked down her spine. She shuddered to imagine what he'd thought, seeing her skulking in the garden with a stranger. Any fledgling trust that had blossomed between them had been damaged. But what was she to do upon receiving that note from Cyrus, asking her to meet him at the garden gate? She could hardly have ignored it.

Oh, she was in terrible trouble now, judging by the coldness on Miles's face. He knew that she had lied to him, if not in fact, then by omission. She had led him to believe she was alone in the world, and now she could only hope to rectify matters by confessing all.

Except in regard to her search for the treasure map. Not even Cyrus or Lila knew about that.

She continued the introduction. “Cyrus, this is the Duke of Aylwin. You'll address him as Aylwin or Your Grace.”

“
You
called him Miles,” her brother pointed out.

The burn of heat rose from the collar of her gown. How was she to explain her informal usage of her employer's name after so short an acquaintance? She'd sooner cut out her tongue than admit to what she and Miles had done in her bed the previous night.

As if sensing her discomfort, Miles said sternly, “Since your sister is my colleague, I've granted her special permission in addressing me. You, on the other hand, will treat me with proper respect. Is that clear?”

Cyrus gave him a wary, mistrustful stare until Bella poked him in the ribs. He said quickly, “Yes … Your Grace.”

Miles eyed the boy's lanky form for a long moment, and Bella feared the duke might toss her brother out into the mews. Unlike the warm lover who had shown her ecstasy, Miles now wore the stony, autocratic guise of Aylwin. She curled her fingers into fists at her sides. Cyrus had been horribly wrong to disobey her order to stay in Oxford, but now that he was here, she would fight for him. Even if it meant defying the duke and putting her mission in jeopardy.

“I was always hungry at your age,” Miles said abruptly. “Come.”

He turned on his heel and strode toward the house without a backward glance.

Bella caught her brother's arm as they started after Miles down the winding gravel path. Cyrus loped alongside her, saying in a rather excited whisper, “I thought the duke would be a doddering old fellow with white hair and a cane. But he's strong—and taller than me. I'll wager Aylwin could knock down even the stoutest ruffian in a fight.”

Bella had mixed feelings about seeing her brother's sullenness transform into hero worship. On the one hand, she was relieved that he wouldn't misbehave and cause her more trouble than she was already in. On the other, she didn't want Cyrus to try to wheedle Miles into letting him stay here in London.

“You're too young to wager anything,” she hissed. “Just remember, His Grace is a very important man and you should count yourself lucky he didn't throw you out into the gutter!”

She had no time to say more because they'd arrived at the service entrance, hidden by a screen of boxwoods and down a short flight of steep stone steps. Miles held open the door. Bella couldn't read his impassive features, but at least he wasn't shouting anymore. Her heart raced as she went past him, the narrow entry causing her to brush against him. She might have wilted into a heap at his feet if she hadn't resolved never to make a fool of herself over him again.

He led the way into the kitchen, where several servants sat around the long worktable, drinking their evening tea near the cheery blaze on the hearth. As one, they all gaped at the entering trio. After an instant of shocked silence, china rattled and chair legs scraped as the staff jumped to their feet to pay obeisance to the duke.

It must be a rare event for the master to venture belowstairs, Bella surmised. They all looked astonished by his presence.

Mrs. Witheridge hurried forward, wiping her hands on the white apron over her black gown and stout form. She bobbed a curtsy. “Your Grace! What an honor. Is there aught we might do for you?”

Miles placed his hand on Cyrus's bony shoulder. “This is Sir Cyrus Jones, brother to Miss Jones. He'll be staying here tonight.”

The housekeeper turned and clapped her hands. “Nan, Susan, run upstairs and prepare the green room at once.” She looked at Bella. “'Tis directly across from your bedchamber, if that's aright with you.”

A weight lifted from Bella's shoulders. “That would be perfect.”

She glanced at Miles to thank him, but he was addressing Cook. “If you'll fetch a plate for the lad, whatever's cold in the larder should be sufficient. There's no need to fuss. It's late and he'll take his supper right here. I will, as well, come to think of it.”

If any of the staff found that odd, none dared to show any sign. Servants scurried here and there, Cook to fetch provisions from the cold room, a kitchen maid to slice bread and another to brew a fresh pot of tea on the newfangled stove. At one end of the table, a footman laid a fine white cloth and set three places with silver utensils as if they were dining with the Queen.

In a doorway across the kitchen, Hasani stood sipping his tea, his dark gaze fixed on Cyrus. Like everyone else, the valet must be curious to learn she had a brother, Bella thought wryly. His white robes swirling, the man melted back into the next chamber, most likely to avoid being pulled into the beehive of activity.

Just then, Pinkerton shuffled to Bella and bent his grizzled head close to her. “Brother, heh? I thought I noted a resemblance when the lad came to the door, on the pretense of being a messenger.”

She smiled in fond exasperation at her brother, who was slurping a mug of tea brought to him by a blushing kitchen maid. “Well, I do appreciate you coming at once to fetch me. He told me he walked around London lost for a good many hours.”

She caught Miles gazing narrow-eyed at her. That look raised prickles on her skin, and she wasn't certain if it was from an untimely attraction or apprehension over her brother. The duke ushered her into a seat opposite Cyrus and took the head of the table. As man and boy filled their plates from the platters of meat and cheeses and other foodstuffs, Bella noticed the servants had vanished, leaving them alone in the kitchen.

Miles cut up a leg of chicken, watching as Cyrus wolfed down a slab of roast beef wrapped in bread. Uneasiness kept Bella from taking even a bite. She felt beset by the instinct to move, to do something other than sit still in anticipation of the duke's inevitable rebuke. He must be waiting for Cyrus to eat before launching an attack.

“Shall I make you cheese toast?” she asked her brother, even though he didn't deserve his favorite meal after the wrong he'd done.

At his eager nod, Bella jumped to her feet and fetched a frying pan from a hook on the wall. Then she busied herself buttering bread and cutting thin slices from the wheel of cheese. Having no notion of how to operate the elaborate black stove, she carried the pan to the massive hearth and placed it on a trivet just above the flames.

Behind her, Miles addressed Cyrus in a clipped tone. “From where do you hail? Are you living here in London?”

“Nay, I traveled from Oxford,” Cyrus said, taking a huge swig of tea. “Took the overnight mail coach, then walked around for a good bit trying to find Aylwin House. Did you know there are shops that sell only men's boots? And others that sell just hats? And—”

“I recall now that your father kept a cottage in Oxford,” Miles broke in reflectively. “We exchanged letters for a time.”

“You knew Papa? But when—how?”

“Quite a long time ago, when I was younger than you. But never mind that. Tell me, what is your purpose in coming here? Are you in some sort of trouble?”

Bella turned her head to see her brother straighten his shoulders and jut out his chin. “It isn't right that my sister has to labor for a living while I stay at home,” he declared. “I'm the man of the family now, and it is my duty to provide for us.”

“Nonsense,” she scolded over her shoulder. “You're underage and I left you explicit instructions to study your schoolwork in my absence. Besides, what sort of post can you fill without a proper education?”

The sizzle of frying bread yanked her attention back to the fire, and she deftly flipped the cheese toast to the other side. The rich aroma of butter smelled heavenly even to her distracted senses.

Behind her, Cyrus said defiantly, “I can drive a coach or run errands or work on a printing press. I can be a salesman in a shop or a plowman on a farm. I can—”

“You can do nothing of the sort,” Miles snapped. “As a gentleman, your first duty is to educate yourself in order to take your rightful place as a leader in society. That is precisely what my father told
me
at the age of thirteen.”

Crouched by the hearth, Bella went still. Miles must be referring to the quarrel he'd had with his father on that fateful night in Egypt. The very fact that he could mention it aloud gave her hope that perhaps he was finally coming to grips with his father's death. Then the scent of well-done toast caught her attention, and she pulled the pan from the fire, bringing it to the table. As she transferred the concoction to a white china plate, Miles kept his attention fully on her brother.

“By the by, how old
are
you?”

“Fifteen,” Cyrus said, his mouth turning down rather sullenly. “And it isn't fair to make me stay in Oxford with Lila. She's just a girl.”