Bride (38 page)

He moved only far enough away to see her face. “How d'ye know?”

“It's obvious.
Think.
There's not a soul who would want to do anything to us. They must want to do something to him, and he's afraid we'll be hurt as well. Mayhap by kidnapping. I heard Mairi talking to Caleb, and they were whispering about the lodge being guarded to keep Lady Justine safe.”

“Did they say why?” Max sounded desperate.

Ella sighed and ruffled his hair. “No. I don't think anyone but Papa knows. They were saying they would do anything to help Papa, and they wished they knew what they were guarding against. Mairi thinks Lady Justine's lovely, and she's worried because she thinks someone should tell her she's in danger.”

Max clutched her hands. “Don't go, Ellie. Don't leave me.”

“I have to.” The thought of his being alone and frightened drowned her in guilt, but she couldn't continue to do nothing. “I'm going to lock my chamber door on this side. It may be quite a long time before anyone tries to come in. With fortune, I'll have returned before they do. But, if not, you tell them I've asked to be left in peace. Say I'm feeling contemplative.”

“Con … Contem …”

“Say I need time alone to think. The most important thing is for you to attract as little attention as possible.”

“But ye
are
leavin’ the castle this night?”

“I am.”

“And ye've a journey ahead o’ ye?”

“I have.” And she wished her stomach didn't curl with fear at the thought.

“Can I come?”

“No.”

He heaved a huge sigh and retrieved the puppy. “Verra well. I'll do as ye ask.”

“Good. Without your help this couldn't work. I have to rely upon you. I must go now.”

Max frowned. “How can I tell them ye're thinkin’ and wantin’ t'be alone if I'm in here?”

“You won't be. You'll be in your own chamber. Or in our sitting room.”

“But ye said your door would be locked on the inside.”

Ella stood up, flung a heavy cape over the shoulders of her green riding habit, and picked up her gloves. “Off with you.” She opened the door and waited for him to go into the sitting room.

He passed her and said, “But ye told me it'd be locked—”

“On the inside? It will be.”

She felt him leave her.

After she'd explained about Mrs. Smith he'd grown quiet and distant. Then he'd pretended to sleep. She'd known he was only pretending, but she did likewise and when her breathing was slow and deep he'd slipped from the bed and begun gathering his clothes. An awful premonition had come to her.

She was already certain Robert Mercer and his friends had been watching over the lodge to keep her safe. Caleb Murray was watching over Max and Ella to keep them safe. His threats to Max of dire danger had been real threats.

Something was dreadfully wrong.

Something dreadful threatened Struan, and he feared it might touch those he loved.

He was waiting for whatever it was to come to him.

Could she have let the danger in? Was Mrs. Smith part of that danger?”

“Struan!”

His shadowy form stopped. “Go back to sleep.”

“What are you doing?”

“I'm restless.”

“Come back to bed and let me help you.”

The silhouette of his raised jaw showed sharply against moonlight through the windows. “Oh, how tempting you are. There is a matter I must attend first. Sleep, my sweet, and I'll return to you soon.”

He went without another word.

To the castle. He would go to the castle to look for more of those letters—and to ensure his children were safe, of course.

She settled back onto the pillows and closed her eyes.

There were noises. Shuffling, scraping—cracks. The night had so many sounds, and she was entirely too sensitive to every one of them.

A current of air passed over her face, and her eyes snapped open.
“Hannah!”
With a thundering heart, she pushed up to her elbows.

The door to her chamber stood wide open.

“Hannah.
Are you there?”

Gradually the door began to swing shut.

Outside, light flickered, casting the wavering shadow of a figure.

For an instant, Justine saw the glitter of candlelight on staring eyes. Then the light went out.

There was always a vague hope that some other woman might have the first name of Glory. Whatever. He must be alone to decide how to proceed if this should prove to be the same creature who had all but ruined his life.

With his shirt flying behind him and his jacket over his arm, Struan ran up the steps to the Pavilion bridge and strode across. In the Grecian wing there was someone who said he'd promised to help her if she was desperate. That did not have to be the Glory Willing of his cursed past. Logic assured him it was indeed that person.

Earlier he'd tried to persuade the abbot to come to the lodge with him. If the identity of the visitor proved to be as feared, Struan would go in search of Abbot John and beg him to come here.

He entered the anteroom to his chamber and halted.

Dressed in demure gray, Glory Willing—or Mrs. Smith— sat in one of his grandfather's serpent-laden Egyptian chairs. Her back was straight, her hands, like her feet, placed precisely together. She wore a thin cloak and a gray bonnet. Only her eyes, her great black eyes, moved. They sought his, and what he saw there belied the modest picture she made.

He threw his jacket on a chest and began buttoning his shirt. “What do you want here?” he asked shortly. “Let's have it quickly and be done with it.”

“I'm sorry,” she said.

He paused in the act of pushing his shirt inside his breeches. “Sorry because you made a weakened man drunk and proceeded to seduce him?”

“Sorry,” she murmured. “I regret having to cause you inconvenience.”

“A little late, wouldn't you say? Wouldn't you say it was already late when you screamed that I had ruined you and then set about extorting money from me for years?”

“You paid willingly enough. You knew you bore blame.”

“But I no longer bore blame once your livelihood became assured.”

“Assured?”

“By your marriage.”

She pursed her lips.

“But you and your
husband
decided you would find a way to keep getting money out of me, didn't you?”

“Taking your money wasn't my idea,” she murmured. “It was his. I didn't want any part of it.”

Struan circled her slowly. “Is that a fact? Well, well. When I saw you in Bath—when was that, more than a year since? You did not appear threadbare and regretful then. But, of course, you were still receiving the money I sent, weren't you?”

Her expression became startled. “I did not see you in Bath.”

“But
I saw you.
You were getting into a carriage. Your finery caught the eye of many a man and woman. I noted your wedding ring then and your laughter—with your companion.”

“What companion?” she asked sharply.

“I could not see him—only hear him. But I assume he was either your husband or your lover.”

Her shoulders became straighter. “How dare you suggest it could have been a lover. I was a married woman. I
am
a married woman.”

“Commendable,” Struan said. “Was it your husband or your lover who hit you?” The marks on her face turned his stomach, but he must not weaken with this creature.

“I told you I'm married,” she said. “It was my husband who hit me.”

“A charming fellow, but what has this to do with me?”

She stood and untied her bonnet. This she set on the seat of the chair before sweeping into his bedchamber.

He followed her. “This is inappropriate—and given your history, very possibly dangerous. Kindly remove yourself. You may use the refuge of the room my wife so kindly provided you for the night. I shall not expect to see you in the morning.”

“I'm sorry to be a nuisance.”

While she was being so sorry, she toured his room, running her hands over the bedposts and across the counterpane, examining twin gilt tigers that flanked the black marble fireplace.

“Were you not given a room?”

“I was.”

“And taken there?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Then why are you not there now?”

“I'm lonely.”

Struan set his teeth.

“And I'm frightened. You said as how Glory could come to you if she needed anything. You said it after you'd ruined me.”

Struan looked behind him, half expecting to find someone listening to their conversation.

“Afraid your
wife
will hear?”

He didn't respond.

“Just come from her, have you?”

This must be part of what the
thing
who had written the letters intended. “Who sent you here?”

“I did. I came because I need help.”

“I don't believe you.”

“You will. I'm ever so sorry I've got to ask, but there's no one else I can turn to.” She faced him with her head shyly bowed. “And anyway, I know a gentleman in your position wouldn't want his business talked about to others.”

Blackmail. Further blackmail? Or the beginning of what was to come from the letter-writer?

“What is your husband's name?”

Her chin rose sharply. “I said I was giving you a chance by coming here. A chance to make sure what we know is kept between ourselves.”

“And I asked your husband's name.” Weakness—even a hint of weakness—could be disastrous with such a baggage as this.

She said, “Mr. Smith. What else would it be?”

“And where would I find this Mr. Smith?”

She smiled secretively. “Maybe I don't know.”

“But you do know, don't you? Just as you know all about the letters he's been writing—just as you've been sent here as part of whatever foolish scheme the two of you hope to bring to pass.”

“I don't know anything about letters,” she said, raising her face.

Struan remained in the open doorway. “Of course not. You simply happened to arrive on my doorstep at a time when your husband—I assume this is your husband, since he claims to be so in his scurrilous missives—has been annoying me with his insolent approaches for weeks.”

In the years since she'd come to him in his cell at the abbey she'd grown more maturely seductive, if in a coarse manner. The gray dress enhanced rather than disguised her voluptuous body—no doubt by deliberate design. With a nonchalance he doubted was real, she took off the cloak and spread it on his bed. “You have no proof that I know anything about any letters.”

“I wish you to leave my house—
now.”

“That won't be possible, m'lord.” She began untying the tapes on her gown. “I'll be comfortable enough here—with you to keep me safe.”

Rough treatment of females wasn't within Struan's experience. He flexed his hands and sought for what course he should take to rid himself of this venomous nuisance.

The dress descended over her shoulders and breasts and fell in a heap at her feet. She stepped out, swept up the garment, and deposited it atop her cloak. The chemise she wore was little better than no covering at all. Her nipples showed big and dark, their centers poking at the thin fabric. The triangle of black hair between her thighs was obscenely revealed.

“I see you haven't lost interest in what Glory's got,” she said, raising a hand high up a bedpost and swaying a little. She played with a nipple through the bodice of the chemise and passed her tongue over her lips. “Your new wife's a cripple, then. And very much the cool lady. Not at all the kind of woman for a man like you—a man of hot tastes.”

“Hold your tongue—”

“You hold my tongue. With yours, darlin’. I remember how you felt. Never could forget that. Come on. We've already wasted too much time. We shouldn't waste any more.” She drew the chemise up about her hips, revealing the silvery gray stockings she wore beneath. Garters of red satin were tied above each knee. The rest was naked enticement. “Come on, then. Come on. That cold one can't give you what Glory can. Close her eyes, does she? Press her legs together to keep you out?” Glory splayed her legs and propped her elbows upon the bed.

Struan slammed the door and planted his fists on his hips. “Do not mention my wife. I do not wish to hear her name upon your lips.”

“Ooh, we mustn't mention the fine, crippled lady.”

He alternately clenched and flexed his hands. “My wife is—” Words would be wasted on this whore. “Dress and get out.”

Her face crumpled theatrically. “You said—”

“Get out.”

“I do know about the letters.”

Muscles in his shoulders lowered a fraction. “Do you, now? And what is it you know about them?”

Keeping her eyes on his, Glory Willing Smith ripped apart the front of her chemise and stripped off the tattered remnants.

“What in God's name are you doing, woman?”

Her breasts were ripe white globes, tipped dark and traversed with pale-blue veins. Her waist was still narrow and her hips lush. Once more she propped herself against the mattress and raised one silver-silk-clad knee. She rocked the leg back and forth, displaying herself with evident relish.

In a single motion, Struan retrieved the remains of the chemise and her dress. “You will be leaving. Will you put these on yourself, or shall I summon a maid to assist you and one of the male servants to eject you?”

“I know about the seal on the letters.” Holding the tip of her tongue between her teeth, she revolved and leaned forward, presenting her buttocks, laying her torso, arms outstretched, upon the counterpain.

He felt his color drain. “Lord.” No other words would come.

“Like it, do you?”

“He did this to you? Your husband?”

“He had to get the blood for the finger spot from somewhere, didn't he?”

“Oh, my God.” Struan drove the fingers of both hands into his hair. “Why?”

“He did it more than once, y'know. It looks better now since I ran away from him. He'd strip me naked and thrash me with those big, heavy gloves on his hands. Then he'd write his precious letters while I screamed, and take my blood to make a seal. Said it was symbolic.”

A shudder passed the length of Struan's spine. “Cover yourself, please.”

“Squeamish, are we?”