Buried Secrets (10 page)

A low laugh escaped Cord. “No wonder your uncle was in such a taking the morning after one of your forays—the day on which we met.”

“Yes, he cannot understand why I am undermining his efforts in such an undutiful manner.”

Cord sobered. “Yes, but you cannot keep this up. One of these times, either you or your uncle will be caught at your nefarious activities, and then you’ll truly be in the suds.”

Gillian, too, grew grave. “Am I not in the suds right now? That is, I have been caught, haven’t I?”

Cord started. “Good Lord, you don’t think that I— well, I know what I said, but I would certainly never—” He blew an exasperated sigh. “I thought you knew me for your friend, Gillian, and Sir Henry’s and his sister’s as well. Your uncle’s motives in this fiasco must be highly suspect—even though I’m sure he feels he is merely borrowing the volumes. And you certainly have done nothing wrong. That is, you are returning the college’s property.”

“Yes, that’s true, but a purist might consider that in not preventing Uncle Henry from committing his, as you say, nefarious activities, or in not reporting him, I am ... well, an aider and abettor.”

“How fortunate, then, that I am not a purist. I have no intention of seeing you—any of you—come to harm over this.”

If Gillian had not been seated already, she would surely have fallen to the ground, so great was her relief. She expelled a shuddering sigh and said simply, “Thank you, Cord.”

Cord placed his hand over hers and clasped her fingers lightly. “Now then,” he said briskly, “the next matter up for discussion is, what do we do next?”

“Next?” Gillian echoed stupidly.

“Yes. Having agreed that this situation cannot continue, what are we going to do to prevent an occurrence—either of Sir Henry’s thievery or of your, er, anti-thievery procedures.”

“I don’t know,” said Gillian slowly. “I plan to talk to Uncle Henry again, but I doubt it will do much good.”

“I agree. From my short acquaintance with the gentleman, I have no difficulty in believing that, once he has his mind set on something, one can’t change it with blasting powder.”

Gillian smiled faintly. “Your assessment is eminently correct, sir.”

Cord remained silent for several moments, and Gillian became aware of the wholly improper intimacy of the scene. The shuttered rays of the lantern created a pool of light over the little log upon which they sat. Outside that circle, the rest of the world lay dark and silent except for the sounds of the night that surrounded them. She and Cord huddled so close together, she was sure he could feel her heartbeat. His fingers on hers created a warmth that permeated her body down to her toes, which curled deliciously inside her boots.

As unobtrusively as possible, she slid her hand out from under his.

At length, Cord uttered a small laugh. “You know, I think I may have a solution—at least a temporary one— to the problem.”

Gillian turned to him, taking care as she did so, to place several inches between them.

“I am not,” he continued, apparently not noticing her move to safety, “acquainted with the new master of the college. Neville, I believe his name is. However, in the past, I have donated copiously to Magdalene for various projects. It is my opinion, that if I were to introduce myself to Mr. Neville and express my recently developed interest in the writings of Mr. Pepys, he would not be averse to letting me borrow them—on a temporary basis, of course.”

“Mm. I’ve met the master on occasion, but I do not know him well. However, I daresay you’re right. The wishes of a titled gentleman with such deep and open pockets would certainly work strongly on his sensibilities.”

If there was a hint of irony in Gillian’s tone. Cord ignored it.

“Splendid. I shall visit the gentleman on the morrow, and when I return home victorious, with one or more volumes of the diary in my possession, I shall drop them into your uncle’s greedy hands—with the firm proviso, of course, that they be returned to
my
hands in a few days. Do you think this arrangement will suit him?”

“Not nearly so well as keeping them permanently, but I think he can be talked around. But . . .” Gillian hesitated. “You are willing to do this? I feel we should not ask you to become a part of Uncle Henry’s . . . obsession. We have no right— That is, it is very kind of you to make such an effort on our behalf, but—”

“Nonsense.” The word was spoken sharply, acting as a dash of cold water on Gillian’s heated incoherences. “It will be my pleasure. I must do something to avoid the boredom of my forced rustication. And, I must say, I have become somewhat interested in this mysterious diary myself. I should not at all mind having a look at it—perhaps I shall be the one to crack the code, thereby covering myself with glory.”

“Then, I can only thank you from the bottom of my heart, my lord—that is, Cord.” She rose. “And now, if we have reached a solution to our situation, it is very late, and I must be getting home.”

Cord stood as well and followed her as she hurried back to the horses. As he bent to lift her into the saddle, however, he paused and gripped her shoulders lightly.

“You know,” he said huskily, “I would do a great deal more for you, Gillian.” He bent and brushed her lips lightly with his. A tingle jolted through her, but so angered was she at this practiced attempt at seduction that she swung way from him to grasp her saddle horn. She lifted her foot and waited, allowing nothing to show on her face but mild distaste.

Cord stepped back abruptly. In the darkness, she could not read his expression, but after a moment, he cupped her boot in his hand and tossed her into the saddle.

They rode in silence for several moments before Cord said flatly, “I’m sorry, Gillian, that was ill-done of me. Although,” he added in a more natural tone of voice with just a hint of self-deprecating humor, “I can’t say I’m. sorry for the kiss—such as it was.”

“Then for what are you apologizing?” Gillian strove to keep her tone cool, albeit friendly.

Now he did laugh. “You wretch! For the smarmy little speech that accompanied it. I don’t know what made me speak so.”

It was Gillian’s turn to chuckle. Her anger had dissolved at his words, and she felt oddly pleased. “Perhaps you can blame the situation. An enterprising gentleman, finding himself secluded with a lady in the dead of night in such a romantically sylvan setting might be considered backward indeed if he failed to pursue the advantage.”

“I think,” said Cord meditatively, “that anything I might say in response to that statement would get me into even more trouble, so I shall pass, groping all the while for a suitably innocuous topic with which to turn the conversation.”

“How about this one? I’m not sure it’s innocuous, and may get
me
into trouble, but what was that you said about ‘forced rustication?’ I thought your descent into the countryside was due to a sudden desire for a breath of fresh air and a dollop or two of sunshine.”

Cord was silent for so long that Gillian feared he had taken grave offense. At last, however, he sighed. “No, of course, it was not that. The truth is it was a craven scuttling out of town to avoid a ... a certain situation.”

When Gillian said nothing. Cord continued awkwardly. “You see, my family has had an understanding with another family . . .” The dismal little tale was not long in the telling, and at its end. Cord gazed hopefully at Gillian. “It was contemptible of me, but—”

“This, er, young woman,” said Gillian severely. “Had you spoken to her of your forthcoming formal proposal?”

“No!” exclaimed Cord in a startled tone. “At least— ~well, I suppose I gave her to believe—in an oblique fashion that I would-” He sighed. “In our formative years, I always looked on her as a pestilential younger sister, and when we grew older, we . . . well, I guess you could say we barely tolerated each other. She’s a decent enough sort, I suppose, but I can’t see myself married to her.”

“And how does she feel about you?” Gillian, repressing an altogether irrational pleasure at his words, maintained the ice in her voice.

Cord smiled thinly. “I don’t think she cares tuppence for me.” He continued awkwardly after a moment. “However, she has made it plain over the years that she expects to marry me eventually. I know this must sound like the veriest puffery, but I think she would very much like to be a countess. Every time we meet, she seems to have more plans for the day when she becomes Lady Cordray,”

Gillian rapidly ran through her list of London acquaintances, but did not find a Corisande among them.

“When I turned eighteen or so, my parents began haranguing me to make a declaration. When they passed away, my Aunt Binsted took over the position of dragoon-in-charge.”

Gillian knew she should listen to her better half and make a discreet change of subject at this point. However, her worse half was clearly in command of her emotions concerning this matter, and her curiosity—not just about Cord’s evasion of his responsibilities, but about his motivation in doing so—overcame her.

“Why did you never tell them all that you simply have no wish to marry this Corisande?”

Cord sighed. “I tried. Lord knows I tried, but apparently not hard enough. It was as though my words somehow suffered a translation between my mouth and their ears, so that my continued denials struck them as mere fustian.

“When my aunt informed me a month or so ago that she had arranged for a dinner party featuring Corisande’s mama and papa—and her sister and brother as well— she made it painfully clear that on this occasion I was expected to pony up. I was to by God go down on bended knee and ask for her hand in plain, unmistakable English.”

“And you said—?”

“At the moment, I had rather a head and could not face another of her jobations. I said I’d think about it,” Cord admitted miserably. “Well, of course, she took that as a promise and made her plans accordingly.”

.”And you never corrected her misapprehension?” By now, Gillian was beginning to feel like the king’s prosecutor, but she plunged ahead in her unseemly interrogation.

“Again—I tried, but my aunt’s ears were permanently stopped, and preparations continued apace. I even took Corisande aside on a couple of occasions, trying to point out that I truly did not think we would suit.”

“And—?” Gillian repeated.

“And, she just laughed—that tinkling, artificial titter that drives me round the bend—and said, ‘Oh, Cord, you can be so silly sometimes. Now, what do you think of Italy for our wedding journey?’ “

“So, on the day of the dinner party, you simply bolted?”

“Yes. I realize that at some point, I must make the betrothal official, but when I awoke on the morning of the dinner party, it was as though someone had cut off my air supply. I couldn’t breathe and ... I had to get away.” The shame in Cord’s voice was apparent, mixed with a certain degree of anger. At himself? wondered Gillian, or at the importunities of his family? “I could have made an appearance at the dinner party without performing the bended-knee portion of the evening, but somehow I felt Aunt Binsted would have employed anything up to and including a loaded pistol to get me into a room alone with Corisande, at which point it would have been all up with me.” He sighed again. “I did leave a note, but I freely admit my behavior in the whole situation was unpardonable.”

Hmm, Gillian reflected. Cord did not strike her as the kind of man who would allow himself to be bullied by his family—or the kind of man who could not face up to the critical issues of his life. She stared meditatively at him for a moment before relenting. “But, perhaps understandable,” she said kindly.

Cord made no response, then said at last, “But enough about me and my travails, Miss Tate. I believe it is now your turn to unburden yourself of your maidenly secrets. Do tell me, why is it that a young woman of your undeniable beauty, charm, intelligence, et cetera, et cetera, has chosen to shun the company of men, instead creating a monument in her heart to a lost love. Surely four years is a very long time to mourn your young man, no matter how powerful your feelings for him at the time.”

Gillian was at last silenced, feeling suddenly as though the ground had just given way beneath her.

Chapter Eight

Gillian opened and closed her mouth, but was unable to make a reply to Cord’s unpardonable question. How dare he probe the wound that still festered in the very core of her existence? To be sure, she had gone far beyond what was seemly in her own inquiries, but this was too much.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” she said frigidly. “The matter does not bear discussion. What to you is a monument to a dead love—and, by the by, I take leave to tell you your wording was boorish and insensitive in the extreme—is to me a memory too precious to be abandoned.”

She cringed at her own words, experiencing again the pain and guilt that washed over her every time the subject of Kenneth’s death was broached. She was now, and knew she would be forever haunted by the knowledge that she had killed him.

“I apologize.” Cord’s tone expressed startlement. “I did not—”

“Oh, look!” cried Gillian, her voice ragged with relief. “We are home.”

She gestured toward the silhouette of Rose Cottage looming on their right.

“But—” began Cord, before subsiding into a resigned, “So we are.”

“I think,” said Gillian hurriedly, “that I should leave you now. I have become adept at slithering through the yard and into the stable with relatively little noise, but I think two of us trying the same thing would be stretching our luck.”

Without waiting for Cord to dismount, she slid from the saddle. Looking up at him, she managed a strained smile. “I cannot say I am glad to have encountered you this night, my lord Cordray, but I do thank you for your assistance and—and your discretion. To say nothing of your promise of future cooperation, of course.”

“I,” murmured Cord, “on the contrary, count this as one of the most interesting and pleasurable evenings I have ever spent. I shall visit Mr. Neville at Magdalene tomorrow, and if all goes well, I’ll see you later in the afternoon. Sleep well, Gillian.”

He tipped his hat, then wheeled Zeus about. In a moment, he was gone, leaving Gillian to stare after him through the darkness.