Drake's Lair (9 page)

“Have you had a chance to examine the contract I had sent to your rooms as yet?” he inquired.

“No, not yet,” she replied. “I shall do that before I retire. There was so much to do you see, settling Zoe, and preparing for dinner. I’m afraid we’re all in sixes and sevens upstairs just now. But I’m sure it is quite satisfactory, my lord.”

“What contract?” Ellery put in. “I’ve missed something. What’s going on?”

“I’ve made Lady Ahern an offer for her land,” Drake said, watching the steward blanch, “and she has accepted. Mills drew up the contract this afternoon. It awaits her signature. She will be staying on at Drake’s Lair while I rebuild the cottage. Then, if she wishes, she may rent it from me.”

“Well, well, you’ve moved fast in my absence haven’t you, Drake?” Ellery growled. His mustache had begun to twitch again, and the tick along his jaw had returned.

“I would have thought you’d be pleased with the arrangement,” Drake served.

Blue eyes jousted with amber. Drake was aware that Demelza was puzzled by the sizzling exchange. It wouldn’t do to alienate her at this stage of the game, or tip his hand that he had discovered the steward’s treachery. It was too soon.

“I should imagine that you would be pleased that we are able to offer Lady Ahern a solution to her problem,” he said smoothly. “Once we get underway, we should be able to raise the cottage in a month. Why, we practically raised the Terrill’s in a day, considering the structural damage we had to deal with—the roof aside—and that with the flaw breathing down out necks. Meanwhile, she will be quite comfortable here.”

“Of course,” Ellery forced.

“Zoe is to attend her as abigail,” Drake drawled. “How do you find your apartments, my lady, are they satisfactory?”

“Oh, yes,” she replied. “The view of the grounds is quite grand from so high up. But you might want to alert your groundskeepers—the dovecote has blown over.”

“Thank you, my lady. I shall see to it at once.”

Ellery was about to speak, when a liveried footman appeared in the drawing room doorway.

“Dinner is served,” he intoned.

“Very good, Smithers,” said Drake. “Send someone ‘round to the groundskeeper’s cottage to fetch Jory Bell. The dovecote has blown down again.”

“Yes, m’lord,” said the footman, disappearing.

Drake stepped in front of the steward and offered Demelza his arm. Shall we go in?” he said, leading her. Then in an aside to Ellery, “You don’t mind do you, old boy? I’m drier.”

*

The tension was palpable between the earl and Ellery, though Melly didn’t understand it. More than once she caught the flash of daggers in their glances toward each other. Had they quarreled? Evidently. But why did she feel as though she were at the center of their contention?

Twice she’d noticed the earl’s eyes straying from her throat to the expanse of flesh exposed by the décolleté of her gown that had worried her the moment she put it on. James Ellery’s eyes were no less observant. More than once under his gaze, she’d resisted the urge to let her hands fly to her bodice and hike up that neckline. He had never seen her like that.

Hems be damned. Praying that Mrs. Laity had saved some of the excess material from the alterations, she made a mental note to speak with her about inserts and fichus at her earliest opportunity. Things were much simpler in buttoned-up gray twill, woolen shawls, and worn leather ankle boots.

Two liveried footmen wearing Shelldrake blue and gold were bringing a parade of courses beginning with pheasant soup. There would be scallops of chicken, filet de soles, salmon poached in a delectable citrus-laced fruit sauce, and roast saddle of mutton, with flavored water ice served between to clear the palate. Then, cherry compote, Neopolitans, and raspberry crème for dessert, served with the usual assorted sweet wines.

One of the footmen made the rounds with the entrees, presenting the fare first to the earl for approval, while the other set out the takeaways, and poured the wine. Melly hadn’t experienced such a formal dinner in over a year. She’d forgotten about such things, and she wondered that her appetite would do the cook’s elegant efforts justice.

The conversation was light and cordial through most of the soup course. She got through the expected solicitous compliments from Ellery quite nicely, but when they went beyond the pale, she decided to turn the conversation back upon him.

“How did you get so wet?” she queried.

“Running errands,” he replied after a spoonful of soup. “I won’t have to bathe for a month.”

“Then you’d best eat in the kitchen hereafter,” the earl said drolly.

“Very amusing, Drake.”

“Actually, I sent him to check on the Terrills,” the earl explained.

“Did you tell them what happened?” she cried. “They must know about the fire by now. They’ll think…”

“Of course, my dear,” the steward said silkily. “And they’ll pass the word to your Tinker friends that you were properly rescued, have no fear.”

“Thank you, Jim, for delivering my message that our guest is quite safe,” the earl cut in. “I was just about to inquire if you’d informed Lady Ahern’s friends as I asked you to.”

Melly relaxed, though she didn’t miss the steward’s sour expression. He looked like a thundercloud, now that the earl had stolen his thunder wearing a look of smug satisfaction as he finished his soup.

“How are they faring?” she said to Ellery, lifting her wine glass.

“So far, they still have a roof over their heads,” he replied, “but if this doesn’t let up soon, they could lose it. It’s a real ripsnorter out there.”

“If they do, we’ll put it right… again,” the earl said quietly.

The footman cleared the soup plates then and began to distribute the scallops of chicken. There was silence until the footmen served the fish course. Then a less hostile discourse evolved, focused on horses and the earl’s colorful adventures in Spain acquiring the legendary Andalusians from the French, who had confiscated them from the Spaniards.

It was all very convoluted, and Melly couldn’t concentrate on the fare or the conversation. She was sorry she’d come down. She was physically and emotionally drained, struggling with feelings that were new to her and not a little frightening, and she wasn’t comfortable with the hostile banter. She was trying to decide how to approach the subject of herbs. Should she address the issue with James Ellery privately, or do it then and there—demand an explanation—where she could watch them both react? Perhaps if she were to put the earl on the spot, he might reveal his secret. She opted for something in between.

“Judging from what I’ve seen from my sitting room window,” she said, “if this flaw doesn’t pass soon, you won’t have to bother Mr. Bell about uprooting your botanicals, my lord. Mother Nature will spare him the trouble.”

The earl stiffened, the carver’s chair creaking under his shifted weight, and Ellery, who had just begun to regain his color, lost it again. Both men stared at each other, their expressions riveting, though unreadable. Had she struck a nerve? Evidently.

“What’s this?” Ellery said around a nervous laugh.

“Nothing to concern you,” the earl replied, his words clipped and strained.

“There was a time not so long ago, when everything happening on Drake’s Lair was my concern,” the steward groused.

“While I was away,” said the earl.

“For
five years
,” the steward reminded him.

“I am come home now.”

“Am I dismissed, then?”

“Of course not. Don’t be absurd.”

“What then?”

“You take things too personally, Jim,” the earl drawled. “You always have. Not everything need concern, or revolve around you.”

“Please don’t quarrel,” Melly spoke up bravely, since things were not going as she’d hoped, “unless you want me to leave the table. I’ve had an exhausting twenty-four hours, and I’ve evidently spoken out of turn. If one of you would kindly tell me why a few garden herbs should cause such a brouhaha, it would probably prevent future such blunders on my part.”

The earl took a rough swallow from his wine glass, stabbing Ellery over the rim of it with narrowed eyes charged with warning, and they engaged in silent parry and riposte, but neither replied.

“Very well, then,” she said, starting to rise.

“No, my lady, stay,” Ellery said. Surging to his feet, he tossed his serviette down. “Enjoy your meal. It is I who must leave the table. I never should have joined you. I, too, have had an exhausting day. I am out of sorts and argumentative, and I humbly beg your forgiveness… Drake,” he added, giving a crisp, cursory nod in the earl’s direction then stalked from the dining hall stiff-legged, his hollow footfalls echoing after him.

“That might have been avoided, my lord, if only you had satisfied my natural curiosity,” she pointed out, stabbing a piece of chicken with her fork.

“My lady, there is nothing ‘natural’ about you,” he snapped. And tossing down his own serviette, he vaulted out of his chair, scudded it out behind, and left her staring after him mouth-agape.

*

Drake left the dining hall with full intent to confront Ellery in his apartments, but he hadn’t gotten halfway to the staircase, when he pulled up short. The steward had stopped Zoe on the second floor landing. She was on her way down from the third floor, with her arms full of bric-a-brac. Assuming that the objects had been displaced by her occupancy of Demelza’s dressing room, he expected Ellery to relieve her of them and carry them below in gentlemanly fashion. But when he did not, Drake stepped back into the shadows of the Great Hall alcove watching the exchange. What the deuce was this now? The steward reached into his pocket and offered something to the maid. Whatever it was, she juggled her encumbrance to accept it, and Ellery then moved on to the third floor, leaving her to struggle with her burden on her own.

The moment Zoe was out of sight, Drake sprinted up the bifurcated staircase to the third floor landing just in time to see Ellery entering Demelza’s apartments. Slipping inside a vacant chamber across the corridor, Drake left the door ajar and stood beside it, watching through the crack. He raked his hair back roughly. Was he right after all? Was this an assignation? What else could it be? Anger roiled in him at the thought of it right under his nose after he’d made himself plain on the issue. Or was it that he couldn’t bear the thought of that soft, fragrant, toffee-haired little witch, who had unknowingly ravished him, in James Ellery’s arms? Was there no end to the man’s treachery? Was there no limit to the gel’s sorcery? Had she set them against each other deliberately?

It was some time before Demelza entered her bedchamber. At sight of her, Drake’s heart leapt and began to hammer in his breast. He was certain it could be heard echoing down the vacant corridor, despite the incessant howl of the wind.

Maybe it wasn’t an assignation after all. Maybe he would leave directly so he would know there hadn’t been time to…
please leave
.
Now
.
Please now
. But no, the door remained closed. The corridor remained still except for the banshee winds that seemed to mock him.

He loosed a string of blue expletives through a dark mutter, and raked his hair again savagely. Still he waited… and… waited, hoping, but it was too late. They’d been together too long. She had been compromised. For once in his life there was no glory in being right.

After what seemed to him an eternity, for that passage of time had aged him—drained him to the marrow—he stepped back into the corridor, moved stealthily past her rooms, and bounded down the back stairs to the servants’ quarters below.

*

Melly had finished her dinner before she went to her apartments; no reason to let a perfectly good meal go to waste because two grown men chose to behave like cretins. She rather enjoyed it, once she was no longer self-conscious with two pair of eyes undressing her across the table.

Her bed was turned down when she entered, but there was no sign of Zoe. The sitting room door was open partway, and she called out, but no answer came. She tossed her fan down on the bed and stepped into the adjoining dressing room. It was vacant as well and she shrugged and sat down at the vanity.

Freeing her hair from the up-swept style, she shook her head and let it fall loose about her shoulders. She could get out of the frock on her own, but not the corset. Since it was a dress corset and not a working one, it was laced in back, and Zoe would have to assist with that. While she waited, she brushed her hair—one hundred slow, luxuriating strokes—and availed herself of the toiletries set out on the top of the vanity, wondering with a sudden pang of dark discomfort, if they had once belonged to the countess.

The cot had been prepared for the abigail in the corner behind a folding screen as the earl had promised; it, too, had been made and the counterpane turned down. Where was the little goose? She’d been waiting nearly an hour. There was nothing for it but to wait a little longer, and she kicked off her borrowed Morocco leather slippers, and padded back into the bedchamber, where she shielded her eyes and squinted through the mullioned panes toward the howling night without. Nothing was visible through the glass. It was cold, the rain tapping against it like anxious fingers, and she moved away hugging herself for warmth, for even in summer, a Cornish flaw could rob the land of that.

All at once she remembered the contract. She may as well peruse it while she waited for Zoe. Where had she left it? She stepped back into the dressing room and glanced around her. No, it wasn’t there. A quick search of the bedchamber showed her no sign of it there either, and she was just about to enter the sitting room, when she heard the door there leading to the corridor click shut.

“Zoe?” she called. “Zoe, is that you?”

But there was no answer, and she stepped over the threshold gingerly and glanced around the room. It was vacant, and the door was closed, but the draperies were moving at the window. She took a step back. The old house was drafty to be sure, but not that drafty, and she snatched up a poker from the hearthstone and tiptoed closer with it at the ready.

The draperies were heavy burgundy velvet. They were still trembling when she stabbed at them with the poker, but to her relief no one was behind them, though someone certainly could have been while she was in one of the other rooms. Had the earl been hiding there? Why? The Tinker’s words came again without bidding:
You have an enemy… he has a secret
. Had she come too close to discovering that secret?