Duke of Deception (Wentworth Trilogy) (16 page)

L
ucy awoke the next morning to the sound of Bridget pouring water into the porcelain washbowl. She opened her eyes just enough to ascertain that Derek was gone, a realization which, oddly enough, left her feeling bereft.

“Oh, good, you’re awake, m’lady. The captain’s been downstairs for a couple of hours already and he’s hopin’ you’ll take him ’round Stonecrest this morning and show him all the things you’re plannin’ to do.”

Lucy opened her eyes wide and stared at Bridget. “Did he say that?” The idea that he would want to take a tour of her estate came as a surprise, especially since he had an appointment with Lord Aster in London.

“Yes, indeed. Nothing could keep him from it once he heard you were makin’ rounds to the tenants today. He’s already asked for the cart to be readied. Plans to drive you around hisself. Oh, isn’t he just the handsomest man you ever saw? And so well-proportioned too. Why, I’ll bet—”

“Bridget! We’ll not talk about the captain’s physique again,” Lucy said a little more sharply than she meant to. Truth to tell, she was a bit worried about those proportions, now that she had a better idea of what went on between a man and a woman, though she knew there was more to it than what had happened last night. After all,
that
part of his anatomy hadn’t entered into the picture at all, and she was sure it must. And if he planned to put
that
where . . . well, it just wasn’t possible, even without what Bridget had referred to as his manly proportions.

Her mind sorted through the tidbits of information she had heard about the Act and with a start, she realized it could very well have already happened. Maybe the consummation was that intense pleasure she experienced. Maybe they were now, in fact, true husband and wife.

Then she remembered Sara saying that it would hurt and she would bleed, and she shuddered a little, realizing she had yet to experience that.

Well, if things went as planned, she never would, she told herself. She would insist he stick to his promise, and if he was leaving on a long trip, most likely he would be gone before the month was up. Still, not knowing exactly what was in store for her should she give in—not that she ever would—was confusing, and she wondered if Sara had learned any more of the matter. The real question was whether or not she would ever see Sara again to ask her.

The thought that she might not see her friend again dampened her spirits, and she put it out of her mind, concentrating instead on Bridget, who was giving her an apologetic smile.

“I’ll try not to mention it again, m’lady. It’s just that he’s so masculine and so—oh, pardon, m’lady,” Bridget said with a giggle. “Anyways, the captain arranged for sausages and ham and all kinds of good things to be delivered from the village for breakfast, and he asked me to bring some right up.” She moved a tray to the bedside table and uncovered the dishes, releasing the delicious aroma of a well-prepared country breakfast.

Lucy’s stomach rumbled with the first enticing odor, so she threw on a nightdress and hurried to sit at the table. How glorious it would be to have a delicious breakfast, she thought, trying to recall exactly how long it had been since Matilda was hired. Now that she had money, she’d hire a real cook and let Matilda stay on too, learning the art, if she was able. If she wasn’t able, then the girl would have to take on another job at Stonecrest.

“Hmmph. That’s an odd one,” said Bridget. She was on her hands and knees, searching under the bed. Then she stood, arms akimbo.

“M’lady,” she said as she looked around, “where’s the little pink pillow? The one your aunt brought you from Spain?”

Lucy shook her head as she swallowed a heavenly bite of sausage and egg. “Captain Wainright probably put it somewhere. There wasn’t much room in the bed as it was,” she added, feeling her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment.

Bridget glanced around again. “Well, it couldn’t have walked off, so it’s here someplace.”

Lucy recalled seeing the pillow on the bed when she slipped under the covers. “Don’t worry about it. It will turn up.”

Bridget nodded and turned her attention to the wardrobe. “Do you have somethin’ in particular you want to wear this mornin’?”

Lucy thought quickly. Her aunt always said the blue cotton morning dress with the pink flowers and ribbon trim brought out her eyes and complexion, and so she settled on that, glad of her choice when she saw her reflection in the mirror a half hour later, after she’d bathed. Remembering the look in Derek’s eyes as he watched her remove the combs from her hair, she decided to leave it loose, but just as quickly changed her mind, asking Bridget to tie it back, ashamed of herself for wanting to please him. With Bridget trailing behind her, she hurried downstairs and through the door held wide by a beaming Sturgeon, finding herself suddenly eager to spend the morning with her husband.

He stood with his back to her, and the moment she saw him, her heart began to beat in that odd, lurching way it did whenever he was around. Without thinking, she reached up and pulled the ribbon from her hair and shook her head slightly, allowing the long waves of curls to settle as they pleased, even as she told herself that he was just a man, a man with secrets she would probably never know.

And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to look away or to even wish she could.

He exuded strength and surety and a masculinity that took her breath away. He wore no jacket or waistcoat but rather quite simply another one of the seemingly endless supply of crisp white shirts that set off his dark skin and hair so strikingly. The navy trousers, though slightly looser than the breeches or tighter trousers he so often wore, couldn’t hide the shape of his long, muscular legs and trim hips.

He turned suddenly, and she saw a hunger directed at her from gray eyes so dark they were almost black. A slow, appreciative smile broke across his face as his gaze rested on her unbound hair and then moved slowly downward to caress the length of her body before rising once again to meet her eyes. “You wore your hair down,” was all he said, and she had never felt more beautiful in her life.

“It’s more comfortable this way,” she replied, wondering why she didn’t want him to know she’d done it for him. Embarrassed, she dropped her gaze to a strong yet graceful hand loosely holding the reins of a horse. She stared at that hand, remembering the thrill of its touch, and felt a quiver deep in the pit of her stomach as she remembered his finger on her, in her. She forced herself to stop thinking about that.

“I thought you had a meeting in London this morning,” she said.

“I did, but I’d rather spend the time with you. I sent a note to Stephen inviting him to Stonecrest for dinner. I hope that’s all right. I’ve arranged for a woman from the village to come help Matilda.”

She smiled at his handling of the situation and nodded her agreement as she tried not to be drawn in by the gentle, teasing look in his eyes. She took a deep breath and gave herself a mental shake, warning her heart not to fall under his spell, reminding herself he couldn’t be trusted.

He still hadn’t mentioned his upcoming trip, and that made her wonder. It was possible, but unlikely, that her uncle had been misinformed, and she suspected that one morning she would awaken to find Derek gone, never to return. Or perhaps he would tell her as he was leaving, letting her know he wouldn’t be back. There were too many possibilities, too many reasons he might withhold that information, and she didn’t have the nerve to ask him. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to know.

But for this moment, she decided his motives didn’t matter. She loved having the opportunity to tour Stonecrest with him. She was proud of her home and her land and the people who worked it, and she wanted to share that pride with him. She had no one to talk to about the restoration—her aunt wasn’t interested—and she would enjoy this morning, no matter what.

So, for the rest of the day, she’d forget that she might never know the reason he married her and tell herself she didn’t care. He would return to America one day soon, and she would not be going with him.

“I
’ve come across some information,” Derek told Stephen. “It may be important.”

Derek had ushered Stephen into the study the moment his friend arrived at Stonecrest. He was eager to hear what Stephen thought about Philip Barrick and his maps. He quickly filled Stephen in.

“You think the connection between your father and Barrick has to do with a map and not smuggling?” Stephen tossed Derek a disbelieving look. “Wouldn’t there be something about it in the journal? You said your father wrote about Barrick several times. Why not mention the map?”

“He did. I didn’t tell you because it seemed insignificant. Now I’m not so sure. What if the map had to do with the smugglers?”

Stephen scoffed. “What do you think? That the smugglers were after buried treasure? What has that to do with treason? What did your father say about the map?”

“Nothing specific, but it’s worth looking into if for no other reason than to rule out Philip and Nathan Barrick as conspirators in this mess.”

Stephen huffed and shook his head. He shoved his hands into his pockets, glaring back at Derek.

“What? Is something wrong?”

“Yes, something’s wrong,” Stephen said as he paced the floor. He stopped pacing and swung around to face Derek. “Someone broke into my house last night, and your room was the only one searched.”

“The servants didn’t hear anything?”

“The servants’ quarters are on the other side of the house, as you well know. And your room is on the ground floor.” Stephen ran his fingers through his dark hair. “If you weren’t worried before, you should be now. Forget your plan, Derek. Your situation has changed. You have a wife to look after.”

“Somehow I rather think my wife would be happier without me, don’t you?” Derek responded.

“Please don’t patronize me. This is not a game. Consider my situation. Imagine how I’d feel with the weight of your death on my shoulders. I was mad to even think of helping you with this scheme. If your father really was killed by these men, then your plan is suicidal. Think of your mother, your brother and sisters, and ask yourself why you’re doing this.”

Stephen’s agonized concern wiped the smile from Derek’s face. It had never been a game to Derek, but maybe Stephen didn’t know that.

“I
have
been thinking of my family,” Derek replied. “Believe me, I think of them every day. But I think of honor and responsibility too, and I know that without those, the rest is meaningless. My father pursued these men at great cost to everything he held dear—his marriage, his family, his fortune, his life. He was consumed by this gang. You didn’t read his journal. You can’t know the depth of his feelings about this.”

As Derek said the words, he realized that he didn’t know the depth of his father’s feelings about the smuggling either because his father’s notes were hard to follow and Derek hadn’t known him well enough for logical speculation. It galled him to admit the truth to himself; he certainly wasn’t going to admit it to Stephen. He knew, however, that his father thought Summerfield the most despicable man alive, a traitor, and that was enough for Derek.

“Maybe I didn’t get to know him as I should have,” he said, “but I knew his character. To act out this persistent search with such ferocity, he must have thought these men evil incarnate. At the very least he suspected them of treason, and if I want to respect myself for being even half the man he was, I must finish the job he started.”

Stephen rolled his eyes. “And what if I tell you he changed more than you can imagine while you were gone? What you think he pursued out of honor might actually have been pursued for revenge. You said he lost a valuable shipment of goods to the smugglers.”

“And hardly mentioned it in his journal. Believe me, he wasn’t thinking about that shipment every day of the two years he pursued these thieves. I’m not even sure he didn’t set up that cargo run to trap the smugglers. Anything is possible.”

“I think you give him more credit than he deserves,” Stephen muttered. “You didn’t know him at all. Other things were said about him. Things I didn’t want to tell you.”

Derek arched a brow. “What things?”

“Things.
He had become a spiteful, hateful man. For God’s sake, he was a spiteful, hateful man before he sent you away. Who sends his heir to a foreign land and never speaks to him again?”

Derek stiffened. His friend had hit a nerve. What Stephen said about his father’s mean-spirited nature was true, but Derek had always blamed himself for his father’s behavior. It stood to reason that it was Derek’s fault. His father had treated Anthony in a completely different manner, spending time with him, teaching him things, taking pride in everything he did. Derek had been envious of their relationship, and it had only made him hate his father more. And that had increased his guilt, which had led to this masquerade.

He brushed those thoughts aside. “I don’t care about my father’s personality. If there are men committing treason and I can do something about it, I’m going to. As far as your break-in is concerned, there’s no proof anyone has found me out. Your intruder could have been looking for notes on cargo and shipments. Perhaps the smugglers are preparing to make contact.”

“You don’t have a clue as to what the smugglers are preparing to do, but you’re so cocksure you can’t admit it. Just like you can’t admit that marriage wasn’t in your plan, that your cargo not arriving on time caused problems, that one of your customers cancelling his contract had you scrambling to fill your hold. You’ll never admit to any mistakes because you’re always so damned cocksure.”

“I never claimed to be God, Stephen. I can’t snap my fingers and have everything magically happen. All I can do is make plans and change them when needed. That doesn’t make me cocksure. It makes me logical and flexible.”

“You are nowhere with your investigation, yet you continue to play at this game. You haven’t even discovered who Summerfield is,
if
such a man exists. And I tell you he probably doesn’t. I wasn’t joking about your father. His mental state was a topic of more than one conversation.”