For the Earl's Pleasure (10 page)

“Rainewood, go watch for the servants.”

He gave her a disbelieving glance. “No. You don’t know what you are looking for.”

“Neither do you! And you can’t touch anything.”

“That’s a low blow, Smart.”

“But a true one.” She poked a finger at his chest. “And if I get caught you are out of luck.”

“But—”

“No buts!”

He hesitated for a moment, shifting on silent boots. “You are looking for a dark green ledger.”

“What?” she asked sharply.

“It’s a book.”

“I know what a ledger is.”

“Then look for a green one.”

“What is in it?”

“Are you going to nag all night, Smart? I thought you wanted me to keep watch?”

His words were normal for their exchanges, but his eyes were shifty.

She’d definitely have to have a look in that book once found.

“Fine. Shoo!”

He gave her a dirty look but walked out into the hall and, she assumed, down the stairs. She stared at his retreating back for a second before he disappeared. It was the first moment he had left her alone since reappearing. He had been stuck to her like a marriage-starved mama to a prime bit.

It felt strange to have him gone.

Not good. She shook her head to clear it, and resumed searching with added vigor.

Five minutes later she had found plenty of information about Rainewood, Templing, and their friends’ habits, but still hadn’t found the ledger. She was starting to feel like there was nothing to find.

She plopped into the chair behind the desk and leaned back. Her toe hit something. She leaned down to see the edge of a book sticking out from under the shadows of the desk. She pulled it up, flopped it on the desk, and opened the cover.

Rainewood burst through the wall panting.

“Butler up. Hurry.”

She scrambled around the desk toward the front stairs, but he stopped her. “Too late to go that way. Use the back stairs.”

“But the door—”

“No time. I know another way.”

She started toward the back stairs, but a ghostly hand gripped her wrist for a moment, before sliding through. “Take the ledger.”

“But—”

“Just take it! Hurry!”

She grabbed the book and sprinted toward the back stairs. There was a definite sound of footfalls coming up the front. She hurriedly descended, wincing as she produced yet another squeak on the bottom riser. The footfalls abruptly stopped, then suddenly began again, moving three times as quickly. Another set of footfalls echoed from the front foyer. The front door was definitely out, and the back doors in most of the houses in this neighborhood let out to walled yards. No escape there.

Rainewood waved her to a small room off the back, then motioned for her to move quickly to the drawing room in the front. A large draped window beckoned. The second set of footsteps paced around the front foyer, so close to where she stood. The first set descended the back stairs. She unlatched the window, pushed out, and tumbled through.

She spit out a mouthful of leaves and pulled her dress from the gaping maws of the evergreen bushes. Rainewood was frantically waving her toward a tree in the neighbor’s yard. She stumbled to it and stepped behind just as the front door of Templing’s house opened.

She crouched behind the tree, panting, as Rainewood watched the door.

“Damn it. He’s coming this way.”

Her panic spiked. She’d be caught for sure. She clutched the ledger to her chest. She was a thief now. Rainewood had told her to take the book and, unthinking, she had. They’d throw her in prison.

“When I tell you to move, scoot around the tree.”

She heard the footsteps coming her way.

“One foot, go.”

She stepped to the left.

“Another. Another. Stop.”

The click of boot heels on the pavement stopped on the other side of the tree. If another servant were to look from the door, he would see both the butler and Abigail separated by the girth of the giant oak.

The butler swore. “Damn villains,” he muttered.

“Smart, step back the other way, quickly,” Raine wood demanded.

She shimmied around the tree as the butler returned to the house at a fast clip, his boots clicking.

“He’s going to call the watch.” Rainewood swore. “Come. Hurry.”

She hardly needed Rainewood’s direction to start running down the street. A carriage rolled past and she lowered her chin against her chest and the top of the book as she continued to run.

When she finally made it back to the Carters’ house, she chucked the ledger over the wall and used the heavy curling branches to climb back over. She reached the top and vaulted down, the loud sound of ripping fabric in her wake. Footsteps in the garden broke through the sound of the blood beating in her ears. She closed her eyes and shook. She didn’t want to assess the damage to her dress, what her hair currently looked like, or who might have observed any part of her vault over the wall.

This was a nightmare. That was all. Any moment she’d wake.

When no one exclaimed over her state, she tentatively opened an eye. Rainewood stood in front of her, scanning the area. “You need to rejoin the party.”

“No.” She closed her eyes again, fatigue replacing the broiling blood that had been pumping through her. “I’m going to lie here and pretend I’ve fainted. It will make for less of a scandal.”

“Smart, you need to get up. Someone is walking this way.”

She held back frustrated tears and levered herself up with one hand, the other grasping the back of her dress. It felt perfectly intact. She looked behind to see part of her under dress hanging from a prickly vine. She shakily unwound it, lifted her skirt, and tied it to her leg. She couldn’t leave it behind.

“Excellent thinking, Smart. You can use that to tie the ledger to your leg as you leave.”

She didn’t even look at him as she double knotted the fabric. “I’m as good as ruined, Rainewood. I might as well just carry the blasted thing through the house. You won’t need to carry out your end of the bargain after all.”

“Don’t be such a worrywart. You look presentable enough.” A ghostly finger brushed the fringe away from her face.

Voices came closer. “What do you expect from him? He has always done as he pleased.”

She kicked the ledger under the hedge and looked over her dress in order to catch any grass stains. The voices materialized around the surrounding greenery and rosebushes as Charles Stagen and Basil stepped into view. They stopped abruptly upon seeing her. She attempted a smile, but knew it was a grimace at best, the edge of a sob at worst.

Both of the men scanned the surrounding area, as if searching for someone who had either attacked her or tupped her.

“Merely lost my footing. Forgive me, but I must return to the party.”

Stagen’s hand shot out and gripped her wrist as she tried to move past him. “Be that as it may, Miss Smart, perhaps it would be better to remove that twig from your hair?”

He reached up and when his hand reappeared in her view a spindly branch was held between gloved fingers.

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Stagen.” She wobbled past him.

She only made it halfway back to the terrace, thankfully passing no one else, before she leaned against a statue to calm herself. She looked longingly behind her. She could just vault back over the wall and run. Just keep running and running until she could run no more.

“Smart, you need to get back to the party now,” Rainewood said. “That hatchet-faced woman is looking for you and she does not look pleased.”

Abigail closed her eyes. “I don’t care. I’ve gone crazy. They will lock me up somewhere. The hospital. Prison. What difference does it make?”

“Smart, calm down.” His fingers curled around her nape and pulled her an inch toward him before his fingers slid through her. She shivered. He looked at his hand in annoyance. “Where is the girl that climbed the tallest trees?”

She laughed humorlessly. “Dead. Stamped out. Resigned.”

He didn’t say anything, and when she looked at him there was a strange expression in his eyes that she couldn’t read. “I don’t believe that. And I can’t believe you do either. Now get moving.”

She pushed away from the statue, straightened her dress and hair one last time, and stepped onto the terrace as if she had nothing to hide. She made it through the door before a clawed hand gripped her upper arm.

“Miss Smart. Would you care to explain where you have been for the last half an hour?”

Her mind went blank as she looked at Mrs. Browning’s irate features, her mother’s nervous ones, and the inquiring looks on the faces of the guests surrounding them.

“She was dancing and then speaking with us in the garden, Mrs. Browning.” A voice behind her said smoothly. Basil tipped his head to Mrs. Browning. “Unfortunately, she took a spill on the wet grass. No harm done, but Mr. Stagen and I wanted to make sure she was well.”

Abigail wasn’t sure which was worse, the speculative looks on the surrounding faces, wondering whether she was having a liaison with one of the men, or the downright dubious expressions that these men would be attending to her at all.

“I also saw Miss Smart fall. There should be a warning sign near the hydrangeas,” Gregory’s strident voice said. “I have seen more than one lady lose her footing.”

The looks on the surrounding faces changed. Gregory Penshard would never agree with Charles Stagen or anyone of Rainewood’s group unless it was the truth—or he was forced to at swordpoint. He would definitely not save her reputation if she had been cavorting with one of them outside. That the ton understood this fact made the whole social system seem childish.

But it did save her.

“Mr. Stagen, Lord Basil, and Mr. Penshard have been all that is kind,” Abigail said as calmly as she could. “I believe I just need to freshen up. Thank you again, gentlemen.”

They tipped their heads, all three sets of eyes regarding her in different manners—none of which she was sure bode well, but at least she might get out of this alive.

Mrs. Browning and her mother extended their thanks as well, then followed her upstairs to the retiring room hot on her heels.

Mrs. Browning checked to make sure the retiring room was empty before turning to Abigail. “I don’t believe a word. What were you doing?”

“I fell. Truly.” And it was the truth. She had fallen multiple times, in fact.

But it was apparent on both of their faces that they didn’t believe her, and for the rest of the night, both women stuck to her like a glove stuck to skin too moist.

“You are very nearly wearing them,” Rainewood said as if reading her mind.

“This is your fault, Rainewood,” she muttered, then regretted saying so as Mrs. Browning gave her a sharp look.

She finally shook her mother and Mrs. Browning partially free when she moved into a group and began speaking with Edwina, Phillip, and Sir Walter Malcolm. They were discussing modern technical marvels and she smiled and nodded along, relieved to be on safe ground for once that night.

Gregory joined their group a few minutes later. He looked bored with the conversation and somehow positioned himself so that the two of them were slightly separated.

“Miss Smart.”

“Mr. Penshard.”

Rainewood made a mocking little gesture at her side.

“Would you care for a refreshment?” Gregory asked.

She could see that he wasn’t going to let her go without saying something. And with Gregory, not letting someone overhear his sometimes scathing invectives would be most opportune. “Please.”

They walked to the table, which was blessedly free of people loitering.

“Since I helped you,” he said, pouring a glass. “I feel quite free in asking what you were really doing in the gardens.”

She smiled brightly as he handed her the glass. “Just grabbing some fresh air.”

“That is hardly a wise thing to do without someone with you.” He poured another glass and took a careless sip. “Edwina would have accompanied you.”

Abigail tried not to watch as Rainewood circled Gregory, eyes narrowed. “I know,” she said, wiping her free palm against the skirt of her dress. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

“Wait a moment,” Rainewood muttered, eyes dangerous. “He mentioned a doctor in the study.”

She tried to ignore him as Gregory continued. “Good. I don’t like seeing you exploited by men of their ilk.”

“Penshard spoke about a doctor and tests at the Grayton House ball,” Rainewood said darkly. “In a room he should not have been using.”

“Uh, yes,” she said, her concentration broken as two sets of deep brown eyes narrowed—one pair focused on her, the other on the first pair. “But Lord Basil and Mr. Stagen were quite kind. It could have been disastrous. Thank you as well.”

Gregory tipped his head. “Of course. Just be cautious, Miss Smart. You never know who is lurking about.” He drained his glass, set it on the table, and strode away. She swallowed at his statement.

“It’s Penshard. Penshard is the one behind the attack.”

“What?” She glanced around to see if anyone had seen what appeared to be her asking the punch bowl a question. She scooped a glass, trying to keep her chin tucked enough so that no one could see her lips move. “What are you babbling about?”

“Penshard. He hired someone to be ‘taken care of’ by a doctor. It’s obvious. And he hates me.”

“Gregory is hotheaded, but not the murdering type.”

“I’m not dead yet, Smart. I’m not saying that someone didn’t try though. And my head says Penshard did it. Perfect motive and it is completely something he would do.”

“Gregory would not.”

“Of course he would,” Rainewood scoffed. “He is not far out in line to the title. And he is a little codswallop. Always has been.”

“Just because you don’t like him—”

“Not only that.” Rainewood looked away. “He is on the list.”

She swallowed. “You really do have it, then.”

He said nothing and was saved by a group of partygoers descending upon the table.

It wasn’t until the end of the evening, when her wardens were speaking to their hostess, that Abigail slipped away from them completely. She hurried outside to retrieve the damn ledger and tie it to her leg. Damned if she was going to leave it here after all the trouble she’d gone through to obtain it. She searched through the hedge. Nothing. She squatted down, but there was nothing there but dirt, twigs, and leaves.