For the Earl's Pleasure (20 page)

“Ah, but that is only when you look at the surface. You should know by now that though society as a whole does just that, many of the individuals see far more.”

Valerian was hardly paying attention as he concentrated on entering the carriage. It seemed to be getting harder for him, but he was still able to do so as long as she was there.

She was glad that he was otherwise occupied.

“They see the deeper well of animosity, I’m sure.”

“Mmmm,” was all he answered.

Valerian successfully entered the carriage and sighed as he slipped onto Mrs. Browning. She could see the woman shudder from the corner of her eye.

Valerian leaned forward until his lips were almost at her ear. “There’s something that Campbell is hiding. Something more than what we already think. And he is living with Basil. We have to search there.” He tapped a finger on the back of the seat. “Leave something behind, if you can.”

She tucked her wrap into the folds of the carriage seat when Basil was occupied with driving. It was tucked in just enough so that Basil wouldn’t notice it upon her exit, but so that someone would find it upon inspecting the carriage. It would give her an excuse to call upon him at Number Eighteen. She exited behind Mrs. Browning and her mother.

“Thank you for the lovely afternoon, Lord Basil,” she said. “It was truly a pleasure to see the hobbyhorse races.”

“It was my pleasure, Miss Smart.” He smiled at her, but there was a watchfulness to his eyes. “Perhaps we can meet again?”

She saw her mother watching her closely—likely trying to see if she would capture the opportunity or let it slip past in retribution. “I would like that,” she answered.

Mrs. Browning frowned, but nodded to Basil. “Good day, Lord Basil.”

As soon as they were in the house, Mrs. Browning spoke. “I wish to speak with you both.”

Abigail dutifully followed into the front parlor, Valerian behind her. Mrs. Browning shut the door.

“Though I do not entirely approve of Mr. Penshard, either he or Mr. Campbell would make solid choices and they seem interested despite their poor display of temper there at the end. I believe that you should better extend your efforts to those that will make you an offer, Miss Smart.”

Abigail raised a brow at the implication and obvious reasoning behind the statements. “Are you saying that Lord Basil will not?”

“You know that he won’t”—
silly girl
, went unsaid—“the Duchess of Palmbury won’t have it.”

“If Abigail likes Lord Basil, then I do not see the harm in allowing him to pursue her,” her mother said softly.

Abigail looked at her mother, who looked steadily back. Abigail tilted her head in acknowledgment.

Mrs. Browning smoothed her dress at the challenge to her absolute authority. “Yes, well, as I said, I think we’d do well to focus our efforts on those with whom there is a real chance. It is nice to have a multitude of choices, but let us be realistic.”

“And I say that it is Abigail’s choice.”

Mrs. Browning’s lips disappeared before smoothing. “You hired me for my advice, Mrs. Smart.”

“That I did.”

Abigail held her breath as Mrs. Browning’s eyes narrowed on the calm choice of words—the way that her mother had just told their paid companion that for the first time her advice would not necessarily be followed.

“Very well.” Mrs. Browning smiled—a sharp smile similar to those that Valerian’s grandmother had perfected. “Shall we look over the guest list for the ball tonight?”

The ball had been tedious. There was too much excitement strumming through her to manage everything that had been thrown her way. Campbell had apologized to her for not winning the race and shown her that he still sported her ribbon favor prominently.

That had set tongues to wagging. Valerian had been grumpy and proprietary the entire night, making dire threats and wishes against all parts of Campbell’s body and heritage.

And now it was closer to dawn than midnight, and once more she was sneaking into a house with only a ghost for a lookout. Telly would never forgive her if she found out—Abigail having slipped out after the household was asleep. Then again, if at this point Telly discovered her absence, it was likely that others would too and Abigail would be in much deeper trouble.

She ascended the stairs with the help of Valerian and found herself on a clean and orderly second floor. Voices punctuated the air further up. Valerian pointed to a room at the right. “Your wrap is likely to be in there, as will Basil’s personal documents. You search. Retrieving your wrap will obviously not work as an excuse, should you be found, but at least we can work with it somehow. I’ll go up and keep an eye on those two.” There was something dark in his eyes before he turned.

Basil’s study was extremely organized, but in a way that made it seem as if he was purposefully trying to put off someone who would be snooping. Things weren’t in the exact place that a person might normally put them, but instead grouped in peculiar order. Still, once she found a pile or drawer she was able to figure out at least what she was looking at.

Chief amongst the papers was a detailed accounting of Valerian’s whereabouts prior to his disappearance. A pit settled in her stomach, but then she uncovered another folder. One with reports from three different Bow Street Runners and two other investigators—all looking into where Valerian could be.

Her name jumped from the page as a suspect in his disappearance. Following that was a note that nothing had been found in her room or house. She saw the signature of the dowager duchess at the bottom authorizing the action. She gripped the page for a moment before smoothing it again. So now she knew why their house had been searched and by whom.

Her fingers encountered smooth leather and she pulled out a green book hidden between two stacks. Templing’s ledger. She swallowed.

All of it explained Basil’s sudden interest in her, which had started after she had repeated things only Valerian would know. The dowager had probably given her name as a suspect from the first, hating her as she did.

Basil was looking for his brother. He wasn’t responsible for his disappearance.

She smoothed her fingers over the leather surface again. She wanted to take it. Destroy it.

One finger wrapped around the edge of the front cover. One peek. Just to see. To know if her fear was justified.

She pulled the cover back. Names and dates jumped out. Notes and notations. She flipped a page, skimming, trying not to absorb the scandalous writings and the temptation such knowledge might give her in a future moment of anger.

One page turned to two, and then three until she reached blank parchment.

Her name wasn’t there. Relief crashed through her and she stared at the book for a moment before tucking it back in its spot. The weight of the secret still sat upon her shoulders, held for another day.

Her wrap rested by the door, but she left it there. It would be completely obvious were it to disappear.

She walked up the steps to collect Valerian and saw him leaning against the doorframe, looking inside the room, his fists curled into balls underneath his crossed arms.

“Raine will kill me,” Campbell said drunkenly from inside.

She moved closer so that she could peer around Valerian and see inside.

“He hasn’t shown any inclination to doing anything other than towing the family line, Campbell.” Basil refilled Campbell’s glass. “When was the last time you saw him?”

“The night of the Malcolm’s fete.” Campbell drained half of the glass.

“What was he doing when you last observed him?”

“What the bloody hell does it matter now? If he ever returns, I’m dead.”

“Perhaps his state of disappearance can tell us if that is true.”

“You speak as if that matters. What matters is that I’m after his bird. They’ve been together, Danforth, I’m telling you. Have you seen the looks when they think no one is aware?” He tilted his head back against his chair, drunkenly. “Have you?”

“Yes,” Basil said softly, but much more calmly. “But there is nothing there and never will be.”

Campbell pointed a finger at him. “You can’t know that.”

“Oh, I can be reasonably sure.” Basil topped Campbell’s glass.

Abigail watched, lips pressed together as the reality of the conversation penetrated.

“He will be engaged to the Malcolm girl soon. Valerian knows his duty.”

“He will still kill me.”

“Do you deserve it, Campbell?” Basil watched the other man closely. As much as the conversation bothered her, she couldn’t help but thinking that Basil was doing a damn good job of trying to discover the information about Valerian’s disappearance. “There are men after you, are there not?”

Campbell waved his hand. “A few debts. A pittance, that is all. It will be taken care of soon enough.”

“How is that?”

“No need to worry, friend.”

“I learned early in life not to worry unduly, Campbell. Too many things out of one’s control. But I find myself curious.”

“Made a deal.” Campbell put his fingers over his eyes and heavily wiped across. “All taken care of. Think I could use a nap now, Danforth.”

It wasn’t more than a few seconds before Campbell was nearly snoring, head tilted back on the chair, mouth open.

Basil observed him. “Fool,” he said softly and rose.

Abigail stepped to the side to avoid being seen as Basil disappeared into a connecting room. Her action in the sudden silence turned Valerian’s attention on her. He motioned her into a different side room and she slipped inside. Footsteps ascended the stairs, indicating Basil had retired above.

“Basil is trying to locate you.” She wasted no time before whispering her findings about the documents, the search, and Templing’s ledger. “He can’t be the one responsible. And it sounds like he would help us. His questions to Campbell…I—” She swallowed. “I could tell Basil about you.”

“No.” The word was short and crisp.

“You wanted me to—”

“That was before.” He grabbed her arms. “Before I knew what happened. You are to say nothing now, do you understand?”

“But—”

“No. I won’t have that doctor or anyone else coming for you because of this. It’s my final word.” She bristled at the command, and his hand slid down her left arm in a caress. “It is my fate that we are dealing with.”

He looked away for a moment, a sharp but sad look in his eyes. “I don’t want you punished for the circumstances in my life.”

Again
, hung, understood, at the end of the phrase.

She swallowed, something in her hopeful yet sad, because she knew it wouldn’t last. She nodded. “What do you wish to do?”

His hands dropped from her arms. “I don’t know. I don’t want you to search Campbell’s room and risk getting caught or even to go near him. Basil we could handle, but Campbell’s discovery of you would be dire. Besides, if what you say about Basil is true, then he has most likely searched Campbell’s things.”

Abigail nodded, “I think we need to search O’Malley’s.”

“Absolutely not.”

“It is the only way.” She turned and opened the door without thinking—without making Valerian look on the other side first—and stopped dead at the sight across the threshold.

Aidan Campbell leaned against the balustrade, trying to drunkenly maneuver down the hall. His eyes turned toward the door and widened in surprise.

“This is a most fortunate turn of events.” Campbell smiled crookedly, “I will enjoy being betrothed to you, no matter what Raine says.” He reached out and swayed into her.

S
he shifted out of the way just in time to avoid the collision. Campbell righted himself and stared at her with glazed eyes. She stared back. The shifting of a floorboard above as Basil paced was the only sound in the room.

Valerian swore copiously, filling the air for her ears only.

“Miss Smart?” Campbell’s bleary eyes surveyed her, taking in her too-big trousers and oversized shirt. His eyes lingered upon her chest and then dropped back to her legs.

She was doomed.

“I must be dreaming.”

She blinked. Perhaps salvation was still in her grasp.

“Though how I could imagine such a thing, I don’t know. Let me see.” He reached out a hand to touch her and salvation slipped through the funnel. If he touched her, it would be over, she was sure.

She laughed as brightly as she could, though it emerged slightly hysterical in nature, and took a quick step away. “A Merry Christmas to you, Aidan. We can’t open presents just yet, however. We must have our feast.” She gave a little bow and softly clapped her hands.

“Abigail,” Valerian warned.

Campbell’s eyes crossed for a second and he leaned a hand against the wall. “Christmas? But where is the holly?”

She turned in a forced jig. “The holly boughs are below. You said you wanted turkey feathers above.” She pointed to a strange wreath of feathers attached to the wall. She had no idea what they really were, but all that mattered was convincing the drunk man in front of her that she wasn’t really there. “Aidan, Aidan, Aidan, and his turkey feathers.”

She would have died of embarrassment at her actions if she weren’t so terrified of what happened if she failed.

“I didn’t know I liked turkey feathers, but I do like you.” He tried to grab her and she sidestepped him, forcing him to stumble.

“Not until after the feast.”

“I think we should have our own feast.” He reached for her again. “Marry me, Abigail Smart. I will give you what Raine does not.”

She stumbled. Valerian’s fist slashed right through him.

“Not before the
Christmas
feast,” she said a little more hysterically, emphasizing the holiday. “The holly boughs await.”

“If you were really here I would compromise you, force you to marry me. Get one up on Raine finally. Restore the family fortunes and name. Plunder your curves.” He stumbled toward her to do what she could only assume was start said plundering. She danced away, trying to keep in the act and trying not to scream.

“I’m going to kill him.” The calm low voice came from behind her, but she didn’t turn to see Valerian’s face, too concerned with keeping her eyes on Campbell.

“No rain on Christmas,” she said, trying to keep her jig going in continuing motions away from him.

“Not rain. Raine,” Campbell emphasized.

“Do you enjoy rain?”

“He needs a comeuppance.”

She stumbled again, but continued her movement. “And did you give it to him?”

Campbell rubbed a hand across his eyes and swayed. “Not yet. Bastard always wins.”

“Are you planning to do something to him?”

“Tired. Need to sleep.” He stumbled forward and just made it to the settee in the middle of the room before collapsing.

“Get out of the house, Abigail,” Valerian whispered harshly.

“But—”

“Now!”

She hurried through the door. Campbell made some noise behind her and then fell silent.

She took the steps none too silently as she scurried to the door—thankfully sans servants standing at watch—and tore it open to the street.

She stumbled out of Number Eighteen and onto the walk. Her borrowed boys’ trousers wrapped around her legs, constricting her in a way that skirts never did. Hindering her and pointing to the absurdity of her disguise, of the plan, of her life. She glanced at Valerian who strode next to her, full lips pinched and looking in all directions.

That had gone utterly wrong.

“You are finished. No more searching,” he said.

“But Campbell sounded like he was going to confess to something—or to exonerate himself,” she said as she hurried along the walk, avoiding late-night revelers and keeping her head down. People usually saw what they expected to see. Seeing Abigail Smart hurrying through Golden Square in a footman’s outfit in the dead of night did not fall under that category. Still, better to be cautious then ruined.

She had almost achieved the latter back in Basil’s house. She shuddered.

“I don’t care. You aren’t doing this again.”

“What is the worst that could happen? I become betrothed to Campbell and make mother and Mrs. Browning deliriously happy?”

“That isn’t amusing,” he said harshly.

“I wasn’t trying to be,” she said bluntly back.

He stopped and looked at her, dark lines shading all of his features. “If that is what you—”

He halted abruptly and she followed his gaze. Her hands froze, followed by the rest of her body. Numb.

Dr. Myers stood across the street staring back, a slow smile working its way across his mouth.

“Oh my God,” she heard someone say, even though the echo of it came from her lips.

“Move, Abigail.”

But she couldn’t. She didn’t want to turn her back on the man—every preservation instinct once more taking hold. Myers stepped from behind the high hedges and through the gate onto the walk. Steady, even steps toward her.

She took Valerian’s advice and ran.

“Stop, thief!” she heard the hated voice say behind her as she blindly ran, a parody of her own doomed chase days before.

Foreign hands reached out to catch her—hands helping a fellow patron to catch a wayward thief. One set grasped the fabric of her shirt, but she twisted and tore away, continuing to run. Unfortunately, another strong set of hands got a better grip and held tight, ripping a seam in the shoulder of her shirt.

She looked up and then quickly down again as she recognized Sir Walter.

Ruined
. Utterly ruined.

“My lord, thank you. I’ll take the thief from here,” the hated voice said.

“He looks barely old enough to know better,” chided Sir Walter. “Be gentle. Rehabilitation should be sought for the willing.”

“Of course,” The doctor’s oily-slick voice said in response. “I will just give him a good talking to. Thank you for your help.”

Dr. Myers gripped the neck of her shirt and forcefully pushed her toward the end of the square. She allowed it. She couldn’t let Sir Walter identify her. She couldn’t let anyone else in the square—for surely they were staring at the spectacle—see her too closely. She’d deal with Myers just like she had before.

“Oh, this is surely my lucky day, Miss Smart,” he said softly as he marched her around the corner and into a darkened side street unlit by the gas lamps illuminating the square. “I don’t know whether to take you home to your mother and claim immediate rights or just end things here.”

He gripped her chin and she attempted to remove it from his grasp. His fingers tightened, bruising the skin beneath. “Oh, I can mark you all I want. You are outside your home. Your mother can do nothing to help—not that she would after this.”

The fleeting thought that her mother might help her anyway was chased by the doctor’s other hand closing about her raised wrist, his body pinning her other arm. Dark, livid marks stood out around the skin of his neck.

“Rehabilitation.” He laughed softly. “Such choice words. Your rogue spirit marked me the other day, Abigail Smart. And I will make you pay for it.”

She wildly looked around, but Valerian was nowhere to be seen.

The doctor followed her gaze. “I didn’t get rid of him, I see. Another task to undertake when I am finished with you. You will—”

But she didn’t allow him a chance to finish his sentence, she brought her trousered knee up, unhampered by the bulk of a dozen skirts, and into his privates. He doubled over and she raised her knee to his bent forehead.

She hadn’t grown up with Valerian, the scourge of Devonshire neighborhoods, without learning something.

As Myers cursed and fell to the ground she spared a quick look for Valerian, but he was still nowhere to be seen. She swallowed and looked down. She needed to get home before the doctor recovered and followed her, or worse, beat her home—exposing her to her mother and the servants, who would undoubtedly gossip to Mrs. Browning and ruin her anyway.

Her mother might think her behavior too terrible. Really try and send her away for her own good. Might even finally believe Myers that she needed to be watched somewhere under his direction.

Abigail closed her eyes, thought of all the man had done to her, then kicked him in the head with her borrowed boot. He splayed across the ground and she shivered at the actions—both hers and his.

“Abigail.” She nearly wept in relief as Valerian appeared at the front of the alley. “There are two men headed this way. You must leave.”

She needed no extra urging and ran to the nearest cross street and hired hack she could find.

Only when they were safely in her room did she allow the shivers full rein.

Valerian put a hand on the back of her neck. She leaned into the touch.

She needed it. Needed him.

That he had turned his back completely on her once made the admission doubly painful, but there was little denying anymore that she wanted him. She was another idiotic lackey that thought the sun rose on his smile.

She stiffened, her pride telling her to pull away. Not to allow him to damage her any more than he had before.

He touched her shoulder. “My heart stopped when Myers cornered you.”

She pulled away from the nearly irresistible urge to just give in and hand Valerian everything that she was. She walked forward a step and turned. “Do you know who the two men were?”

His hands dropped to his sides and his eyes darkened. “One was from the alley. The man who held you. The other I have never seen.”

She tried not to let her shudder show. This was the life that her mother had thought to save her from once—a simple person on the street who had to run and connive to save herself.

“Myers is obsessed with you,” he said.

“Yes.” She gave a tight grin. “Hard to believe.”

He examined his jacket, brushing a hand down the bottom to smooth it. His eyes briefly drifted to her dressing table. “Not so hard, really.”

“Be careful, Valerian,” she said, trying to lighten the sudden tightening of the mood in the room. “I’ll come to think you care.”

“No, perhaps you’ll come to think that I never stopped.”

Her body stilled and she looked at him, trying to see the joke, to watch for the sudden movement of his body or mouth that would indicate that he was being cruel.

It never came. He instead looked again to the table and moved to the bed, running a hand down the carved wood of the four-poster pole.

“So hard to admit to failure, Abigail. To admit that fear ruled my actions so long ago. Fifteen and confused.”

This was the Valerian that she had once known. Willing to put his heart forward, to lower his defenses. She wanted desperately to believe that this was truly he, and not some imprint of him that would melt away.

“It was so much easier to shut it away, Abby.”

Her heart lurched and her feet automatically moved toward him. She put a hand tentatively on his shoulder, rubbing along the fabric there. “That was a terrible year. Your brother—”

He tensed under her hand. “Yes, Thornton. Do you know that when I look at you sometimes I see the boy I used to be before Thornton passed. Before I took his place. Completely.” The last was said almost too low for her to hear.

“No, you aren’t Thornton.”

He turned around and her hand dropped to her side. He lifted her chin, his eyes piercing hers. “I am just like Thornton, Abigail. I took up his mantle and wrapped it around me like it was my birthright, which it never was. I cut out everything from my life before—those things that would keep me from becoming the perfect heir.”

“You were already the perfect heir.”

He laughed harshly. “You defend me? Even now?”

She bit her lip. “A bit, yes. There are things that I have a hard time forgiving you. But I can’t help but want to forgive the boy I knew so long ago. That I loved like my brother.”

His hand dropped from her chin. “That was part of the problem, was it not?”

“What?” She asked, confusion taking her.

“You thought of me as a brother.”

“I—” She bit her lip. She didn’t have the guts—not with their past so murky and their future relationship so uncertain. But his hand touched the lace at her wrist cuff and she inhaled a deep breath. “I had stopped thinking of you in those terms before our disagreement. Before that one quick kiss.”

Just a peck after a particularly spectacular swing they had completed with joined hands and laughing faces, the golden meadow swirling around as they’d celebrated life and friendship. Fallen into the grass, an impulsive kiss placed against rose lips.

His eyes met hers, deep brown and full of some emotion. His fingers raised to her neck and curled around the back. “Interesting, as I had done the same.”

Some part of her had known it, or at least hoped. Had banked on it when she’d gone to him for help. Had fallen into stunned disbelief at his cold rebuff. “But you cut me out completely. You—”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “I know. You can’t understand the confusion. The betrayal. The pull I felt in opposite directions.”

“There is little pull now. You are stuck here.”

“I
want
to be here.”

She swallowed and looked deep into his eyes, searching for the answers she wanted. There was only what she could see in the spirit though. It had to be enough for now. “I want you to be here too.”

She touched his shoulder. Shoulders that even with his thinner size projected strength and certainty. Arrogance and a hint of highborn disdain. It only made him more attractive. The lure of the forbidden. The weakness of the female mind to want the man who showed the most prowess or dominance.

Lips pressed against hers and she was lost in the almost sweetness there—though there was too much about Rainewood that was hard and sure to give in totally to sweetness of any kind.