In the Arms of a Marquess (31 page)

“If you knew how wretchedly dishonest I have been these past several weeks you would not be looking so admiringly at me.” She would, however, award herself points for bravery at the moment. She tugged, and this time Constance came along.

She gave Constance’s coachman their intended direction. They sat in the closed carriage in silence that grew thicker as the minutes passed and Tavy’s heart thundered harder with each turn of the wheels. In front of Ben’s house, a footman let down the steps and handed them out. Tavy guided Constance before her into the colonnaded foyer.

The butler bowed. “Good day, my lady, miss.”

Constance did not speak. Her cheeks were pale, her full lips a bare breath of pinkish white. But at least she had ceased weeping. Tavy took her arm.

“Is your master at home?”

“Yes, miss. The footman has just—”

“Where is he? In his study?”

“Why, yes, but—”

Tavy pulled Constance along the corridor. Samuel passed them a moment before Ben appeared in the doorway of his study. His brows were drawn, his mouth hard. A sob broke from Constance and she pushed past him into the chamber.

Tavy stood paralyzed. Ben’s gaze consumed her, but rather less like a lover than a prosecutor before an accused.

“What are you doing here?”

“Hm. Not precisely what I hoped or frankly expected to hear from you given that twelve hours ago you told me very definitely to stay.”

“Yet you did not. Did you arrive in Constance’s carriage?”

“Yes.”

He released an audible breath. “Then you must depart in it now.” He stepped into the corridor and grasped her arm to turn her around. Her throat tightened. She pulled free of his hold.

“But she wishes to speak with you. Or, she does not particularly wish it, but I think she must.”

“She may remain. But you must go.”

Tavy stared, jaw slack, and her heart began to splinter.

“I had not planned on remaining.”

“Your usual approach, it seems.”

“You are criticizing me for leaving at the same moment you are telling me to go?”

“Something like that.” His eyes looked odd, silvery. He moved close again and lifted his hand as though to touch her, but seemed to think better of it and his arm fell to his side.

“I have something I must say to you,” she managed with credible evenness.

“Say it.” His voice was low. She wanted to imagine in his rich tones an echo of the intimacy they had shared. But with Constance only yards away weeping over having betrayed her and the prospect of telling him news of consequences he would not like, Tavy could not allow herself to live in dreams. No more lying in his arms while he whispered beautiful things to her. Oh, Lord, but she wanted that beyond reason. She wanted him so much and yet it seemed after all that she was not to have him.

In point of fact, she had nothing to say now, nothing that could change circumstances or turn back time. But if she did not speak, she would have to leave, and her body wanted to remain with him as though drawn by magnets. Her lips moved, and finally words emerged.

“Will you help them too?”

“Them?”

“Lord Crispin and the girl.”

Creases formed between his brows. “Octavia, he is a criminal.”

“And all of your activities are thoroughly licit, I’m certain.”

“He committed acts that hurt people.”

“Will you at least show them a little mercy?” she insisted.

“Mercy is not mine to show in this case. It is the law’s.”

“But—”

“No.”

“Ben, he was blackmailed. He saved her from danger.”

“He served his desires.”

“They are
in love
.”

His jaw hardened. “That is not sufficient justification for deserting one’s conscience.”

Her hands went cold, her chest contrarily hot. He was perfectly correct, of course. But it hurt quite a great deal in the pit of her stomach, and higher, beneath her ribs, to hear him say it. She knew not whether to rejoice that she had come to understand his character so well or to despair.

She forced herself to meet his gaze without flinching. “Marcus should pay for the wrongs he did. But if you save those other girls, you must save this one too. Choosing between them would make you no better than him.”

“Perhaps.” His black gaze scanned her face. “But allow me to select my particular variety of villainy if you will. Now, go.”

“But you are not a villain, or at least I didn’t think so until a few minutes ago when you began speaking to me like a cad.”

“Do you wish to be bodily removed from this house? Because I am on the verge of—”

“Don’t you dare threaten me.” She turned away. “I feel an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.” She swung around to him again. “I cannot believe you are dismissing me again.”

“Not dismissing, and it disturbs me no less.” His voice was warm, but a hint of panic threaded through it, strange. She stared, nonplused. “Octavia, trust me. Go home and remain there, I beg you.”

Beg?

“Trust you? How on earth do you imagine I can do that?”

“I am more than happy to explain how, but this is not the time or place for that conversation.”

“Why, because of what Constance has come to tell you?”

“I haven’t any idea what she has to say, but I have important business I must see to now.” His hand came up again and this time he cupped it around her cheek. “By God you are too beautiful.”

“Too beautiful for what? To address with a modicum of civility?”

“To resist. You must leave this instant.” He released her and raised his voice. “Samuel, see Miss Pierce to Lady Constance’s carriage and home.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“All right. I will leave.” Too many parting statements barraged her head.
This is thoroughly unacceptable and I will not stand for it
.
Throw me out now but do not expect to see me ever again
.
Be gentle with her, you faithless rogue
. Or perhaps simply,
I will love you forever even though I will try very hard not to
. She could not choose. Heart aching and mind tangled, she left.

But she had no faith to break any longer. Not after such treatment. And not after Constance’s revelation. Tavy went home as instructed, but she did not remain there long.

Chapter 23

CAST AWAY. The state of a ship, which is lost or wrecked on a lee-shore, bank, rock, &c.

—Falconer’s
Dictionary of the Marine

B
en gripped the doorjamb to prevent himself from going after her. He had never been so inarticulate, so at a loss for reason, and so thoroughly split between what he wished to do and must do. Except seven years earlier, with her.

But Styles must not see her at his house. Ben had not spent the dawn hours deploying his employees throughout London to have his plans all come to nothing now.

He rubbed a hand across his face to clear his vision. Dear God, simply seeing her warm eyes and animated lips made caution fly. He’d wanted to drag her into a closet and make her listen to every word of truth until there were no more to tell, then to kiss her until she said she loved him again. He could hear it hundreds of times and still not have heard it enough.

In his study, Constance stood in the shadows beneath the painting of the tiger, staring up at it.

“It seems you have finally decided to tell me what has been distressing you these past weeks.” He crossed the chamber to her.

“I did not want to. I went to Octavia to tell her instead, thinking that would be easier. But it proved impossible. I am such a coward.”

He touched his fingers to her chin and tipped her face up.

“Not so cowardly. You are here now.”

“I am only here because she brought me. She seemed to know I must tell you. She is v-very good.”

“She is.”

The tears spilled anew, drenching her cheeks and dripping from her chin. Ben pressed a handkerchief into her hand. She turned her face aside.

“Constance, have over with it.”

“I have been unfaithful to you,” she whispered.

“I am afraid, my dear, that you must make yourself much plainer than that, or I will begin to imagine that you are not in your right mind.”

She pivoted away, covering her eyes with her hand.

“I told him everything he wished to know. I told him so that he would have me, and he said he would, but now—now he—” She lowered her hand to her mouth, her eyes frantic.

“Constance.” She knew as little of Ben’s real business as any member of the
ton
. There was nothing she could divulge to anyone of her acquaintance that everyone else would not know. “Perhaps we should begin with the identity of this man.”

“You must know it.” Her tone tightened. “You have encouraged me on his behalf any number of times.”

Foreboding crept into him. “Styles?”

Her eyes widened.

“I never encouraged you toward him.” But he had encouraged Styles to pursue Constance, because of her infatuation with him. At the time, he had trusted his friend.

“Perhaps not,” she admitted. “Perhaps I misspoke. But you teased me about him.”

“I did. Am I to regret it now?”

She nodded.

“Constance, what have you done?”

“What I should not have,” she snapped, but her shoulders shook. “And he has played me false.”

Ben drew in a slow breath. “What would you have me do now, call him out?”

“Oh, no. No.” She came toward him swiftly and reached for his hand, but then snatched hers back. “I would never put you in danger to salvage my honor. But—But I think I may have put Octavia in danger instead. I do not know how, precisely, but this morning when he called— Oh, Ben, I think he means her no good.”

“Constance, tell me now exactly why you believe this. Exactly.”

She backed away a step, her eyes wide. “I—”

“Tell me.”

Tears slid down her face as she spoke. “At Fellsbourne he wanted to know of your interests in ladies. It was merely idle conversation so I obliged. But today he asked if your flirtation with Octavia indicated anything more profound. He behaved so—so— I thought he was finally coming to be certain that you and I were not—” She stuttered. “I sought to assure him, so I told him what I believed concerning you and she.”

“What do you believe?”

“That there is a great deal between the two of you that neither of you will speak of.”

“What makes you believe he intends her harm?”

“He seemed satisfied that her betrothal to Lord Crispin was not based on anything more than the most superficial affection. You know that, don’t you?”

“What else, Constance?” Dear God, how could he have been so blind?

“When I told him what I thought about you and she, h-his eyes seemed to light, as though I had given him the key to a puzzle. I thought it perhaps some sort of competition between the two of you. Octavia once said something about that—competition. I did not understand what she meant at the time, but after he reacted that way I thought perhaps he has designs on her and she is aware of it and sought to make you jealous. But that does not fit with her character in the least, so I discarded the idea. But then he left in such haste—” Her voice broke off. “Ben, please tell me what is going on.”

“He is only interested insofar as harming her will hurt me.”

“No.” Her hand slipped over her mouth. “What have I done?”

A fist of fire lodged in his chest, and panic.

“I am sorry he did this to you, Constance.” He could say nothing else to stem the confusion in her blue eyes. He went toward the door.

“But why would he wish to hurt you? You have been friends for so long. Like brothers.”

“He killed Jack.” The words struck the air like lead. “He set the fire that burned my brother and father and six other people in their beds that night. He murdered your betrothed then lied to us both about it for years.”

She went immobile. Then her body seemed to crumple. Ben moved to her swiftly and took her up in his arms. She pressed her face to his chest.

“Why? He loved Jack as much as you did. Why would he do such a thing?”

“I am endeavoring to discover that now.”

She loosened her grip, face awash in hopelessness.

“I am sorry, Ben. So sorry I have put Octavia in danger.”

He shook his head. “You could not have known. But have you told me everything?”

She nodded, but her eyes spoke of grief he had not seen there in years.

“Remain here as long as you wish,” he said gently, “or return to your home, but do not leave the house or accept callers until I tell you otherwise.”

“He has had any number of occasions to harm me. He will not now.”

“He already has. What he does not understand is that I will not abandon you because of it.”

Her gaze retreated and she stepped back. “I will not ask the same friendship of you any longer, Ben. It would not be fair to Octavia.”

He studied the lines across her brow, the sorrow in her eyes. Octavia had brought her here. She had not shied from Constance’s distress or dependence on him. She had only sought to remedy the trouble, as she wished to do for Crispin and his lover. Her heart knew no subterfuge or jealousy. It only knew how to give.

Samuel appeared at the door. “My lord, Mr. Sully has sent word.”

He must have located Crispin. “Have Kali saddled.” But his conversation with Crispin must wait. Styles as well. He must see Octavia now and tell her everything. He should have done so earlier when she was standing before him, her eyes filled with intention and confusion at once. He should not have let her go without knowing about Styles. Now young Jimmy was keeping watch over her from the street, and surely Abha from within the house. But Ben could not entrust her safety to another man for an hour more. Never again. That was his job.

He paused on the threshold. Constance stood beneath the tiger portrait again in shadows, the great beast looming over her in an attitude of princely power.

“Will you be all right?”

She nodded. “Make it well again, please.” Her voice was thin.

“I will.”

“You always do.”

Samuel met him at the front door with greatcoat and hat.

“Where is Lord Crispin?”

“At his club, sir, a quarter hour past.”

“Is Mr. Sully still here?”

“No, sir. He’s gone back to the office in the event that his boys send news, as you wished.”

“Samuel.”

“My lord?”

“Have that large painting in my study removed and remounted in the drawing room over the mantel.” He started through the door. “It needs more light.”

“M
iss Pierce is not in, my lord.”

“Not in?” Ben stood perfectly still in the foyer of St. John Pennworthy’s house. “Did her manservant accompany her out?”

The butler stiffened. “I believe so.”

But Abha had, after all, allowed her to meet Crispin’s lover. And there was every likelihood that if she wanted to see Crispin now, Abha would take her to him again.

“Where did she go?”

The servant’s face seemed to lengthen. “I haven’t an idea of it, my lord.”

Ben headed in the direction of St. James’s Street. Above carriages and carts, horsemen and pedestrians, the November day hung heavy with coal dust and fog, the sort of chill-to-the-bone weather Ben had struggled for years to become accustomed to as a boy. That had been in the countryside, at Fellsbourne and Eton, where trees and green fields at least gentled the harsh transition from tropical heat to foggy gray.

But he had forced himself to adapt, molded himself into the perfect English boy despite the constant torment of his peers. At the time, he told himself it was for the best—for his family’s honor, his uncle’s needs, his own peace—a private peace in life he had always yearned for yet never achieved. She gave him that peace, with her unrehearsed touch and speech, her genuine smile and thirst for life. She had from the first.

Except at the present moment.

She could not go into a gentleman’s club, but Ben would not put it beyond Octavia to wait on the sidewalk for Crispin to emerge. She had never been shy when she wanted something.

Despite his anxiety, he smiled.

But no beautiful minx with hair the color of fire opals stood on the block in front of Brooks’s. Ben entered the club and scanned the chambers. Gentlemen peppered the subscription room, playing at cards, backgammon, and politics.

One man sat alone hunched over a corner table, hand on his brow, the other around an empty glass. Ben slid into the seat across from him. Crispin lifted his head and his face crumpled.

“No,” he uttered and looked to the wall.

“What have you to tell me?” Ben asked quietly.

“Rather, how will you punish me? You needn’t, you know. I have been punished sufficient for a lifetime.”

“A somewhat melodramatic response, and not particularly lucid.”

“Need I be more lucid?” He swung his head back around. “You are here on his errand or your own. Either way, I am thrice damned.”

“Tell me of the first two damnations and I will offer you assurances concerning the last. Possibly.”

“Do you truly believe you could make it any worse for me now?”

“Undoubtedly.” Ben held his gaze. “My lord, my patience thins.”

“You don’t know?”

“Apparently not. Enlighten me.”

“He took Tabitha.” He lowered his brow into his palm once more, masking the gesture here amongst his peers in an attitude of weariness. Even in grief, the baron calculated his persona.

Ben’s blood hummed with impatience.

“Tabitha is the girl you keep, I am to understand. The one for whom you sent dozens of others to their deaths?”

“Not all died,” he muttered. “Sixty reached Madras in the last shipment.”

“How many vessels have sailed with such precious cargo, Crispin?”

“Since I have been involved, only the one, nearly two years ago, and the ship setting off tomorrow.” Disgust curled through his voice. “Before that, I don’t know. Three, four perhaps.”

“Why did you become involved? Easy income?”

His brow was dark. “What will you do if I tell you?”

“What do you imagine I will do?”

“Expect me to stand as witness against him.”

“Would you?”

Crispin’s genial eyes hardened. “It would ruin me.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“But you could protect me.”

Ben shook his head. “I haven’t so many friends in Parliament as my father did, or more importantly, as Lord Styles does now.”

“But I suspect those few you have are the ones worth having. And I don’t think a vessel leaves port in London without you knowing what’s in it and where it is bound.”

“Clearly several have, or I would not be sitting with you here now.”

Crispin’s face pinched. “I took passage on Styles’s ship two years ago merely because it was heading to Madras and that was my destination. I hadn’t any idea it belonged to him or what cargo it carried. The master was a drunkard, the quartermaster Sheeble in charge.”