Jo Beverly (8 page)

She turned her guileless smile on the Brokesbys. “I’m sure you are both the soul of discretion, but things do slip out, don’t they? So hard to remember what one should and shouldn’t say. The announcement will soon be made, but no one would want scandal to touch the happy union, I’m sure.”

“No, no, of course not!” said Miss Brokesby with all the confusion Thalia seemed able to create. She did not, however, seem to doubt the story, nor did her brother. Who would think Lady Thalia Trayce party to impropriety?

Ashart opened the door. “I’m sure you wish to be on your way. If you see Lady Booth, oblige me by giving her this news. I’m sure it will interest her.”

The woman tittered as the pair left.

Ashart shut the door. “And with luck, choke her on her own bile.” But then he turned to his great-aunt. “Why did you do that, Thalia?”

She looked up at him, eyes wide. “For the reason I gave, dear. You would not want scandal.”

“I do not want…”

“I know, dear. Men hate to have their hand forced, but when I saw you kissing Genova like that, I knew you’d recognized the bond between you. It was clear to me from your first meeting!”

Ashart looked at Genova as if this had been a plot. “Our first meeting, Thalia, was less than a day ago.”

“But it can happen like that! It was so with my dearest Richard, and I have always regretted proceeding at the tempo of propriety. For then, you know, we would have had a little time as man and wife. Indeed, the whole pattern of our fates might have been different.”

Genova went to her. “Thalia, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you’d lost a lover.”

“It was a long time ago, dear. A lifetime ago. I hope to be reunited with Richard after death. But the Bible says that in heaven we do not grow old.” She looked up at Genova, brow furrowed. “What will he think of me now?”

Genova knew then why Thalia dressed in a youthful style, but couldn’t think of anything to say except, “With God, all things are possible.”

Thalia chuckled. “Apparently that is what dear Beowulf says—‘With a Malloren, all things are possible.’ Naughty boy. But I was touched when his grandfather named his London development Marlborough Square. Richard was a great admirer of Marlborough.”

Tangled in familiar confusion, Genova looked to the marquess for help but saw only hard-held patience.

“And now God’s omnipotence is proved by your finding each other! But”—Thalia waggled a finger at both of them—“it was not clever to behave like that before the vows are said. I will leave you here for a minute or two, Genova, but no longer. I remember the passions of youthful ardor. There is no reason for you to delay the wedding, but until the vows are said, you must behave yourselves.”

As she returned to the bedroom, Genova thought she heard her say, “A Christmas wedding. How nice….”

She turned to Ashart, who seemed at this moment to be the only other sane person in the universe. He walked to the window and flung back the curtains. Dawn was now a bloody band on the horizon.

“Swear if you wish,” she said. “I’ve lived on board ship.”

He laughed. It was short, but it was a laugh, and it released some of the tension. “So I gather from your imprecations when your embroidery frame broke.” He turned to her. “Is your work damaged?”

She looked at the frame, a thing awkwardly limp like a broken bird. “Only a little hole and some pulled threads. I should be able to conceal them.” She looked up at him again. “My lord, what are we to do? Thalia
saw
us! How did she see us?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I assume our fall woke her and she came to see what had happened. Then she returned to her room, leaving us to our ‘passion,’ perhaps with the door ajar out of concern for you.”

A frown lingered in his eyes that was more than annoyance at the situation.

“I could not have arranged for your friends to interrupt us,” she pointed out.

“Did I say you had? And they are no friends of mine.”

“At least you know them. I’d never seen them before! That means they can’t know who I am—” But then she groaned. “Thalia. Do you think she really believes we are in love?”

“Oh, yes. In many ways she has a childlike view of the world.”

Genova wasn’t so sure. Thalia’s eccentricities clearly grew out of her lost love, but Genova had thought for some time that the old lady acted the child to get what she wanted. But why should Thalia want her great-nephew to make such a poor match? Merely to secure a good whist player in the family? Whatever her motives, she was quite capable of playing her cards to achieve that end.

Genova could deal with Thalia, but she was growing worried about the marquess. He wasn’t reacting as she
expected. She was beginning to take seriously the idea that all the Trayces were mad.

“Who were those people, and what did they want?”

“Sir Pelham Brokesby and his sister, Tess. What did they want? To catch me in bed with Molly, I assume.”

He muttered something, and on the whole Genova was relieved not to hear it.

“Why?”

“The devil alone knows. Molly must have thought that being found here with me and the baby would finally prove something. She’s demented.”

“It would seem so, But if that was her plan, why did she flee?”

“Finally came to her wits?”

Genova truly felt surrounded by lunatics. “And abandoned her baby on you, even though you insist you are not the father?
That
is to come to her wits?”

She saw every feature tense. “That baby is not mine.”

“I cannot believe that.”

“And I care not one whit.”

Genova inhaled and tamped down her temper. If he had no shame, she could never win that battle. “To return to more pressing matters, my lord, I cannot marry you.”

He relaxed and leaned back against the windowsill, gray silk robe loose over his white nightshirt, his elegant feet still bare. A normal human should be cold, but he didn’t look it.

“Already married?”

“Of course not. But it’s impossible.”

“Not strictly speaking.”

“In all practical senses. My lord, we have no connection at all.”

“Thalia?”

“I’m her servant!”

“Nonsense, but I take your point. We must keep up the pretense for a little while, however.”

“What? Arrive at Rothgar Abbey as a betrothed couple? It will be around society in days!”

“It will be around society in days anyway. Tess
Brokesby is generally known as Tattling Tess. Even if she sewed her lips shut, the urge to tell someone about this would win.”

Genova put a hand to her mouth. “Dear heaven.”

He came over and lowered it, quite gently. “No need for dramatics, Miss Smith. A betrothal is not binding before the law. Over a few days at Rothgar Abbey, I’m sure we’ll find occasion to demonstrate that this was a hasty and improvident commitment. Thus, no one will be surprised when you give me my dismissal.”

I might be
, she thought, dizzied by the mere touch of his hand. It was purely physical, of course, but still powerful as a hurricane. “Everyone will think we anticipated the wedding.”

“People may wonder, but they’ll have the continued approval of my great-aunts to put in the balance. You may, of course, gain a reputation for passion.”

“That’s as bad!”

A smile warmed his eyes, and his thumb brushed her hand. “Not always…”

She snatched free. “You merely prove my point! I am as good as ruined.”

“Nonsense. If there are repercussions, Trayce power and influence will brush them away. My word on it, Miss Smith. You will not suffer.”

He was brushing her concerns away, and she almost spat out her opinion of his word. Wisdom won the battle, however, and she was glad. She must not stir the wolf now, when she felt too vulnerable, too shaken, for the fight. Bitter though it was to admit it, she might need his support to come through this intact.

“So,” he continued, “we have only to play this game a little, then disengage, preferably in a public and spectacular manner. At least no one will be surprised that I momentarily lost my head over you.”

“Is that supposed to be flattering, my lord?”

“I’m known for my fine taste in women.”

“Lady Booth Carew?” she asked sweetly and, with relish, saw it hit.

He recovered. “She’s a beauty with a magnificent figure and appealing talents. Come, Miss Smith, you must know you’re an uncommon woman.”

“But not that my uncommon assets are gold coin in the marriage market.”

“Talk not of gold, but of fire.” Not touching her, standing feet away from her, he caused heat to flare in her with a look. “Fire to warm. Fire to burn. I kissed you because I wanted to, Miss Smith, and one day, before we so sadly part, you will respond fully to a kiss of mine. My word on it.”

After a moment, his brows rose. “Is it so impossible to imagine?”

Thanking heaven that he took her shattered silence for disdain, Genova glared at him. “Only think over your recent behavior, my lord. Remember, pray, my earlier words. I would not marry you if it was you or the hangman, and if you fail to sort this out, you will rue it to your deathbed!”

With that she marched into the bedroom. Unfortunately, she slammed the door.

The baby came off the breast and began to wail.

Milk spurted across the room.

Regeanne put her hands on her hips and glared. “Miss Smith!”

Genova collapsed in a chair and gripped her head in her hands. She wished she were a baby and could wail, too.

But then she sat straight, recalling some words that had flown past her in the fraught exchange. “
Over a few days at Rothgar Abbey
…”

He planned to
stay
? She’d assumed that he would escort them to the door, then ride away.

She might have to deal with the tormenting wretch for
days
?

Ash began to dress, considering the changed situation.

The last thing he needed at this moment was another scandal, but this absurd betrothal gave him an
excuse to invade Rothgar’s lair, if he cared to use it. How could he abandon his beloved so soon?

Though he and Rothgar were both courtiers, had seats in the Lords, and moved through fashionable London for a large part of the year, they were skilled at avoiding each other. All battles had been fought at a distance.

No longer.

If Rothgar was behind Molly Carew, then Ash was ready to take the battle to him, and he had the weapons needed to win. He would force his cousin to exonerate him, and that would change everything.

He’d been acting and reacting to strings pulled from the past, and in the process permitting the decline of his inheritance. During his minority, he’d not had power to change things, but he’d been in control of his property for five years now without breaking free.

It was time, but the Mallorens stood in his way, as shown by the affair with Molly. It was time to end the duel, but carefully, without getting his throat cut or being stabbed in the back.

The first essential step, however, was to clear his name with the king. Without access to the inner rooms of power, he’d achieve nothing. So, Rothgar—and where better to deal with him than in his home, where guards might be down, and weaknesses revealed.

He pulled a leather notecase out of his saddlebag and wrote instructions for Fitz. Ash would need suitable clothes and jewels at Rothgar Abbey. Magnificent clothes and jewels, so he would be armed if necessary.

He heated wax with a candle and sealed the letter, considering other possibilities. This also meant time to explore Miss Genova Smith. Perhaps she was innocently involved. That, too, should become clear when they arrived at the Abbey. Innocent or not, he had no doubt that they’d fight again. If the fates were kind, they would fight their way into bed.

It did indeed promise to be a very merry Christmas.

G
 enova winced at Thalia’s delight about events, but gave thanks she didn’t mention Christmas weddings again. Once dressed, Thalia chirruped, “Breakfast is ready below, dear, so dress quickly!” and hurried off, doubtless to tell her sister all about it.

Genova dreaded to think what Lady Calliope would have to say.

She hurried into her traveling dress, but lingered to help Regeanne pack, putting off the moment. Sheena was feeding the baby, occasionally looking around the room uncertainly. She seemed in much better spirits, however, and when an inn servant arrived with the pile of clean laundry, her delight showed she hadn’t been dirty by choice.

Lady Booth Carew, Genova decided, was a despicable woman, and her lover was low by association. She knew that having to frame that thought showed a weakness as dire as the hole in the hull of a ship.

She helped Sheena to pack her bundle. Everything was plain and cheap, including the baby’s cloths and gowns. Genova contrasted that with the mother’s velvet and fur and shook her head.

It was soon done, however, leaving no more excuse, so Genova braced herself and went downstairs. Ashart was already at the table.

Lady Calliope greeted her with a cynical gleam in her eye. “I gather you’re to become one of the family. Don’t know whether to congratulate you or wonder at your wits. Sit and eat. You’re late.”

Genova apologized and took some bread and meat, though she wasn’t sure she could swallow.

“That’s what comes of all this disorder,” Lady Calliope grumbled. “Babies, then Ashart, now this. You’ll be of use to neither man nor beast with your head in the flowers.”

Genova almost objected, but she caught a warning look from her false beloved. She bit vengefully into cold beef.

“That Cupid is a damned awkward fellow,” Ashart said. “Here he is, preventing me from leaving Rothgar’s lair as soon as you are safe there.”

Genova swallowed a mouthful in a lump in order to argue, but Thalia exclaimed, “You will stay, Ashart? How delightful that will be! And it will give you and Beowulf a chance to make peace. Old disagreements should be put to rest.”

Ashart grimaced. “Don’t build your hopes, Thalia,” he said gently. “The problem has grown like a fungus in damp. Rothgar and I clash regularly over preferments at court, seats in Parliament, legislation, even purchases of art.”