Nothing to Commend Her (15 page)

"Absolutely. And please, call me Agatha."

Crittenden nodded. “And you may call me George."

Magnus took a seat beside her and sipped his drink, steadying his racing pulse while he watched her smile at his friend.

"Well then.” She sat back and took a deep breath. “Should we summon the magistrate?"

He marveled at her strength. She had already regained her composure, only a hint of her fear remained. She was a rare and beautiful woman.

His gaze traveled her scantily clad form. Her robe, the same one she'd worn after her narrowing ordeal upon the cliffs, gave him a glimpse of so much more than her dresses ever could. He grew all the more heated by merely looking at her. But they were not alone.

"I will notify the proper authorities.” He rose and retrieved a lap rug, then placed it over her. Crittenden hid his grin behind his glass.

"Leighton had just told me what happened on the cliffs and the stray shot, when you screamed,” his friend said. “Have you any idea why someone would want you harmed?"

A puzzled frown settled over her features. “I had tried to fathom what possible reason there could be for someone to want me dead, but could find none. It's simply not logical.” She looked at both of them, although Magnus knew she saw nothing but a blur of color.

He rested his forearms across his legs, with a shake of his head. “Damned if I can think of a reason.” His gaze snapped to hers. “Wait—you mean to say you have an answer now?"

"Not an answer, but a clue.” She retrieved a piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to him.

He opened the note and his blood ran cold. “Where did you get this?"

"It was delivered to my room yesterday."

Lurching to his feet, he bellowed, “And you waited until now to tell me?"

"Every time I tried to tell you, we were interrupted."

"But you said you received the note yesterday. Why not tell me last night?"

She plucked at the lap robe. “I had some misgivings."

"What misgivings?” He stood before her, seething that someone had tried to take her from him, and hurt that she'd not confided in him about the note, although he supposed he deserved it for not believing her in the first place.

"Well, it's rather silly now.” She cocked her head to the side and squinted at him, but sat back with a sigh, apparently done with trying to see him clearly. “I thought one of you might be the murderer."

"What!"

"I say,” Crittenden sputtered.

"Well, it made sense at the time. Barstoke was certain that a stranger could not manage to get into the house without his knowledge, so that left only three possibilities. One of the servants, one of our guests, or you."

Magnus knelt before her and took her hand. “I would never hurt you, Agatha.” Although he'd taken her freedom, her chance to have a life with a man she could love and bear children with, he would never physically harm her.

She pressed her hand to the back of his. “I know you wouldn't, but I had to sort it out, you see? I had to look at it logically. I couldn't let my feelings cloud my thinking."

Her feelings
. He held on to that thought, letting it settle inside him. She cared for him.

She looked to Crittenden standing behind him. “You, however, were a distinct possibility, I'm afraid. I could easily see, after reading that note, that Magnus could've taken the woman you loved, and therefore you wanted him to suffer as you had suffered from losing her. You could've arrived earlier to do the deed without our knowing it."

Lord Crittenden gulped a large swig of his brandy, his eyes wide as she expounded on her thoughts.

"But that, again, didn't ring true,” she continued. “The only woman it could've been was Magnus first wife, and I know for a fact that you did not offer for her, or even so much as look in her direction during the season. I'm sorry I hadn't reasoned it all out sooner."

Crittenden smiled and bowed. “I applaud your reasoning, Agatha. You are a most unusual female."

"How did you know he didn't want Elizabeth?” Magnus asked, still kneeling before her.

Her cheeks colored. “Dancing wasn't the only thing I observed at all those balls and parties."

He chuckled and kissed the back of her hand, then rose.

"Well,” Agatha said, and cleared the sudden longing for another of his delicious kisses from her throat. “Now that we know my deductions are correct, and that neither of you wants me dead, we need to examine the remaining facts. It would seem we are left with a note and a house full of suspects."

Magnus studied the note again. “Someone wants to hurt me by killing you,” he muttered.

"A woman,” she said.

"Which does cut the list down a bit. But a woman! That's balmier than thinking either Crittenden or I wanted you dead. What could she have suffered because of me?"

Crittenden cleared his throat. “What of a—well—"

"No,” he snapped. “I do not now, nor have I ever had a mistress."

Crittenden held up his hand in supplication. “Just trying to cover all the possibilities."

"Actually, when you look at it from a certain point of view, I am quite lucky that it is a woman,” Agatha said.

"And why is that?” Crittenden asked.

"A man could have tossed me down the stairs without much trouble at all. She only had the element of surprise as her weapon. I just wish I'd not lost my glasses in the struggle before I could see her face."

There was a knock at the door.

"Come,” Magnus called.

"Your spectacles, my lady,” Barstoke said, striding into the room.

"Oh, thank you, Barstoke. What perfect timing? I'd quite feared they were broken or lost. I've not a spare set, I'm afraid."

Barstoke bowed his head, but paused. “My lady, I wish to apologize."

Agatha set aside her brandy and put on her glasses. What a relief, she'd feared she'd have to move about like a blind woman until a new pair could arrive from London.

"Apologize, Barstoke? Whatever for?” She looked at the butler with perfect clarity.

"I was obviously mistaken, my lady, regarding our talk this afternoon."

"Our talk? Oh, yes, of course. But you needn't worry overmuch, Barstoke. I have my doubts that she gained access to the house disguised as a servant."

"Why do you doubt it?” Crittenden asked.

"I can't say at the moment, but something is niggling at the tip of my mind."

Crittenden stroked his chin. “Perhaps she is a servant."

"No. I'll not believe that of my staff,” Magnus said with a nod toward his butler.

"I am glad to hear it, my lord,” Barstoke said. “As to your request, my lady, no one has seen or heard anything out of the ordinary. I am sorry."

She sighed. “Yes, I'd feared that would be the case. But thank you, Barstoke."

The old man bowed and left the room.

She turned to look at her husband. “Why do you discount the staff so readily?"

"They've all been with me for a very long time. Anyone wanting to harm me would've come long before you arrived, I'm sure."

"Oh, yes. I suppose you're right. I haven't gotten to know them all yet, or that well."

"You will in time. You've already won over Barstoke. He hadn't mentioned the note or your request for spies. I feel a bit put-out by that, if you must know, darling,” he said with a grin.

She tucked the fact that he'd called her darling in the back of her mind to savor later. Oh, it was merely a common endearment, there wasn't any true meaning behind it, but it sounded exquisite coming from him, and her pulse increased its pace. If only he hadn't touched her so wonderfully earlier and kissed her quite senseless.

Kisses are lovely things
, she thought. Each vastly different, but none as satisfying as the one he'd given her beneath the stairs. It warmed her in places she dare not mention in polite, or any other sort of company.

She avoided his piercing gray eyes and lifted her brandy. It wouldn't do for him to see her thoughts at the moment. She took a long draw, it was quite delicious, and with luck would calm her.

"Most women don't care for brandy,” Lord Crittenden commented.

A giggle slipped from her throat, likely from a few too many sips. She set her glass aside. Liquor could cause all sorts of silly things to come out of her mouth. She needed to be careful lest she say something she couldn't take back. Something from her heart or her dreams—and in front of a guest.

"My father likes brandy,” she said. “He and I spent many evenings by the fire talking. When I was old enough, he offered, and I found that I quite like the taste."

Magnus smiled softly, and it wasn't helping her current situation at all.

"It would seem I've married a rather unconventional woman, Crittenden,” he said.

"I'll second that,” he said, and lifted his glass.

She cocked her head and studied both of them. “It doesn't bother you, does it?” She knew it to be true, the look of amusement in their eyes. Neither seemed to mind that she was different.

"On the contrary,” Magnus said. “I, for one, am glad of it."

She narrowed her gaze at the pair. “You know, I'm not the only woman of my sort amid the
ton.
But for some reason, gentlemen don't seem to care for my variety. Present company accepted."

Crittenden took her hand. “That is because, my dear, ladies of your intelligence and independence scare the wits out of gentlemen like ourselves,” he said, and kissed her hand.

She looked to her husband, noting the faint twitch of his lips and the gleam in his eyes. Oh, it was only a small bit of jealousy, but it felt wonderful.

"So you prefer simpering dimwitted females then? Like the lot your mother has brought with her?"

Crittenden stepped back and rested his elbow on the mantle. “No, absolutely not."

She perked up, intrigued. “Really?"

"Watch it, old boy,” Magnus chuckled. “She looks to have some plan scheming in her pretty little head."

Crittenden flattened his back against the hearth, his eyes wide. “No, madam. I beg you, no matchmaking. I enjoy your company, a great deal, but I do not wish to be leg-shackled at present, as you well know."

Agatha laughed and fell back against the settee. “Oh, if only I did know some one suitable for you. Now that would be a challenge. But have no fear, my lord, I am not the matchmaking sort. I've been on the receiving end of such an endeavor for years and did not care for it in the slightest. I can sympathize with you where your mother is concerned."

A refilled glass in hand, Magnus stepped up beside Lord Crittenden and handed it to him, his lips pulled into a scowl. “Who tried to match you, and what gentleman did they try to foist off on you?"

"My cousin, Hattie. She was forever pointing out gentlemen and nudging me beneath their noses.” She nodded at Crittenden with a grin. “She would've placed me in your path at your ball, if your mother hadn't been handpicking the ladies herself."

He cast her a bow. “My loss and Leighton's gain."

Her husband mumbled something low that brought a twitching smile to Crittenden's handsome face.

"I believe I shall retire,” their guest said. He took Agatha's hand and kissed it, then moved to the door.

She grinned at her husband as he watched his friend slip from the room. “I so wish I knew what you said. But I can see by the look on your face, you're not going to tell me."

"No I'm not.” He set aside his glass and crossed to her. “Come, you should retire as well."

He held out his hand, and she eased hers inside. They walked up the stairs in silence, but when she paused at her door, he pulled her along with him down the hall.

She swallowed the unease and excitement rising in her throat. “And where am I to retire?"

"You're to sleep in my room tonight. I'll not leave you unguarded when a crazed woman is loose on the property."

"She won't try again tonight, not with the entire house alerted, but I suppose it's useless to argue the point."

"Useless."

He opened his door, and she stepped inside. The scent wrapped around her in a dizzying whirl, leather and spice. It wasn't strong or offensive, but it smelled of
him
. The scent that had invaded her senses when ever he wrapped her in his arms.

He peeled his coat from his body as he crossed to a chair by the fire and draped it over the back.

Feeling silly standing there doing nothing, she retrieved his coat and hung it up properly, then took the neck cloth he'd tugged loose as well. For the first time, she glimpsed more of his scars. They ran down the side of his neck to disappear beneath his shirt. She could only imagine that his chest had their share as well.

She folded his neck cloth and placed it atop a dresser, pushing the reminder of his past pain from her thoughts.

A weary sigh echoed in the room as he sat by the fire. She crossed to his chair and bent to remove his boots.

"You don't have to do that,” he said.

"I want to.” She straddled his leg and pulled his boot from his foot. “I used to do this for my father on occasion when he'd worked late into the night.” She lifted his other foot. “I didn't like to wake his valet, he was always a bit surly afterward."

A chuckle rumbled behind her as she pulled off his other boot. She glanced back to find him smiling again. Perhaps they would be able to share some sort of companionship after all. Even if he couldn't make love to her, they could kiss and hold one another.

She set the boots aside and moved to the bed. Her hands shook as she slipped off her robe and laid it across the foot of the bed. She felt his gaze on her, but was too anxious to meet his eye. Setting her glasses on the table beside the bed, she settled herself between the covers and waited...and waited.

He made not a move from the chair.

"Are you coming to bed soon?” she asked.

"Go to sleep, Agatha."

She propped up on her elbows, retrieved her glasses, and looked at him sitting stone still in front of the fire.

"I understand we can't share a bed as other married people do, but I don't see why we can't sleep in the same bed. It's ridiculous for you to sit up in that chair all night.” She patted the space beside her. “Come to bed, Magnus."