Perilous Risk (25 page)

“Oh, so you’re here with a lover?”

“Yes.”

“That’s why you were reluctant to allow me in? He’s coming back soon.”

She nodded.

He frowned. “I don’t know about this, Rebecca.”

“Well, it doesn’t involve you.”

“You’ll be happy with the position of mistress?”

“It is all I have known for years.”

Jon’s mouth twisted in a display of momentary displeasure. He was tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair.

She gave her head a little toss to lift her chin, bravado in the face of his censure. Her life was no longer his to approve or disapprove! Did he really want to play the role of the older brother? A strict guardian? How ludicrous!

She already had her father to disapprove of her deeds. She didn’t want or need another stern-faced man calling her to account over her choices and actions. And certainly not when that man had been her former partner in crime. She forced herself to display a pleasant expression. “It is all settled. I think I shall be quite happy with him.”

His frown deepened to a scowl. “You should have told me sooner. I shall vet him for you.”

“That’s not necessary. I knew him from before you.”

Jon’s eyes narrowed. “Did you?”

“He’s Stephen Drake.”

Jon’s lip curled up. “Stephen Drake. Yes, the newly christened
Baron
Drake.” His voice rang with contempt. “Do you know what they say he did to earn his title?”

“I don’t care to focus on salacious gossip.”

“I don’t either.”

“Then why bring it up?” She couldn’t hold back her sharp tone.

“The devil only knows how he earned his title. He’s a just a clerk, that’s really all he ever was. He’s not a courtier, not in the least. He’s too quiet, too blunt. He had to be sent home from Vienna when his taciturn manner insulted too many people. That’s what makes it all so puzzling. Now he’s been gone from England for years and comes back a baron.”

“You certainly know a lot about him,” Rebecca said.

“I made it my business to know.” He fixed her with a severe, almost paternal look. “He’s shady fellow. I don’t want to see you entangled with him.”

“Someone must have been pleased with his service. They have rewarded him amply.”

“He will never be a true nobleman. He is a commoner.”

“Goodness, Jon, I never knew you cared so much about who had common blood and who was a noble.” Her tone revealed her hurt. She was past caring.

“Rebecca, no one seems to know much about him, except that he’s acquired the nickname of the Grim Reaper.”

“The Grim Reaper?” Rebecca laughed, smiling at Jon and inviting him to come off his high ropes and join her.

He stared back at her with vivid blue eyes that were as serious as she had ever seen them. “Whenever he’s around, someone seems to suddenly drop dead.”

She shivered and hugged her arms.

“Everyone laughs it off, like it is all some great coincidence. I guess I am alone in that I don’t believe much in coincidences.”

“What are you saying?”

“He’s dangerous.”

“Oh come, Jon.”

“You know it too.”

She caught and held her breath, remembering that cold as December look in Stephen’s eyes after he had questioned those men.

Don’t you mean
tortured
those men?

No, surely not!

Yes, admit it.

She shivered again. “Please Jon, be rea—”

“Every time I go to White’s, Lord Penn asks about you.”

She grimaced. “Oh, Penn.” She gave a dismissive wave.

“You enjoyed his company. Or you used to. And God knows, the man adores you.”

“And what about his lady?”

“His lady has her own lovers and always has. They wed to make heirs. You know how that is.”

She twisted her mouth.

“He would be good to you. He’d spoil you insanely.”

“Lord Penn bores me.”

God, it was the truth.

“You’re trying to be difficult.”

“No, I am not.”

“Rebecca, I am a married man now. A father.”

“Yes, I know.”

“I have so damned many responsibilities now. I seldom know if I am coming or going.”

“Yes, it must be taxing to be an earl.” What else was she supposed to say?

Bloody hell!

She fought the need to ball her fists. This whole conversation was infuriating!

“I want you settled. I don’t want to have to worry over you.”

She gaped at him.

“I mean it, Rebecca.”

“You needn’t worry over me any longer.” She gulped a breath. “I am quite capable of looking after myself.”

He released his breath in a long, deep expression of exasperation. “I came here to make peace, not to quarrel.”

She nodded, not daring to say a word. For she couldn’t have held back some choice words.

“Rebecca, surely you know that you are dear to me. I want only the best for you.” He paused, as though struggling to contain himself. “I am asking you to please end your involvement with Drake.”

“Why are you so opposed to him?”

“I never liked him.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“There’s something…” Jon scowled, as though searching for the right word. “Unholy about him.”

“Unholy?”

“He’s not what he seems. And he is Barnet’s creature to boot.”

“The Earl of Barnet’s…
creature
?” Another shudder, especially violent this time, wracked her. Her legs went so weak, she returned to the bed and collapsed.

She was taking Jon’s warnings very seriously now.

“Aye, you know Barnet? Maria Seymour’s lover.”

“Yes, I’d heard that.”

“Then you heard that she’s spent time with Drake as well?”

Rebecca had the oddest sensation. As though time had suddenly sped up faster than she could comprehend whilst she remained frozen in place. “What?”

Her voice sounded small. Girlish.

Lost.

Oh, she was so lost.

“Drake is Maria’s lover. He was before and he is now.” Jon scoffed. “For all I know, he’s Barnet’s lover as well. He’s certainly cosy enough with them both for it to be true.”

She stared at him, hardly daring to breathe.

Oh, I am in trouble. Such trouble.

“Consider all I have said, Rebecca. I would never, ever seek to cause you the least distress or harm. But I do fear your association with him.” He grimaced, as though he couldn’t hold back his rancour. “God, he’s a viper who makes his home in a pit of vipers. Be done with him.”

She nodded slowly, cold inside, very cold.

“Do you want to return to London? Back to your father?”

Again, she nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

“When is your lover returning?”

“He said in two hours…but that was an hour ago.”

“Very good, I’ll hire a carriage to take you. I’ll have it come in half an hour, be ready and be done with that viper.” He arose. “I am sorry but I have to return home. Lottie has a scratchy throat and Georgie was rather fussy this morning, so much so that Anne vows both chits will be ill by nightfall.”

Lottie and Georgie were three-year-old Lady Charlotte Lloyd and two-year-old Lady Georgette Lloyd, respectively.

“Perhaps Lady Ruel is overly concerned. Children often get irritated throats in the winter, too much coal smoke.”

He shook his head. “Yes, that is my thought too. But Anne has an uncanny sense of when that last bite of cake will end in an all-night stomach ache or a few tears will explode into a full scale tantrum or when a slight sniffle will turn into something worse.” A half-smile softened his hard-looking mouth. “I have learnt to never distrust her judgement when it comes to the children.”

Something in his tone and his eyes made her take his countess’ worries seriously too, and then she remembered something.

“Jon. I didn’t tell your lady this, for I didn’t wish to unduly worry her, but scarlet fever is spreading through London. We were nearly sold out of all of the usual medicinals for it when I left.” She frowned. “But I didn’t think it had spread to Mayfair just yet.”

Frail little Midhurst with his weak lungs. If he should catch something like that… Rebecca frowned. “Have you had a doctor look at the girls?”

“Lady Ruel avoids doctors as long as she can. She really believes they may hasten the progression of any illness.”

“Yes, of course. Well, perhaps she’d allow me to have a look at them?”

* * * *

Rebecca agreed to spend the night in a guest chamber of the rather sizeable house that the Lloyds were renting.

Upon examining the two girls, she was convinced that they could indeed have scarlet fever. Lady Ruel had decided to take no chances with Midhurst’s health. She planned to leave with him in the morning and take him to Blackmore Castle.

Rebecca had offered to accompany her and give her aid. From the distance of Blackmore Castle, she could decide what to do, whether she ought to go on to France or America.

Or if she should stay in England and hire a solicitor.

Now she was preparing to leave with Lady Ruel. On the way down the corridor, the countess stopped at the first door they came to.

“I must speak with my lord before we leave.” She opened the door.

The curtains were drawn but faint light seeped around the edges, partially illuminating the chamber to reveal the cheerful primrose yellow walls and white painted wainscoting. A little row of mahogany framed prams were just visible.

Good lord, had the Earl of Ruel really spent the night in the nursery?

Lady Ruel remained at the doorway, presumably afraid to enter and risk carrying contamination to her infant son. She spoke softly and Jon’s deep voice answered.

Unable to believe he had passed a night playing nursemaid, Rebecca edged a little closer, catching her breath as the acrid odour of sickness and vinegar and other more medicinal scents burnt her nostrils.

Jon sat in a large wooden rocking chair, his broad hand resting on something pale yellow. Rebecca squinted then realized the something yellow was Lady Charlotte Lloyd’s nightgown. The little girl lay sprawled across him, her head wedged into the crook of his elbow and turned to the side with her thumb in her mouth. Her tussled curls were like a spill of ink on the linen towel draped over her papa’s clothes.

He moved his head and the dim light reflected off his spectacles. A pamphlet lay on the floor, open and face-down, as though it had slipped from his hand when he’d fallen asleep.

Anne Lloyd’s voice carried softly to her husband. Jon must make sure the girls drank freely in the coming days. She had ordered oranges, limes and pineapples. Hopefully they would arrive by the time the soreness in the girls’ throats had eased enough for them to drink the juice. In the meanwhile, honey would ease the pain. And she had sent for more ice and he must make sure that the girls’ fever wasn’t permitted to climb too high. They mustn’t run out of ice, he mustn’t allow it. Oh, and those new maids— She didn’t completely trust the new assistants. There hadn’t been enough time to ascertain their competence. One mustn’t leave anything to chance. He must be present in this chamber when the girls were given medications to ensure that they did not accidentally receive duplicate doses. As soon as they were well, their nightclothes, the towels and bedding must all be burnt. He must make sure nothing used in their sickroom came back to Mayfair. “Don’t trust the maids. Oversee the details personally.”

You must…

You must…

You must…

The countess’ voice continued to carry in the hallway.

The hushed tone of Jon’s voice echoed, deep and firm, in response.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

Of course, yes.

Rebecca had never heard the man utter the affirmative so many times in one setting. And there wasn’t a hint of his habitual mockery in the face of his countess’ obvious over-concern with little details. Instead, tenderness infused his tone. And respect.

The intimacy of the moment struck her and she immediately took several steps backwards. A sense of having been an interloper, a prier, sent a spiral of shame through her.

But something even more profound was dawning on her.

That man was not her Jon.

That man was almost a stranger.

Her Jon had been fierce and free. A bit wild.

This man appeared so settled. Staid.

She took a deep breath, trembling inside with the sudden revelation.

All the time before, this had been inside him.

The doting husband. The devoted father. The dedicated statesman. The earl.

He’d been born to do this. He’d simply been running from it for many years.