The Devil's Necklace (22 page)

A surprised gasp escaped at the sight of Ethan standing on the other side of the threshold, his hand reaching for the doorknob.

“What…what are you doing?”

For an instant he looked uncertain, then his jaw hardened with purpose. “I realize you may think it is too soon, but the doctor assures me it is not. You’re my wife, Grace. I intend to bed you this night. You may as well accept the fact that I intend to make love to you.”

She felt like grinning. She was ready to say those same
words to him, to make those same demands. Instead, she simply threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. She heard Ethan’s deep groan the instant before he swept her against his chest and his arms tightened around her.

“You were coming to me,” he said between kisses as he felt the silk of her nightgown instead of the thick cotton night rail that she had been wearing.

“Yes.”

“God, I’m an idiot.”

She bit back a smile and kissed him again, felt his lips move to the side of her neck.

“I ache for you, Grace. I want to be inside you more than I want my next breath of air.”

“Make love to me, Ethan.”

He groaned again as he lifted her up and carried her over to his big four-poster bed. Setting her on her feet, he slid the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders. It slithered into a pool at her feet, leaving her naked, his eyes moving over her as he tossed off his dressing robe and let it fall to the floor next to the nightgown.

Ethan kissed her, kissed the side of her neck, the lobe of her ear, trailed kisses over her shoulders. Grace moaned at the feel of his hands on her breasts, the wetness of his tongue laving her nipple, the faint graze of his teeth.

Heat engulfed her. She had forgotten how good he could make her feel, how wanton, how the heat of his mouth could leave her hot and damp and aching. She arched up ward, pressing the plumpness deeper into his mouth, running her hands over his chest, feeling the ripple of muscle and sinew, the tantalizing brush of his curly black chest hair.

Ethan eased her back on the bed and followed her down, kissing her first one way and then another. She could feel his hardness as he settled himself between her legs, feel the pulsing heat of his shaft, his need to be inside her.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered. “I’ve got to go slow. It’s going to kill me.”

Grace moaned. “It’s going to kill me, too. Come into me, Ethan.”

But Ethan merely kissed her. She could feel the tension in his body as his hand slid over her belly and he began to stroke her, to stretch and prepare her to accept him. Heat poured through her. Desire scorched through her blood. She arched toward him, feeling his hardness at the entrance to her passage, and he slowly began to fill her. He was bigger than she remembered, harder, heavier, longer. She wanted all of him, wanted to be joined with him completely. She arched upward, taking more of him, heard his soft hiss as he tried to maintain control.

“Easy,” he whispered. “Please, Grace…”

A rush of feminine power rolled through her. She clung to his neck and surged upward, taking him deeper still.

“Sweet God, Gracie…” And then he was moving, thrusting into her, filling her and filling her, and she lost herself in the rhythm and the heat and the pleasure. Wild sensation shook her, vibrated through every part of her body. Grace cried Ethan’s name as she reached release and a few seconds later, Ethan followed.

Seconds ticked past. He pressed a soft kiss on her mouth, then lifted himself away, lay down on the deep feather mattress, and curled her against his side.

For several minutes neither of them spoke.

“I dreamed of this,” he said into the silence. “Of mak
ing love to you. Of holding you this way. I dreamed of you every night while I was at sea.”

Her throat closed up. She wanted to tell him she had dreamed of him, too, that she was in love with him, but she was afraid he would pull away. “I missed you, Ethan. So very much.”

They drifted off together, dozing for a while, then made love again. Once in the night, she left him to check on the babe, but found the infant sound asleep, and Nurse Swann was there to watch over him.

Grace returned to Ethan’s bed and tried to fall asleep, but tomorrow was the day of her meeting with her father and thoughts of it churned through her head. What news had he unearthed? How much longer could he remain in London without being captured?

What would Ethan do if he found out she meant to help him?

Ethan left Grace asleep in his bed. He was determined she would sleep there every night from now on. Perhaps in time, she would come to trust him enough to tell him what was wrong.

He was certain something was amiss. Perhaps she was concerned that he was not a proper father. In that regard, she was certainly right. The infant terrified him. The babe was so tiny, so helpless. Ethan hadn’t the slightest notion what to do with him.

And yet, when he stared down at the child who was his son, sleeping there beneath the blanket, something stirred inside him.

His son.
In the beginning, he had fought the notion, reminding himself the babe carried Harmon Jeffries’s blood. But Andrew’s veins ran with Ethan’s blood, as
well. It grew harder every day for him to ignore the fact that the child belonged to both him and Grace.

“Beg pardon, milord.”

Ethan looked up to see Baines standing at the study door. “What is it?”

“Colonel Pendleton is arrived. He asks if he might have a word with you. He says it is urgent.”

Ethan stood up behind his desk. “Show him in.”

The thud of boots in the hall, then the colonel stood in the doorway, silver hair glistening, brass buttons gleaming on his spotless scarlet uniform coat. “Sorry to intrude this way.”

“Come in, Hal. It’s good to see you. It’s too early for a brandy. Would you like some coffee or perhaps a cup of tea?”

The colonel shook his head. “I wish I had the time. I bring news of Forsythe.”

Ethan straightened. “What have you found out?”

“The viscount was spotted two days ago.”

“Where?”

“A boardinghouse in Covent Garden. By the time word reached us, he had made his escape.”

A chill swept through him. They were getting close. The viscount had made a mistake in returning to London. If he stayed much longer, it was certain they would catch him. Ethan worried what his capture would do to Grace.

“You believe he is still in the city?” Ethan asked.

“It wouldn’t be smart, but yes, we believe he very well may be. Near as I can figure, he is here for a reason, though I cannot fathom what it is.”

Perhaps he is here to see his daughter,
Ethan thought, but didn’t say it. So far very few people knew of his
wife’s connection to the traitor. Ethan wanted to keep it that way.

“Keep me posted, will you, Hal.”

“Of course.”

Pendleton left the house and Ethan couldn’t help wondering if there was a chance Grace’s father had somehow made contact.

Ethan hoped not. He didn’t want Grace involved any more than she was already. If the connection between her and her father was discovered, if the authorities somehow found out she was the one who had helped the traitor escape…

Ethan didn’t want to think what might result.

It was late afternoon when his wife sailed into the study, where he had been working on Belford estate ledgers. Dressed in a warm, burgundy woolen gown, she wore a fur-lined cloak and carried a matching fur muffler.

“I’m going out for a bit,” she said with a wide, bright smile. “Claire, Victoria and I are going to do some shopping.” She came round the desk, leaned over and kissed his cheek. “We won’t be gone long.”

Ethan frowned. Grace was a very poor liar and her smile looked far too bright. “Perhaps I should escort the three of you,” he said just to see what reply she would make. He smiled. “I could make certain you all stayed out of trouble.”

She laughed at that, but it sounded a little bit forced. “We’ll be fine. Thank you, though, for offering.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Are you certain?”

“Positive. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” She sailed out of the study as brightly as she had sailed in and a thread of worry filtered through him.

Rising from the desk, he summoned Freddie, who had
grown half a foot in the past weeks, and asked the boy to fetch his horse.

“Delay Lady Belford’s carriage until the black is saddled and ready, then have her carriage brought round front.”

“Aye, Capt’n.” The lad still sometimes called him that and since Ethan rather liked it, he didn’t bother to correct him. Freddie headed back to the stable and Ethan waited till he spotted the carriage pulling up in front of the house.

Leaving through a rear door, he made his way out to the barn. The carriage was just rounding the corner, about to disappear out of sight when he swung up into the saddle.

Nudging his boot heels into the stallion’s ribs, he urged the big black forward.

T
he Rose Tavern appeared at the end of the cobbled lane, a two-story brick building with a red painted sign above the door.

“Pull over,” Grace instructed the coachman, a man named James Dory who’d been employed by the former marquess and now worked for her. He drew the conveyance over to the side of the lane and jumped down to help her out.

“I won’t be long,” Grace told him as she reached the bottom of the carriage stairs. She had paid him a little extra to keep the secret of her destination the last time she was here. She would do the same today.

With a steadying breath, she lifted the front of her skirt up out of the way and started for the tavern, pausing a moment outside, then shoving through the half-glass double doors and peering into the darkness. With the winter sun so bright outside, for a moment it was difficult to see. Then she saw her father waiting on a bench just inside the door, still gray-bearded, still wearing the small silver spectacles that disguised his appearance.

“I wasn’t sure you would come,” he said, rising to his feet.

She managed to give him a smile. “I want to help you, Father.”

He bussed her cheek and led her over to a secluded table in the corner. There were few patrons in the tavern at this time of day and those who were there sat some distance away. Pine boughs looped across the front of the fire place and a few miscellaneous decorations hung from the beams overhead. Grace thought of the gifts she hadn’t yet bought, but the problem paled in comparison to the one standing in front of her.

“It is so good to see you,” the viscount said, giving her a once-over glance that seemed to meet with his approval. “You look your old self again. Thank you for coming.”

“It’s dangerous for you to be in London, Father. What if someone discovers who you are?”

“I’m here to prove my innocence, Grace. Until I can find a way to do that, I must stay.”

She took a deep breath. “What can I do?”

“In the months since my escape, I’ve been paying a number of different sources for information. One of them found the boy, Peter O’Daly.”

Her heart took a leap. “You found him? What did he say?”

“The man I hired can be extremely persuasive. The boy refused to tell the truth at first. When his captor threatened to turn him over to the authorities, he agreed to give up the name of the man who paid him to steal state secrets.”

“What…what is his name?”

“Martin Tully. He is the earl of Collingwood.”

Grace swayed a little in her seat and her father reached out to steady her.

“Do you know this man?”

“Yes. I met him on board the
Lady Anne
when I was sailing north to stay with Aunt Matilda. He seemed entirely a gentleman and eager to form a friendship. Later he came to see me in Scarborough. He has even paid calls at my house.”

“I believe Lord Collingwood may have discovered the relation ship between us. He is worried that I will find out that he is the traitor.”

“Then that is the reason he sought me out. He was hoping I would lead him to you.”

“Indeed. The earl would like to see me dead.”

“My God, Father.” She glanced round the tavern. “What if he has someone watching me? What if he had me followed? I was careful, but—”

“Seeing you is worth the risk. You have been my light, Grace, my only hope from the start.”

“Surely your wife—”

“My wife is fragile, unable to handle this sort of business. I have a few close friends who have lent me their aid, but most believe I am guilty.”

“If Lord Collingwood is the man responsible, what we need is proof.”

“Exactly. I am hoping you will approach your husband in this matter. You have told me how he feels about me, that he holds me responsible for the deaths of his men, but I can see how much you care for him and therefore he must also be a man of high merit. Tell him about the earl of Collingwood. Ask him to investigate. Surely he will do it for you.”

She shuddered to think of approaching Ethan. Her father had no idea the extent of Ethan’s hatred. “Why would the earl sell secrets to the French?”

“Money, my dear. Rumor has it, not long ago Lord
Collingwood was in dire financial straits. At present, it would seem his fortune is returned. Ask your husband to look into the matter. The marquess is the man most violently outspoken against me. If he becomes convinced I am telling the truth, surely he will speak in my defense.”

The door to the tavern swung open and a tall, familiar figure stepped into the darkness. Grace gasped as she recognized her husband.

“Go!” she urged, gripping her father’s hand. “I’ll keep him occupied while you get away.”

The viscount was on his feet in an instant and moving away from the table toward the rear of the tavern. It was obvious he had a planned route of escape and Grace started walking toward Ethan, grateful for the darkness inside the tavern, knowing his eyes had not yet adjusted to the light.

She walked straight to where he stood, stepped in front of him and smiled. “Ethan. What on earth are you doing here?”

His jaw hardened. “I would say that is the question I should be asking you.” Ethan gripped her shoulders, stared past her into the shadows. “He’s here, isn’t he? You came to meet your damnable father.” Without waiting for an answer, he set her out of the way and started striding toward the back of the tavern. Grace ran after him.

“He is not here!” She caught hold of the tail of his coat. “He left before you came in!”

Ethan shook her off and kept walking. He disappeared out the back door, then returned and raced upstairs. He descended the stairs to the basement and came up cursing a few minutes later. He roughly gripped her shoulders. “I want to know where the bloody hell he went.”

“I don’t know. Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you!”

His eyes raked her and she could see the fury he barely contained. “I’m going to find him, Grace. You may as well resign yourself. I am going to see him hang.”

Grace bit down on her trembling lips and her eyes filled with tears. “He is innocent, Ethan. Please—at least let me tell you what he has discovered.” But she could see he wouldn’t listen. Not now, not when fury vibrated from every pore in his body. Whatever words she spoke would fall on deaf ears.

“Come. I am taking you home.” Setting a hand at her waist, he firmly guided her toward the door. Grace ignored the ache in her chest and the tears rolling down her cheeks and let him lead her out to the carriage.

As the coach made its way back to the house, Ethan rode in quiet fury. He had followed Grace from the moment she left, but she hadn’t gone straight to the rendezvous point. Instead, she had ordered the carriage to take a circuitous route, weaving through the city, immersing the conveyance in the hateful London traffic.

For a moment as the conveyance neared Covent Garden, he had lost sight of it. For a few short minutes, he had searched but couldn’t discover where the carriage had gone. Then he rounded a corner and there it was, sitting next to the Rose Tavern, its occupant’s obvious destination.

If only he had arrived a few minutes sooner!

The thought made him angry all over again.

The carriage rolled up in front of the town house and Ethan stepped out before the vehicle had reached a complete stop.

“See to my horse,” he told the footman who came down the front steps, tipping his head toward the stallion he had tied to the back of the coach.

He helped Grace down and they climbed the porch stairs in silence then walked into the entry. “I would like a word with you in my study,” he said tightly.

Grace merely lifted her chin and started walking, preceding him down the hall and into the wood-paneled room. Ethan closed the door behind them, making them private, and worked to hang on to his temper.

With a deep, calming breath, he turned to face her. “How long have you been in contact with your father?”

“He sent me a message a few days before the baby was born.”

An angry flush rose beneath the bones in his cheeks. “The day you sent me the bogus note. You said you went to see Victoria.”

“I knew you would scarcely approve my meeting with a man you are convinced is a traitor.”

“He was tried and convicted, Grace. The evidence proved him guilty and he was sentenced to hang. If it hadn’t been for you, justice would have been served long ago.”

She met his hard gaze squarely. “And what if he is innocent, as he claims? Where is your justice, then, Ethan?”

“The man is guilty.”

“He returned to London to prove his innocence. If he were truly in league with the French, do you not think he would be living safely in France?”

“There must be some other reason. Whether you wish to believe it or not, the man betrayed his country.”

“My father has uncovered information that suggests—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Grace! There is nothing that bastard could say that I would believe!”

“Please, Ethan. My father thinks that if you will look into the matter, you will discover—”

“Stop it!” His hand unconsciously fisted. “Your father is insane if he believes I will lift a hand to help him. The man is responsible for the months I spent in a filthy French prison and the brutal deaths of my men.”

“I knew you wouldn’t listen! Your hatred blinds you to any other truth than the one you are determined to believe.” Turning away from him, she started for the door.

“I am not through with you, Grace. I have not given you permission to leave.”

She whirled to face him, her green eyes snapping with fire. “I do not need your permission, Ethan. Though you might wish it otherwise, this is my house, too!” With that she stormed out of the study, slamming the door behind her.

Ethan sank down on the brown leather sofa, his head falling into his hands. He raked his fingers through his wavy black hair. He had handled his wife very badly. He was just so angry to discover Grace had been lying to him all along.

He sighed into the silence in the study. In a way he understood. She believed her father was innocent. Somehow the bastard had convinced her. Ethan knew better. Forsythe was guilty. The evidence against him had been enough to sway the courts and everyone else in London.

But what if you are wrong?
The words slithered like a serpent through his head.
What if the man is innocent as he has claimed?

For the first time since the trial, Ethan allowed the unwelcome thought to surface.

What if Grace’s father isn’t the traitor you believe and you are the man who sends him to the gallows?

Ethan shot up from the sofa, angry all over again—at himself for allowing his wife’s words to sway him, at
Grace for her deceit. Striding out of the study, he shouted to one of the footmen to have the carriage returned to the front of the house. He needed to get away, needed time to think.

He did that far better when he was nowhere near Grace.

Grace heard the front door slam and her chest squeezed. Ethan was beyond angry. She had deceived him, been deceiving him for weeks. But she’d had no choice. She’d had to help her father. Now she feared she had put him in even more danger than he had been in before.

Dear sweet God!

And what of Ethan? The bond that had slowly been building between them was surely destroyed. He would never forgive her for what he saw as the ultimate betrayal. She had chosen her father over him.

On a shaky breath, she headed down the upstairs hall to the nursery. Holding the baby always soothed her, helped to clear her head. She needed to feel the child in her arms, needed the comfort of holding her son. The tiny infant’s love was unconditional. She could see it whenever she looked into her son’s beloved face. Not like Ethan. Who desired her in his bed, probably even cared for her in some indefinable way, but only when she obeyed his wishes.

Her eyes burned. She was in love with Ethan, but it was clear he did not love her. If he did, he would have at least listened to what she had to say. He didn’t love her and all the wishing it were so wasn’t going to make it happen.

It doesn’t matter,
she told herself.
I have my baby to love.
It was more than some women had.

Grace continued down the hall, fighting the tightness in her chest, thinking of Ethan, wishing she could have
found a way to make him love her. The holiday season had al ways been depressing. When she had lived with her parents, her stepfather descended into a dismal mood and her mother moped about. With her own marriage equally grim, it looked as if the tradition was going to continue.

Giving up a sigh, Grace continued down the hall. She had almost reached the nursery when Mrs. Swann came flying out the door.

“’E’s gone, milady! Dear God save us—your sweet lit’l baby is gone!”

Grace gripped the big, red-haired woman’s arm, her nails unconsciously biting into skin. “What are you talking about?”

The woman’s eyes filled with tears. “Baby Andrew. ’E ain’t in ’is cradle. I only just stepped out o’ the room for a second and when I come back, ’e was gone!”

Shaking all over, Grace tore down the hall and rushed into the nursery. She raced over to the cradle, but the baby wasn’t there. “There must be some mistake. Phoebe must have taken him. Or…or one of the other servants.”

“I been askin’. Ain’t nobody got ’im.”

Whirling away, she shouted for her maid as she ran down the corridor, and the slim, dark-haired girl bolted out of Grace’s bedchamber where she had been mending clothes.

“What is it, milady? What’s happened?”

“I-it’s Andrew. We can’t find him. Mrs. Swann…Mrs. Swann thinks someone might have taken him.”

“Oh, no!”

She tried to stay calm, tried to think clearly. “We need to spread out. Get the rest of the servants to help us search. If we don’t find him in the house, we’ll search the neighborhood. We have to find him!” All three women
rushed off in different directions, each of them shouting for help. Servants appeared through every doorway.

Cook rushed up from the kitchen in the basement. “Gore, milady! What kin we do?”