The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy) (9 page)

A short while later her hand was neatly tucked into the crook of his arm and they were ambling along the flagstone path that wandered through the various colored beds that made up the formal gardens of Reston Manor.
    “So this is courting.” she commented.
    “So I’ve been told.”
    “But haven’t you forgotten something?”
    “Since you’ve found it necessary to bring it up, it appears that I have forgotten something. Am I correct in guessing a small token of my affection?” When she nodded he asked, “Would you have preferred chocolates or flowers or both?”
    “Chocolates,” she responded. “Though, both would have been acceptable.”
    He stopped. “Wait a moment. I just thought of something.” He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a small blue velvet box and flipped open the top. A delicate gold bracelet studded with amethyst glittered in the sunlight. “Would this do instead?”
    “Oh, it’s lovely,” she exclaimed.
    He chuckled as he clasped the golden bracelet around her wrist. “I realize it isn’t quite as tasty as chocolates, but I thought it might do.”
    She held out her wrist admiring how the amethyst sparkled against her skin. “I suppose.” She grinned. “Thank you. I love it.” They resumed their stroll. “So how many times have you courted a young lady?”
    “Truly?”
    She nodded. “Truly.”
    “Never.”
    “Never? I find that difficult to believe.”
    “I’m afraid most of my wooing has been of a um… different nature.” When she didn’t say anything, he added, “There seems to be a great deal of activity going on. Servants are dashing about, the window washers are busy, painters are touching up the trim, gardeners clipping away at the shrubbery. Is anything of note happening?”
    She smiled. “I believe there’s to be a wedding in two weeks time.”
    “Anyone I know?”
    “A marquis and the daughter of an earl.”
    “Damned aristocrats. Probably very full of themselves. They all are, you know. Do you suppose we’ll be invited?”
    “I imagine so. Everyone for miles around is invited.”
    They walked in companionable silence. “By the way,” he remarked casually. “Did you know that we’re being followed?”
    Cecelia looked over her shoulder to see one of their footmen trailing behind them. “Oh, good heavens,” she grumbled. “Eugene can be so vexing. I don’t really see the point of it. It’s a bit like closing the barn door after the cow has already escaped.”
    He chuckled. “There’s an easy enough answer. Propriety.”
    “I suppose.” She glanced over her shoulder again. “He’s rather portly and it doesn’t appear as if he’s very swift on his feet. If we ran we could lose him.”
    “You’re not appropriately attired. If you were in breeches it might be a possibility.”
    “A woman doesn’t wear breeches.”
    “Mores the pity. You would look quite fetching in them.” He was gratified to hear her laugh. “Have you managed to accept the inevitable? It could be quite pleasant you know. We wouldn’t have footmen on our tail all the time if we were married.”
    “There is that.” She nibbled at her bottom lip as she considered next her words. “There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you.” She paused. “Is your reputation well deserved?”
    “That depends on which reputation you are referring too,” he said rather quickly. “I’ve a number of them you know. For instance, it’s been said that I have a good head for business. That’s a well deserved reputation as it’s quite true. We won’t starve and you may buy as many frocks as you wish.”
    “That’s terribly reassuring, as I don’t have near enough frocks. But that’s not what I was referring to.”
    “I’ve a reputation as an accomplished pugilist. That’s also true, but regretfully your brother is much better than I.” He touched the swollen area around his eye. “Particularly when he has the element of surprise on his side.”
    “Does it still pain you?”
    “A bit. I’m hoping my mother and sister don’t arrive before the bruises have faded. I thought I might tell them that I tripped over one of Lady Fitzberry’s dogs and hit my eye on a doorknob, but as a number of souls have already fallen victim to the four legged creatures it sounded trite so I quickly discarded that notion.”
    “You could tell them you fell off your horse.”
    “Bite your tongue, my girl! Anyone who knows me would never think that. I do not fall off horses. My reputation as a brilliant horseman is known far and wide.”
    “That’s also not the reputation I was referring to.”
    “I’m a member of the Four Horse Club. I can drive the highest of the high-perched Phaetons with incredible skill.”
    “Must I spell it out? Exactly how many women have you bedded?”
    He scowled as he groaned. “Good Lord. You don’t mince words do you? The inappropriate comments that fall from your lips are astounding.”
    “How many?” she persisted.
    “Why even ask? I’ve made no bones about my life. I been a rake and a scoundrel and I’m afraid I haven’t kept count of the number of women I’ve been with. I’m sure I don’t want to know and I can promise you that you don’t.”
    “I can’t remember a single ball we both attended that you didn’t sneak off with someone or another. I would always try to guess who you might choose. At the time it seemed a lark, but now I’m afraid that no matter where we go there will always be an ex-lover in the vicinity. Maybe more than one. It’s bound to be uncomfortable.”
    “It’s likely,” he conceded. “I can’t change things, but my past liaisons are simply that. In the past.”
    “But you’ll be tempted and I won’t share a husband, Rand,” she said with a sudden heat. “I’m not made that way. You’ve spent half your life seducing woman. How do I know you can stop? How do
you
know you can stop? And how do I know you won’t come to hate me for it?”
    He stopped walking and turned to her. “I could never hate you, Cecelia. Never.”
    “You say that now.” Her voice faltered.
    “Listen to me. You are a beautiful, passionate woman. I will show you all that I can and we will enjoy each other immensely. There will be no need to go elsewhere. I promise you.” He held her gaze with an intense look. “But damn it all, I’m not accustomed to the waiting. Two weeks seems an eternity.” He reached over and touched an errant russet curl. “That night, at the lodge. Your hair was drying in the firelight. It curled and glowed as if it were a part of the flames and I thought you were the most enchanting creature I had ever seen. I wanted you so much that it hurt. I still do.” He pulled his hand away and to her amazement she saw that it was trembling. “I will wait. But we should get back now before my resolve leaves me.”
    She hauled in a steadying breath. Then remembering their shadow, her mouth twitched with annoyance. “I do wish Eugene would stay out of this. I don’t like being followed.”
    “He’s protecting you as he should. Until we marry, you’re his responsibility. After we marry, you’re mine.”
    She didn’t like the sound of that. It made her feel like a child. “And what is my responsibility?”
    “I realize that it’s come up a bit sooner than expected, but you’ve been bred to take up the responsibilities of a titled household. You should ease into the role without great difficulty.”
    “Is that it?”
    He appeared nonplussed and then answered, “Our children, of course.”
    She was quiet. His answer was both reasonable and correct and she couldn’t understand why it disturbed her.
    “Cecelia?”
    It took a moment before she realized he was speaking to her. “I’m sorry. I was woolgathering.”
    He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “About anything important? You looked somewhat disconcerted.”
    She blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Do you think it’s possible that our children won’t be little heathens?”
    He broke into a smile; his hazel eyes bright with laughter. “No,” he said definitively. “It isn’t even within the realm of possibilities.”
    She heaved a dramatic sigh. “I suppose it would be too much to ask for.”
    “Ice water in hell would be more likely,” he drawled.
    The uneasiness lifted and by the time they reached the house she was laughing as he told her of the time he and her brother had nailed Lord Mallory’s boots the floor when schoolboys at Eton.

Paris, France
    Marcel André had remained secluded in his apartments since Napoleon’s banishment to St. Helena. There were rumors of another escape, rumors that he had already escaped to the Americas, rumors that he had been poisoned and was dying a slow painful death. It mattered little. He no longer cared what happened to the little Corsican. He no longer had interest in anything but the deep malignant bitterness that ate away at him, bit by bit. He sat in a deep upholstered chair in his drawing room, nursing his hatred along with his port.
    “Monsieur, the post has arrived.” His manservant approached him bearing a silver salver stacked with letters. André waved his hand at the table wincing at the twinge in the muscles of the left side of his chest. It pained him every time he raised his left arm or turned from the waist and had done so for over three years. The pain ensured that his bitter memories never left him. And he remembered those moments with remarkable clarity. He’d been shot in the chest and left for dead. His beloved Marguerite slain only a short distance away. He’d tried to crawl to her, to hold her in his arms, but it had been impossible. He was too weak from the blood loss and in too much agony.
    He closed his eyes a moment, remembering the look and feel of her. In no way had she been a beautiful woman. Some might even see her as ugly. She was as small and wiry as a young girl. Her complexion was dark, her nose too long and sharp; her thin lips were often twisted with cruelty. And she was cruel. At times, he had cringed at her bloodlust. But she had dark liquid eyes that mesmerized him and a passion that had inflamed him to a point beyond all reason. He had turned over much of his fortune, killed the Corsican’s enemies, done all that she asked. All for her. Never Napoleon. It was always for her. And given the opportunity he’d do it all over again. She’d been dead for over three years and scarcely an hour went by that he did not think of her. It was no way to live. He should have died. If some drunken lout hadn’t stumbled over him he would have.
    Picking up the post he absently shuffled through the stack until one caught his eye. The handwriting was that of Bernard Monet, a man he had engaged over a year ago to discover the identity of the English bastard who had murdered his Marguerite. This was a personal mission and initially, he had tried to find the man himself, but unearthing information had always been Marguerite’s talent, not his, and he had failed. He stared at the missive. The edges were carefully folded and secured with wax, ostensibly to secure its contents. Had Monet finally come through? He sliced through the wax with a knife and took out a folded piece of news sheet. It was an announcement regarding the marriage of Cecelia Marianne Rutherford, the daughter of the seventh Earl of Stratton to Thomas Randolph Danfield, the twelfth Marquis of Clarendon. The accompanying note simply said,
Lord Clarendon is the one you seek. Meet me at noon, Thursday in Calais at the Rouge Inn.
    In a daze, Monsieur André rose. He would finally have his revenge. Ah, how sweet that would be. And for the first time in months he made plans to leave Paris.

“Ashley! Do stop that,” Cecelia scolded as she plucked the kitten down from the dimity bed curtains. "If you tear my curtains and Eugene finds out, you’ll have to stay outside.” She paused. “I suppose, it doesn’t really matter. Next week we’ll have a new home. I hope Rand doesn’t object to having you in my chambers, though you can always stay with Mattie if he balks at first.” She sat down on her bed and pulled the kitten into her lap and began scratching her behind the ears. “I’ll be the Marchioness of Clarendon in a few days. Who would have thought that riding past the orchard could create such a turn of events? It boggles the mind, doesn’t it?”
    The past ten days had passed so quickly, it made her head spin. There were so many things that had needed to be attended to. The banns were read and a notice was sent to all the papers, invitations were mailed, letters written, lists made, menus planned, she had endured endless fittings for her wedding gown and trousseau and preparations were made for out of town guests. Her brother had managed to acquire a wheelchair for their aunt, thus making it easier for her to join the whirlwind of activity that had taken hold of the household. Though there were many occasions when everyone concerned wished Mirabella would return to her sitting room and stay there. Rand had come to visit almost daily.
    To her relief, her courses had begun. The ton would be denied the joy of coming up a finger short when counting the number of months between the wedding and the birth of their first child. A letter from her parents had arrived that morning. It had been full of congratulations and good cheer but she knew that her mother was dispirited. She will have missed the wedding of both son and daughter due to their lengthy stay in France. Yet her reluctance to leave the pregnant, emotionally and physically fragile Arabella was understandable. Cecelia and Stratton had dashed off missives reassuring the countess not to worry over it. As much as Cecelia missed her parents, her mother and Aunt Mirabella were very much alike and the idea of having both of them at her wedding was more than she could bear.
    She looked around her bed chamber taking note of the white dimity and lace, the powder blue carpeting, the dolls and childhood books lining the bookshelves. It had changed little in the past ten years. It was the room of a young girl and other than her writing desk and a few personal possessions, she would leave most of it behind. What would her new chambers be like? Would they even sleep together? Priscilla and Eugene slept together every night. But that was very rare. Almost unheard of.
    She sighed. So many unknowns in her future. It was daunting. She wasn’t even certain how she felt about Rand. No. That was a lie. She liked him tremendously. She enjoyed his company. Time flew by when they were together. They could talk about anything and everything. And making love with him had been a truly wondrous experience. Truth be told, she probably loved him, but it had started off as a familial type of love and changed into something altogether different. She rubbed Ashley’s fur against her face and was rewarded with a contented purr.
    A knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” she called out.
    The door creaked open and Priscilla poked her head around it. “Am I interrupting anything?”
    “No. Please come in. I’m escaping the mayhem downstairs, but I’m glad for your company. I’ve been conversing with Ashley, but all she does is purr. It isn’t a particularly stimulating conversation.”
    Priscilla closed the door behind her and sat down on a pale blue upholstered ottoman across from the bed. “I don’t blame you for retreating. Just as I left to come up here, Aunt Mirabella and Mrs. Simpson were having a heated discussion over where to place the buffet tables in the courtyard. Do they ever agree on anything?”
    “Not that I can remember.”
    “Well, I haven’t a notion as to who will win the argument. They’re both completely set in their own ways. And the dogs are loose and underfoot and there are servants scurrying about everywhere! I don’t know if the term mayhem does the situation proper justice.” She paused. “I thought you might want to go over the menus with cook to make certain Aunt Mirabella didn’t slip in something too exotic.” She smiled ruefully. “Thinking about food isn’t setting too well with me at the moment.”
    “I’ll go downstairs in a bit,” Cecelia said as she detached Ashley’s claws from her muslin skirt. “If Aunt Mirabella has a hand in the menu, it’s apt to be full of curried goat and peculiar spices that could cause the bellies of even the most robust guests to burst into flames.” She frowned. “I’m sorry that you still aren’t feeling well. I don’t understand why God has deemed that women should have to endure the discomfort of pregnancy and childbirth while men have little more to do than stay out of the way, slap each other on the back and pass out cigars. It doesn’t seem quite fair.”
    Priscilla laughed. “I can tell you why. The population would fall into a decline if men bore the brunt of continuing the human race. There would soon be no one left to carry on.” She laid her hand on her belly. “And other than some queasiness and Stratton’s persistent worrying over me, it’s been quite wonderful. There’s something extraordinary about knowing there’s a human life growing inside me. I don’t know how to describe it but I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She stopped to smooth an imaginary wrinkle in her skirt. “That brings me to another subject. I actually came for another reason. Aunt Mirabella suggested that I speak with you about your wedding night. And marriage.” She hesitated. “I’m still somewhat of a novice myself. Is there anything you would like to ask me?”
    “I don’t know.” Cecelia set Ashley on the floor and watched as the kitten darted after a ball of red yarn. “There are so many feelings running through me right now. It’s very confusing. How did you know that Eugene was the right one for you? I always thought one just knew. But now I’m not so certain.”
    Priscilla chewed on her lip as she thought. “I don’t think it’s the same for everyone. I was attracted to him from the moment we met but I certainly didn’t love him. I thought he was terribly arrogant.”
    “He is,” Cecelia mumbled.
    “True,” Priscilla agreed, smiling. “But he also loves his family very much and that makes up for it. I suppose I lost my heart to him when I saw how caring he was toward you and Aunt Mirabella. He grumbles about her but he loves her dearly. He’s a good man. Even so, it took me a while to learn to trust him.”
    That surprised Cecelia. “You didn’t trust Eugene at first? Why ever not?”
    She shrugged. “I think I was afraid of being hurt. Afraid that if I loved him he wouldn’t love me back. Or that something would happen and he would be gone. And of course there was that ridiculous duel that Bertie challenged him to and I was terrified he would be killed. I wasn’t certain what he wanted from me. Sometimes men don’t communicate very well. They say one thing and mean another. Or they don’t say anything at all and assume that you understand. Men can be very odd.”
    “There’s no misunderstanding where Rand is concerned. Oh, he likes me well enough, and we have a grand time together but I know he doesn’t love me. Or maybe he does, but not the way Eugene loves you. He told me he’d never expected to marry; never wanted to marry. And once he realized the need to marry he told me he didn’t expect to marry for love. He said he was too jaded for that type of romantic drivel. How can I be happy married to someone who doesn’t want to be married? I always thought I would marry for love or not at all.” She stared down at her lap a moment then lifted her head and gazed solemnly at Priscilla. “Do you think the marriage bed can be wonderful if you’re with someone you don’t love? Forgive my bluntness, but I don’t know how else to ask. What I mean to say is if it’s absolutely glorious does that mean you love the person?”
    Priscilla’s color deepened. “As I said, I’m rather new at this but I think it does. Your relationship with Rand is going through a vast transformation. It will take some adjustment, but I believe you will be happy together.”
    Cecelia sighed, “I suppose. He’s very handsome and he makes me laugh. He dances beautifully and loves riding as much as I do. He’s dreadfully rich, so I needn’t worry about that. I’m very fond of his mother and sister, so I shouldn’t expect any problems there. And,” her lips kicked up at the ends, “did I mention he was very handsome?”
    Priscilla laughed. “You did. And having a handsome husband is enjoyable.”
    “Eugene is rather dashing, isn’t he? Most of the girls I went to school with were desperately in love with him.” She grinned. “But you know that,” she said referring to the love letters Priscilla’s cousin, Mary, had written to the viscount a few years earlier.
    “I still haven’t completely forgiven Mary for all the problems she caused.” Priscilla sighed heavily. “I suppose I’d best go before Stratton finds me and tries to put me in bed for a nap. He’s impossible. The next time around, I believe I’ll tell him my added girth is a result of eating too many of cook’s lovely French pastries.” She rose and came over to kiss Cecelia’s cheek. “Take heart, Cecelia. Whether either one of you realizes it or not, I believe that Rand loves you. And I’m fairly certain that you love him back.” Cecelia watched the door close behind her sister-in-law fervently hoping that she spoke the truth.