The Letter (2 page)

Michael didn’t miss that she hadn’t asked a question. “Likely not.” He glanced at his carriage, his driver waiting to take him to God only knew where.
To her.

****

Michael.
Diana slipped out of bed without waking Jamie and went to the kitchen. She should think of something else to call this little corner of the cottage. One small counter, one shelf, and no sink in no way qualified as a kitchen. She wrapped a rag around her hand and picked up the kettle hanging over the low burning fire. The water was barely warm, the tea leaves used too many times now to do much more than give a hint of flavor. Still, she found comfort in the weak brew.

With the chipped cup cradled in her hand, she walked outside and leaned back against the cottage wall. Looking up at the sky, she sucked in a breath. A shooting star! Quickly, she made a wish for an abundance of food to put on the table for Jamie. Her gaze followed the star’s trail until it disappeared over the horizon. She had become used to waking at odd hours and coming outside to take in the fresh air. In a few months, it would be winter and too cold for watching the heavens.

Michael.
Each time she awoke before morning, it was with his name on her lips. She must be dreaming of him, but she couldn’t remember. She didn’t want him to visit her in the deep of night, but if he persisted, the least he could do was to tell her why he haunted her dreams after all these years.

Michael.
The man she had once loved with all that she was, the man who had broken her heart into too many pieces to put back together again. Had he thought of her at all since that night? Had he ever dreamed of her?

Lord, she was lonely. That must be why she was having these middle of the night hauntings, dreaming of happier times. Thank heavens it wasn’t Leo disturbing her sleep. She shuddered.

Diana finished her tea, cold now, and returned to bed, resolved to never dream of
him
again.

****

The solicitor’s office was shabby, smelling of cigars and unwashed bodies. Michael leveled his most intimidating glare on the fat man sitting at his desk. “I will ask you once more, where has my cousin deposited his wife and son?”

The idiot had no idea who he was dealing with or he would not have shrugged and said, “Who?”

Michael walked to the desk, placed his hands flat on the top and leaned forward. “Listen closely, man. Your life depends on it. Where would I find young Baron Brantley and his mother?”

“Who?” The man’s eyes shifted, looking everywhere but at Michael.

“You are not an owl, Mr. Suggs. It would be in your best interest to cease sounding like one.” Michael believed in being prepared for all contingencies. He reached into his coat and pulled out his pistol, pointing it at the man’s forehead. “You had a letter delivered to my home yesterday. After reading the bloody thing, I am of a mood to kill someone. You will do nicely. This is the last time I will ask. Where are they?”

The man was not so stupid after all.

He stared into the barrel of the gun, then lifted his gaze to Michael’s face and started talking. “She and the boy are living in a cottage near Coventry. I don’t know the exact location. I send a pound note each month to the landlord, a Mr. Bloodstone. After he takes his share for the rent he turns the remainder over to Lady Brantley.”

Michael’s jaw clenched. Only a pound and she got the leftover? His finger itched to pull the trigger and put a hole between the eyes of this stinking man. “Write Mr. Bloodstone’s direction, and don’t think to mislead me. You won’t like the consequences.”

****

Diana stood in her landlord’s parlor, clutching Jamie’s hand. She willed herself not to cringe under Mr. Bloodstone’s leer. It was the first day of the month, the day she walked the three miles to collect the meager coins that were supposed to sustain her and Jamie for the next thirty days. She never came alone. Jamie wasn’t much protection, but she chose to believe the man wouldn’t attempt anything untoward with a child present.

“Here you are, luv.”

“Lady Brantley.” She corrected him each time to no avail. His fingers slid down the palm of her hand before he dropped several coins into it. He always did that, the reason she always wore her one pair of gloves. Her stomach did its usual sickening roll at the hated man’s touch.

Something had changed this time, however. She looked down at the six pennies in her hand. There should only be one coin, a shilling. “There is some mistake, sir. This is only half of what I am supposed to receive.”

His meaty fingers caressed his chin while his gaze traveled over her. “Send the boy outside to play and we’ll have a cozy chat, you and I. See if we can’t come to an understanding, luv.”

Her belly heaved. Oh God, she was going to be sick.

Jamie tightened his grip on her hand. “I’m not leaving my Mama here with you.”

Her little hero stepped in front of her. The despicable man raised his hand as if to strike her son. Diana fled, dragging Jamie behind her. When she felt like she had put a safe distance between them and danger, she walked off the lane and leaned against a nearby tree. She pressed a fist against her churning stomach and dragged deep gulps of fresh air into her lungs. How had her life come to this? She was the daughter of a marquess. That alone should have protected her from vile men who preyed on women.

“I wasn’t going to let him hurt you, Mama.”

Tears burned her eyes. Like her, he had learned long ago how to recognize the signs of danger. The only thing worse than a child of ten having such knowledge, was that his father had been the one to teach him. She knelt down and hugged him. “I know, darling. You are so brave. We need to stop and purchase a bag of flour and a few other things on our way home. Suppose I buy an apple and a little sugar so I can make you a tart?”

His face lit up. “I would like that ever so much.”

Diana looked at the pennies in her hand wondering how far she could stretch them. She frowned. There were only five. She glanced back down the lane. Mr. Bloodstone stood on his steps flipping a coin in the air, his mouth curved in a mocking smile. She jerked her gaze from the man in possession of her lost penny and took a handkerchief out of her pocket, carefully wrapping her precious coins inside.

“Let’s go get that apple.” She took Jamie’s hand and steeled her mind for the bargaining to come. The only thing Mrs. Redmond loved more than a good haggle was trying to pry Diana’s story from her. Diana was determined to leave the woman’s shop with not only the necessary essentials, but also at least one apple and a cup of sugar. Extravagant, no question. But heroes deserved a reward and Jamie would have his tart.

Nearing the village, Jamie let go of her hand and pointed. “Look, Mama!”

A traveling coach thundered past on the crossroad, its four big black horses at a full gallop. There was a crest on the door, but she was too far away to see it.

Jamie’s eyes were wide with wonder. “I think that must have been the king.”

Not likely, but if he fancied he saw the king, she would not tell him otherwise. She smiled. “I think you must be right.”

****

Michael approached Coventry in his traveling coach, led by his four best horses. He had left London an angry man, and two hard days of travel and two long, sleepless nights at inns with too much time to think hadn’t improved his mood. What he refused to consider was the role he had played in Leo’s game. If what Leo said was true and all Michael saw that night was an innocent girl drugged by his cousin, then he had done worse by her than Leo in not trusting her.

It didn’t bear thinking of.

His mouth set in a firm line, he turned his attention to the passing scenery. He was minutes from the village. The first order of business would be to find an inn where his horses would get a much-needed rubdown and rest. Then tomorrow morning, he would pay a visit to Mr. Bloodstone. Perhaps the man would do him the favor of refusing to answer his questions.

When did you become so bloodthirsty?
An easy question to answer. The moment he read Leo’s letter. The coach passed a cross street. He glanced down the lane and saw a woman and boy. She wasn’t close enough to see her face, but her hair reminded him of Diana’s. Eleven years and her honey-colored hair was still a sharp memory. He could even recall the silken feel of it.

How had he not known these memories were still there, stored away and only waiting for the right moment to surface? He didn’t want them. Their chance had come and gone. All he could offer now was a safe haven for her and his perhaps son. The boy was family, be it son or cousin, it didn’t matter. Michael would protect the child and his mother, give them a place to live, make sure they had food on the table and clothes on their backs.

He would want to get to know the boy, which would mean he would have to see
her
. Had she changed much since he last knew her? One of those damned memories came to him. They were strolling in Hyde Park on a brisk spring day. He had been doing his best to impress her with his witty remarks. She’d looked up at him and smiled. He had stumbled and almost fallen from the wonder of it. Her smile was the sunshine. It would keep him warm on cold winter days. It was a diamond, a thing of beauty. It was…

“Bloody hell. Stop.”

Inside the closed carriage, his words bounced off the walls, taunting him
. Just stop it
. No more memories.

But after her years in his cousin’s hands, did she still smile?

Chapter Two

Michael finished his breakfast of beefsteak and eggs and left the Crowing Cock Inn on a rented horse. The beast was better than he had hoped for, but not by much. “If I am the first to tell you this,” he said to the dull brown, shaggy horse named Adonis, “then my apologies. But you are an ugly creature, and whoever named you was obviously blind.” The animal flicked one lazy ear in half interest.

The innkeeper’s directions to Mr. Bloodstone’s manor house matched those of his cousin’s solicitor, regretfully taking away the only reason Michael had for killing the bastard as soon as he returned to London. Perhaps Bloodstone would be more accommodating.

Michael stopped and pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. “We go down this road, then take the right fork where we see the cow. What do you make of that, Adonis? Does the cow never move?”

Adonis didn’t seem to know. Michael spurred his mount, surprised when the horse took off at a speed belying his appearance. Good. The sooner he learned where the boy and his mother were living, the sooner he could collect them and return to… To where exactly? What was he to do with them? Taking them back to London and installing them in his townhouse was out of the question. He pulled back on the reins. He’d had two days on his journey to decide this, but had been so angry that he’d not given the problem any thought.

There was only one place he could think of that would be suitable. Initially, at least. Wyburne, his hunting lodge was only forty miles or so from Coventry and best of all, isolated. The servants were trustworthy, and too far from Town to spread gossip even if they were so inclined. It was also less than fifteen miles from his estate, Draven Park, another benefit. He could take advantage of the proximity to catch up on estate matters.

Once he assessed the condition of the boy and his mother, he would have a better idea of what he needed to do. They would likely need new clothes. What else, he wouldn’t know until he found them.

Satisfied he had the matter settled, he clicked at Adonis. “Let us be about finding that cow.”

Michael found the bovine right where it was supposed to be. The sign looked as if it had been in place for years. Although faded, the crudely drawn cow was still visible. His lips twitched at the words along the bottom. “Cheap Cows for Sale.”

“What do you think, Adonis? Are the cows inexpensive or are they miserly?”

Underneath the amusing words it said, “See Mr. Bloodstone.” An arrow pointed to the right. Oh, he fully intended to see Mr. Bloodstone. Another mile down the road he came to a small manor house. A lone cow stared at him from the pasture across the lane. He dismounted and tied the reins to a post near the steps. Before he could approach the door, it opened and a man Michael estimated to be in his fifties stepped out.

“Are you Mr. Bloodstone?”

“Are you here to buy the cow?”

Michael glanced down at his waistcoat made by Weston, then further to his boots made by Hoby. Did he look like a man who would want a cow, and a miserly one at that? He shook his head. “No, I am here on another matter. I am looking for directions to the cottage you are renting to Lady Brantley.”

The man took a step back, putting his hand on the door, opening it. “Why do you want to know?”

Michael walked up the steps and pushed the door closed. “My reason is not your concern. My question is a simple one, requiring a simple answer. Where can I find her?”

“The lady is a
particular
friend of mine and looks to me for protection. Leave your name and I will ask if she is willing to see you.”

Mr. Bloodstone tugged on the door, but Michael kept his arm braced against it. He took in the food stains on the neck cloth, the buttons stretched tight on the waistcoat and the man’s mean eyes. If Diana were a
particular
friend of his, Michael would buy the damned cow and eat it. Did she have to deal personally with this piece of shite? His temper, already short, slipped another notch.

“You want my name, sir? Fine. I am the Earl of Daventry. You should also know that I have a yearning, one that I am having difficulty controlling, to kill someone. You are now high on my list of favorites. If you infer one more time Lady Brantley is anything but respectable, that she would have anything to do with the likes of you, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

He got his directions, but rode away disappointed that once again he had been denied the opportunity to satisfy his blood thirst.