The Mayfair Affair (38 page)

But this was something more. Something hot and dangerous that made her take a step back and force a tight, defensive smile to her lips. "Good night. And thank you."

He inclined his head. His face was impassive, but she sensed he understood far more than she would have liked.

She moved to the door. She'd never been good at caution. You'd think she'd have learned her lesson. But then what, at this point, did she have to lose? Besides what emotional stability she had left, a voice inside her whispered. But what was that when set against need? Her fingers froze on the door handle.

"Raoul." She turned, stretched out her hand, then let it fall. Almost she didn't speak. But then. "I don't think I can bear to be alone tonight."

For a moment he went absolutely still. However much he had guessed, she could read shock in his posture. "We can talk as long as you like. I'll pour some more wine."

He was offering her a way out. A safe middle ground between loneliness and risk. But she didn't want safe. "I don't want to talk."

"Laura." His voice was even, but she could tell he was working to control his breathing. "You've been under extraordinary pressure—"

"Don't tell me you're having gentlemanly qualms."

"There's such a thing as taking unfair advantage."

"Which is why I was the one who made the invitation."

"Given your situation—"

"Given my situation, I think this is precisely what is called for." She closed the distance between them.

"Tomorrow—"

"We have to face tomorrow whatever happens tonight." She lifted her face. She could feel the ragged warmth of his breath.

He reached out, as though against his volition, and set his hands on her shoulders. His touch sent a shock through her. It was no more intimate than the ways he had touched her in the past, but the context changed everything. "Laura." His fingers tightened on her shoulders. "My gentlemanly scruples, such as they are, are fast fading."

"Good." She reached up and pulled his head down to her own.

How odd to discover tenderness now, at this time in her life, with a man who claimed to be cold-blooded. It was her first thought, once coherent thought returned, lying beside the man who had become her lover in a tangle of overstarched inn sheets and blue chintz coverlet. The brush of flesh against flesh, the drift of his fingers, the warmth of his mouth tumbled in her memory.

She turned on her side and found him watching her, his head propped on one long-fingered hand. The candle they had left burning warmed his skin but left his eyes in shadow.

It should be easier to talk to someone after sharing such intimacy, but, paradoxically, it seemed harder. She resisted the impulse to tug the sheet over her. She might be keenly aware that she had let her armor down, but it was a bit late to do anything about it. "It's been a long time."

He laughed. "Tell me about it."

Her surprise must have shown in her face. "It's a risk in my line of work, sharing too much of yourself," he said.

"I would have thought—"

"That it's a tool of gathering information? Sometimes. But not in every role. Not in playing a governess, I would imagine."

"God no." Though the story she had told Suzanne and Malcolm about her indiscretion with her charges' elder brother had been rooted in fact. "But I'd have thought—"

"At my age, in my position? It hasn't been part of any mission I've undertaken for some time."

Until that moment, it hadn't occurred to her how very alone he was. As alone in some ways as she was herself. Before she could think better of it, she reached out and touched his face.

He caught her hand and pressed it to his lips. "Do you want me to stay?"

"Do you mind?"

He gathered her into his arms and settled back against the pillows, her head in the hollow of his shoulder. "On the contrary."

Suzanne looked up from building a block castle on the library hearthrug with Colin and Jessica and glanced at the mantel clock. Most of the investigative work had fallen to Malcolm today, which, Malcolm knew, made the wait tug at his wife's nerves all the more. "They must have reached Maidstone by now. But they probably won't be able to see this Mr. Molton until tomorrow." Jessica put the corner of one of the blocks in her mouth. Suzanne gently pried it from her daughter's fingers. "Emily must be nearby, Malcolm. Why would Trenchard have sent the money there, otherwise?"

Malcolm set down his pen. He was working on notes for a speech he was giving against the Indemnity Bill, investigation or no. "Trenchard could have done all sorts of things for all sorts of reasons. We have to wait."

Suzanne added a block to the tower at the center of the castle. "I hate waiting."

Colin looked up from arranging his lead knights. "Is Emily going to come here?"

"We hope so, sweetheart."

"Em." Jessica picked up a stuffed horse and charged it at the castle. Suzanne scooped her up just before she could send the blocks tumbling.

Malcolm got up from the writing desk. "Perhaps—"

He broke off as the door swung open and Valentin showed David and Simon into the room.

"I'm sorry." David, usually so correct, seemed unsure of what to do. "I know it's late. But Simon convinced me I should talk to you, and I didn't want to wait any longer."

"Why don't you and Malcolm go into the study?" Suzanne suggested. "And perhaps Simon would keep the children and me company?"

From David's obvious relief and Simon's ready acquiescence it was plain she had made the right suggestion. Malcolm took his friend into the adjoining study and put a whisky in his hand. David stared at the drink as though unsure what to do with it. "Mary's going to marry Gui Laclos."

"I'm glad."

David gulped down a swallow of whisky. "I knew. That he was the father of the baby. Mary confided in me only last week. I hadn't even told Simon. I think he knew I was keeping something from him. And of course I kept it from you."

"Your loyalties are strained, to say the least." Malcolm poured a whisky for himself and downed a swallow. David had always been one of the easiest people for him to talk to, but ever since Malcolm had learned the truth about Suzanne, it hung in his mind whenever he spoke to his friend. "That isn't why ou came to see me tonight though, is it?"

"No."

"Is it Mary or Louisa?" Malcolm suspected David had learned about Louisa's affair with Trenchard.

"No." David took another gulp of whisky. "It's Father."

That took Malcolm off guard, if only because Carfax was generally very good at keeping things from his children.

"I saw something I wasn't supposed to. Years ago. It must have been 1809, because you were in the Peninsula and Simon was working on
The Deceitful Heart
. I'd gone into his study to look for correspondence with Father's estate agent when he was detained in the country, and I stumbled across this. I wasn't sure what to make of it. But now—" He took a turn about the hearthrug. "Father was paying Craven. He'd just instructed his banker to transfer a large sum."

"Yes, I know. Craven was one of his agents."

"His— " David spun round and stared at him. "Malcolm, are you telling me Craven was a spy?"

"Not in the classic sense. Your father has a whole network of informants. Craven passed information along to him. Your father found it useful to have Craven working with Trenchard."

David's mouth twisted. How a man like Carfax had come to have a son who took the gentleman's code so seriously was a constant mystery to Malcolm.

"How long have you known?" David demanded.

"Not until after Craven's death. Louisa told me your father had arranged to have Craven appointed to assist Trenchard on his mission to India, and I pieced the rest together. I know how your father works."

David grimaced. "Did Father tell you he was paying Craven?"

"Not explicitly. He implied the information was a quid pro quo for his help in advancing Craven's career. But I'm not surprised additional payment was involved."

One would have thought the relatively harmless—by Carfax's standards—explanation would have reassured David, but his frown deepened. "This wasn't a routine payment. It was ten thousand pounds."

Charles whistled. Carfax was a wealthy man, but that would have strained even his resources. "Surprising, I grant you. But Craven may have undertaken a particular task for your father. Or your father could have been helping Craven and Louisa settle debts."

David took another sip of whisky and began to prowl the hearthrug again.

"What?" Malcolm asked. Sometimes it didn't require words for David and him to have a conversation.

"Craven came to see Father the day after Trenchard was killed. I'd come to Carfax House to give Father a report on Mary. The footman told me Craven was with him, but I didn't see any need to stand on ceremony, so I was going to show myself in."

"Your heard their voices through the study door?"

David, the last person in the world to eavesdrop, grimaced. "I couldn't very well help it. Craven was saying, 'I can make the whole thing public, you know.' I couldn't make out Father's reply—he had the wit to moderate his voice—but Craven replied 'Try me.' At that point I'd recovered from my shock enough to beat a retreat, wait a few minutes, and then come back down the passage making as much noise as I could to announce my arrival. Craven excused himself almost the moment I walked into the room. Even then I could tell he was angry. Father was his usual controlled self. I told myself it wasn't any of my concern."

"A natural response."

"I couldn't see a direct connection to Trenchard's murder. But then Craven was killed as well." David tossed down a swallow of whisky. "I didn't tell you yesterday, Malcolm."

"So I noticed."

"Because, as you said, you have to be an investigator in this, not just a friend, and I have to think of you that way. I had to work out where my loyalties lay. I'm still not sure."

"Loyalty is rarely clear cut."

"It should be. One should be able to see the honorable thing to do."

"David." Malcolm studied his friend's conflicted face. "What are you afraid of?"

"Isn't it obvious?" David spun to face him. "You said it yourself. Even I admitted to it at the start of the investigation, though at that point I couldn't quite believe it. Father isn't the sort to have his sons-in-law killed for personal reasons. But we both know he wouldn't cavil at it if political reasons called for it. He could well have had a reason to go after Trenchard. And this conversation gives him a clear reason to have gone after Craven."

"It makes the case against him stronger," Malcolm agreed. "It's far from proving anything."

"It proves Father had reason to kill Craven."

"A lot of people threaten your father."

"If there's proof, you'll find it. You have to, Malcolm. Tell me what I can do to help. I'll go through Father's things if I must."

"It's a generous offer, David. I know what it costs you."

David flushed. "I daresay you could do it on your own. But if there's anything— I need to know, Malcolm."

"Even if you end up hating—"

"Father? That's his lookout."

Malcolm regarded the friend with whom he had shared the majority of his life. "I meant even if you end up hating me."

Simon regarded Colin, now lining up his knights in front of the castle.

"He's negotiating a parley." Suzanne looked up from Jessica, who had fallen asleep in her arms nursing. "His father's son."

Simon smiled. "I think that's the influence of both parents." He picked up her glass of whisky and put it in her free hand. "Thank you. For understanding. I think David will say this best to Malcolm alone."

"Some things can only be said to someone one trusts deeply."

"And sometimes an old trust is more important than a deep one." Simon reached for his own glass. "God knows I don't understand where this investigation is headed. I know less about it than either of you. But I can't see an outcome that will be anything but painful for David." He took a sip. "And because it's his family, there's a limit to how much he'll tell me."

Suzanne shifted her arm beneath Jessica. Sometimes she forgot hers wasn't the only complicated relationship among her friends. "He confided in you about Mary's plight."

"Oh, yes. I was grateful for that. I think it was partly because he needed practical advice on what to do for her. His father is different." Simon took another drink of whisky. "You became a Rannoch when you married Malcolm, which brings its own set of complications. I'll never be a Mallinson. Not that I'd want to be. Perish the thought."

Suzanne studied him. His face was set in harsher lines than usual, while at the same time the vulnerability had never shone through so strongly beneath the veneer. Like an adolescent boy, half bravado, half still a child. "I don't think I appreciate— I envy how comfortable you are together. I've long since accepted one can't ever really belong in this world even though one marries into it. But I hadn't thought what it would be like not to be able to even nominally be part of the family."

Simon gave one of his quick, flexible smiles. "As I said, it also has its advantages. But in this case, I think Malcolm may be able to help David more than I can. Malcolm understands Carfax."

Suzanne pulled her daughter closer. "Malcolm would claim to be free of illusions where Carfax is concerned."

"But?" Simon asked.

"Malcolm respects him. More than that. He cares about him, or I don't think he could have worked for him for so long."

Simon nodded. "In some ways, Carfax is the closest Malcolm has to a father."

Carfax and Raoul, but of course she couldn't say that. "You're not the only one anxious about where this investigation may end up," she said.

"You think Malcolm isn't prepared for what he may learn about Carfax?" Simon asked.

"Not exactly. I think Malcolm is prepared to discover Carfax has done just about anything. I just don't think he's prepared for his own reaction."