Truly Yours (30 page)

Rex knew Daniel would blame the constant rain on the French if he could. “But how can we prove it, and prove Sir Nigel and the others were part of it?”

“I say we find the brother and beat the tar out of him.”

“You are forgetting that we are gentlemen now.”

Daniel swallowed the rest of the kippers and looked around to make sure the countess and Amanda were busy at their own breakfasts, discussing the day’s plans. “Um, coz, no offense intended, but I don’t think gentlemen go around creeping into ladies’ rooms in the dead of night.”

“I did not go into her room. I was merely checking on Miss Carville’s whereabouts, lest she escape out the window or something.”

Daniel scratched his nose, and grinned. “Um-hum.”

“And how did you find out I was in the hall anyway? You were fast asleep. I heard your snores.”

“Dodd had it from the footman stationed in the hall. I gave both of them a coin to keep mum.”

“So did I. The servants here will all be wealthy by the time we leave.”

“When will that be, do you think? I love your mother and all, stands to reason, she’s my aunt, but I have to tell you, I ain’t much for the opera and the art gallery, and less for dance parties.” He leaned closer to Rex. “And she’s talking about taking Amanda to Almack’s.”

Rex fed Verity his suddenly unappetizing breakfast. “Hell. We better get to the bottom of this mess soon, and not just because that court date is looming. Too bad Murchison’s sources had no idea where the brother can be found.”

“Then what if we find the valet and choke the information out of him? Oh, I forgot, we are gentlemen.”

“Not by half, not when the alternative is Almack’s. We’ll try for him soon. He’s bound to leave Johnston’s place sooner or later.” He posted watchmen outside the house, who watched the guards, who were watching for Rex. He also sent another note to McCann’s Club, relating his latest findings.

Brusseau never showed his face, to Amanda’s disappointment. She did not know what the cousins intended, thank goodness, but she knew they were running out of suspects, and out of time.

Rex tried to reassure her, not liking how her eyes had shadows under them and how she barely tasted the food set in front of her. They were getting closer, he swore. Soon they would unravel all the loose ends and find what Sir Frederick was truly doing with the money. Perhaps they would find he’d cheated others with his far-fetched tale of a lost pirate ship filled with gold waiting to be hauled up from the ocean floor. One of those men had to have killed him.

What kept coming back to haunt Rex was the notation N.T. Nigel Turlowe was the only name the Aide had supplied for those initials, and the only likely one among everyone Rex encountered at the men’s clubs and the social gatherings. He and Daniel even scoured banks for officials with those initials, and looked over rosters at the Admiralty.

Sir Nigel, unsurprisingly, refused to speak with them, which was telling in its own way.

Rex had a worse problem. Charles Ashway came to call. Amanda’s former beau brought a huge bouquet of flowers, an abject apology, and his sister to prove he did not think Amanda a bad influence. A gentleman never introduced his kin to a ladybird, did he?

Rex glared, refusing to leave the room to give the jackass privacy to renew his suit.

As managing as always, Lady Royce demanded Rex show the sister the portrait gallery, while she consulted with her cook.

“This one died in battle. That one died of the plague. Great-great-grandfather choked on a cherry pit. Your brother must be ready to go home.”

He was, rather than face Rex’s obvious hostility. As soon as the door was shut behind Ashway and his sister, but before the countess could return to chaperon, Rex tugged Amanda out the rear door, to the gardens. “I don’t care if it’s too cold. I have not had you to myself in years, it seems.”

Amanda laughed and grabbed her cape from its hook on the way out. Rex found a bench sheltered from the wind, and out of sight of the windows. He sat beside Amanda on the bench and put his arm around her, in case her cloak was not warm enough, he told himself. She sighed and leaned against his shoulder. Soon they were both warm enough to melt the stone bench.

“I take it you did not accept his offer? He was too quick to leave for a newly betrothed suitor.”

She sighed again when he kissed the top of her head, then her ear. “He asked if he could pay his addresses once the legalities were disposed of. I told him I would speak to him then. He is a very nice man.”

“He is a clod.” He kissed her neck, touching the back of it with his tongue.

“His family is pleasant.” She rubbed her hand over his chest.

“The sister had no conversation.” He stroked her back, through the cloak.

Her hand found its way beneath his coat and waistcoat to his thin shirt, where she could feel his heart beating. “He offers security, a home, a family of my own.”

Rex withdrew his hand. “Do you love him?”

“No, I never did.”

He put his hand back, only this time under the front opening of the cape, to touch her heart, and her breast. “He did not believe in you at first, so he is not worthy of your affection.” Rex thought about how his father never trusted his mother. “You will not be as secure as you might hope, because he will always have doubts.”

“I know. But I will always doubt him, too, for being so ready to believe the worst. I had not expected love, but hoped for loyalty.”

He started to unfasten the ties at the back of her gown. “You deserve both. Did he at least profess his love for you?”

She gasped when his hand touched her bare skin. “He never used that word, but he never used the word ‘homicide, ’ either. He did mention diamonds and how there are none in his family. And that his sisters will be needing presentations at court, perhaps under Lady Royce’s aegis.”

“Mushroom.”

“That is the way marriage is done these days.” She was loosening his neckcloth.

He paused. “Will it be done? Will you accept him?”

Amanda stopped her hands too, to look into Rex’s eyes. “I cannot imagine making love to him. How could I let him touch me the way you did? Kiss me as you do?”

Which deserved more than a touch, a kiss that was more than a meeting of lips. When Rex could breathe again he said, “Good. I’d have to kill the man if he tried. But . . .”

She pulled out of his arms and pulled her cape closer around her to ward off the sudden chill. “But I know, you will not offer for me.”

Rex jumped up and started pacing in front of her. “Gads, what a cad I am. My mother is right.” He supposed he was getting used to calling her that. “I am truly the dog in the manger, wanting to keep others from you, while I cannot have you for myself. I cannot force myself to keep away, though. I tried. I know right from wrong. I know we should not be doing this!”

“I know it, too. And I know we should not be alone together because the same thing will keep happening despite our good intentions.” She stood, holding her wrap tight against her with one hand in case her gown was loosened. She raised the other hand to his lips. “I just wish you would tell me why you will not marry.”

Rex touched the collar of her blue cape, the one so easily identified in the park at night. “I wish I knew who you met when you went out.”

Neither spoke again as they returned to the drawing room.

Amanda went upstairs to cry. Rex left the house, knowing he would find no peace within its walls. He decided to go check on the watchmen he’d hired to be on the lookout for Brusseau at the shipping magnate’s house. Daniel was at a prizefight at the outskirts of town, so Rex took Verity along, to the disgust of Lady Royce’s fussy driver. Rex dismissed the carriage some blocks from Johnston’s town house, and got out and walked, or limped, the better to gather his thoughts, to find a way out of the conundrum of his conscience. He wasn’t really paying attention, this far from his goal, or listening for footsteps or clamoring instincts. Verity was, fortunately. The fur on the back of her neck stood up, while her head went down. She growled, low in her throat.

Rex slipped the blade from his sword stick. “What is it, girl?”

The better question was what good a flimsy sword was going to be against a man throwing bricks at Rex’s head.

The answer was: not much.

R
ex woke up dead, looking down at his body. Twice. That is, there were two of him watching. He shook his head, which was a mistake. Satan’s blacksmith started hammering, with Rex’s skull as his anvil. Rex raised his hand to his temple, another mistake. A huge bandage covered most of his head, with a huge pain under it. Then another hand raised a glass to his lips.

“Here, drink. It might help.”

Now there was one of himself hovering over the bed. “Am I dead?”

“Not yet. Badly concussed, though.”

The voice was familiar, but not his. The hand holding the cup was not his, either. Rex tried to focus his eyes for a better look. This was his bedroom at Royce House, all right. The stranger had his own black hair, the same black-rimmed blue eyes, but no uniform. His clothes were well tailored, his boots highly polished. He was older, a bit heavier, but he was enough like Rex to be his—

“Bloody hell, you are the ‘obligation’ my father had all those years.”

The man bowed slightly and frowned. “I generally prefer ‘connection’ to ‘obligation.’ Lord Royce owed me nothing, but has been generous beyond measure. Few men in his position would have been as openhanded, or as kind. You are lucky to have him.”

Rex had to concentrate to keep the “connection” from splitting into two. Damn, one of his father’s bastards was bad enough. “But who? How?”

“You can call me Harry.”

“Like the Devil after all.”

Harry laughed. “Others have noted the similarity.”

If Rex’s head hadn’t been spinning, it was caught in a tornado now. Then something else occurred to him. “Great gods! You are here, in my mother’s house! If this does not upset her digestion again, nothing will.”

“I admit it is an awkward situation.”

Hell, being at Royce House was awkward for Rex, and the countess was his own mother. If his wits had not been scrambled he might make sense of things, or at least know what questions to ask first. The first one of forty that popped into his addled brain was: “Yours?”

The stranger sat back down in the chair by Rex’s bedside, as if he had been there a while and intended to stay. “My mother passed on long ago. She was a dancer, a beauty, they say, and nothing but a young man’s fancy. An unmarried man, I must add. When she died, your father, my father, took responsibility and found a wonderful family to raise me. I’ve had a fine education, entree to places no opera dancer’s son could expect, and exceptional career opportunities, all thanks to Lord Royce.”

“Can you . . . ? That is, do you . . . ? Botheration. I do not believe you are my father’s son.”

Harry made a face as if he had tasted something rancid, which should have answered Rex’s unspoken question. “You know I spoke truly, but I suppose you wish to test my skills. Yes, I can taste the truth. It is uncomfortable at dinner parties, but I cherish the gift as part of my heritage, another gift from my sire.”

Rex’s head was aching, and he knew he had more important facts to gather, but he had to know: “Then you do not find it a burden?”

“A burden, when I can help save civilization, or some such rubbish? I know I can make my little corner of it a better place. What could be more gratifying? I’ll admit I find the necessary secrecy a strain, but then again, I also hide my true birth. Strange, is it not, a family so tied to the truth, hiding it from the rest of the world?”

Rex could not think straight enough to untangle that knot. He stayed on the topic that had gnawed at him for all of his life. “You do not resent being different from everyone else?”

“I feel I am repaying my debts for the chances I have been given. I can accomplish much that is worthwhile, things few others can do. I know you were invaluable to the army. Don’t you find that gratifying?”

Rex recalled his military career, sifting through information to find the real facts so the generals could plan their strategies, saving soldiers’ lives. Then he thought of his work with Inspector Dimm, preventing crime by ridding London of so many guilty criminals. “Yes, I suppose some good can come of it. Do you mind the other?”

“Hiding the true tale of my birth? That is the way of the world, I regret to say. By-blows are outcasts in our society, so, no, I do not repine on what I had no hand in. Or do you mean do I mind not being in line for the earldom? Not having to attend Parliament, not being responsible for legions of dependents, not supposed to produce the heir? Hell, no. Besides, I never expected to be the earl’s heir. You were born Rexford, in the bed where generations of Royce heirs saw their first dawn. I was born in a boardinghouse, on the wrong side of the blanket.”

“Then you always knew? Your adopted family told you?”

“They did not need to. I was four when I came to them. Recall, I could tell when I heard the truth or a lie. Tasting sour lemons every time your new father called you ‘son’ was a bitter lesson, soon learned. And the earl was a frequent visitor. Our appearance was too similar to be accidental.” Harry stood up again and brought the glass back to Rex’s lips, changing the subject. “Here, they said you need to keep drinking.”

Rex sipped carefully, trying not to move his head, which was more painful than thinking.

A bastard, a brother. Blazes!

Rex could not begin to absorb all he’d heard, not with the din in his skull. Which reminded him of his own circumstances. “How did I get here? I don’t recall anything of what happened after seeing someone hurl a brick at me.”

“Your dog started howling like all the hounds of hell, thank goodness. Half the residents of the neighborhood closed their shutters and hid at the noise, but others came running, some of them the men you hired. They found a hackney and got you here, just in time, the surgeon said.”