What the Marquess Sees (27 page)

He’d greeted her arrival with a smile. She hated to see it fade from his face so rapidly. But it did; the change was immediate. Of course it was. She’d struck with the precision of a viper, guaranteeing a reaction from him.

He closed the distance between them in a few steps, all but marching in righteous fury. A violent storm in human form. She stood her ground.

“Fuck you!” He all but yelled when he was close enough for her to feel his warmth.

She suppressed the urge to hug him, but grinned anyway, pretending as if she enjoyed her attack. “We’ve already done that.”

He just looked at her somewhat stupefied as if surprised she would say such a thing, anger and puzzlement warring in his eyes.

But she was relentless, her life might depend upon it.

“You’ve never had to work for a damn thing in your life, have you?”

He sliced his hands in the air. “You know
nothing
about me.”

Keep telling yourself that, D
.

She didn’t bother to argue that point. “Or are you just now realizing you are not perfect in every way?”

He stood there, shaking in fury, but otherwise, he kept his hands to himself. He was in her face now, though. Close and searching her eyes. She felt his breath, hot upon her skin. It made her uncomfortable as it sawed in and out. She nearly squirmed beneath the intensity of his gaze. She almost lowered her eyes. Almost.

Then he smiled.

Ah, hell. He’s going to do it again.

“Those were cold and heartless things to say, Bea,” he said with a soft, almost gentle tone as he brushed his hand against her cheek.

She tried to retain the upper hand. She lifted her chin. “But that doesn’t make them any less true.” She said it in defiance of his kindness. Besides, everything she’d said was true, though it was cruel of her to point them out in such a way.

“Sure. But I know what you’re doing. That self-preservation instinct has kicked in again, hasn’t it? Misguided to be sure, but rearing its ugly head.”

“La, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes. You do. We had this conversation yesterday, remember? What do you hope to gain by provoking me this way?”

She realized she wasn’t going to fool him, so she admitted the truth. “Self-preservation, what else?”

“How so? Explain your thinking.”

She sighed. “I wonder if you have even dealt with things the way one should. That you are suppressing these emotions. A man like you needs to confront his demons head on, or shatter from the emotion within. But I can’t let that happen. Don’t you see? My life depends upon you.” It sounded stupid now that she’d said those things out loud; her argument sounded weak, even to her own ears.

“And do you feel better now, having said all those things?”

Her shoulders slumped as she admitted the truth. “No. I feel bloody awful.”

He took her in his arms. She leaned her head against his chest and could hear the vibrations from his voice through his chest as he said, “Ah, Bea. You’re learning. A few weeks ago and you wouldn’t have cared.”

“I’m worried about you, all right?” Why did her mouth persist on admitting the truth? She should just stop now, but she seemed to be the one ready to explode, if only with the truth of her feelings. “I just don’t understand how you can so easily set aside your emotions. I feel like mine are constantly bubbling just beneath the surface, threatening to overflow at any minute. I’ve always felt that way. So I exercise, at night, to give myself an outlet.”

“You’ve always given me the impression that you are the same, that you’ve always been quite divorced from your emotions, though in a more negative way, I must admit.”

“It may have appeared that way, but the appearance was false. I just worked extra hard to make everyone believe that. Self-preservation again. If people believed they could hurt you, they would try.”

“That is a pretty cynical view.”

“We’re talking about
the ton
. I’m not so far off the mark, am I?”

“Too true. Too true. But back to the emotions churning just beneath the surface…perhaps I am the same?”

“Perhaps, but I doubt it.”

“Don’t. I’ve seen much. Things that would make even you squirm with the telling. And I’ve had to make hard decisions…the kind that have gotten people hurt. Irreparably. Even killed. Those costs are hard on one’s soul if one doesn’t know how to manage it. But I am relentless in my pursuit of the truth. I will put people in danger if I have to, innocent people even, in order to see justice served.” His eyes told of true horrors his mouth hesitated to speak.

He touched his forehead to hers, and in a soft, low voice said, “One of my closest friends had, or has, I should say, a brother. We were on an assignment in France. It was dark, but we had a plan. My plan. It should have gone all right, despite the high risk.”

He paused to inhale a deep breath.

“But it didn’t?” She prompted, softly, slowly.

He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “But it didn’t,” he answered back, “and it wasn’t the first time, but this time the man was my friend’s brother; his twin.”

Oh, that must have been horrible, for all of them. She hesitated to ask, nevertheless, “Did he die?”

“No. But he was injured gravely and is forever disabled. Mentally. Unable to care for himself. Unable to say more than a few words…a three year old cloaked in a man’s body.” Dansbury’s body seemed to shudder from deep emotion. “His family would have left him in Bedlam, but my friend broke with his family to care for him. For the rest of their lives.” His voice cracked on the word Bedlam, demonstrating how deeply he felt.

Oh, Dansbury. “You feel guilty, don’t you?”

“I am guilty. Yet I know I would have made the same choices were I to have the chance to do it all over again. That knowledge is difficult to live with; it takes a toll on one’s soul.”

Oh, did she understand the sentiment all too well. And perhaps he had finally realized that they were all too similar on that front. She peered up at him and brushed her hand across his brow; would that she could remove the troubled look in his eyes as easily as all that.

“Bea. Never…” He leaned in to whisper low in her ear as he slid one hand up her arm. Slowly. Gently. “…never doubt that I feel…” He paused and took in a deep breath; she felt it to her toes, it raised the flesh on her skin. Everywhere. The other hand was on her side, his thumb touched her just beneath her breast. “I feel…Bea. I feel deeply.”

Then he kissed her.

She lost her mind in his kiss. Relinquished all of her control. She poured the depths of her humanity into it, letting go of years of suppressed emotion. His mouth was soft, so soft. His lips warm and smooth as they caressed hers.

Then she opened for him and he claimed her with his tongue and his hands. She was rapidly losing control for this was no mere kiss, but a merging of souls.

“Ahem.” A third voice interrupted her joy, her ascent into heaven.

Dansbury pulled back, but he did not let her go. He touched his forehead to hers and sighed. “Ambrose. How about knocking next time?” He kept his eyes closed as he spoke.

“I did. You were too preoccupied to hear.” The duke was angry, Bea could hear it in his voice. She didn’t blame him. His closest friend was kissing her, of all people.

Dansbury pulled back and looked at her. His eyes said he was sorry.

Hers told him not to worry about it. She was made of stronger stuff.

They turned as one to face the duke.

The man stood there, his arms braced on his hips. He was scowling, make no mistake. Beatryce just smiled.

Dansbury squeezed her hand. “Bea, Ambrose and I are headed out this morning to see if we can discover the whereabouts of my brother, Edward. We’re hoping to find some clues at the mill that will give us a chance to come up with a plan of attack. We don’t expect to apprehend him, yet.”

She squeezed his hand in return. “Then I’ll stay and keep your aunt company while you search. Good luck.”

She was not the type to break down into hysterics over fear for his safety. She would suppress such emotion. Ironic, that.

“A very small degree of hope is sufficient to cause the birth of love.”

― Stendhal

Stonebridge and Dansbury rode out to the abandoned mill to search for tracks and gain some knowledge of where Edward had raced off to the night before. It was a long shot, but it was all they had at the moment. Kelly knew to go back and cover his and Edward’s tracks unless they wanted to be found. Dansbury was a damn good tracker. They all were, but Dansbury was the best. And Kelly knew this.

Neither Stonebridge nor Dansbury spoke as they rode their horses to the mill. Stonebridge hadn’t breathed a word about the kiss he’d witnessed in the library. It was only a matter of time, though.

The duke waited no more than five seconds once they’d reached the mill and dismounted to raise the subject.

“She stopped by Grace’s room yesterday.”

Well, that wasn’t what he expected. No need to identity the ‘she’ in this conversation. “And?”

“And she apologized for everything.”

“She did?” He was surprised, in a way. A spark of something flared to life in his chest. Was it joy? Appreciation? Pride?

“She did. Grace believes she was sincere. I have my doubts, of course.”

“As you say.”

“My wife is far too trusting. Sees the best in everyone.” Ambrose smiled with pride at this.

He was entitled; Grace was a good woman.

“Cliff, she’s been a very bad woman in the past. She’s done horrible things to people.”

“I know.”

“She lies.”

“I know.”

“You’re a right jackass.”

“I can be.”

“You were supposed to say, ‘I know.’”

“I know.”

Both men laughed at that. “Well, I’m glad we got that straight.”

“I believe we’ve had a similar conversation before,” said Ambrose.

Dansbury remembered calling his friend an ass not too long ago. “At least once.”

“But our roles are now reversed.”

“And that is why I’m telling you to leave off.” He gave his friend a pointed look, a warning.

“But I wouldn’t be a very good friend if I didn’t try.”

Cliff folded his arms across his body. “Fine then. You’ve tried. Now let it go.”

“All right. I will leave you to hang yourself. You are a grown man and should know what you are doing. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I do.”

Ambrose’s words seemed like a premonition. For the first time in his life, Dansbury wondered whether or not he did, in fact, know what he was doing.

And his words also made him realize he held a small measure of hope in his breast. Premonition or not, optimism and anticipation sparked a small and steady light in his chest, like a distant thunderstorm…visible but too far to be heard. And it all led down a rough but perceptible path toward Beatryce.

“Come on, my friend. We need to search around the other side of the mill if he ran off that way.”

Cliff set aside thoughts that were both troubling and joyful and focused on their task.

It didn’t take him long to find his brother’s trail; the horse’s hooves left fresh divots in the earth. “I wonder why Kelly didn’t bother to cover their tracks? He’s practically left us signs proclaiming ‘This Way to Bad Guy.’ What is his game?”

Ambrose smiled but didn’t laugh, his tone thoughtful but serious. “It is odd. Isn’t it? I have no doubt this was intentional. I know Kelly.”

“Why then? Do you think he’s setting us up for a trap?”

“No. I don’t actually.” Ambrose spoke with confidence.

“What then?”

“I think he may be working for them under duress.”

Dansbury shook his head. “No. I don’t buy that for one minute. He put my life in jeopardy. He put Lady Beatryce’s life in danger by setting those men on our trail.”

Ambrose raised his damn brow. “Was your life truly ever in danger, Cliff?”

“Yes.” He said it like a petulant child. Even though it wasn’t the truth; he’d never felt his life was truly in danger. But it made him furious that Kelly would put Beatryce’s life in danger even if the risk of injury was quite low.

Was he really that much of a hypocrite? Was he the only one allowed to place her in danger? The thought was absurd.

Unruly emotions did that to a man.

“Suppose Kelly realized you would manage for the time being. Perhaps he was biding his time until the opportune moment arose to hand us Edward without making it look like he had a hand in it?”

“Well, you know him best, Ambrose. Why would he do this?”

“I can only think they have something on him. Something that is coercing him to act on their behalf, half-hearted though it is. I think if he’d truly intended to betray us, you would have had a more harrowing situation on your hands.”

“Well, you know him best. I’ll take your word for it, though I want it noted that I have my reservations.”

“Duly noted.”

“Well, then, let us see where this trail leads. Shall we?”

“Lead the way.”

*

The tracks led to a seldom-used game keeper’s hut less than two miles west of the mill. They were still on Bloomfield Park lands…Damn the man for being so close to Aunt Harriet, to Bea.

They dismounted about twenty-five yards away and cautiously approached the house on foot. All was quiet save for the usual forest sounds…birds, squirrels and the rustling of leaves on the breeze. Nature. Small animals. But no horses.

The hut’s lone window was absent any glass and was dark. No fire burned in the hearth. No flames flickered from candles. In short, the hut breathed an air of abandonment.

The short stone wall surrounding the house and its small allotment was intact, but in obvious need of repair. The front garden was not a garden as one might imagine, for it consisted entirely of stones, dirt, leaves, and weeds being that the house stood in a dense forest. A rough path led to the door, which was closed. Bloomfield Park hadn’t had an active gamekeeper in five years, and the outside looked it.

Bits of paper and string from shot casings littered the ground outside the wall. Along with that mess, the shattered remnants of what appeared to be dolls fashioned of sticks and straw were also strewn about. Strange. Obviously, Edward had been target shooting in the front garden. With crude dolls for targets. They’d already concluded he was mad. Everything they saw served to support their theory.