The Swordmaster's Mistress: Dangerous Deceptions Book Two Read online

  Strangely the armchair that she sat in was warm, as though someone had just abandoned it. Mrs Quenten had been sitting there, perhaps.

  The two boys stood obediently at their father’s knee but their eyes kept straying towards that tantalising rapier.

  Guin remarked brightly on how pleasant the drive had been and how well situated Cross Holme was. When she sensed a slight relaxation in the room she smiled apologetically at her hostess. ‘I hope you will forgive our unannounced arrival, only it was such a lovely day and I had an impulse to buy some of the Whitby jet jewellery I had heard about. At the moment it seems very suitable.’ She brushed one hand over her black skirts, worn especially for the visit.

  ‘Of course. We were so very sorry to hear about the passing of our cousin,’ Mr Quenten said. ‘A fine gentleman.’

  ‘Thank you. Yes, he was indeed.’

  There was a small silence, broken by the arrival of a maid and a footman with the tea tray and urn.

  ‘You have not been long at Allerton Grange on this occasion,’ Mrs Quenten remarked as she passed Guin a cup.

  ‘No, we travelled up after the funeral. London felt oppressive as I am sure you will appreciate. I felt the need to get away.’

  ‘Gossip can be so cruel. Milk, Cousin Guinevere?’

  ‘Gossip?’ Out of the corner of her eye Guin saw Jared’s head move a fraction.

  ‘Oh, we receive the London papers. The new Lord Northam is much mentioned. So unpleasant and distasteful.’

  ‘It must be exceedingly trying for Theo,’ Guin said repressively. ‘For myself, it was very pleasant to be back at Allerton. Tell me, did your estate manager come with you here? Cousin Theo asked me something about the land and I was so pleased to find all the ledgers had been kept up so well – I was easily able to find what he wanted.’

  ‘Why yes.’ Mrs Quenten said. ‘Mr Foster our estate manager came too, although he is getting on and I suppose one could say he is partly retired now. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Oh, no reason. Just an idle observation.’

  ‘Well, that was pointless and rather embarrassing,’ Guin said snappishly as Jared handed her into the carriage again an hour later. ‘Will you ride inside so we can talk?’

  ‘I think not. We still have to go to Whitby.’

  ‘I have no desire to go to Whitby, you know it was merely an excuse.’

  ‘And if we do not, then word will get back to the Quentens and they will know that was what it was.’ He closed the door, swung back onto his horse and fell in behind them as the horses broke into a trot.

  Guin brooded on the Quentens for the next mile or so. She had not liked them, but then why should she? They had nothing in common other than a distant relationship to Augustus and it seemed he had merely a family sense of duty towards them.

  The carriage swayed as they began to go downhill sharply and Guin looked out of the window to see the jagged ruins of the abbey looming on the cliff in the distance, sombre against the blue sky.

  Her mood improved a little when Jared handed her out on a broad quay beside a busy harbour. ‘This is charming.’ She sniffed. ‘If a trifle fishy. Thomas, go and see if you can find some good fresh fish for supper.’

  ‘The best jet shops are this way, Lady Northam.’ Jared offered his arm and guided her along a cobbled street. ‘This one, I recall as being good quality. The inn just beyond it will serve for luncheon.’

  He hardly sounded like the man who had made passionate love to her only twenty four hours before, Guin thought, puzzled, as Jared pushed open the door and the bell tinkled. There was a distance in both his voice and manner, almost a return to the way he had seemed when Augustus had first employed him.

  The jewellery was indeed fine and the designs simple and wearable. Guin tried on a pair of ear drops mounted in gold and turned for Jared’s opinion. ‘What do you think?’

  She had expected some warmth, some small, secret sign that he had an interest in her, but Jared merely remarked, ‘They appear appropriate, my lady.’

  As though he is some dratted lady’s maid, she thought, hurt. She almost rejected them and chose one of the more ornate, facetted designs, simply to snub his tepid approval, but that was merely pettish, she told herself.

  ‘I will take these and the matching pendant. If you could thread it on a silk ribbon – that narrow dove grey one – I will wear it now.’ When the shopkeeper did as she asked and handed it to her Guin turned, gave it to Jared. ‘Tie it for me, Mr Hunt, if you please.’

  He had to stand close behind her to circle her neck with the ribbon, his breath brushing her nape before the touch of his fingers, rapid, precise, as he tied a bow and stepped back without so much as a caress, a whispered word.

  So, he had taken what he wanted and now was not interested? ‘Thank you, Mr Hunt.’

  The shopkeeper had wrapped the earrings and an empty box for the pendant in silver paper and tied an elaborate bow and loop on the top. Guin paid him and waved one hand towards the dainty little package. ‘If you would, Mr Hunt.’ If he wanted to behave like a lackey then he would be treated like a footman and could walk through the town with a bauble hanging from his fingers.

  Guin had expected Jared to hand it to Faith but he took the box. ‘Of course, my lady.’ He untied the ribbon, wrapped it neatly into a coil around his fingers, slid that into one pocket and the little parcel into another. ‘I will retie it for you later.’

  See that you do. The words were almost out of her mouth before she bit them back. Her nerves were on edge and Jared’s coldness was giving her a pain under her breastbone, but that was no excuse for behaving badly.

  ‘Luncheon, I think,’ she said with a bright smile as they emerged onto the street again. ‘It has been a very long morning.’

  Faith was staring at her, then looked away. Perhaps the smile was a little too bright. Desperate.

  ‘This way. The Golden Fleece.’ Jared pointed to where a large gilded sign hung over the roadway. ‘The food has always had a good – ’ Then he stopped as suddenly as if he had been struck. Stopped speaking, stopped dead on the pavement.

  In front of him a slender dark-haired woman in deep mourning black stopped too. Guin thought that it was no accident. Jared had been taken completely by surprise, but the lady in her expensive gown had not. The stranger stared intently into his face for a long moment. ‘You. It is you.’

  ‘You are in mourning.’ No greeting, no preliminaries.

  For a moment Guin thought the woman was not going to reply. ‘For my husband.’ The woman caught up her skirts with one hand and swept past them, chin up. As she came level with Jared’s shoulder she hissed, ‘A sword for hire. A mercenary.’

  ‘Who was that?’ Guin demanded, looking back over her shoulder. The stranger walked away rapidly without turning, silken skirts swaying.

  ‘The entrance is just here.’ Jared, tight-lipped, was holding a door for her.

  Guin shot him one hard glance then swept in, up to the man who came out of a side door to greet them. ‘A private parlour, if you please. And luncheon.’

  ‘Of course, ma’am. Just step this way.’ He led them to a small antechamber, then opened a door onto a pleasant room overlooking the street.

  ‘Thank you, my maid will order. Please wait in the anteroom for a few minutes, Faith.’ She closed the door almost on their faces and whirled on Jared. ‘Who was that and what the devil is going on?’

  ‘My sister-in-law and nothing is going on.’

  ‘No? When you are as cold as one of Gunter’s ices? When you won’t talk to me other than to my lady me? When you are told in the street that your brother has died and you walk on as though nothing has happened?’

  ‘I am not cold, I am concentrating on doing my job and keeping you alive.’

  ‘Yesterday you were in my bed.’

  ‘And I should not have been. You want me to be warm? You want me to flirt with you? You want my focus off whatever is attacking you?’

  ‘And you cannot be a n
ormal, feeling human being and concentrate?’

  ‘Do you think I want to take the risk?’ He was not cold now, she thought with a shiver of something that was not quite alarm. ‘Yesterday I left my damned weapons in the study and that door was unlocked and the staircase unguarded. And my mind, what little I appear to have left of it, was entirely focused on what we were doing on that bed. I do not know what is wrong, but somehow you have turned my brain to mush.’

  ‘So it is my fault is it?’ Guin demanded.

  ‘No,’ he snarled back. ‘It is mine.’

  There was such bleak despair in the amber eyes that Guin caught her breath. He has just heard that his brother is dead and I am railing at him like a Billingsgate fishwife. ‘Of course you are right.’ She kept her voice low. ‘We were careless, both of us. We will not be so again. But, Jared – your brother. I am so sorry.’

  He had his composure again, the long-fingered hands were steady. But his eyes still betrayed him. ‘I had not spoken to him in eleven years.’

  ‘And it was he who lied about you, hurt you.’ He half-shrugged one shoulder. ‘She is beautiful, your sister-in-law.’

  ‘Bella. Yes.’

  ‘And very well dressed.’ And there had been both a liveried footman and a smart maid following her, Guin realised. ‘Wealthy. Just who are you, Jared Hunt?’

  ‘The man I have made myself,’ he said and opened the door. ‘Faith, wait in here with your mistress and lock the door behind me. I am not leaving the building. Open only to me.’

  ‘Jared, come – ’ The door closed leaving Faith, bewildered, on the inside. ‘– back. Oh damn. Lock the door, Faith.’

  Jared strode into the main taproom. Several tables were occupied, a bar maid was serving and the landlord was at one end of the bar polishing glasses and keeping an eye on what was going on. He put down the cloth as Jared approached him.

  ‘I hear Ravenlaw is dead. When did that happen?’

  ‘A month past, near enough. A fall from his horse – herd of bullocks spooked it, he fell, got trampled. Nasty business.’

  Nasty business. Jared slammed a brake on his imagination. William. My brother. He waited a beat until he was certain his voice would be under control. ‘And his father?’

  ‘Bearing up, they say. He’s taken it hard though, that’s for certain.’

  ‘Ravenlaw will have a son to inherit. The old man will have to take him in hand.’ He had never once yielded to the temptation to open that thick red tome, look at the list of names that would, surely, be growing beneath the entry for William and Bella, under the heading Huntingford.

  ‘No.’ The man picked up the cloth and began polishing again.

  ‘What do you mean, no?’

  ‘Three daughters, no sons. There was some scandal, years ago now, not that I recall the details, but there was another son of the old man’s. Dead now, I suppose, nothing’s been heard of him, so they say. They’ll find some cousins somewhere in the family tree to inherit.’

  There was a buzzing in his ears, like that time he’d been shot in India and he hadn’t realised how serious it was until Cal was shouting at him, catching him as he fell. Hell. Jared clenched his fist until the short nails cut into his palm and the pain steadied him.

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘The maid ordered refreshments?’ He sounded quite steady Jared noticed with the part of his brain that still seemed to be functioning normally.

  ‘Yes, sir. The girl will be along directly.’

  He went back to the private parlour, scratched on the door, and, when Faith opened it, waited until the servant brought a loaded tray.

  Guinevere was pale, but she ate, making inconsequential conversation, apparently for her maid’s benefit, or perhaps so that she did not have to talk to him about anything that actually mattered.

  They finished the meal, still both painstakingly polite to each other, then Jared enquired whether Guinevere wished to walk up the long flight of steps to the church and abbey. ‘The view is very fine.’

  ‘Perhaps another day. I believe I would like to go home now.’

  They walked back to the carriage in silence to find the coachman, groom, both footmen and Dover lounging around it finishing off pies and gossiping. There was a concerted scramble to stand and brush off crumbs and generally look as befitted the escort of a titled lady, but Guinevere said nothing to them, simply got into the carriage.

  ‘Ride inside,’ Jared ordered Dover and unhitched his horse from the back. On horseback he did not have to speak to anyone.

  ‘Excuse me, sir, but may I stay and visit my old mother in the town?’ Thomas stood looking up at Jared, hat in hand. ‘I can catch a ride back with the carrier’s cart this evening.’

  ‘Why didn’t you ask before?’ He felt like snapping a negative – why not make everyone’s day as bad as his was? But there would still be five men left. ‘I suppose so – ask Lady Northam’s permission first.’

  Without Thomas they trundled along the quayside and followed the River Esk to Aislaby and the bridge where they crossed. As they began to climb out of the valley on the Pickering road Jared made himself relax in the saddle, his eyes scanning before and behind them, watching for trouble even as his mind struggled with the fact that William was dead. And had left no sons.

  A battered fingerpost pointed back the way they had come. Someone, aiming to save time or paint, had abbreviated the name to A’sl’by, the opposite arm read Pick’ring.

  He let the surface of his mind drift over that as they traversed the flat moorland. What would a complete stranger make of A’sl’by, what might he construct from that? He had been unimaginative himself when he had adopted his new name and hardly abbreviated at all. He could have called himself Jack, for his first name, James, or Jamie, come to that.

  Hell. Under him the horse snorted and sidled as his hand clenched on the reins. Abbreviations. He knew who Willoughby’s sister was.

  In front of him the carriage jolted as the road dipped sharply at the beginning of the short drop to the Ellerbeck with its treacherous bend just above the stream bed. It was going too fast and that rear wheel was surely wavering – Jared spurred forward, shouting. ‘Stop! Now! Rein in, damn you.’

  The coachman pulled up to a sliding stop, the horses backing and restless on the unstable road surface. ‘The brake’s not right, not holding, sir. Johnny, get down there with the shoe – now.’

  The groom was already vaulting down, reaching to unhook the metal shoe from the side of the carriage and thrusting it under a rear wheel. Jared rode up to the carriage door. ‘Get out, all of you. Hurry.’

  Faith tumbled out, then Dover, holding up his hands to help Guinevere. She took one look at the plunging team, the sliding coach and pulled Faith up the bank out of danger.

  Paul, the large, stolid footman, ran to help the groom calm the horses as Jared swung out of the saddle and began to jam stones under the wheels. At last the horses steadied, the carriage settled against the makeshift blocks and the coachman got down to look at the wheel.

  ‘That’s been interfered with. The pin’s been sawn part through.’ He traced back the brake mechanism that acted from a lever by his hand to the sabotaged wheel. ‘And look here, sir. Some bugger’s slackened off half the joints then smeared dirty grease over to hide it. No wonder it wouldn’t hold.’

  Guinevere slid down the bank and came to look. ‘Another attempt. On these roads, with these steep banks and endless becks, this could have been fatal.’

  The coachman swore again. ‘Begging your pardon, my lady.’

  ‘Not at all. I quite agree.’

  ‘When has the carriage been unattended?’ Jared demanded.

  ‘At the house we called at, sir. We left it in their stableyard and went in to have a drink in the kitchens. Then in Whitby Thomas stayed with it while we went to buy pies and a jug of ale.’

  Jared nodded and drew Guin aside. ‘And now we know who is behind this.’

  ‘Thomas?’

  ‘He has
been the agent for all the attacks on you, I assume. Lord Northam’s murder, I am not so sure about. But I know who Willoughby’s sister is.’

  ‘Who? No, we cannot talk about it here. What do we do now? Will you ride for help?’

  ‘You and I will take my horse, with Dover and Faith on one of the carriage horses. We will send help back to the coach from the next village – Lockton, if I remember rightly. I want you home, Guinevere.’

  ‘I thought you would never call me that again.’ Her smile was a sudden flash of happiness before she was serious again.

  The coachman, a practical man, agreed that the best thing to do was to get the women safely off the moor. ‘We’ll need a wheelwright, and a blacksmith to fix this brake, no point in all of us sitting around here, sir. We can drive back with just the three. I’ll try leading the horses down to the bottom now they’re calm, which’ll be safer than having the carriage on the slope. It should be all right with the weight out and just at a walk.’

  They shortened the reins on the steadiest of the horses and Jared boosted Faith up behind Dover, then Paul helped Guinevere up behind him. ‘It’s the Quentens, isn’t it?’ she said as they set off. ‘Thomas has worked for them since he was a boy.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jared agreed. ‘Hold on tight, I want to get you home fast.’

  It took them two hours, including the stop to despatch wheelwright and smith to the stricken coach. Guin was so stiff when they cantered up the drive at Allerton that she thought Jared would have to lift her down, bent into a sitting position.

  As it was he threw his leg over the pommel, slid to the ground and held up his hands to her and she simply fell into his embrace and clung.

  ‘I am sorry to be such a feeble creature,’ she mumbled against his shirt front. ‘All I want is to curl up in a darkened room and put my fingers in my ears and hum loudly until this all goes away.’

  ‘That sounds exceedingly tempting, with the addition of several bottles of best brandy.’ Jared sounded amused, the darkness seemed to have lifted for him, if only for a while. ‘But we must not give way to temptation, not now we have our blindfolds off and we know who it is that is our enemy.’