The Swordmaster's Mistress: Dangerous Deceptions Book Two Page 6

  Jared bit back the instinctive refusal, searched for a way to explain. ‘I did nothing, except to deny lies and refuse to forgive those lies.’ He was a grown man now and the hurt and the betrayal had changed, become a cold, hard anger that had not softened for understanding his brother’s motives, the fears of the girl he had dreamed might love him, the immediate prejudice of his father. Cowardice he could forgive, momentary panic was understandable. Planned betrayal was neither.

  ‘At seventeen, was it not? So young. And then you made a new life for yourself, from nothing?’

  ‘I had a rapier, a background of sound training in fencing, a few coins in my pocket and a great deal of luck.’ He had never ignored the power of luck after that. Admittedly you had to put the work in, or the Lady would turn a scornful shoulder your way when you needed her most, but when everything seemed hopeless a belief that maybe she was on your side this time gave you the guts to keep fighting. ‘I fell into the company of one of the best swordsmen in Europe and he saw something, lord knows what, in me. I was a sullen, difficult youth at that point.’

  She gave a little smile, as though she still thought him difficult. ‘We will find out who is doing this, won’t we, Jared?’

  ‘Of course.’ A group of well-dressed ladies were strolling towards them and he turned casually, before they were within conversational distance, and took another path that curved round to the gate they had entered by. ‘You simply need to hold your nerve and we will find him.’ Unless this was someone completely deranged who had fixed their sights on Guinevere, was obsessing about her. It did happen and then they really would need luck and, perhaps to catch the man in the act, which would be unpleasant for Guinevere and possibly dangerous.

  ‘It will be a man, I suppose,’ she mused as they paced back along the path, closer now to the sound of the traffic on Piccadilly. ‘It is particularly unnerving not to be able to imagine even the shape of my enemy, a glimpse of their face.’

  ‘A man would have easier access to criminal elements, men who could enter a house unnoticed, climb a roof, not flinch at tipping fireworks down chimneys,’ he agreed. And a man was far more likely to be behind this if a completely irrational fixation was the motive. But he did not say that. Guinevere would probably find that even more frightening than a sane attacker.

  Against his side he felt the little shiver go through her again and walked faster. ‘I will take you home and go in search of my invitation for tonight.’ And beg the assistance of Michael Flynn, Cal’s valet and their companion in the travels and adventures, to turn him out looking respectable. He rather thought his evening clothes were still jammed at the bottom of a hastily-packed trunk.

  Chapter Six

  Jared saw Guin to her front door, impeccably formal once more. ‘Until this evening, Lady Northam.’

  She smiled a little as she made her way upstairs with Faith. The man was so reassuringly calm and confident and having someone to call her by her name again, after all this time, was ridiculously pleasurable. She hugged it to herself, a harmless little secret.

  Twite descended as they climbed. ‘My lady. His lordship asked me to inform you that he will be in for luncheon and hopes you will be able to join him.’ A clock chimed down in the hall. ‘It will be served in half an hour if that is convenient?’

  ‘Thank you, Twite. That will be perfectly convenient.’

  ‘Mr Theo Quenten called and is with his lordship.’

  ‘Will he be staying for luncheon, do you know, Twite?’ She had a soft spot for Augustus’s scapegrace nephew, so close to her in age, even though she had no illusions about his faults. He was a charmer, a good-looking young man through whose fingers money flowed easily and who seemed incapable of settling to any useful occupation. His elderly, ailing, father was unable to control him and only Augustus attempted to exert any influence over his behaviour.

  ‘I am not sure, my lady. The discussion appears to be somewhat… heated.’

  ‘Oh dear. Money again?’

  ‘Possibly, my lady.’ Twite gave what, in a lesser butler, might have been a shrug. ‘And the delivery came from Parmentier’s. It has been placed in your sitting room.’

  The fancy box of sweetmeats sat exuding expensive deliciousness in the middle of the table. ‘I wonder what temptation they have selected for me this time.’ Guin handed Faith her bonnet and gloves and went to untie the ribbon bow. ‘Lord Northam really is very good to indulge me with sweet things but I will be as round as an orange if I am not careful. You must help me out and eat at least half of them.’

  She lifted the lid. ‘Violet creams and fruit fondants and – Oh no, look, Faith, they have put in half a dozen marchpane balls. Well, I will have no trouble resisting those at least.’ She popped a fondant into her mouth. ‘Delicious. Do take one, Faith. You may eat all the marchpane to start with, with my blessing.’

  ‘Thank, you my lady, but I can’t abide them either, they are so sickly they set my teeth on edge.’

  ‘Have one of the others then – and do not tell Lord Northam. He adores anything with almonds in it and you know his doctor said he was not to indulge in sweet things. I would not trust him not to steal them all.’

  It was extraordinary how soothing a bonbon was. Once Faith had selected a crystallised orange segment for herself Guin put the lid back firmly on the box and went to wash her hands and restore her hair to order before luncheon. ‘You must hide that box, Faith.’

  ‘Yes, my lady. At what time will you want your bath this afternoon? I thought four o’clock, then there will be plenty of time to dry your hair and for you to have a little rest before you dress for the ball.’

  ‘That would be perfect, thank you.’

  Guin went down to the dining room thinking about the ball, Jared’s warning about what gossip might say creeping back to destroy her momentary peace. How foul peoples’ minds must be to imagine such things. Yes, she had married a much older man for security and yes, Augustus made no secret of enjoying showing off a pretty young wife and appreciated having a domestic life and companionship once more. But that first night he had made it very plain that he would not trouble her in her bed. It had been clear that age had considerably dimmed her husband’s desires and that he had no wish to attempt to consummate the marriage.

  Guin had been prepared to be a wife in every way, that was only fair. But she had been glad that she would not be going to her marriage bed as a virgin and beyond the sheer relief at being loved and cared for, and being able to return that care with affection and loyalty, she found she had no inconvenient longings for more, for anything physical. After her brief first marriage an undemanding elderly husband was a blessing, she told herself.

  As she recovered her confidence and her spirits the niggling awareness began to grow that she did desire something more, that she was a healthy young woman and not naturally inclined to celibacy. Close contact with a man as virile and attractive as Jared Hunt did nothing to soothe those feelings but neither was she tempted to do anything indiscreet. Augustus had rescued her from a bad situation, she had made her marriage vows intending to keep them and she owed him her absolute loyalty.

  He loved to see her dressed up and wearing the jewels he had lavished on her, bless him, and she fully intended to do him proud tonight and take their minds off the looming menace of her unknown attacker.

  ‘Jared, how nice to see you.’ Her Grace the Duchess of Calderbrook uncurled herself from the sofa in one corner of her husband’s bedchamber as Jared tapped on the door and let himself in. He submitted to a kiss on the cheek and an inspection –‘Are you feeding properly?’ – and wondered at the transformation time had made in Sophie’s attitude towards him.

  At first she had thought him sinister and unlikeable and had not troubled too hard to hide the fact, but fighting for her husband’s life together the night he had been poisoned had marked a turning point and now she treated Jared like a brother.

  ‘I was hoping for a word with Cal.’ He settled beside her on th
e sofa.

  ‘He and Flynn are debating a waistcoat,’ she said with a grimace and a jerk of her head towards the dressing room door. It was just ajar and the soft Irish tones of Michael Flynn the Duke’s valet could be heard raised in plaintive lament.

  ‘…more than my professional pride will allow.’

  Cal’s deeper rumble was less audible until the door opened and he stalked out. ‘I like it and that’s that. Besides, it was expensive.’

  Michael followed him out holding a silk waistcoat in shades of deep purple and plum between thumb and forefinger. ‘The cost is no matter. Expensive it might be, but it looks as though you’re a bishop on his way to an orgy,’ he protested. ‘Hunt – look, tell Cal this is hopeless.’ Almost seven years of racketing around the world together, often guarding each others’ backs, had developed a closeness between the three of them that ignored rank.

  ‘It looks perfectly all right to me,’ Jared said. ‘It is purple – so what is wrong with that?’

  ‘You never wear anything but black,’ Flynn said bitterly. ‘What would you know?’

  ‘There is no need to jump down my throat,’ Jared said mildly. ‘I bow to your exquisite taste, but don’t ask me to cross Cal this evening. I have come to ask him a favour. I have one for you too, come to that.’

  ‘I will ring for tea,’ Sophie said, leaning over to tug at the bell pull. ‘I sense a story.’

  Jared trusted these three people as he did himself and he respected their intelligence too. When they were settled with tea cups and jam tartlets he said, ‘Firstly I need the entré to Lady Fulborne’s ball this evening. I assume you are attending?’

  ‘We are. And I am wearing that waistcoat,’ Cal said, ignoring his valet’s snort. ‘Do you want to go alone, with someone else, or with us?’

  ‘With you, if you do not mind.’

  ‘That is no problem. I’ll send a note round to Amanda Fulborne,’ Sophie said. ‘I will tell her we have an unexpected guest and may I bring him? She won’t mind, she’s the most easy-going creature and another gentleman is always welcome.’ She got up, waving the men back into their seats, and perched at Cal’s desk in the corner to write. ‘What is after the firstly?’

  ‘This.’ Jared tossed the valise he had stuffed his rumpled evening suit into across to Flynn. ‘Can you rescue that for this evening?’

  ‘Of course.’ Flynn tipped it out onto the bed and clicked his tongue at the crumpled heap of black fabric. ‘I love a challenge. When are you going to get yourself a valet?’

  ‘Soon. I need a gentleman’s gentleman, I suppose. Someone to look after the apartment as well as my clothes, cook meals, supervise the cleaning. Going to the agency is high on my list of things to do.’

  ‘Anything else on the list of things you need from us?’ Cal asked. ‘You aren’t having Flynn, by the way.’

  The valet grinned and batted his eyelashes stagily at Jared who, used to him, ignored the teasing.

  ‘I do not want him, thank you very much. But I need you to keep your ears peeled for anything you might hear about Lady Northam.’

  ‘The old Viscount’s young wife? A Spring and Winter match that one. What’s the problem? Is he afraid she’s misbehaving with some virile young stud?’

  ‘He is afraid someone is trying to kill her,’ Jared said.

  ‘Ah. Not so amusing then. How are you involved?’

  ‘Lord Northam has engaged me to find out who is behind it. This is strictly between us, of course.’ The others nodded.

  Sophie held up a hand. ‘Just a moment while I send this. Ring the bell will you, Jared?’ A footman came and was despatched with the message and Sophie returned to curl up on the sofa. ‘Tell all.’

  Jared described the incidents and attacks and the apparent lack of motive. ‘Does anything strike you?’

  ‘That is a very peculiar murderer,’ Cal observed.

  ‘And one with a weakness for novelty over efficiency,’ Sophie added.

  ‘They are trying to frighten and confuse, not kill,’ Flynn said.

  ‘Exactly what I concluded. So why? I am certain Lady Northam has not the faintest idea why someone should be doing this, so they cannot believe that they are punishing her for something and that she will know what that is.’

  ‘They could be thoroughly irrational and not care whether she realises or not,’ Sophie said. ‘They may hate her and wish to torment her for a reason we would consider trifling.’ She twisted round to frown at him. ‘That is going to make your task much harder.’

  Jared nodded. ‘And what makes it harder still is that Lord Northam wishes me to escort his wife when she goes outside their home.’

  ‘Why is that a problem? I am sure he feels much better knowing you are protecting her.’

  Flynn cleared his throat. ‘Er, as Cal said – virile young studs…’

  Sophie snorted inelegantly. ‘Balderdash! Oh, I am sorry, Jared. I mean, not that you are not a… er… I am sure you are perfectly… Oh bother, you known what I mean. But Lord Northam himself is employing you.’

  ‘It is not what Lord Northam thinks that matters. It is what the more salacious-minded gossips might conclude, Sophie darling,’ Cal said.

  ‘Especially if she were to become pregnant,’ Flynn added. ‘Are she and her husband –’

  ‘I am not sure. I can hardly ask, but I suspect not.’

  Sophie got the point immediately. ‘That is disgraceful. People’s evil minds, I mean. Not whether she and her husband share a bed.’

  ‘It is certainly unpleasant. Which is why I want to be at the ball tonight so I can guard Lady Northam without appearing to attend in company with both her and her husband,’ Jared said.

  ‘You all have unpleasantly convoluted minds,’ Sophie said severely. ‘Poor woman. Is she able to confide in her friends or must she suspect everyone?’

  ‘She has no friends. She is not an aristocrat, her origins, at least so far as the ton is concerned, are obscure, and she has caught a rich and titled husband very much older than she is. She tells me no-one is actively hostile, merely distant.’

  ‘I will not be distant,’ Sophie declared. ‘I shall make her my friend and where the Duchess of Calderbrook leads others will want to follow.’ She tipped up her chin and then laughed when she caught her husband’s eye. ‘I still cannot quite believe I am a duchess, so I had better practise.’

  From the expression on Cal’s face as he looked at his wife, with her famous guinea-gold hair rumpled and her blue eyes dancing, Jared guessed he wanted to spend some time ensuring she was thoroughly convinced she was a duchess – and whose duchess she was. He felt a sudden, unpleasant, stab of jealousy for what they had and got to his feet. ‘I must go, but I’ll come back here if I may this evening to see if Flynn has worked miracles on my clothing and change before the ball.’

  ‘Come to dinner,’ Cal said.

  ‘And borrow a waistcoat,’ Flynn muttered as Jared let himself out, pausing to lift Sophie’s hand to his lips with an extravagant flourish, just to tease Cal.

  It was despicable to feel jealous of his closest friend, the man who was like a brother to him. Jared’s thoughts juddered to a halt, shied away from the word. Cal was more than a brother could ever be. Jared had recreated himself and in the process had invented a man who could never marry a lady of rank. But there were other women in the world. One of them, perhaps, was for him. One of them who was not already married.

  Jared spent a couple of hours over beyond the Tower, catching up on neglected business with the swordsmith he patronised. When he finally reached Great Ryder Street it was to find that the builders had made good progress. The interior was virtually ready for the carpenters to install the doors, panelling and trim and for the decorators to turn it from a building site to an elegant masculine haven.

  Upstairs the great bed was installed with a note propped up on it to say that the foreman had checked the beams beneath the floor and were satisfied they were strong enough. The big copper bathtub stood in wha
t would become his dressing room and Jared regarded it with a longing for hot water and plenty of it. Another cold scrub would have to suffice – and he must find a manservant very soon.

  The distant thud of the knocker on the front door reached him up the stairs. That was another thing… He jotted doorbell on a scrap of paper on his way past the table. When he opened the door the young man on the other side visibly braced himself to face the scowl.

  ‘Yes?’ Jared demanded, impatient.

  ‘I have come to apply for the position of gentleman’s gentleman, Mr Hunt. My name is Anthony Dover.’

  ‘You are a mind reader?’ Jared studied the youthful, freckled face.

  The lad – if he was more than eighteen Jared would be surprised – looked back stolidly. ‘I understand you require someone in that capacity. I am an acquaintance of Michael Flynn, the Duke of Calderbrook’s man, sir.’

  ‘Are you, indeed?’

  Dover coloured up. ‘Not that kind of friend, sir.’

  ‘Flynn’s personal preferences are his own business,’ Jared said mildly. ‘As are yours, providing you can avoid getting arrested for them on my time.’ He and Cal had rescued Michael Flynn from a beating on the streets of New York and neither of them regretted it, despite Michael’s illegal sexual inclinations occasionally making life more than a little interesting in the course of their travels.

  The blush deepened, but Dover persevered. ‘I happened to see Flynn this afternoon. This is my half-day off. I am an under-footman, sir, with Lord Porton. But I have ambitions to better myself.’

  ‘And you think working as the sole servant to a non-titled swordmaster will do that?’

  ‘I wish to learn swordsmanship, sir. I am willing to work for board and lodgings and tuition. Flynn says that you won’t always be living in the middle of a building site and that I’d do well to attach myself to you now.’ He was taut with earnestness, Jared saw, keeping himself still with an effort, like a gundog puppy quivering in anticipation of the order to retrieve.