0062412949 (R) (42 page)

“Hmm,” said Rainsleigh, “I know this predicament. It was much the same within my family, when the viscountcy came to me.”

“I’ve sold nearly everything. I’m selling the house, too, if I can find a buyer.”

“Fine property,” Rainsleigh said, looking around while Trevor made for his desk. He unlocked the side drawer and tucked the damning evidence given to him by Straka in his pocket. He took a deep breath and grimaced. The viscount waited patiently across the desk.

Trevor cleared his throat. He had no real choice but to begin at the beginning. “When I left Oxford at the age of twenty-one, I went immediately to care for my gravely ill mother . . . ”

His tedious history went on from there. The list of possible admissions was long, and personal, and strange, but nothing would make sense if he skipped any of it, and a partial truth would make the whole thing ring so very false. It was essential that Rainsleigh believe him if he intended to confide in him, if he hoped to walk away on the side of the right.

After his mother, Trevor told him about the move to Greece, his affiliation with Straka, his mother’s death, and the unexpected inheritance of the earldom. Next came the arrival of Piety Grey, his courtship of her in Berkshire, their marriage.

Rainsleigh had taken a seat during the narrative, and now he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. He did not interrupt. He did not scoff, thank God; and he did not call Trevor a liar—
yet
.

The only point on which Trevor did not elaborate was the faux nature of his marriage to Piety. In his mind, it was faux no more. He loved his wife, desperately so. He wanted to remain married, if she would have him.

Finally, he came to the bit that pertained to the viscount. He paused, swallowing hard, picking up a pen and then tossing it down. “On the morning after my wedding,” he said, “I received an unexpected visit from my former employer, Janos Straka.”

The viscount raised his eyebrows.

“He turned up in Berkshire with the sole purpose of locating me.”

Another pause.

Rainsleigh prodded further. “What did he want?” It was a cautious question. He studied Trevor as he spoke. His trust was not guaranteed.

Trevor swallowed hard. “Straka ‘asked,’ to use the term loosely, for one, final favor. He’d made a series of bad deals and needed ready money, and lots of it, very fast. He imposed upon
me
to obtain the money for him here in England. He assumed, of course, that as earl, I had connections and access to the very rich. He assumed I would know someone like you.”

The viscount cocked his head. His uncertain stare turned cold. “Someone like me?”

Trevor took a deep breath. “It was for
you
, explicitly, that he asked. Or, your money, I should say. He hoped I could find you and blackmail you for the needed funds.”

Realization set on Rainsleigh’s face like clay hardening in the sun. He nodded. He slapped his hands on his knees and leaned forward in his chair. When he spoke, his voice was deadly calm. “Blackmail, is it?” He rose to stand. “Valiant try, Falcondale, but I have seen far worse. I was raised by hedonists, as I’m sure your damning evidence—whatever it is—shows. After a childhood like mine, I have learned a few things abo—”

“Here are the documents,” interrupted Trevor, desperately, shoving from his chair. He thrust the foolscap at Rainsleigh.

Rainsleigh stared at him, his expression so incensed, Trevor thought he would bat his hand away. Slowly, he took the extended bundle.

“That’s everything I was given,” said Trevor. “To be honest, I have not done more than glance at it. It’s something to do with your parents and their time on holiday. In Greece.”

The viscount swore and opened the papers, madly scanning the contents.

Trevor continued, “I could not, in good conscience, keep it from you. You may do with it what you will. I have mentioned it to no one except my serving boy, who I trust with my life. Even my wife does not know. I am trying to keep my former life as far from my new life as possible.”

“What do you want, Falcondale?” asked the viscount, flipping pages.

“There is nothing that I want. Please understand. I am
giving them
to you. Go, and forget we ever met. I never meant to blackmail you over this—over anything at all. Our meeting today was a bit of a precursor to what I’ve done, just now, giving you the evidence against your family. It would have been too soon, I thought, to foist the documents on you at our first meeting. We’d meet again; I thought perhaps two or three more times. I would relate my predicament slowly, over time. But I was always going to give them to you. I’ve just run out of time.” He raked his hand through his hair. “Forgive the unexacting nature of this plan. When my wife was injured, I . . . ”

Rainsleigh looked up. “If you won’t blackmail me, what are your plans for putting off the Greek now?”

Trevor let out a tired breath. “Honestly, I’ve no clue. I had hoped to figure it out before I delivered these to you, but now here we are. At the moment, the only thing I care about is reaching my wife’s side, seeing her well, and keeping her safe. I have some money saved. Likely, I’ll pay him off myself.”

Rainsleigh studied him, stepping away from the chair and turning in a slow circle in the room. “I knew there was something off about you. Bloody well knew it. That song and dance about investing? It made no sense, but there was something more. Something intangible. Yet, I liked you. And I like very few people, I can assure you of that. It’s why I had my coachman drive down this street. Instinct bade me to learn more. Never in a million years could I have guessed this.”

Trevor laughed without mirth. “I can barely believe it myself.”

“Where is your wife, now?” Rainsleigh asked. “In hospital?”

Trevor answered carefully. “She has arranged to be cared for in an undisclosed location. That is actually another long story, which I don’t have time to tell. The good news is, Straka’s spies primarily watch me. I’m careful about how I come and go. Now, you should take care, too,” Trevor added, crossing to the door. “The threat of Janos Straka is very real, I’m afraid. As I said, he may be watching us, even now. I will tell him I need more time to squeeze you for the money; meanwhile I will endeavor to come up with some more permanent evasion. But just because I refused to do his dirty work does not mean someone else will. He can be very persuasive.”

“I will bear that in mind,” said Rainsleigh, tucking the papers in his coat. “I retain the services of some equally persuasive men for exactly this reason. I am also on excellent terms with Scotland Yard. If he threatens me, he may find himself on the inside of a Crown jail. But I do appreciate the warning. I don’t suppose I owe you my gratitude for
not
blackmailing me, considering it’s the decent thing to do, but I am glad about it.” He followed Trevor out of the room.

“My parents were a great embarrassment to me—to everyone,” the viscount continued. “I toil, daily, to live down their reputations, to pay their debts, to set the viscountcy to rights.” He tapped his breast pocket. “Something like this would be a setback. I am looking to marry soon.”

“Good for you,” Trevor said, leading the way down the hall, “and I mean that. I would not have, ten days ago. I had no idea, but marriage suits me. Marriage to the right girl, I suppose.”

“Well, I’ve no one in mind yet, it is simply on my list of things to do. Another step in returning the family name to respectability.”

“I’m gratified that I was not another setback,” Trevor said, reaching for the door. “But now you’ll forgive me if I must leave you. I wish to get to my wife’s bedside as soon as I can.”

“Indeed. But, Falcondale?” He descended the stairs, stopping on the middle step. “I am taking you at your word. I like you. This honesty you profess does you credit.” He stared Trevor in the eye. “But take heart. If I discover that this is a trick or a trap, if you are giving me only half of the damning evidence with the idea of a double-cross . . . ”

Trevor followed him down. “I’ve given you all I have, my lord. The truth. The documents. My heartsick story of woe. By all means, you should employ due diligence. Have me followed, if you like.” He laughed. “Your spies may join the crowd. If you need to speak to me directly, you will find me with my wife. My serving boy, Joseph, can get a message to me.”

Rainsleigh stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked up. “Will you really sell this house?”

“With any luck.” Trevor sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Know anyone in the market?”

“I do, in fact,” said Rainsleigh. “I would consider buying this house.”

Trevor dropped his hands. “You’re joking.”

“No,” Rainsleigh said.

“I could be persuaded to give you a very good deal—” Trevor paused, suddenly struck dumb by the weight of a very good idea. A very good, very lucky idea. While he stared at Rainsleigh, the roots of the idea spread and took hold in his brain. He took only a moment to weigh the risk of what he was about to ask. Really, what choice did he have? Desperate had become his middle bloody name. Piety’s safety and their future was all that mattered. “If you would be willing to help me get the best of this Grecian thug,” Trevor asked, “I could give you a very good deal, indeed.” He held his breath.

The other man studied him. “I don’t require a good deal, Falcondale, I have money to spare.
Trust
—trust is what seems to be in short supply.”

“I’ve never been more honest in my life,” Trevor said, his heart pounding.

Rainsleigh considered him a moment more and then gave a firm nod. He turned and headed down the walk, waving without looking back. “I will be in touch.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

P
iety passed the hours in the new rented apartments in Knightsbridge in very much the same manner as she passed them in Falcondale’s bedroom—fast asleep. According to the doctor, her body was conserving its energy to heal, but Piety knew that she slept for another reason altogether. To dream.

The dreams of Trevor began on the second or third night. The most glowing, wonderful dreams of her life. So wonderful, in fact, she wished, for the first time ever, that she would never awaken.

Falcondale was there, in her new room, kneeling by her bed. He held her hands and stroked her hair and whispered the most endearing words of love, and promise, and hope for a future together as husband and wife. It went on for hours, this dream, and it was so vivid, so richly detailed, she could smell the musky scent of his skin and feel the rough calluses of his hand on her cheek. Even his body felt warm beside her, staving off the usual chill that seemed to pulse from her very core.

When she awakened in early afternoon, she was alone in the room, except for Jocelyn. It surprised her, even though she knew it was foolish to think his presence had been anything more than a dream. Even if it was so colorful, so real, she had trouble shaking the feel of him, long after she was wide awake. It was as if his very spirit still loomed, leaving muddy boot tracks on the rug and heavy dents in the cushion of the chair beside the bed.

“I think I am delirious again,” she told Jocelyn, looking around. The older woman raised her eyebrows and settled a tray on her lap. Taking up a spoon, she hastened to feed her a bowl of broth.

“Well,” she said, “you have consented to eat without a fuss. If that is delirium, I’ll take it.”

Piety smiled weakly. “No, it’s not that. ’Tis this dream I’ve had. I cannot lose the feeling of it. It’s as if I’m still half asleep.”

“Oh?”

Piety took the spoon from her hands and began to eat. Jocelyn gave her a skeptical look but then scooted back, watching her.

“It’s silly, I know,” Piety said between slow, small spoonfuls, “but I dreamed of Falcondale. He was here. In my dream. With us—with me. Kneeling right beside the bed.”

“Is that so?” Jocelyn said, idly picking errant threads from her skirts.

“And now that I’m awake, it’s almost as if I can sense his presence in the room. I can smell him. I can taste him.”

“Well, I can assure you that we did not cook him and put him in the broth. It’s lamb, my dear, and you should eat as much as you can. Will you take some bread?”

“No, thank you.” Piety shook her head and felt foolish for revealing such a fanciful, intimate dream. She pushed her tray away and stretched her neck. “I . . . I feel like walking.”

Jocelyn’s head shot up. “Walk? But to where? You cannot think of going outside.”

“No, no. Just a turn around the rooms. To the window. I don’t care where, really, but I’ve been in this bed for so long, I think I’ve sprouted roots.”

“Really, Piety.” Jocelyn tsked and rose to standing, “I cannot think that is wise just yet. Let us consult with Dr. Hollingsworth when he calls in the afternoon. It worries me to see you overexert yourself so soon after we’ve relocated.”

“But surely walking into the very next room and back is not too much.” She tried to wrestle the bedclothes away. “Didn’t you tell me the apartments had a sunny parlor?”

Jocelyn heaped them back around her shoulders. “You feel stronger today, and this is a praise, but let us not overdo and suffer a relapse. When you enjoy two days of strength,
and
the doctor approves, then we may venture out.” Nervously, she looked over her shoulder at the door.

Piety squinted at her, annoyed and confused, but the moving beneath the weight of the coverlet drained her energy, and the sheer breath required to argue made her dizzy. Frowning, she flopped back against the pillows and allowed Jocelyn to check her bandages and hold a goblet of water to her lips.

“There, now.” Jocelyn’s hand soothed her brow. “Rest after your meal. I will send a boy out for the doctor and ask him to call earlier in the day, if possible. Then we may have his professional opinion about leaving the bed.”

Piety refused to agree, but she did not press, and in moments, she was asleep again.

In time, the dream returned. Falcondale was with her again. This time, he seemed so close, it was almost as if he were in the bed with her. She tried to speak to him, tried to smile and call out his name, but her mouth felt dry and heavy, and he
shhhed
her gently and urged her to lie still. When she complied, he spoke, soft but clear. Assurances. Love. Words that she had longed to hear since they first met. He wept—
wept!
—and begged her to recover. Sometimes, he slept, balancing on the bed beside her, but he never left. In her dream, he was always there.