A Most Improper Rumor (2 page)

“I understand your motivations and agree, but if you wish me to look into this matter, then let me judge what might be valuable and what isn’t.”

That was fair enough. Actually, more than fair, for she’d offered him nothing in return. The Earl of Heathton did not need her money. That she knew already. She had little to give him but the challenge.

And she’d been assured that this sticky problem might pique his interest.

“He doesn’t care about the cloud over me and thinks he is capable of protecting himself,” she said with a careful lack of inflection. “I disagree. How can one protect oneself from some unknown poison? It isn’t possible if the murderer is determined, short of having someone else taste your food, and that barbaric custom is long gone, thank goodness.”

“At least in England,” Heathton agreed. “The rulers in North Africa still employ it, from what I understand. It would be a difficult way to live, suspicious of every bite or drink. Do I know him?”

A polite way of asking if her lover was of the beau monde. “Probably,” she admitted.

“I thought so.”

They had been so circumspect that even her maid did not suspect she was meeting clandestinely with someone. Alternating mornings, evenings, and nights, they used different places, and never acknowledged each other in public. She’d insisted and reluctantly he’d agreed, though he swore it did not matter to him if they were seen together.

However, if something happened to him, she couldn’t bear it. She’d survived the rest of it. The accusations, the public degradation, the seclusion with even the servants whispering behind her back, but
harm
to him because of her was inconceivable. She would shatter into a thousand pieces, the damage irreversible.

“We met a half year ago. I still have a few friends left, and I was invited to a small house party.” Remembering that weekend brought a small smile of reminiscence, an indulgence she allowed herself. “I know this might sound like romantic female drivel, but it was one of those moments. I walked into the drawing room and we looked at each other and I
knew
.”

God bless Eve for inviting him. For inviting them both.

Angelina added, “Trust me when I say I was the last person to believe in love at first sight, my lord. I am more grateful to him than you know for adjusting my jaded and weary view of the world. I find love has the ability to heal even the deepest wounds.”

Once the words were out, in the resulting silence, she had the impression, just a fleeting one, that she’d just made the erstwhile unflappable Earl of Heathton slightly uncomfortable. Was it the mention of the word love?

The earl’s expression was too bland to tell. He said, “I take it you are staying in London. Give me the address and I will correspond with you as needed.”

She nodded, taking the pen and vellum in front of her on the desk, and wrote down the address of her rented town house. At least he hadn’t demanded to know the name of the man who had given her a glimpse of possible happiness, for she was truly reluctant to give it. He was the catalyst for her to take action, but she wanted to shield him as much as possible.

When she rose to leave, she hesitated and turned back to look at the tall man still standing with one shoulder propped against a bookcase filled with dusty volumes of ancient books with faded gilded letters in Latin on the spines. Lord Heathton looked back with an eyebrow raised in inquiry.

“I do not wish to make you reconsider, for I am more grateful than you know, but why did you agree to aid me?”

“Why?” Hazel eyes looked at her with enigmatic detachment. “Because if you are telling me the truth, you face a rather formidable enemy, and it would be my pleasure to best him.”

Chapter 2

A
licia Wallace swirled in rhythm to the music, smiled politely at her partner when the waltz ended, and went in search of her husband.

He wasn’t in the card room, she discovered when she asked, but then again, he rarely played. He tended to win when he did, probably because he had an analytical mind that allowed him to predict the probability of the chance of getting the cards he needed, but he’d said once it bored him.

Still, where on earth was he?

In exasperation, she surveyed the crowded ballroom, and luckily, because of his height, was finally able to spot Ben. He stood with the prime minister and several other prominent men in Parliament, which was frustrating because what she wanted more than anything was to go home.

It was entirely too hot in the crowded space, and truthfully, she was a bit fatigued.

After a moment of consideration, she decided that though she didn’t wish to interrupt, there wasn’t much choice.

Ben saw her first, but then again, he would. His gaze caught hers, and there was a moment of communication. She could have sworn—but maybe she was just a hopeful romantic—that he instantly understood why she was looking for him.

“Lady Heathton,” Lord Liverpool said gallantly when she approached, bending over her hand. “You are as dazzling as ever this evening. Have we been monopolizing your husband? My abject apologies.”

“Not at all, my lord.” She rather liked Liverpool, even if she took some issues with his policies. “I was just thinking of going home, though I realize it is early.” She turned to Ben. “I can have the carriage sent back if you’d like.”

Her husband put his hand at her waist. “Not at all,” he said with equanimity. “I wouldn’t dream of not escorting you. Gentlemen, will you excuse us?”

When they stepped outside into an evening that included a sky speckled with a dusting of brilliant stars, he muttered, “Thank you. As you know, I am never fond of such crowded affairs.”

She did know. He spent entirely too much time in his study, however, and she’d decided six months into their marriage that he needed some coaxing when it came to intimacy between a husband and a wife. Happily, though idyllic was probably not accurate, their relationship had improved considerably since she had taken the initiative to insist on more time together.

That was why she had some trepidation over changing it now, but little choice.

Allowing him to hand her into the carriage, she watched as he climbed in and settled on the opposite seat, his long legs extended, and when he rapped on the roof and the vehicle pulled away, she said without preamble, “When one of the most beautiful women in England calls on your husband, a wife is surely allowed to ask why.”

His mouth curved into a cynical smile. “Is that why you have been so abstracted all evening?”

No, it wasn’t. At least not entirely. She settled for responding, “I think I am entitled to ask a question or two. You did not join Aunt Heloise and me for tea.”

And since he’d gone out right afterward, and then when he returned they’d had guests for dinner, there had been no opportunity to discuss the unusual visit.

“Yeats told you of Lady DeBrooke’s visit, I suppose,” he said with resignation in reference to their butler, looking handsome and elegant in his stark black-and-white evening kit. “There are no secrets in our household.”

Well, there was
one
, but he would learn it soon enough.

“I naturally asked him why you were detained and she did give him her card.” Alicia lowered her gaze for a moment. “I was hardly trying to be inquisitive about your private affairs, but—”

“Lady DeBrooke is not a ‘private affair,’” he interrupted brusquely. “I had every intention of telling you all about it once we had a minute alone. I think you’ll find it quite interesting.”

“Oh?” She relaxed a fraction, though it wasn’t as if she really thought something was amiss; it was just that the woman had been accused of murdering two people, not to mention her undeniable allure was part of her infamy.

“I think it has happened more than we even know.”

“What has happened?” She wrinkled her brow as they rocked along, the sound of the wheels on the cobbled street making her raise her voice.

Ben gazed at her in a very direct manner. She loved the color of his eyes, somewhere between gold and green, with small flecks of brown. “Picture this scenario, if you will. A very beautiful debutante is the toast of proper society, adored by all the beau monde, and she marries well, as we all would expect. Then her first husband dies of an attack the doctors cannot explain, but such things do happen. She respects the proper mourning period and reenters the elite circles of the
ton
, only to marry advantageously another eligible young man after being yet again a sensation. Why would she not? She is still young and lovely at twenty years of age.”

Her lips slowly parted. “Lady DeBrooke.”

“Thomas, Lord DeBrooke, was a friend of mine. He was definitely enamored of his young wife and I never heard of a hint of dissension between them.”

She had to admit the synopsis of events fit quite nicely. “And then he dies in nearly the same time frame after the wedding as her first husband and from ostensibly the same disease.

“There’s no question of suspicion of her. Of course all eyes turn her way.” Her husband lounged there, his face thoughtful. “Rather clever, actually. Diabolically so, of course, but still neatly done. If both men were poisoned, and if she is innocent, that means that someone deliberately sought to ruin the most feted young woman in society, and certainly the method was extreme and effective. Does it remind you of a recent occurrence?”

It did. Quite chillingly, in fact. “You think the same person is behind all of this as was Elena’s abduction and the resulting scandal?” Not that long ago, Alicia’s beautiful cousin had been kidnapped and locked away with one of London’s premier rakes for almost a week, destroying her reputation irrevocably.

“I must wonder.”

So did she. And there was a warming feeling that touched her that he would so easily share the information. The last case he had tried to shut her out as much as possible, but Elena was part of her family and Alicia had insisted on helping when she’d discovered she was missing.

“Murder is drastic in comparison.”

“I think,” he said in a contemplative voice, “our opponent is flexible when it comes to the measure of the steps he will take to gain his ends. It’s about power more than anything else. The crime itself doesn’t matter. Both Elena and Lady DeBrooke were meant to suffer in the resulting scandal. Luckily, in the case of your cousin, the ploy did not turn out at all as planned and Viscount Andrews married her. Lady DeBrooke was not so lucky.”

Quite a happy marriage at that, but Alicia was thinking more about Lady DeBrooke. “This started years ago then.”

“If there is a connection between what happened to your cousin and my recent visitor, yes.”

The similarities were striking; that was for certain. “Your theory works only if Lady DeBrooke is innocent.”

“True.” His lashes lowered a small distance in a mannerism she was starting to know well. He was thinking.

“My lord?”

He focused on her once again and his tone held exasperation. “Alicia, I cannot think it is necessary to address me so formally when we are alone.”

She wasn’t sure why she chose this particular moment. In her mind she had romantic visions of roses, white linens, and an intimate dinner, perhaps with a starlit background . . . certainly not a discussion of murder and evil deception, but the words just tumbled out. “I am carrying your child.”

* * *

For a man who had always prided himself on his powers of observation, it was a humbling experience to sit in numbed silence as he stared at his lovely wife.

Ben took a moment to assess that declaration and the ramifications it entailed, and he realized she was looking at him with a certain expectation in her dark blue eyes.

And he had no idea how to respond.
Nonplussed, he sat there against the squabs, the carriage rumbling along, and realized his life had just changed irrevocably. Finally, he managed to articulate, “I didn’t realize this was possible.”

What an idiotic thing to say
.

She must have thought so as well, for her musical laughter echoed out. Alicia said in a teasing tone, “Didn’t you?”

He did, of course. He’d done his best to make sure it happened, and it had been entirely his pleasure and hopefully hers as well. Yet, still, to hear the words . . .

A child?

“I meant . . .” He stopped, fumbling for the rest of that thought, whatever it might be. A score of conflicting emotions made his mind a blank.

“Yes?” Her smile held a mischievous hint of female triumph over his less-than-composed reaction.

There was joy, yes, but also a surge of apprehension. Perhaps that was what held him tongue-tied. Child-bearing wasn’t always a perfect process. When he regarded it in an abstract manner, he’d always expected his wife to bear him a child—if not several children.

But the immediacy of even the slightest danger to her was sobering. He finally said, “I meant I didn’t realize you suspected you had conceived. How are you feeling?”

“More fatigued than usual, slightly unwell in the mornings now and again.” Alicia reclined her head against the cushions of the carriage. “But most compelling is that I have missed my courses twice now and there are physical changes, slight but growing more pronounced. You would notice soon, so I thought it prudent to tell you as soon as I was sure.”

In retrospect, he
had
noticed if they were going to go out to an event in the evening, she napped now in the afternoon.

And she was correct about the other changes also. He couldn’t help but study her décolletage, the smooth ivory swell of flesh above her bodice a contrast to the dark material. He’d thought the neckline was more daring than usual, but perhaps the lushness of her breasts was not due to her midnight blue silk gown but impending motherhood.

“You are as slender as ever,” he murmured, “but I can see some changes.”

“Definitely not quite as slender.” There was a hint of a blush in her cheeks at his open male appraisal. “The waists of my gowns are getting tight. I am going to have them altered and soon visit the modiste to order some that are more comfortable. I have never used a corset and am not about to start just to conceal my condition.”

“Of course not,” he said instantly. “I’ll tell my steward a new wardrobe is in order. What else can I do?”

Her lashes fluttered downward and she murmured, “You might tell me you are happy about the baby.”

“Does it seem I am not?”

That brought her gaze up to his and there was a hint of reproof in her eyes. “Ben, for once would you please tell me what you are feeling instead of walking around the subject in your usual way. No, you do not seem happy, nor do you seem unhappy. You are just
you
, which means no one can tell what you are thinking.”

It was his forte to be indirect. It had served him well during the war, and it really wasn’t his nature to discuss sentiment especially, but he caught the slightest shimmer in her eyes that could be tears. With raw honesty, he said, “I’m afraid.”

After a moment, his wife said softly, “You will be a wonderful father.”

She’d misunderstood.

Afraid
for you. And for myself, because if I ever have to be without you, I am not sure what I would do, and I didn’t realize the fear ran so deep
 . . .

“I will do my best,” he improvised, not sure he was yet ready to assess his feelings on this change in his life—in their lives. “But that aside, shouldn’t you see a physician to be assured all is well?”

Alicia adjusted her cloak with a restless hand. “If it would please you, of course I will.”

She wasn’t nearly as composed as she pretended to be either. “It would,” he confirmed, cognizant of her trembling fingers, because it truly would make him more at ease if he knew she was healthy and all was progressing as it should.

She was his life.

“My lord—,” she started to say, but stopped and faltered.

“Alicia,” he remonstrated in exasperation, “I am not your lord; I am your husband.” He moved then, suddenly finding himself across the carriage, lifting her onto his lap. “I am not the Earl of Heathton. I am not a blasted foppish
ton
dandy, and I am certainly not someone you should address so formally. You are going to be the mother of my child. Say whatever you wish.”

Her laugh was a hiccup against his throat. “Then I wish to say I am very happy.”

He gently kissed her temple, relishing the soft weight of her in his arms. “So am I.”

“Was that so difficult?”

“No.”

“Liar.” She laughed and kissed him.

The artless clasp of her arms around his neck, the warm feel of her shapely bottom on his thighs, the music of her laughter; all of it was captivating, and the flare of desire was coupled with a sense of protectiveness as he held her close and kissed her back with the ardor of a man deeply infatuated with his wife. It was powerful, poignant; it was . . .

Was this love? Of course he was attracted to her, and certainly she was everything a man could want, beautiful, gracious, intelligent, but it was something more.

Undefinable.

Moving.

So precious he feared losing it more than anything in this world.

But he had never said it to her. Shouldn’t he? Especially now, after she’d told him they were going to share a child? Luckily, the carriage rocked to a halt, sparing him the decision.