A Regency Invitation to the House Party of the Season (12 page)

Marcus tried to smile reassuringly at her. ‘Miss Devereaux, you must understand that I have every reason to be suspicious of
you
. I did catch you searching Major Lyndhurst’s desk, after all. Forgive me, but that is not
quite
the behaviour one expects of a lady.’

She coloured deliciously. Marcus suddenly realised how beautiful she had become, in spite of her appalling, shapeless clothes. All those years ago, she had been pretty enough, but young and unworldly. Now she was strikingly handsome, and a woman of character, to boot. He had thought her just another débutante on the catch for a rich husband. As, indeed, they all were. But to take a risk like this…? There might be more to Miss Amy Devereaux than met the eye. And what met the eye—to do the lady justice—was very attractive indeed. A veritable feast for the eyes of a man who had been cooped up for weeks without female company.

‘I…’ Her voice had sunk to the tiniest whisper. ‘I came to Lyndhurst Chase to find my brother. I fear he has been kidnapped. Or worse. I came because I had to do something.’

If Marcus could have laid hands on Ned Devereaux at that moment, he would gleefully have strangled him. The lad was a selfish brat. And a loose-tongued gossip, into the bargain. He thought of no one but himself. Yet
this young woman—an older sister, taking the part of Ned’s dead mother, no doubt—was prepared to sacrifice her reputation and her future to save such a ne’er-do-well of a brother. Ned Devereaux did not deserve such a sister.

In that moment, Marcus determined that Ned’s sister would not lose her reputation for such an unworthy cause.

‘Miss Devereaux,’ Marcus said earnestly. ‘Pray do not be concerned. I know your brother. And I can assure you that he is perfectly safe.’

‘You know it?’ she gasped. Her hands had flown to her mouth.

‘Yes, ma’am. I know it for a fact. I promise you that he is safe. There is no need for you to go on with this dangerous masquerade.’

‘You know? I pray you, sir, tell me where he is. I must go to him at once.’

‘I cannot do that, Miss Devereaux. The information is not mine to share. But I promise you, on my honour, that Ned will come to no harm.’

Marcus could see in her face that she was trying to believe him. Trying, but failing. She thought it was just a story, to persuade her to give up her servant’s role. Her face had become a picture of misery, followed by despair.

‘Oh, my dear girl,’ he said, touched immeasurably by her pain. He took her in his arms and put a hand to her hair, stroking gently as he would a frightened child. Then he turned her face up to his, seeing the tears in her shadowed eyes.

And then—he could not help himself—he kissed her.

It began as a kiss of comfort. And tenderness. To ease her fears and remove the frown from her pale brow. But
soon it developed into something deeper. And when, a little hesitantly, Amy at last reached up to place her arms around his neck, Marcus had forgotten every notion of comfort. His whole body was driven to possess her luscious, tempting mouth.

It was like no kiss he had ever before experienced. Here was innocence and knowledge, purity and passion, all at once, spun together into a powerful whirlpool. He could feel himself being pulled down, and under. But he had not the slightest desire to resist.

Until his hand strayed to her breast and she groaned in response to his touch.

Marcus jerked away from her as if he had touched a living flame. What on earth was he doing? He was a fugitive, for heavens’ sake!

If it were not for Anthony, Marcus would have been taken up long ago and thrown into gaol. Perhaps even hanged. It did not matter that Marcus was innocent of the attack on Frobisher. The whole world would believe him guilty. His own angry words would stand as his accuser.

With slightly shaking hands, Marcus put her from him and bent to retrieve her cap from the floor. When he straightened, he saw that she was still totally bemused by what had happened between them. Her violet eyes were wide and unseeing. Her lips were red and a little swollen. And still so very tempting.

He fought against the pounding desire to kiss her again. He must not. He was hiding from the law. It was thoroughly dishonourable to treat her so.

‘Miss Devereaux.’

She did not react at all.

‘Amy,’ he said, more urgently now. ‘Amy! You must go from here. Your brother is safe. You
must
believe me
when I tell you that. But
you
are not. If you should be found here, in this guise, you would be ruined. You
must
leave here. Ned is not worth such a sacrifice.’ He put a hand on her cheek. It was a gentle caress. Passion had been replaced by concern.

But she would not have it. She shook him off. ‘Ned is my
brother
,’ she said in a low, determined voice. ‘Who are you—a man of the shadows—to tell me I must abandon him? Who are you—a man who takes advantage of a lone woman—to tell me what I must do?’ She grabbed the cap and dragged it over her hair. But she was not so angry or so hasty that she failed to cover every last strand. Amy Devereaux was still being very careful.

Marcus knew that he had lost. With a despairing shrug, he reached out to the desk for her spectacles. Another part of her disguise, and a good one. They were so ugly that no one would try to see beyond them. They would not see those beautiful eyes, the colour of bluebells in the gathering dusk.

She took the spectacles and slid them into place with a nod. ‘Thank you, sir.’ She was back in control. ‘And thank you for your assurances about my brother. You will understand that, with so little information, I am not prepared to give up my quest.’ She turned and began to move towards the door. ‘But I do thank you,’ she added, in a low voice, ‘for what little reassurance you have provided.’

‘Amy—’

‘Have no fear. I collect that you must have your own reasons for lying concealed here. I will not betray your presence in this house. You have my word on that.’

‘And you have
my
word,’ Marcus began, but the door had closed behind her retreating figure. He sighed. ‘You
have my word, Amy Devereaux,’ he said to the empty room, ‘that I shall not betray you.’

He stood for some time, gazing at the closed door. It had been the strangest encounter. He should have been in control. But somehow, his control had faltered. Faced with a strong, determined and totally idiotic woman, he had been outmanoeuvred.

Marcus sat down in Anthony’s chair and began to stroke his chin. He must be starting to look like some mad hermit with this growth of beard. It had its uses, however. He had been able to fool Amy Devereaux into thinking that they had never been introduced.

Would she have recognised him if he had been clean-shaven? Probably not. Why should she? She had had admirers a-plenty during that single Season. There was no reason why she should have remembered those few dances with Marcus Sinclair. Indeed, Marcus himself was not at all sure why he remembered her so well. It could not have been merely her striking looks.

He recalled that she had been simple and innocent. And that she had shown a naamp2;¨ve enjoyment of her first Season. Unlike so many of the débutantes at the balls and routs, Amy Devereaux had not appeared to be on the catch for a rich husband. Marcus had assumed, at the time, that it was a clever act, that Miss Devereaux was no different from the rest of her kind. But, if that were so, she had been singularly unsuccessful. For she must now be in her middle twenties and she still had no husband. Instead, she had a feckless younger brother. Poor girl! Ned Devereaux was a heavy burden for anyone. Marcus would lay odds that Ned paid no attention at all to his sister’s advice or even to her pleading. The boy seemed intent on gambling away his substance be
fore he was more than a couple of years into his majority.

Marcus rose and crossed to the window, taking care that he remained sufficiently in the shadows that he could not be seen from the garden. He looked out. He could picture Ned Devereaux in his prison. Not only was the lad safe, he was also well away from the temptations he seemed unable to resist. If Amy Devereaux only knew the whole, she would surely be grateful that her brother was being preserved from further harm. And that she was, too. Marcus had been right to extract that promise from her. She would certainly be unmasked if she spoke to Anthony about discovering Marcus—

Anthony…Marcus ran his hand through his unkempt hair. Oh, God! Anthony! Marcus was deceiving his closest friend. He ought to tell him about Amy Devereaux. She was in Anthony’s house under false pretences.

But Marcus had promised not to betray her. Besides, Anthony was in no mood to hear any plea from Marcus that the girl be treated with consideration. Indeed, Anthony was in no mood to hear anything at all from Marcus. They had not had a single exchange since that encounter over the miniature of Anthony’s wife. Marcus slept on the narrow dressing-room pallet and Anthony slept in the huge marriage bed. He acted as if Marcus were invisible. Marcus had begun to apologise, more than once, but Anthony had simply stalked away.

Things could not continue in this vein. But, trapped as he was in the dressing room, Marcus had no opportunity to remedy matters. He must simply wait until Anthony had calmed down enough to discuss the situation calmly. It would be soon, Marcus fervently hoped. But, even then, Marcus would not be able to tell
Anthony about the presence of Amy Devereaux in his house.

She was risking everything for the sake of her feckless brother. Marcus could not be the one to betray her.

A
my stood in front of the brown-spotted mirror, fingering her lips. It was not that her mouth looked different. Although it did. It was how it
felt
. Caressed. Desired. She had never been kissed before. Never like that. While he was kissing her, her insides had been melting, and glowing, like a river of liquid gold. Part of her was glowing still, in spite of everything.

She had wanted it to go on and on. She had slid her arms around his neck, skimming her fingers over the silken beard to the bare skin at the back of his neck, beneath his long hair. She had felt more alive in those fleeting moments than at any time since she had left the schoolroom.

She was a fool! She did not even know his name. She had been so bemused by her own reaction to him that she had not thought to ask. Not that he would have told her. Of course, he would not. He was determined to guard his secrets well.

And yet, he knew who she was. And he knew Ned, too. He had said that Ned was safe. He had said it over and over again. If only she could believe it—but she dared not do so. The man’s words had proved, beyond
any doubt, that someone here at the Chase had kidnapped Ned. Amy had been right. Her brother was being held somewhere. And the dark stranger was as likely to be the culprit as anyone else.

Dear God! Had she allowed herself to be kissed by Ned’s abductor? Was it possible? She had no way of knowing. But there was every likelihood that Ned’s disappearance and the presence of the bearded man were connected. He was clearly being hidden in the Major’s bedchamber. He must have been concealed inside the huge clothes press when Amy checked the dressing room.

And she was certainly right about the Major’s valet. Timms
must
be party to what was going on.

Amy frowned at her reflection, remembering. The stranger had said that her eyes were beautiful. And her hair. She groaned aloud. No matter
what
he had said, she was out of her mind to think about him! She must not go into the Major’s bedchamber again. What she must do, right now, was to go below stairs and try to discover some clue to Ned’s whereabouts.

She would start with Timms, if she could get him alone. And, failing the valet, she could always try to strike up a conversation with Eliza Ebdon, Lady Quinlan’s maid.

Amy swallowed nervously at the thought. So far, she had always avoided the other abigail. It was too dangerous to become close to Ebdon, for a true professional would be the first to detect that Amy was a fraud. But—on the other hand—Eliza Ebdon was close to Timms. It was poignant, somehow, that two people well past the first flush of youth could look at each other with so much longing and shared understanding. Oh, they tried to conceal it, right enough, but Amy had seen the secret
glances that passed between them. When Lady Margaret and Mr Lyndhurst-Flint’s valet were summarily dismissed after that unsavoury episode on the back stairs, Ebdon had thrown Timms a look of absolute triumph. And he had responded with a flicker of a smile.

Ebdon had clearly known about Lady Margaret’s predilections. What else did she know about what went on in this house? Might she even know where Ned was being held?

‘Another glass of wine, Miss Dent?’

‘No, I thank you. St Paul recommends only a little wine for the stomach’s sake. I never take more than one glass. My compliments on the dessert, however. It was delicious.’ Amy smiled myopically in the general direction of the cook.

The cook beamed back at her. ‘The Major don’t go in for fancy cooking, as a rule. But just occasionally, I like to try my hand at something different below stairs.’ With a conspiratorial glance around the laden table, she added, ‘Only for the senior servants, naturally.’ The others smiled or nodded their agreement. Without a word, the butler unstoppered the decanter and refilled all but Amy’s glass.

The little group in the housekeeper’s sitting room certainly did not stint itself when it came to the Major’s wine cellar. The butler, the housekeeper, the cook, the Major’s valet and the two visiting lady’s maids—they made a very select little company, Amy decided, grateful that the other valets were missing on this occasion. Amy would not have dared to sit here under the eye of the Earl of Mardon’s valet. The man could ask awkward questions, for he knew that Amy had been employed for a few weeks only, while the Countess’s regular abigail
was nursing her sick mother. That was the story that Sarah and Amy had concocted together. But, on closer inspection, Amy’s story would be shown to be thin and full of holes. She could not afford to be questioned by the Earl’s valet. He was just one more servant she had to avoid.

Even in this small group, Amy knew she was risking much. She had already noticed a few searching glances from Eliza Ebdon. Lady Quinlan’s abigail was no fool.

‘How is Mr William managing without his valet, Mr Ufton? I know young Charles is willing enough, but I’ve always thought him a bit of a moonling. He was nowhere to be seen when we had to move Mr William to the second floor. Don’t know how I’d have done it all in time without Miss Dent’s help.’ The housekeeper smiled across at Amy.

‘I’ll speak to Charles about it, Mrs Waller. You should have told me sooner. The lad does his best, but I agree he is slow. Can’t understand why Mr William declined the Major’s offer of your services, Mr Timms. For a gentleman so very particular about every last stitch of his rig, it does seem odd that he’d choose a green boy over a trained valet.’

Timms nodded thoughtfully. ‘It’s not for me to say, Mr Ufton. But then, I’m just an old army man, born and bred, not a knowing one like Grant.’

The housekeeper snorted. ‘We’re well rid of Grant. Couldn’t keep his hands off the maids. It’s bad enough that I’ve still got to keep the maids away from the wandering hands
above
stairs.’

The cook grinned. ‘Come now, Mrs Waller, that’s doing it too brown. Most of the gentlemen guests would never do such a thing. And young Mr Devereaux was
only stealing a kiss or two. There weren’t no harm in him. Not like Mr William, now. He—’

The butler glanced sideways at the visiting abigails and cleared his throat warningly. Chastened, the cook swallowed hard and said nothing more.

Amy hoped she was not blushing at this evidence of Ned’s shameless behaviour. It was nothing new, after all. She was starting to rack her brains for some way of finding out more about Ned’s time at the Chase, when the housekeeper broke the strained silence. ‘Miss Lyndhurst was complaining about her bedchamber again today. Said that no lady should ever be housed in a yellow bedchamber. Ruinous for the complexion, she maintains.’

Eliza Ebdon gave a sharp laugh, which she tried to disguise as a cough. The butler nodded absently, before taking a large mouthful of wine.

‘She wants to be moved to a different bedchamber,’ the housekeeper continued. ‘I heard her telling the Major so.’

Eliza Ebdon, recovered now, said, ‘Since the Viscount has moved upstairs to join his wife, Miss Lyndhurst could have his old room, across the hall. It’s large and comfortable. And it has the added advantage of not being yellow.’

The housekeeper shook her head. ‘I’m afraid it won’t do, Miss Ebdon. It has no dressing room. The Major offered it, too, but Miss Lyndhurst is adamant that she must have a dressing room for her companion. Won’t hear of poor Miss Saunders being given a chamber of her own. And her a lady, too!’

Amy shook her head in a gesture of sympathy.

‘Surely Miss Saunders could ask for her own room?’
the cook said. ‘The Major would not refuse her, I’m sure.’

‘That’s as may be,’ replied the housekeeper, ‘but since Miss Saunders seems to go out of her way to avoid the Major, I fancy it is unlikely to happen. Why, last evening she did not even come down to dinner. Apparently she wanted to finish some sewing. Or that’s what Miss Lyndhurst said. I had to send up a tray to the dressing room.’

Amy swallowed her frustration. Given half a chance, the housekeeper would continue to gossip all night. Amy must find a way of turning this conversation back to Ned. There must be something she could say—

There was a very discreet knock on the door. The housekeeper looked up in annoyance at the interruption.

Muttering a little under his breath, the butler replaced his almost empty glass and went to open the door, where he held a low-voiced conversation with someone outside. Amy strained to hear their words, but could not make them out. The butler had not opened the door more than a crack. No doubt he felt that the underling outside should not see what his betters were about.

When he resumed his seat, the butler was frowning. He looked round at the rest of the company, as if assessing them. ‘We have a slight…er…difficulty. I shall say nothing of it to the lower servants. However, I must ask you, Mrs Waller, to ensure that all the female servants remain within the house.’ He ignored the housekeeper’s sharp intake of breath. ‘It is not for me, of course, to order the comings and goings of our lady visitors, Miss Dent and Miss Ebdon. To you, ladies,’ he said, with a slight bow of his head, ‘I can give only advice.’

Eliza Ebdon glanced sideways at Timms. He gave her
a tiny nod of reassurance in return. It was yet another sign of their deep understanding, Amy was sure, yet no one but Amy seemed to notice.

‘I have no desire to alarm you, ladies, but I must warn you that there appears to be a stranger lurking in the woods, towards the North Lodge. One of the keepers has seen him. Twice, now. The stranger may be harmless, of course, but…’ He let the words die on his tongue. ‘If you have occasion to walk in that direction, I would strongly counsel you not to do so alone.’

There was dead silence round the table while they all digested this unwelcome news. Amy’s heart was racing. It couldn’t be Ned, could it?

Timms glanced briefly towards Eliza Ebdon before leaning forward a little. ‘Do we know what the man looks like, Mr Ufton?’ Timms was always practical, it seemed.

‘Not really. Medium height. Neither old nor young, apparently. Thinnish, the lad said.’

That did not sound very much like Ned, vague though the description was. Amy tried to mask her disappointment. ‘Are you suggesting that we might be in danger from this man, Mr Ufton?’ she asked crisply, putting just a touch of hauteur into her voice.

‘Why, no, Miss Dent. No, indeed. At Lyndhurst Chase? Why, the very idea is outrageous. But…but I would ask you not to venture into the north woods alone. Just for a day or two. Until we have caught him.’

‘I see. Very well then. Since I must.’ If it were not Ned, could it yet have something to do with his disappearance? Might this unknown man be holding Ned, somewhere close by? Amy needed time to think it through, but the gossip and wine of the upper servants’ room would be of no help at all.

With an apologetic smile, Amy rose to her feet and smoothed her skirts. ‘Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs Waller, Mr Ufton. I hope you will excuse me if I retire now. I have much still to do this evening and it is getting late.’ She clasped her hands together and tried to look self-satisfied. ‘An hour’s sleep before midnight is worth two after, as the proverb tells us.’

‘Of course, Miss Dent. Of course. We appreciate your desire to have everything just so for her ladyship.’

‘Well, goodnight then.’ Amy made for the door. The butler hurried across to open it for her.

As he was closing it behind her, Amy was sure she heard the housekeeper whisper, ‘Gone to read her Bible, no doubt. Thinks herself a cut above the rest of us. As if we were all heathens!’

Amy walked calmly through the servants’ hall, pretending that she had heard nothing. It was gratifying to know that at least one part of her disguise was still working well.

The servants’ candles waited on the little table by the door to the passageway. Amy bent to light one. Straightening again, she saw that her way was barred. It was Charles, the young footman who had taken on the role of valet to Mr Lyndhurst-Flint. Outlined in the doorway into the passageway, he loomed large and menacing. And there was no one about to help her.

Amy’s heart began to race. Was this young man already following in his new master’s footsteps? The way he was looking at her—

He put an arm out across Amy’s path, forcing her to stop.

Amy drew herself up very straight and looked daggers at him. ‘I will thank you to let me pass, Charles,’ she said haughtily.

‘I…I beg your pardon, Miss Dent,’ the footman stammered, dropping his arm as if she had struck him.

Gracious! He was little more than a boy. He sounded just like Ned had used to do when he was younger and looking to Amy for advice.

‘I’ve been searching for you, miss, these last fifteen minutes. I was sent to find you. Her ladyship needs you.’

‘Her ladyship normally rings if she wants me,’ Amy said flatly. The lad was well meaning, certainly, but there was something odd about this. Sarah would not send for Amy now. She knew precisely what Amy was doing below stairs. And how important it was.

‘Ah, no, Miss Dent. Her ladyship ain’t in her own chamber. She is on the first floor. I’m to tell you to go to her there.’

Had Sarah discovered something? ‘Very well. I shall go at once.’

The young footman stepped back instantly. He almost bowed as Amy swept by him towards the backstairs.

Poor lad. He was big and strong, and he looked the part of a footman, but his understanding was not even moderate. The housekeeper had been right. Amy paused, one foot on the bottom tread, and turned back. ‘Is the Countess in the ladies’ sitting room?’

‘Oh. No, miss. Beg pardon. I forgot. You are to go to her in the vacant bedchamber. The one as was the Viscount’s, before he was wed.’ He tried to smile. It wobbled a little. ‘It’s next to the master’s bedchamber,’ he added, trying to be helpful.

How very curious. With a quick nod to the footman, Amy hurried up the backstairs. Sarah must have found something in that room. But what on earth could it be? Surely Lord Quinlan could not have had any hand in Ned’s disappearance? And, even if he were involved, he
would not have left any evidence behind in an empty bedroom.