A Regency Invitation to the House Party of the Season (13 page)

She ran up the flights of stairs as quickly as she dared, shielding her tiny flame from the draught.

Amy knocked on the door to the empty bedchamber. She must take care. Sarah might not be alone.

She waited. No answer.

There was no point in knocking again. Raising her candle a little, Amy opened the door and stepped inside.

The room was brightly lit. Two branches of candles stood upon the side tables. But Amy could see no one.

‘My lady?’ Amy heard the slight tremor in her own voice.

An arm slid between Amy’s back and the half-open door. It closed with a snap. A moment later, a hand in the small of her back pushed her further into the room.

Amy whirled. William Lyndhurst-Flint! He was leaning against the door. One corner of his mouth was twisted into a very unpleasant leer.

‘We have unfinished business, you and I,’ he said curtly.

Amy retreated a pace, then forced herself to stop. ‘I am summoned to my lady, sir. If I do not appear, I will be missed.’

He laughed harshly. ‘Your mistress is below in the drawing room with all the other guests. She has no thought of you. I must say that you are very easily gulled, Dent. No challenge at all. Now…’

Amy took a deep breath. ‘I warn you. I shall scream if you come one step nearer.’

‘Go ahead,’ he said with a wave of his hand. ‘There is no one about to hear. Everyone is downstairs. Scream, by all means. It will add a little spice to the proceedings.
You owe me a deal of satisfaction after the episode with that stupid girl. It is time you were reminded of your place.’ He straightened, and began to move towards her.

Amy was terrified. His eyes were gleaming with lust. And he was longing for revenge. She had saved that housemaid. Now he would have Amy instead. Somehow, fear sharpened her mind. There was only one door into this room. She must not retreat from it. She must fight here.

Without further thought, she stepped forward to meet her attacker and drove her lighted candle into his face. She was not quick enough. He fended it off. But Amy was already screaming at the top of her voice.

‘A fighter, eh?’ he muttered through gritted teeth. He made to grab her by the throat. ‘I shall enjoy having you.’

Amy ducked under his outstretched hands and kicked out. Her heavy-soled boots made contact with his shin and he gasped in pain. She tried to make a dash for the door, but he was ahead of her. In spite of his injury.

‘No, you don’t, my fiery doxy. Payment first.’ He grabbed her round the waist and threw her bodily against the wall. Amy was left with no breath to scream again. ‘Now,’ he said menacingly.

The door hit the wall with a deafening crash. Lyndhurst-Flint’s jaw dropped. His eyes goggled. ‘M…Ma—’

He was not permitted to finish the word. The bearded stranger reached him in two strides and felled him with a right to the jaw. ‘You never learn, do you?’ he snarled.

Lyndhurst-Flint touched a hand to his split lip. His fingers came away covered with blood. The sight of it seemed to enrage him even more. He scrambled to his feet and squared up to his opponent. ‘So you are here,
are you? Hiding out from the law. Like the coward you are!’

The dark man’s indrawn breath hissed loudly between his teeth. Amy, too, gasped at such an insult. The sound was enough to distract the dark man from his opponent. For just a second too long. Lyndhurst-Flint hit him full in the stomach and bent him double.

Amy’s hand went to her mouth.

The fight that ensued was short, and bloody. Although Lyndhurst-Flint had caught his opponent by surprise, he was no match for Amy’s would-be rescuer. In a matter of minutes, Lyndhurst-Flint was sprawled on the floor once more, bleeding freely.

The dark man stood over him. ‘By God, William, you won’t try this on another woman!’

‘And who will stop me? You? From your prison cell?’

The bearded man bent down and grabbed a handful of Lyndhurst-Flint’s shirt. He started to pull the bleeding man to his feet.

‘Sir!’

Timms, the valet, stood in the open doorway.

Lyndhurst-Flint tugged his shirt free and pushed himself up. With a scathing look at his opponent, he drew a fine handkerchief from his pocket and put it to his bleeding face. ‘The family fugitive has appeared, Timms. Out of nowhere, it seems. You had best fetch the Major. He will wish to ensure that the law takes its course.’

Timms looked hard at the injured man. And then at his opponent. He spared barely a glance for Amy before turning on his heel and disappearing.

Marcus looked across at Amy Devereaux. She was deathly pale. But she was not about to faint, thank God! She was a fool to be alone with William, however.
William was infinitely dangerous to female servants. Did Anthony know that? Possibly not. More to the point, if Anthony questioned Amy now, her true identity might well be discovered.

He motioned her towards the door. ‘Go,’ he said sharply.

‘But—’

‘Go! I will deal with the Major. And this…apology for a gentleman.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ William said. ‘And as for her…Do you really think that Anthony will take the word of a mere servant against mine?’

‘It is not the servant’s word you have to fear, William,’ Marcus said with venom. Amy was still standing against the wall. ‘For God’s sake, woman, do you never do as you are told? Go to your quarters! I will deal with this.’

Her eyes widened at the force of his words. But, at last, she nodded and scurried out.

Marcus allowed himself a deep breath once Amy was out of sight. She was safe enough. For the moment. Now he had only to deal with Anthony.

He had almost no time to prepare. Anthony was already striding along the corridor, with Timms at his heels.

Reaching the door, Anthony said, ‘Wait outside, Timms. No one is to enter this room. Make sure no one knows we are here.’

Timms nodded.

Anthony shut the door and stood with his back to it. He was certainly furious, but he did not raise his voice. ‘Well?’ he said grimly, looking directly neither at Marcus nor at William.

Marcus chose to say nothing. The gulf between him and Anthony was clearly as wide as ever.

‘Marcus has turned up here, of all places. You cannot harbour a fugitive, Anthony. He must stand his trial.’

‘You would hand over your own cousin, William?’ Anthony said softly.

‘We must uphold the law, Anthony. You know that as well as I. If Marcus is innocent, no doubt the court will free him.’

‘By God,’ Marcus began, ‘you—’

‘You forget, Marcus,’ William interrupted smoothly. ‘I was there. I heard your threats. And your insults. Every last one of them.’

Anthony rocked back a fraction, as if he had been struck.

‘I said many things that night. I admit they were…unwise. But they were only words. I did not attack Frobisher.’

‘So you say,’ sneered William. ‘Anthony—’

‘Enough of this,’ snapped Anthony. ‘I am not about to have my own cousin hauled off to gaol in the middle of the night. Whatever else he may be, Marcus is a gentleman. I will decide matters tomorrow.’

‘But—’

‘I have made up my mind, William. You will say nothing of this.’

William smoothed his hair and nodded politely. ‘Of course. This is your house, and you are master here. I wished to say only…A suggestion, Anthony, nothing more. You might like to consider the potential harm to your reputation if Marcus, having once been apprehended, were to disappear again from under your roof.’

‘I was not planning on leaving, as it happens. But William is right, Anthony. You cannot afford to be seen
to be lenient with a dangerous fugitive such as I.’ With narrowed eyes, Marcus fixed his gaze on Anthony and held out his wrists. ‘Manacles would do the job, if you have any to hand.’

Anthony exploded. ‘Damn you, Marcus!’ He seized the handle and wrenched the door open. ‘Timms! Escort Mr Sinclair to my dressing room and lock him in. He may cool his heels there while I decide what is to be done with him.’ Anthony turned back and threw a look of loathing at William. ‘I don’t make such decisions in hot blood, William, even at your urging. I have a shooting party tomorrow, and I intend to enjoy it. The future of our…fugitive can be considered after that.’

Marcus laughed. He felt he had to show that Anthony’s betrayal meant nothing. ‘Why not take that smelly old setter with you? See if she can earn her keep.’

Anthony turned away. ‘Oh, and Timms,’ he said silkily, ‘make sure that Mr Sinclair has the opportunity to speak to no one. Do you understand me? No one at all.’

‘N
ow, sir. You heard the Major’s orders. This time, I’m afraid I shall have to lock you in.’

Marcus grinned. ‘Don’t look so long-faced, Timms. You know I could make a bolt for freedom if I wanted to.’

The valet looked a little uncomfortable. He was strong, and wiry, but he would be no match for Marcus’s greater weight and skill in a hand-to-hand fight.

‘There are enough black rumours about your master’s reputation. I shall not allow anyone to say that Anthony Lyndhurst deliberately failed to hold a dangerous fugitive.’

‘Aye, sir, I know that. Thank you. And the Major would know it, too, if he stopped to think—’ Timms broke off, looking a little guilty, as if he had said too much. ‘Got a lot on his mind just at present, the Major has,’ he finished lamely.

‘And so have I. You might bring me some supper, Timms, since I am to be incarcerated here.’

‘Right you are, sir. And some hot water, too, if I may suggest? Now that you are known to be here, you have
no excuse for looking like a wild man. Begging y’r pardon, sir.’

Marcus grinned again. ‘That was another of the Major’s orders, was it?’

‘No, sir. This one is all mine.’

Marcus strolled into the dressing room. ‘In that case, I shall not object. Bring on your hot water. And your barber’s shears, too, if you will.’

Timms smiled grimly. ‘It will be my pleasure, sir.’ He went back into Anthony’s bedchamber and closed the door. Marcus heard the key turn in the lock.

He stood for a moment, stroking his beard. He would miss it, somehow. However, Timms was right. If Marcus was to be dragged off to gaol on the morrow, he might as well look like a gentleman rather than an escaped felon.

He looked round his familiar prison. Timms had done nothing about the other door, leading into the corridor. Since Marcus’s arrival, it had been kept locked, of course, but that was to protect Marcus, not to imprison him. The key was still on the inside.

Marcus pocketed it, wondering. Timms was too good a man to have forgotten about the second door. He clearly intended Marcus to take the key. It was not disloyalty on Timms’s part, Marcus decided. Such a thing was unthinkable. But Timms knew Anthony as well as anyone. He certainly knew that, once Anthony’s temper cooled—if it ever did—he would regret any hasty moves to hand Marcus over to the authorities. Timms had given Marcus a little leeway, that was all.

Marcus crossed to the window and stood, looking out. It was a beautiful, clear night. The filigree of stars against the blue depths reminded him of nights in the Peninsula, when he and Anthony had been fast friends,
fighting side by side. They still were, surely? A friendship as strong as theirs could not be shattered by a single stupid incident over a woman’s picture.

The knock was so soft that he almost missed it. It came again. On the door to the corridor. Someone was there. Someone who was trying to be discreet.

He strode quickly across the room and put his ear to the door. ‘Who is there?’ he said softly.

‘Dent, sir. Lady Mardon’s maid.’

Was there no end to the woman’s risk-taking? The door was not in full view of the other rooms on this floor, but Timms could return at any moment. ‘Amy,’ he whispered urgently, ‘you are out of your mind to come here. Have you not risked enough already?’

‘I have risked no more than you, sir,’ she replied calmly. ‘In saving me, you put yourself in jeopardy. I know that now.’

‘Nonsense!’ Marcus lied instantly.

‘I have some information,’ she continued, ignoring his outburst. ‘I don’t know if it will help, but I saw a letter in…in Mr Lyndhurst-Flint’s bedchamber. He was trying to borrow money against his expectation of becoming the Major’s heir.’

Marcus drew in a sharp breath, between clenched teeth. Yes. William would do that. William was so desperate for money that he would do anything…almost anything. He was a gentleman, surely? He could not be responsible for—

‘Sir?’

‘Thank you, ma’am, for the information. But please go! You will be discovered if you remain here. I—’

‘Miss Dent?’

It was Timms’s voice. Marcus heard Amy’s little gasp of shock.

‘May I ask what you are doing here, Miss Dent?’

‘I came to speak to the gentleman in there. To thank him.’

Timms cleared his throat, rather too loudly. ‘Aye. Well…The Major knows nothing of that. You wouldn’t want Mr Lyndhurst-Flint to complain of you to your mistress.’

‘No, but—’

‘I must ask you not to speak further with…the man in there, Miss Dent. The Major has given strict orders. You weren’t there to hear, of course, so I can overlook it. Just this once.’

She didn’t reply. Marcus fancied he heard her retreating footsteps, but he could not be certain.

He knew for sure when the door from the bedroom opened and Timms appeared. He was carrying hot water and towels. ‘If ye’re going to be carted off to gaol, Mr Marcus, you might as well look the part of the gentleman while you do it,’ he said, echoing Marcus’s own thoughts.

The sky had clouded over. What a pity. Perhaps it might rain on Anthony’s shooting party. That old setter would come back filthy as well as smelly.

Marcus continued his pacing. He ought to be trying to sleep. Everyone else in the house was long abed, even Anthony in the bedchamber next door. But Marcus’s growing suspicions about William would not let him rest. William had been at that gaming hell in London. William had heard Frobisher insult Anthony, and then Marcus’s angry threats. Until their quarrel, Marcus had been a potential heir to Anthony’s fortune. Marcus had no need of it. But William certainly did. What lengths would he go to, in order to remove a rival?

Oh, it was nonsense! William was Marcus’s cousin. And John Mardon’s brother, besides. The Lyndhursts were a family of gentlemen. Even William could not sink so low.

There was a tiny tap at the door to the corridor.

Who could be there at three o’clock in the morning?

‘Sir? Sir!’

Good God! Amy Devereaux again! The woman had no thought at all for her own safety. Marcus felt in his waistcoat pocket for the key. He dare not leave her standing in the corridor. Not at this hour.

He had opened the door and pulled her inside before she had a chance to say a word. ‘Shh!’ he whispered urgently, relocking the door.

Her eyes widened. Then she nodded.

Marcus took the candleholder from her fingers and set it down. He cupped his hand against her cheek and whispered into her ear, ‘Miss Devereaux, you are, without doubt, the most idiotic woman I have ever encountered. Do you never stop to think? Anthony Lyndhurst lies sleeping only yards from where we stand. And still you come knocking at my door?’

‘I came to offer my help,’ she replied in a tiny whisper. She looked him full in the face. Her brow was smooth, untroubled. She was quite determined on this.

And then he saw the flash of recognition in her eyes. Even her spectacles could not mask it.

Marcus clapped his hand over her mouth to cover her cry of shock. She must not be allowed to betray them.

She did not struggle against him. But her eyes left him in no doubt of her disgust at being manhandled in such a way. And by a man she knew!

Damn Timms and his valeting skills! He had turned Marcus back into something like the man Amy
Devereaux had met all those years ago. And it was clear that she was remembering.

Marcus put a finger to his lips and waited for her nod of agreement before freeing her mouth. She would not scream now. She must understand the dangers of her situation perfectly well.

‘I came to offer my help,’ she whispered again, ‘to a nameless prisoner. But you are not nameless. You are Lieutenant Sinclair.’

Marcus grinned briefly. ‘That was a long time ago, Miss Devereaux. It has been plain Mr Sinclair for many a year now.’

Amy nodded. She had heard about Lieutenant Sinclair’s sudden departure from the army. He had been unwilling at first to bow to his widowed mother’s pleading. But, as an only son, and the inheritor of a huge estate, he had had little choice in the end. He had resigned his commission and, barely into his majority, he had found himself one of the most eligible bachelors in London. She had seen at first hand how ruthlessly he had been hunted. She should have been one of the huntresses herself—the Devereaux estate had needed the money, even then—but instead she had felt sorry for him. Had it shown? Was that why he had remembered her?

‘And even plain Mr Sinclair is not someone a lady should know.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I am a fugitive, Miss Devereaux, sought by the law. You heard William say as much.’

‘Yes,’ Amy said slowly. But she was shaking her head as she spoke.

‘And you have come to offer help to a fugitive?’

‘I came to offer help to the man who rescued me. And I still wish to help you, Mr Sinclair.’

‘You would help me to escape?’

‘If that is your wish. Yes.’

A brief, rueful smile touched his mouth. ‘I cannot do that. Not from the Major’s custody. If he chooses to give me up to the law, well…so be it.’

‘But what have you done?’ Amy could no longer rein back her curiosity.

‘I allowed too much wine to loosen my tongue, Miss Devereaux,’ he said cryptically.

She threw him an arch look. ‘If that were a felony, most of the gentlemen in England would be in gaol.’

‘True.’

Amy said nothing. She waited.

‘Oh, very well. It is not an edifying tale, however. There was an argument between myself and a man named Frobisher. He insulted my family. And I threatened to kill him. In front of witnesses. The following day, he was attacked and left for dead. He maintains that I was his assailant.’

‘But you were not.’

‘No, Miss Devereaux, I was not. I am not in the habit of striking from behind.’

‘No. Of course not. But why should Mr Frobisher be so sure that it was you?’

‘Ah, yes. I thought you were no fool, ma’am. You have put your finger upon it. I assumed, at first, that it was a simple mistake, that Frobisher was in his cups again, and confused. But it appears that it was no such thing. Whoever attacked Frobisher deliberately repeated my words. Frobisher was intended to believe I was his assailant.’

‘But that is wicked! They could hang you.’

‘Indeed.’

‘You must escape.’

‘No, Miss Devereaux, that is not possible. I will not.’

‘But—’ Amy broke off at the sight of the grim determination in his blue-grey eyes. Marcus Sinclair would rather be sent to gaol—perhaps to the scaffold—than betray Major Lyndhurst’s trust. That was not the action of a dishonourable man. She touched his arm lightly with her fingertips. ‘Mr Sinclair, if I may not help you to escape, allow me, at least, to help you to prove you are innocent of this despicable crime. Tell me what I must do.’

‘There is nothing you can do.’ He raised his hand and gently brushed his knuckles across her cheek.

Amy shivered.

‘I hesitate to say this again, since you have ignored me on every previous occasion, but I do strongly urge you to give up this dangerous fraud of yours.’

Amy began to shake her head vehemently.

He stopped her forcibly by putting his hands to her face. ‘You have courage, Amy, and determination. They are admirable, and unusual, qualities in a lady. But your judgement is sadly lacking. First, you indulge in this idiotic masquerade. And now you wish to help a fugitive from the law. You are clearly intent on ensuring your own downfall.’

Amy did not respond. She closed her eyes, so that she could focus on the warmth and gentleness of his touch on her skin. Such an innocent joining of their flesh. And yet she could feel it in the depths of her being. Her whole body was tingling. She wanted to melt into him.

She knew the whole now, and she knew who he was. It did not matter that he was a fugitive. She had not the least doubt of his innocence.

‘Amy,’ he said softly.

She did not open her eyes. He would try to make her promise to leave the Chase. And now, she was more than ever determined not to do so.

‘Amy,’ he said again.

She could feel his breath on her lips. He was so very close. He was going to kiss her. The warm glow that had filled her at his touch began to kindle into a tiny flame. She swayed towards him.

But he let her go and stepped back.

Amy’s eyes flew open. Before she could help herself, she let out a little mew of disappointment.

His reaction was immediate. ‘Pray, do not sigh, my dear Miss Devereaux. I am not worth it. You must have nothing more to do with me. If I were a free man, I could—Enough of that! I am not a free man. I pray you will take no risks on my behalf.’

Amy stared at him, refusing to give him the assurance he sought.

He gazed back at her. The temptation she represented was immense. Marcus wanted nothing more than to pull her against his aroused body and kiss her until she was mindless with passion. But she was an innocent. She would recoil from his ardour.

A thought struck him with the force of a douche of freezing water. He had been on the point of kissing her before, when she first came upon him here. And he had been completely naked. He had turned away, eventually, but she had shown no signs of surprise or fear. Perhaps Amy Devereaux made a habit of visiting gentlemen in their bedchambers? Perhaps she was not an innocent at all?

Marcus retreated a pace to put a safe distance between his still-heated body and temptation. Just the thought of
kissing her and he was fully aroused. It was becoming plaguey uncomfortable.

‘You saved me from Mr Lyndhurst-Flint. I am sure he was going to attack me.’

‘Of course he was!’ Marcus snapped, allowing his anger free rein, in an effort to divert his thoughts. ‘You were a fool to go apart with him.’

Amy narrowed her eyes. ‘You have a very poor opinion of me, sir. Of course I did not agree to be alone with him. He tricked me into that room. I believed I was going to meet Sarah.’

Marcus took a deep breath, swallowing a curse. ‘It seems I owe you an apology, ma’am. Again.’

She looked up at him and gave a tiny nod.

‘But I do not apologise for saying—again—that you should not be doing this. I own that I have some suspicions about how Frobisher came to accuse me. If I am right, I should be able to obtain proof easily enough.’