Alyssa Everett (8 page)

That left only my bedroom. As risky as it was, I couldn’t think of any better option—though if anyone so much as suspected I was spiriting a man upstairs, I’d be ruined.

Ben seemed to share my concern, for a frown puckered his brow as I led him silently up the stairs on tiptoe. I remembered his assertion that only a Johnny Raw would fall for a woman’s claim she wasn’t interested in matrimony. I hoped he didn’t imagine I was trying to trap him in a compromising situation.

When we reached the second floor I motioned him into my room, closed the door softly behind us, and pulled the folded pages from my sash. “I realize this is highly improper,” I said, “but I don’t want anyone else guessing I have these letters. There are four of them.” Crossing to my bed, I spread the blackmail notes out atop the coverlet. “No dates, no signatures.”

He approached the bed and bent over the pages, a look of close concentration on his face.

“Your sister has been seeing another man.” His voice held both disapproval and disappointment.

“It does look that way,” I said somberly, leaning over the letters with him. “But even so, I’m sure that’s all behind her now.”

He didn’t reply.

It was a telling silence, but I could hardly blame him. I was disappointed in Helen myself. She had no business accepting Cliburne if she couldn’t be faithful to him. If I ever married—not that it seemed likely—I intended to keep every one of the vows I took, or what was the point of taking them at all?

Ben picked up one of the letters and held it up to the sunlight streaming in my bedroom window. While he studied the page, I studied his profile.

“I’m not sure why,” I said, mostly to fill the silence, “but the penmanship looks familiar to me.”

“It’s simple block lettering. Anyone might have written it.”

“Still, I’d swear I’ve seen it somewhere before. Whoever wrote this curves the back of his Ds, Es, Fs and Rs where they ought to be straight—do you see? I assume he’s not a gentleman, for he’s used
who
for
whom
, and misspelled half the words.”

“His misspelling is rather inconsistent. He’s written a relatively easy word like
fifty
wrong, but used the proper forms of
know
and
hear.
He might simply have been taking pains to disguise his identity.”

“Hmm. I hadn’t thought of that.”

As we considered the crude lettering, I caught Ben’s scent again, that toe-curlingly wonderful blend of fine soap and new leather. His shoulder brushed mine, and for a moment I was vividly aware I had a handsome and robust young man alone in my bedroom. I wanted to kick myself for not having had the forethought to spread the letters out on the windowsill rather than on my bed. Now I was all too conscious of how close Ben was, and how effortlessly he could take me in his arms and—

“At least now we know what Sam’s part in this blackmailing business was,” he said, recalling me with a thud to the business at hand. “I had a talk with John today.” He went on to relate what he’d learned from his cousin.

“So Sam was only a go-between, and he ended up murdered?” I sank down on my bed in horror. “Poor Sam. I can’t help but feel responsible somehow for his death. If only Helen had come to me for the money she needed! Despite what she thinks, I would have given it to her.”

At the regret in my voice, Ben looked down at me with a frown. “It isn’t your fault.”

Logically speaking, I knew he was right. I’d had no idea Helen needed money, and I certainly hadn’t known she was being blackmailed and that a man’s life could be in danger. Even so, since the moment I’d learned of Helen’s troubles, I’d been fretting about her reply to John Mainsforth’s suggestion she come to me for help.
You don’t know my sister.
She already thinks me a feather-brain.

“But what if I could have prevented the murder? I wish Helen had trusted me enough to ask for my help. For years I’ve been thinking her vain and spoiled, and it turns out I was every bit as ungenerous myself, completely patronizing and judgmental.”

I’d no sooner spoken the words—and with a catch in my voice, no less—than I realized what a fool I was making of myself, offering guilt-ridden confessions to this man who had all the sensitivity of a rutting elephant. To my surprise, however, Ben neither laughed nor made a contemptuous remark, but instead sat beside me with a slight, sympathetic smile. “Don’t refine on it too much. How could you help what you didn’t know?”

“It might be easier to convince myself none of this was my fault if I hadn’t been so...”

“If you hadn’t been so what?” he prompted when I faltered.

What was it about Ben that made me want to pour out my misgivings to him? Was it simply that air he had of being equal to any problem? I’d been about to say
so jealous of Helen
, but fortunately I’d caught myself before blurting out anything so humbling. Instead I finished, “If I hadn’t been so blind to what was going on right under my nose. I still find it hard to believe anyone would blackmail my sister. Everyone loves Helen.”

“And she returns the favor, from the look of things.” Ben glanced at the blackmail notes. “That’s the problem with this world. When desire comes in the door, nobler sentiments like honesty and fidelity fly out the window.”

Considering he’d been boasting only the night before about the hordes of beautiful women he’d bedded, Ben’s remarks should have sounded hypocritical. Yet he looked more sad than sanctimonious, as if he were genuinely troubled by all the faithlessness in the world. I wondered if arrogant, thick-skinned Ben might have a vulnerable side after all. “I think you’re confusing love and lust.”

He gave a sorrowful shake of his head. “No, I’m not. It’s the rest of the world that can’t tell the difference.”

Perhaps Ben really wasn’t quite as shallow and self-involved as I’d first thought. “Well, I know the difference.” Love was what Cliburne felt for Helen, an emotion so powerful it made a man willing to face death, while the silly flutter that went through me every time I stole a glance at Ben’s lean, muscular body could only be lust. “I’d like to think Helen knows the difference too. Let’s not be too quick to condemn her. Perhaps the other man is some kind of practiced seducer, someone Helen hardly stood a chance against. Perhaps Cliburne even deserves a little of the blame himself, for having made Helen afraid to tell him the truth.”

Ben’s mouth turned down sharply. “Oh, come now. Teddy is hardly a brute—”

“I didn’t mean she was afraid he’d do her some violence. I only meant he’s put her on a pedestal so lofty he’s made it all but impossible for her to admit to the slightest imperfection. Think how hard it would be to disappoint and disillusion someone who worshipped you so devotedly. Sometimes silence has as much to do with caring as with cowardice.”

Ben made no reply for a moment, his face so pensive I wondered what he was thinking. Finally he said grudgingly, “I see what you mean about Teddy.” He added with a bit more forcefulness, “Though I still say what your sister is doing is wrong. The wedding vows read ‘forsaking all other.’ And don’t tell me she hasn’t taken her vows yet—”

It startled me to hear him saying essentially the same thing I’d been thinking only a few minutes before. “You’ll get no argument from me on that point. In fact, I’m severe enough on your sex to think the rule should apply equally to men. The husband takes the same vow, after all.”

I expected a supercilious laugh or a reminder that an understanding wife knows how to look the other way. After all, that was how most society marriages worked—a couple met during the Season, married on slim acquaintance, and then as the wife became preoccupied with their expanding nursery, the husband grew bored and sought excitement elsewhere.

To my surprise, however, Ben nodded. “I’d hardly call that severe. It’s why I don’t intend to marry anytime soon. No one takes the business seriously anymore.”

Goodness! So, brash Lord Beningbrough was a Puritan at heart. You could have knocked me over with a feather.

Well, perhaps not quite a Puritan. After all, there were all those
chères amies
he’d boasted about. “At least you gentlemen may keep a mistress instead. Pity us poor young ladies. We’re supposed to be above all that. Note that I say
supposed to be
, since I’m brazen enough to envy you.”

Ben laughed, and just when I’d begun to think he couldn’t possibly be any more handsome, he had to go and prove me wrong. He looked across at me with a smile. “You know, you’re not half bad when you aren’t tossing out threats.”

I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or insulted by
not half bad
, so I focused on the part that made no sense. “What do you mean,
tossing out threats?
”

“You know.” He colored slightly. “Hinting that if I didn’t agree to keep your sister’s secret, you’d make my...my predicament in the cupboard public knowledge.”

My jaw dropped. “You thought I was
threatening
you?” I sprang to my feet, incensed. “I was simply trying to appeal to your better nature, you clunch! I was attempting to point out that every one of us has things we’d rather not share with the world. Even if I’d wanted to hold such a thing over your head, how could I reveal what happened without compromising my own reputation into the bargain? For that matter, what’s to prevent you from telling every gossip in England I touched your...your...” Blushing, I finished hotly, “And what’s to stop you from bragging to everyone you know that I invited you into my bedroom today?”

Ben had jumped to his feet when I did, and now he quivered as if I’d slapped him. “I would never do anything so contemptible. What kind of scoundrel do you think I am?”

“The kind who thinks I’m a vicious, unprincipled schemer!”

We glared at each other.

“Very well,” Ben said at last. “I’ll concede you weren’t threatening me if you’ll concede I’m not a scoundrel.”

“I
wasn’t
threatening you.”

“I realize that now.”

“Well, good. I’m glad we have that much straight.”

“So am I.”

And then a subtle shift took place. One moment we were staring each other down, both of us indignant and a little flushed, and the next we were gazing into each other’s eyes. As the seconds stretched out, the look between us went beyond gazing, so that I had the strange and dizzying sensation that the earth had given way beneath me, and I was tumbling helplessly through space. I leaned infinitesimally closer. His lips parted, and ever so slightly he bent his head toward mine, his eyes beginning to drift closed.

Just as his lips brushed mine, I snapped out of the trance I’d fallen into. Oh, no, I was
not
going to make that mistake again—the mistake of thinking a gentleman was interested in me when he wasn’t. The nicest thing Ben had ever said to me was that I wasn’t half bad. Just because he was unfairly handsome and had those beguilingly sleepy gray eyes didn’t mean I was going to kiss him—and in my bedroom, no less. I was nowhere near that idiotic.

I jumped back. “What are you doing?”

He drew back too, wearing a startled look. “What do you mean, what am I doing? What are
you
doing?”

“I asked you first.”

He reddened. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Well, neither was I.”

“Good.” He glanced uncertainly at my face.

I took a deep breath, unsettled by what a narrow escape I’d just had from making a complete ninny of myself with a man who’d told me only the night before that he wasn’t interested in me, a man who’d actually accused me of calculated impropriety and extortion. And I’d almost let him kiss me. Well, what else should he expect, after I’d spirited him up to my bedroom and told him I envied his freedom to keep a mistress? Good God, how incredibly stupid could I be?

I didn’t trust myself this close to him. Flustered, I gathered up the blackmail letters, my hands shaking. “Perhaps you’d better go.”

“If you like.” His jaw clenched. “I’ve already seen what I came to see.”

“I’ll show you out.”

“I can show myself out.”

“No, you can’t. Our footman will see you if you try to leave by the front door, and I’ll need to lock the back door after you.”

His lips tightened to a grim line. “Fine.”

Tucking the letters back into my sash, I marched him out of my bedroom and down the stairs—well, if you can call creeping cautiously on tiptoe a
march.
We slipped to the back door together and I all but pushed him out into the April air. “Good luck with figuring out who really killed Sam.”

He gave a contemptuous grunt. “The same to you.”

Overbearing nincompoop. He hadn’t even bothered to keep the sarcasm from his voice. I decided I’d better wait at the back door until he’d scaled the garden wall, just to make sure he was well and truly gone. I stood watching through the half-open door as he sauntered past the colorful banks of new spring blooms toward the locked gate.

And that was how I heard not just the crack of the gunshot, but even the whine of the bullet that hit him.

Chapter Seven

Barbara

He lurched and fell backward on the garden path, and in the same instant, I let out a stifled shriek and launched myself out the door. When I dropped down on my knees beside Ben’s body, he was on his back, staring with blank, open eyes at the sky above. The wound was to his right temple, and blood was already trickling back into his hair. I would have screamed, if I hadn’t been struck dumb with horror. I even had the wildly unbefitting thought I should have kissed him when I had the chance.

Then he lifted a hand to his head. “Ow.”

I nearly fainted with relief. “Ben! You’re alive! Can you speak?”

He sat up slowly, his hand pressed to his temple. “Of course I can speak. I was only stunned for a moment, that’s all. What hit me?”

Outside the garden gate, neighbors and passersby were exchanging excited calls, wondering at the report. Thank heavens the spring foliage screened us from view—and thank heavens anyone from inside the house would have followed the crack of the gunshot rather than looking in our direction. “You were shot.”

“Oh.” He spoke in the same equable tone as if I’d told him he’d missed tea. “In that case, I suppose I was lucky. The dashed ball must have just creased my skull.”

“Are you sure? Let me see.” I pulled his hand out of the way to get a good look. As far as I could tell, he was right. It was only a flesh wound. Still, there was a surprising amount of blood. It was already beginning to drip down over one eyebrow.

He sat patiently with his elbows on his bent knees as I examined his head. “Did you see who shot me?”

His dark hair was thick and soft, and I had to resist a powerful urge to run my fingers through it as I traced the wound. “No, it came from outside the garden gate. But Manton’s shooting gallery is only a few doors away, so it must have been a stray—”

I stopped myself, but Ben said what I was thinking. “You don’t really believe this was an accident.”

“No, not really. But never mind that now. You need medical attention. This is bleeding badly.”

“I’ll be fine. Head wounds always bleed like the very devil.” Calmly, he took a handkerchief from his coat pocket and pressed it to his temple. “Of course, if my mother gets wind of this, she’ll have an apoplexy. It’s even worse than the little Italian man with the throwing knives and the lemon.”

I sat back on my heels. Clearly, the ball had done some injury to his brain. “We really must get you to a surgeon.”

“And how would you explain our being alone together?”

“I don’t care about that. Not if your injury is serious—”

He waved a hand dismissively. “As long as my skull is in one piece, it’s just a scratch. And you
should
care about it. What about your reputation? For that matter, it isn’t safe out here for you. Whoever shot me might have another go. You’d better get back inside.”

I couldn’t tell whether he was still stunned by the ball or he simply possessed more sang-froid than any other man I’d ever met. If I’d been in his shoes, I would have been dashing about the garden in hysterics, shrieking,
I’ve been shot
,
I’ve been shot!
Instead he was worrying about me.

But I had the odd feeling I was in no danger. Perhaps it was only a sense that anyone craven enough to shoot an unarmed man from a place of hiding wouldn’t risk a second shot for fear of giving away his location. I suspected the sniper had taken to his heels as soon as he’d seen Ben fall. Or perhaps I wasn’t frightened thanks to a second, less rational feeling, an intuition that whoever had shot Ben had meant to hurt him and no one else.

“And leave you out here alone?” I said. “What kind of coward do you think I am?”

“I didn’t call you a coward, I simply wouldn’t want—”

“And why would anyone shoot you, anyway? Who even knew you were here?” A horrible thought struck me. “You didn’t go boasting that you had an assignation with me, did you?”

He threw an angry glance at me from under his handkerchief. “Of course not. I told you, I’m not a scoundrel.” After a moment the anger softened to a look of uncertainty. “Then again, I might have mentioned to Teddy that I was coming here.”

“You told Cliburne...” So much for my reputation, at least in the eyes of my future brother-in-law. Oddly, I didn’t feel nearly as dismayed as I should have. Perhaps Cliburne’s opinion of me mattered less than I’d thought.

“I didn’t tell him we had an assignation,” Ben put in hastily. “I simply told him I was on my way to Leonard House. Besides, Teddy wouldn’t hurt a fly. I can’t see what he has to do with my having had my hair parted with a lead ball.”

“Was anyone else within earshot when you told him you were coming here? Did anyone follow you?”

He shook his head. “No, no one.” He squinted in concentration. “Except...except I was talking to John when I received your note. He might have stolen a look at it.”

John Mainsforth again. Strange how his name kept coming up. “Do you think you can stand?”

“Of course I can stand,” Ben said irritably. “I told you, it’s only a scratch.”

“Ah, yes. How fortunate the ball hit your head instead of some part of your body you actually use.”

He flushed. “I wish you’d stop going on about that stupid episode in the cupboard.”

“I wasn’t talking about what happened in the cupboard.” I gaped at him. “Good Lord, is that all you ever think about? I was only being flippant, implying you have a reckless streak.” Unfortunately, now that he’d mentioned the cupboard incident again, some shameless impulse made my eyes drop to the front of his breeches.

“What are you looking at?”

“Nothing!” My cheeks flaming, I took him by the elbow. “Here, let me help you up.”

He jerked his arm away. “I can stand up on my own, thank you. I’m not some sickly little old lady.”

I rose with him. “You’re as cranky as one.”

“Well, pardon me for being concerned about the damage I might do to your reputation when instead I could be wasting time on empty pleasantries.” He looked at the garden fence. It had gone quiet on the other side. With Manton’s shooting gallery so near, gunshots weren’t entirely unknown on Davies Street, and the neighbors had apparently concluded that the report was simply another of Mr. Manton’s patrons firing where he shouldn’t.

“I suppose you’re going to insist on climbing over the gate again too?” I said.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Honestly, I’d met two-year-olds who were less belligerent. “No reason, I suppose, except that someone might see you, you were recently stunned by a lead ball, and you’re bleeding like a stuck pig—oh, and there’s a murderer somewhere close by who has a firearm he enjoys aiming at your head. But by all means, storm the ramparts.”

Ben’s brows drew together in a frown. “Go back into the house first, so I know you’re safe.”

I privately thought it rather sweet that he should be so concerned about my safety, but I wasn’t the one who’d been shot. “No. If you insist on going, you climb over the gate first, so I know you’ve managed to get away all right.”

Ben made a sound somewhere between a harrumph and an exasperated sigh. “As much as I’d like to stand here arguing with you, there have to be more productive uses of our time. Why don’t we both go on the count of three?”

I considered a moment. “I suppose that would work.”

We counted together—“One, two, three”—and started in our separate directions, but I made sure to take my time so that he was safely over the fence and dropping lightly to the other side before I pulled the back door shut behind me.

I smiled to myself, counting it a minor victory.

Ben

As I walked home, my head was positively pounding. I told myself it was only a natural consequence of having been shot, and perhaps of hitting the ground like a sack of potatoes. Unfortunately, my head had begun to hurt even before that, thanks to the tension of rubbing elbows—and not much else—with Lady Barbara Jeffords.

Gad, what a frustrating afternoon. I still didn’t know who’d killed Sam and was blackmailing Lady Helen, I didn’t know who’d shot me or why, and, least consequential but most irritating of all, I’d once again ended up looking like a fool in front of Barbara.

Why did she have to choose her bedroom? Why couldn’t she have smuggled me back outside, or perhaps into the coal cellar? I suppose it made no difference to her, but as we’d stood over her bed I’d been in such a fever of awareness of her, all I could think was,
Keep your eyes on the blackmail letters
,
keep your eyes on the blackmail letters
. Then, later, just when I’d begun to relax, I could have sworn she’d expected me to kiss her. As she’d leaned close, her eyes inviting and that scent of lily of the valley in her hair, the pull I’d felt between us had been irresistible. So why hadn’t she felt it too? And what kind of idiot tried to kiss a gently reared girl alone in her bedroom, anyway? I might as well volunteer for a leg-shackle.

I reached up and gingerly touched my temple. It had stopped bleeding, but I must have looked more like a battlefield casualty than a man returning home from an afternoon call, for as I passed other pedestrians on the street, most turned to throw me a second look. I wondered how I was going to slip into Ormesby House without my mother spotting me and dropping into a dead faint.

I wanted to blame that on Barbara too, but I knew it would be unfair. It wasn’t her fault I’d been shot. In fact, to be completely honest, I might have misjudged her. Apparently she hadn’t threatened to publicize my contretemps. Then there was the gratifying way she’d come flying out of the house when the bullet hit me, and the fearlessness with which she’d insisted on sticking by my side. I could still feel her fingers in my hair from when she’d checked to see how badly I was injured, her touch as light and tender as a caress.

Still, if I had any sense I would keep my distance. Then I wouldn’t have to suffer her confounded sultry looks and mixed signals anymore. Sometimes it felt as if she had the upper hand every second we were together. And after that near-kiss...well, if my head hadn’t already hurt so much, I would have banged it against a wall.

But I couldn’t really keep my distance, could I? Someone had to clear Teddy’s name. Besides, how could I let Teddy marry Lady Helen when he had no idea what he was getting into? And my cousin John was mixed up somehow in this blackmail business too. I would just have to grit my teeth and find some way to spend time with Barbara without having any more of my...what had she called them last night? Ah, yes.
Disgusting urges
.

I’d just rounded the corner of Berkeley Street and Piccadilly when a gleaming town coach bearing a coronet on its panels rolled to a halt alongside me, its team of matched chestnuts snorting restlessly in the traces. The carriage door swung open.

“Ben?” My father’s voice came from the interior. “Good God, boy! Get in!”

Splendid. Still another encounter to try my patience. Sighing, I stepped into the carriage and settled myself on the velvet-covered seat opposite my father.

The horses started off again. Dressed soberly in faultless tailoring and snowy linen, my father regarded me with frank concern. “What happened to your head?”

“It’s not important.”

“Ben, I can see very well you’ve been injured. Were you fighting again?”

My father disapproved of fighting, at least outside the boxing ring—which was a pretty piece of irony, given that he was the indirect cause of practically every brawl I’d ever had in my life. Over the years, the taunts had grown slightly more subtle than the catcalls and shouts of
princess
the boys at Eton had hooted after me, but not much.

“No, sir.”

“Were you robbed? Were you in some kind of accident?”

“No.”

He sighed at my uncommunicativeness, until a gleam of understanding lit his eyes. “Does this have anything to do with your cousin and the inquest?”

Reluctantly, I gave a tight nod. “I suspect so.”

“What happened?”

“If I tell you, you’ll have to tell Mama, and I’d rather spare her the story.”

“I don’t have to tell her if you’d rather I didn’t.”

No, now that I considered the matter, there had to be a good many things that went on in my father’s life he chose not to reveal to my mother. “I was shot.”

He gave a start. “What?”

It was one of the few times I’d ever seen my father out of countenance. “Well, shot
at
,” I amended. “The ball only winged me, and I’m perfectly fine. Likely it looks much worse than it is.”

His brows had drawn down sharply in a frown. “But who shot you? Why?”

“I don’t know. I’m not even sure where the shot came from. I only assume it had something to do with Teddy’s troubles because it happened just outside Leonard House.”

“You reported it to the watch, I trust.”

“I didn’t see any point, given that I never got a look at the culprit. Finding him would amount to searching for a needle in a haystack.” I turned my head to stare out the carriage window, leading it to throb anew. “I suppose now you’re going to insist I steer clear of the whole business.”

My father studied me thoughtfully. “You really like this girl, do you?”

“It has nothing to do with any girl. I’m only doing it for Teddy.” Which was the simple truth. Teddy had asked for my help, hadn’t he? But it rankled that my father had sensed how far Barbara was involved. Of course I didn’t have the kind of regard for her he meant, but what made him think I’d been with her?

The coach was already pulling up before the imposing marble portico that marked the entrance to Ormesby House. My father sat in pensive silence for a time before speaking. “This puts me in a difficult position, Ben. On the one hand, you’re not a child and you have your own life to lead. On the other hand, if I were to turn a blind eye to the risk and you ended up the worse for it, your mother would never forgive me. And, of course, you’re my only son and heir...”

The day just kept getting better and better. I could see he was about to tell me to wash my hands of the murder investigation. He might not be as fretful as my mother, but how could a man like my father—a man who thought nothing of making our family notorious—understand the importance of helping my cousin, especially when I could be sitting at home, safe, sound and insulated from all things remotely hazardous? I wondered what Barbara would think when I bowed out. She’d probably assume I’d been so unnerved by that dashed gunshot I’d deserted Teddy in his hour of need.