Beyond A Wicked Kiss (45 page)

"Someone is here?" asked Finch, smoothing the cloth before pronouncing it satisfactory.

"Yes, just arrived."

"Shall I summon Mr. Blaine? Mrs. Corbell? I do not think they know you have a guest."

"Do not trouble them. I am uncertain if she will be staying."

"She?" Finch shook his head, his expression vaguely disapproving. "It is not my place, but—"

"You are exactly right, Finch. It is not your place."

The sharpness of West's tone gave the valet pause. He was accustomed to being permitted certain liberties, chief among them being able to speak his mind whether it was his place or not. He clamped his jaw, then decided against such caution. "I had hopes for Miss Ashby," he said quickly. "It would be a terrible shame if you permitted a lightskirt to come between you and—"

"Damnation, Finch, who do you think is waiting for me below stairs?"

Finch's eyes actually protruded from their sockets as he gaped at his employer.

"Exactly my thoughts," West said. "Now, close your mouth, Finch, before I put a hook in it."

Finch's jaw slammed shut again. He held out West's frock coat and brushed it off once he approved of its fit.

West turned around and fastened the coat's three buttons. "Do not stray far. I may have need of you. Better yet, sleep with one eye open."

"As you wish."

"That does not give you license to listen at the door." West was not fooled by his valet's affronted expression. "If Northam offered you enough coin, you would do it."

"You insult me."

West paused, considering the gravity of Finch's tone. "The countess, then," he said, suddenly suspicious. "You would do it for Lady Northam."

"Well, there you have me."

* * *

Ria was sitting on the upholstered bench, staring at the fire, when West strode into the room. The glass of sherry in her hands bobbled a bit as she was brought abruptly back to the present. She had removed her cloak and gloves, and although she was not as bedraggled as she was the first time she had visited his home, the wearing nature of her journey was evident in the creases pressed into her muslin gown and the way the collar lay limply against her throat. There was also a slight downward turn in the line of her mouth that matched the slope of her shoulders. Her eyelids were heavy, the lashes fluttering occasionally to a half-mast position and remaining there for what seemed an inordinately long time.

In the hallway, a clock chimed the two o'clock hour. One of West's brows raised pointedly at this reminder of the lateness of the evening. His significant look did not go unnoticed. Ria's flush climbed from beneath her drooping collar until it washed her face in pink color.

"I am aware that you are out of sorts with me," she said with quiet dignity. "There is no need to underscore your feelings with irony."

"I disagree." He crossed the room to the drinks cabinet and splashed a crystal tumbler with whiskey.
"Out of sorts
hardly describes it. Could you not have written that you intended to come here?" He glanced out the window toward the street and saw no carriage or driver. "Did you take the public coach again?"

"Yes, of course. The school cannot spare a carriage for me to journey to London, and Mr. Dobson has more responsibilities than serving as my driver." Her chin came up. "And I did write. I sent word better than a fortnight ago."

"Just as you knocked."

"You do not believe me?" Ria's hand trembled with the strength of her disappointment. "I did both, but I will not insist that you accept my word. I have lied to you so often, it is a wonder you allow me to make any explanation at all."

West saluted her by raising his glass. She had neatly given back as good as she got, underscoring her feelings with heavy ironic inflection. "I received no correspondence from you," he said. "Not in the last fortnight. Not any since you sent Miss Taylor's drawing of Sir Alex."

Ria frowned. "But that was more than a month ago. I have written at least once each week since then."

That gave West pause. His brow creased as he considered the implication of what Ria was telling him. "Didn't you find it odd that I repeatedly asked the same question in all of my letters? That is a good indication I was not receiving a reply from you."

"Your letters? I received none."

"None?"

She shook her head, her expression deeply puzzled. Her eyes followed him as he crossed the room and sat, hitching his hip on the upholstered arm of a chair rather than using the cushion. He stretched one arm across the back and one leg out to the side for balance. He looked supremely at his ease—and in every way vigilantly attentive.

"Since you left Gillhollow, I have had correspondence from the board of governors," Ria told him. "Also letters from Margaret and the children. My great-grandfather, who resides in Greenwich, wrote to me as well. I suppose we can conclude that there is nothing wrong with the post. It is peculiar I would have none of your letters."

"My thoughts are the same." He sipped his drink. The matter of Ria's ill-conceived journey to London could wait, he decided, until this bit of business was sorted out. "How is the post collected at the school for sending?"

"All letters are placed in a basket expressly used to collect them. You may have noticed it. It is located on a table in the entrance hall, close to my apartments. There is usually at least one trip each day to Gillhollow, and whatever correspondence there is in the basket is taken at that time."

"Then anyone might remove a letter."

"I don't think that is very—" She stopped, realizing that West was making no accusation. It was merely an observation on his part, and one she should be willing to consider, rather than defend. "Yes," she said after a moment. "Anyone might do so."

"And letters that come to the students and teachers at the school? How is the post managed then?"

"It is brought directly to me for sorting. When I have removed what is meant for my attention, I give it to one of the teachers to make the appropriate deliveries."

"Brought to you by whom?"

"By whomever picked it up in Gillhollow."

"And that is rarely you."

It was not a question, but Ria confirmed his supposition. "Rarely."

"Then you do not really see it first."

"No, but—" Ria bit her lip, gathering her composure. She did not want to go where he was leading her. "No. I am not the person who generally sees the post first."

West was not unfeeling of Ria's dilemma, but at the root of this lay what trust they had been able to nurture. If they believed that each of them had written to the other, then some explanation for the disappearance of the letters was necessary. For Ria to place her full trust in him meant accepting that she had been betrayed by someone else.

"Tell me about the letter I did receive," he said. "Miss Taylor's drawing of Sir Alex... how was it posted?"

Ria stared at her glass of sherry, thinking back. "I put it in the basket... No, I gave it to Mr. Dobson, who was collecting the letters from the basket."

"Then it did not have opportunity to be seen by anyone else."

"No. He took the post immediately to Gillhollow."

"And it arrived here."

"Yes."

"And none of your other post did. Nor any of mine to you. Can we agree the failure does not lie with my staff or the post delivery?"

Ria took a large swallow of sherry and relished the warmth of it all the way to her stomach. "We are agreed," she said. "Someone at the school is responsible."

"Do you wish to suggest a name?"

"No. I cannot."

"I think we can eliminate Mr. Dobson as the culprit," said West. "Everyone else, I'm afraid, remains."

"I doubt it is Mrs. Abergast. I cannot recall the last time she elected to go to Gillhollow, and she almost never is the one to deliver the post to me. It must be someone else."

West finished his drink and put his glass down. "It is probably less important to know who than it is to know why."

Nodding faintly, Ria's fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. "Before I sent the drawing, there was another letter I wrote. Did you receive it?"

He tried to catch her eye but failed. "Yes, you sent it by express post."

Her slim smile was apologetic; she wished she had not asked the question. "Of course. I had forgotten." She glanced up at him. "Then you know I'm not here because of a child."

"I know," he said gently.

Ria's eyes swiveled away quickly as she wondered at the hint of regret in his voice. Had she imagined it, or were his thoughts about a child as confused as her own? "My other letters to you... and yours to me... should we assume they were not only taken but read?"

"I think it is a safe assumption."

"I see." She hesitated and then plunged ahead in spite of her reservations. "You will probably want to know what sort of things I wrote to you."

"That would be helpful."

"I doubt it. You will not find it particularly edifying. It is more of what I wrote in the missive I sent with Sir Alex's portrait. I described the routine of the school and what manner of mischief the girls were devising. I believe I reported in some detail on the health of the teachers, the inclement weather, the success Amy Nash had at learning and reciting the 'quality of mercy' speech from
The Merchant of Venice."

"Impressive."

"Yes, it was." She had not missed the mocking gravity of his tone but went on as if she had. "Amy is the youngest student ever to have learned the speech."

"There was a reward, I hope, for such an accomplishment." He caught Ria's small, negative shake and came upon the truth in a flash of insight. "Ah, she was made to learn it in penance for some bit of mischief."

"How did you know?"

West grinned with devilish charm. "How do you think I learned it?" He dropped to the cushion of the chair and stretched his legs before him, a posture that declared himself entertained. "What else did you write?"

As weary as she was, Ria was also not proof against this encouragement. "I informed you of Margaret and Tenley's visit. In fact, they visited several times, and I wrote in great detail of each one. I believe I lamented that our time together was so short."

"A great change, indeed. You were comfortable in Tenley's presence?"

"His attentions to Margaret were just as she would desire them, and he was in every way like an older brother to me."

"You put that to paper?"

"No." She pressed herself to be certain of that answer, aware again that her most private thoughts had been read by at least one other person. "No, I don't believe I did."

West nodded. "Did you inquire about my progress with Jane Petty?"

"Yes. In every letter."

"And you probably asked why I wasn't keeping you informed."

"Yes. Most of my questions had to do with Jane, but I also wondered why you did not tell me about the Gentleman Thief. I learned about his apprehension from Margaret and Tenley. There was also no news about Miss Parr. I thought I had given you offense in some way, or that you had reconsidered helping me, or perhaps you thought I had no interest in your friends. I did not know how to—"

West shook his head, interrupting her. "I wrote to you of the Gentleman and Miss Parr and more besides. Do you believe me?"

Ria believed it absolutely. "I do." She set her sherry aside and smoothed the folds of her dress over her knees. "I cannot like it that someone else has been privy to what was meant for me. Will you tell me what you wrote?"

"There was precious little regarding Jane, though Lady Northam confirmed for me that Sir Alex was indeed the gentleman who was with her at the dressmaker's. Jane is not, however, staying at his residence in town. Sir Alex also maintains a home that he uses to set up a mistress. There is no one living there now. It is disappointing, I know. You had hoped for there to be more."

She nodded. "And what of the rest that you wrote?"

"The rest?" he asked. "I'm afraid I did not stray far from expounding on a single theme."

"Oh? That is unlike you. What theme?"

"Marriage."

Chapter 13