Beyond Compare (8 page)

Kyria nodded worriedly. Broughton stared at Rafe, horrified. Clearly his interest in the ancient object had pushed other considerations out of his head.

“Are you saying…do you think there is a danger of him trying to
steal
it?”

“I think there could be a danger, sir, to whomever has possession of that box,” Rafe replied flatly, and his eyes went to Kyria.

T
he duke drew in his breath in a sharp gasp. “To Kyria? You think that this puts Kyria in danger?”

Kyria shot Rafe an irritated look and turned to her father. “No, Papa, I am sure that I’m not in any danger. Mr. McIntyre is just raising a possibility. We have no way of knowing that that was why that man was stabbed. It could have been a private argument between them. Or he could have just been a robber in general, not after that box in particular. Perhaps he simply saw the man walking and thought he would be a vulnerable target. Isn’t that right, Mr. McIntyre?”

Kyria turned back to Rafe with a significant look. Rafe looked back at her blandly.

“No point in taking any chances,” he replied. “I’m just suggesting that we ought to take precautions. We don’t know exactly what that box is or how much it’s worth, or even for sure why that man was bringing it to you. But given how old you say it is and given that whopper of a diamond on it, I would say it’s something somebody might want to steal. And whoever killed the man who delivered it could have knowledge of the box, and that could have been the reason he attacked him.
If so, then he knows that that thing is now inside this house. I’m not saying that he knows that Kyria has it or that he would try to harm her to get it, but I can’t help but think that this thing would be a lot safer if you locked it up in a secure place.”

“Yes, yes, you’re absolutely right,” her father said. “You mustn’t take it to your room, Kyria. Perhaps I could lock it in my collections room. The cases all have locks, and the room itself has a very stout lock on the door.”

“And there are bars on the windows,” Kyria added. “It gives the house a certain prisonlike appearance.”

Rafe grinned. “I saw that the other day from the garden. I wondered if you had some mad relative locked up there.”

“No. Only Papa,” Kyria said, linking her arm affectionately through her father’s. “I agree with you, Papa. I think it would be safest to put the box in your collections room. The diamond alone is valuable, let alone the value of the box.”

The duke patted her arm. “Very well, my dear.” He picked up the box, saying, “I shall take this right to the collections room, and then we must join the others.”

“And we aren’t going to say anything about all this to the others tonight,” Kyria reminded him.

“Oh, no, you’re right. Well, I must tell your mother, of course, but I will wait until after Olivia and Stephen leave. And Reed. I am sure he will want to deal with the constable.” He frowned. “Perhaps we had better have a family meeting about the matter tomorrow. It really is most distressing.”

Olivia was standing in the middle of her room with Thisbe and the duchess when Kyria hurried in. She was
already dressed for her honeymoon in a brown traveling dress, rather plain—which was how she liked her clothes—but trimmed with elegant gold buttons down the front of the jacket and cut to show off her excellent figure. She turned when Kyria entered the room. Her cheeks were high with color and her eyes sparkling with excitement. She looked lovelier and happier than Kyria had ever seen her, reinforcing Kyria’s determination not to let anything spoil Olivia’s day.

“Kyria!” Olivia cried, holding out her arms. “Where have you been? I’m almost ready.”

“Dearest, I’m sorry.” Putting on her brightest smile, Kyria hurried across the room to hug her sister and kiss her cheek. “I was talking to Smeggars about the food.” Kyria knew that the best way to stop any curious questions from either of her sisters or mother was to bring up domestic arrangements.

“Oh.” Olivia waved away Kyria’s explanation. “Well, you are here now.” She stepped back and executed a little pirouette for Kyria’s inspection. “You were right about the traveling dress. It’s perfect.”

“It is,” Kyria agreed, forbearing to mention the struggle involved in getting her sister to agree that the large buttons and tight-waisted jacket were not too outlandish.

“You look beautiful,” their mother declared, coming over to kiss Olivia on the cheek. “
All
my daughters are beautiful. Inside and out,” she added, with a smile for Kyria and Thisbe. “Come now. We must let Olivia leave.”

Kyria, glancing at her mother, was astonished to see the glint of tears in her eyes before the duchess turned away. Thisbe, on the other hand, was unashamedly
wiping tears from her cheeks. Kyria felt a lump rising in her own throat and swallowed hard. Picking up Olivia’s matching reticule, she handed the little bag to her sister and swept her out of the room.

Outside, Stephen and his bride stepped into the ducal carriage, their well-wishers pouring out of the house to send them on their way. Kyria, smiling and waving to her sister as the carriage pulled away, could not help but steal a glance down the driveway and wonder where exactly the dark stranger had been when he was attacked. She shivered, imagining the scene.

“Cold?” a man asked softly behind her, and she turned to see Rafe McIntyre standing close to her. He shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, bare in her elegant evening gown.

“Thank you.” Kyria wrapped the jacket tightly around her, immediately warmed. “Where…where was it?”

“Down yonder.” He pointed to where the line of trees ended, just as the drive started to curve as it drew in front of the house.

Kyria watched as the carriage moved toward the place where Rafe had pointed and could not help a little sigh of relief when it passed safely. She had not really expected a crazed attacker to leap out of the trees at the newlyweds, but she could not keep from being a trifle edgy.

“It’s so sad,” she said with a sigh. “I cannot help but think of that poor man.”

All around them people were going back into the house to continue the party. It seemed terribly macabre to think of them dancing and laughing, having fun, when a man had died downstairs.

“It doesn’t seem kind to tell them,” Rafe said, as if
he had read her thoughts. “It had nothing to do with them.”

“I know. You’re right. Better to let them enjoy the evening.” Kyria turned to him. “However, I find it a little hard to pretend that there is nothing wrong. I believe I will plead a headache and retire early this evening.”

He nodded, and as she turned to walk away, he said quietly, “Perhaps you should lock your door tonight. Just to be safe.”

“Now I think you’re trying to scare me,” Kyria told him.

But later, upstairs in her bedroom, after her maid had left, Kyria found herself turning the key in the lock.

Kyria did not sleep well that night. Her thoughts kept returning to the man who had died—the awful pallor of his face, the pitiful way his hand had lain on the table, the palm turned up.
Who was he? Did Theo send him here with that package? And why?
She had no answers, only more questions.

She thought, too, of the box. She was tempted to rise and go down to her father’s collections room to look at it again, but she found herself reluctant, after what had happened tonight, to go wandering about the dark halls.

The box was elegant in its simplicity, and the diamond was stunning. Because of her father’s hobby, she was accustomed to pieces of astonishing rarity and beauty, but it still amazed her to think of the depth of artistry in the carving and the skill it had taken to hide the latch of the box—for surely it must open somehow. And to think that a gem of such magnificence had been mined so long ago…

She remembered how it had looked, how smooth the ivory had felt beneath her hands…the weight of it…the cold, dark depths of the diamond. And thinking this way, she could not help but remember, too, the way Rafe had held the box, his hands dark against the creamy ivory, his fingers gentle as they glided over the carving.

Warmth blossomed deep in her abdomen and the flesh of her arms prickled, as she thought of those same hands sliding up her arms. No one had ever kissed her as he had; she knew that she would not have allowed it. She could scarcely believe that she had allowed him. She told herself that it was because she was upset by the death of the stranger, that she was more vulnerable than usual. But she knew that such reasoning was merely excuse-making. The fact was that Rafe’s kiss had stirred something in her that was more powerful than anything she had ever felt. It was exciting and frightening and it left her feeling unsure of herself—a feeling that also was quite new to her.

It irritated her that she had felt such a rush of passion—she was far too honest and pragmatic to term it anything else—for a man who was so obviously a charmer and a flirt. She was not the sort to fall for a man’s honeyed words, and she hated to think that she could be easily swayed by a handsome countenance.

But even as she thought this, she knew that she could not dismiss Rafe McIntyre so easily. She had sensed that there was far more to him than the practiced flirt. There had been, for instance, his quick, cool handling of the attack on the stranger, his easy assumption of command. Smeggars had told her of how deftly he had bandaged the stranger’s wound before the doctor arrived. However light his words, however easy his smile,
there was, too, a hint of darkness that lurked behind his eyes, a certain watchfulness that never went entirely away.

It occurred to her that she knew nothing of his life, what events had shaped him, beyond the fact that he had been Stephen St. Leger’s partner, and she found herself wanting to know. Perhaps now that the bustle of the wedding was over, she could take him for a ride around the estate. She could show him her favorite spots and they could talk…

Kyria sat up with a grunt of displeasure and busied herself for a moment with punching her pillow into a more pleasing shape. It annoyed her that she was letting her thoughts stray this way. One would think she was a silly schoolgirl!

And so it went throughout much of the night, her mind jumping from one thought to another as she tossed and turned in her bed. She did not fall asleep until almost dawn, and then she was dragged from her slumber a few hours later by the sound of people in the hall.

Kyria yawned and threw her arm across her eyes, wishing that she could simply turn over and go back to sleep. But she knew that many of their guests would be leaving this morning, and she must do everything she could to get their departures out of the way so that she and her family could sit down to discuss the strange events of the night before.

So she rose and rang for her maid to help her dress, then spent the rest of the morning overseeing the myriad tasks that had to be accomplished to get a large number of people off in their carriages or driven to the train station in the village.

By two in the afternoon, all the guests who would
be departing that day were gone, leaving an unfortunately good-size number who would remain for at least a day or two longer. Kyria reflected gloomily that this number contained many of their most troublesome guests, most of whom were in one way or another relatives and considered it their privilege to spend long periods of time at the family seat. But at least she did not have to rack her brain for ways to entertain them; her mother had told her, “For pity’s sake, Kyria, don’t provide them with too much fun, or we shall have the whole lot with us through Christmas.” In any case, old Lord Penhurst needed no entertainment, only a comfortable chair in which to nap most of the day, and Lady Rochester required much the same thing, along with a younger relative or two at whom to snipe during the times she was awake.

Therefore, Kyria was able to slip away with a clear conscience to her father’s collections room, where her family had decided to gather in midafternoon. She found she was the last to arrive—a not-entirely-unusual circumstance, as Reed was quick to point out with a smile.

They were grouped around the long central table, which was cluttered, as usual, with various objects that her father was in the process of arranging. Except for Theo and Olivia, all Kyria’s siblings were there, along with Thisbe’s husband, Desmond, her mother and father and their great-uncle Bellard. A small man with rather rounded, hunched shoulders from years of poring over books, Uncle Bellard was a retiring sort who had stayed largely to his rooms over the past few days, avoiding the guests, especially his sister Hermione, the quarrelsome Lady Rochester. However, Kyria was not surprised that the prospect of seeing an ancient box had
lured him from his private rooms. He was not the antiquarian that her father was, but his bright, inquisitive mind and love of history doubtless made him interested. Nor was he the kind of man who could easily resist a mystery in any form.

She was also not surprised that Con and Alex were there. Most families would have deemed children who were not quite eleven as too young to participate in any sort of important discussion. It was one of the many Moreland “oddities” to treat children as equal members of the family, who, though young and in need of guidance, were intelligent creatures with thoughts and opinions of value.

However, when she saw Rafe McIntyre sitting at the table among her family, she felt a curious blend of surprise and excitement. Her pulse grew faster, and she found herself wishing that she had checked her image in the mirror before she entered the room. She was reminded all over again of her sleepless night and the irritation she had felt both toward him and at her own behavior. Annoyed, she blurted, “What are
you
doing here?”

“Manners, Kyria,” her mother admonished.