Deceived (27 page)

Marcus's heart leaped. He did not argue. Now was not the moment to insist that he would never let her go. He had gained himself some time and the chance he craved. Now he had to convince her of his steadfastness.

"Then as you are prepared to trust me," he said, "and as I trust you, there is something that I must tell you."

"You
may remember
," Marcus said, "that when we first met at the Duchess of Fordyce's ball, you asked me why I had been in the Fleet. I never told you the reason."

Isabella waited. She had not been expecting this. Her mind was still spinning with the implications of their previous conversation. When Marcus had told her that he believed her account of why she had jilted him, her sore heart had eased a little. It was a small concession, smaller than she might have wanted, but it was something. And he had apologized for his behavior to her. She knew that must have been difficult for him. He was not a man who could admit his fault easily.

It meant that when they came to part she would know there was no longer any animosity between them. If they did part. . . She shivered. How long would it be before she knew if she was with child? When Emma had been conceived she had been very slow to realize. Too slow. She might read the signs more quickly now, but the dilemma would be no easier. To stay or to go. Marcus had promised to care for and protect her, but he had not promised her his love. And without that she would always feel she was living a hollow reflection of what might have been.

She put the thought of the child from her mind. Soon enough to think of that when she had some peace and time alone. And there was the shadow of India, hovering at her shoulder as always.

I have already lost one wife. . .

Isabella needed no reminder of that.

But for now Marcus wanted to tell her about the Fleet. She remembered demanding to know why he had been there and the way he had deflected her questions. She had been so infuriated by his presence that she had soon forgotten all about the reasons.

"I was investigating a crime," Marcus said.

Isabella looked up sharply. "By pretending to be a criminal yourself?"

"Exactly so." Marcus sighed. "It is sometimes the easiest way to get close to those you are hunting."

Isabella let out a long breath. "I see. Did you succeed?"

"No," Marcus said. "I am hunting a man named Warwick. Edward Warwick." He looked at her. "Does the name mean anything to you?"

Isabella shook her head. "I do not think so. Should it?"

"You have a wide acquaintance. He might be a family connection." Marcus's gaze dwelled thoughtfully on her face. "Warwick is the man whom I am convinced was responsible for both a robbery and fire at my house in Salterton and the death of your aunt. He is a criminal who has connections in the Fleet."

Isabella stared at him, deeply shocked. She had not imagined that Marcus's business in the Fleet, whatever it had been, might have any link to her or to Salterton.

"Mr. Churchward told me of the fire at your house but he intimated that it was an accident," she said slowly. "And I understood that Aunt Jane's death was from natural causes." Her eyes searched his face. "Wasn't it?"

"
That is the story we put about," Marcus said. He shifted slightly. "In fact, the fire was arson, albeit unintentional. A local lad set the house ablaze accidentally when he was searching for something on behalf of Warwick."

Isabella frowned. "What was he searching for?"

Marcus shook his head. "That I do not know. I am trying to find out. When I entered my house that night I sensed that something was wrong. I found the intruder upstairs in the chamber that had been India's. It was clear that he was searching for something." Isabella saw him wince, as though the memory was in some way painful.

"The place was in the most confounded mess, clothes and papers scattered across the room," Marcus continued. "The lad was so startled to see me that he overturned the candle and set the bed hangings alight. He jumped from the window. He was injured but before he lost consciousness he told me that Warwick had sent him. That was why I was searching for the man himself."

Isabella's thoughts were for her aunt.

"But Aunt Jane?" she said. "I did not think that there were any suspicious circumstances surrounding her death. Mr. Churchward told me that she was struck by a seizure in the evening. The servants found her. She had been quite alone—" Her voice was rising. She realized with a jolt that she was both nervous and upset. Marcus had also heard the note of distress in her voice, and he caught her hands in his. When he answered her, his tone was deliberately calm. It soothed her a little.

"I am sorry, Bella," he said. "A man called upon Lady Jane that night. According to the servants, he gave his name as Warwick. He spent some time in the library with your aunt, though no one knows precisely when he left. The servants were alerted by the violent ringing of the bell and when they arrived they found that your aunt had collapsed. They carried her to bed. She died a short while later."

Isabella shuddered, thinking of Jane alone and friendless at the end. "I do not understand. Are you suggesting that this man—this Warwick—murdered her?"

Marcus shook his head slightly. "No. There was no suggestion of murder. I called the physician myself. I think whatever it was that they discussed so shocked or disturbed her that she had a seizure and died," Marcus said. "It is in that sense that he was responsible for her death."

Isabella wrinkled her brow. "Was there a quarrel? Did the servants hear raised voices?"

"They heard nothing." Marcus sighed. There was a rueful note in his voice. "They could not even describe the man with any exactitude."

"And yet you think that this man Warwick holds the key to the arson and to Lady Jane's death?"

"I do."

Marcus had relaxed his grip and Isabella let her hands fall to her lap. She stared blindly out the window of the carriage.

"Poor Aunt Jane," she said softly. "I am so very sorry."

"It is a nasty business. And that is why I must go back to Salterton."

Isabella felt cold. So for all Marcus's avowals, he had quite a different motive for going to Salterton. "I see," she said bleakly.

There was a glimmer of amusement in Marcus's eyes. "No, I don't think that you do, Bella. I was going to say that I had planned for a little while to return to Salterton in the hope of picking up Warwick's trail there. The fact that you set off for Salterton so precipitately only made it more urgent that I should go there at once."

Isabella looked at him. "I see," she said again.

Marcus took her hand again, rubbing his thumb gently over the back of her glove. She could feel the warmth of his touch through the material.

"Bella," he said. "Please believe me. We will never trust one another again if we doubt every word and every action."

Isabella nodded. "So why are you telling me this now?" she asked.

Marcus smiled. "Because I did not wish there to be any more secrets between us," he said, "and because I thought that you might be able to help me."

"If I knew of this. . . Warwick?"

"Yes."

Isabella shook her head. "I am sorry, Marcus. I do not recall ever hearing the name in connection with either Salterton or the family. I would help if I could."

"No matter," Marcus said.

A sudden thought struck Isabella. "This man. . . I assume he is dangerous?"

Marcus looked at her. "Very. I do not wish you to be afraid, though, Bella. I am sure he has no quarrel with you."

"No," Isabella said, "but—" She stopped, but Marcus was too quick for her. He leaned closer.

"Bella, is it that you are afraid for me?"

Isabella avoided his gaze. "Well, I. . . If he is danger-
ous
. . ."

"You
are
afraid for me!" Marcus said. He started to smile.

"There is no need to be so pleased with yourself," Isabella grumbled. "I am a compassionate person. It is nothing to do with you."

Marcus's smile broadened. He touched her cheek. "Of course not, sweetheart."

He drew her to him and gradually Isabella felt herself leaning closer until her head rested against his shoulder and the movement of the carriage lulled her into a doze. But her dreams were not pleasant ones. She dreamed of Jane Southern, calling for help and no one hearing her, and she dreamed of Marcus saying /
did not wish there to be any more secrets between us.
And she awoke to the thought that she was still keeping the biggest secret of all.

It was as they were
approaching Salterton, in the fresh summer evening, that a problem arose. Isabella had slept for much of the journey and Marcus had found himself deriving a remarkable degree of contentment just from watching her. As they drew nearer to their destination, Isabella awoke and Marcus noted the tiny abstracted frown between her brows and the slight tension in her manner.

"I have been thinking," Isabella said, smoothing the skirts of her elegant traveling dress and avoiding his eyes, "that it would be better to put a little distance between ourselves until we can be sure what is to be done." She looked at him, then swiftly away. "I mean, until we know—" She broke off. Marcus understood all too well what she meant.

Until I know if I am expecting a child. . . Until I decide if I can leave you. . .

Every possessive instinct in his body rose up in protest.
There was precious little distance between us last night,
he thought.
Nor on the previous occasion when I held you naked in my arms.

He knew it would avail him little to point this out. He could sense Isabella slipping out of reach once again. It was frustrating but he found that he was prepared for it. Generally he was not a patient man; this time he had to learn patience in order to gain what he wanted, which was Isabella permanently in his life and in his bed.

He kept his voice neutral.

"Until we decide what is to be done about. . . what?" he asked.

Isabella shot him a defiant look from those beautiful blue eyes. "Our marriage of course, Marcus. It is most convenient that you have a house on the estate, since you may live there whilst I reside at the hall—"

Marcus sighed sharply. "Isabella, I will be plain with you. I will not live at Salterton Cottage whilst you five elsewhere. Apart from anything else, my house is currently uninhabitable since work has not yet been completed after the fire. So I could not accede to your request to live at Salterton Cottage even if I wished to do so."

"Well," Isabella said, turning aside, "I hear that the standard of hotels has improved immensely since I was last at the seaside. No doubt you will find something to your taste."

"Salterton House is to my taste." Marcus put out a hand and pulled her closer to him. She came reluctantly into his arms. He remembered his vow to court her gently and moderated his tone of voice—and stifled the rampant lust that suggested what a good idea it would be to overcome her scruples by making love to her here and now, in the carriage.

"If it pleases you," he said, "you may have your own bedroom—for now."

"Thank you," Isabella said dryly. "And you will reside down the drive as soon as your house is ready."

There was a note of finality in her voice. Marcus shrugged and his lips curved into a wicked smile. He reached inside his jacket and removed a piece of paper.

"If you are to be my landlady, you had better read this," he said.

Isabella pulled off her gloves, took the paper, glanced at it carelessly, then stiffened. "What is this?"

"It is the terms of the tenancy of Salterton Cottage," Marcus said.

Isabella looked at him incredulously. "Tenancy? But I thought that it was a mere formality?"

Marcus shook his head. "You were mistaken. Lord John Southern merely loaned the house to his daughter for her use. The previous tenancy agreement had not lapsed. On India's death he very politely but insistently made me agree to sign it. I was happy to do so to keep my link with Salterton."