Lord Perfect (33 page)

"You will not," he said. "I will not
permit it."

"I wish you would try to remember that this is not
the Middle Ages and I am not your vassal," she said.

"I won't let you be my martyr, either," he
said.

"I was not—"

"If I had been born a younger
son, I should have become a barrister," he said. "As it is,
I have participated in any number of criminal inquiries. I have
learnt how to put two and two together. Your motive is obvious, my
girl. I am not sure whether it arises from a misguided maternal
instinct or the DeLucey flare for drama. Whatever the source, I do
not need your protection or self-sacrifice. The very idea is absurd.
I am a man, and not a young one, wet behind the ears. I am
thirty-seven years old. I should be hanged before I hid behind your
skirts." He shot her a look. "What I should do
under
your skirts is another subject altogether, which I should be happy to
discuss at another time."

"What is wrong with you?" she cried. "What
will you do if you are found out?"

"What my ancestors did at Hastings and Agincourt,"
he said. "What my brother Alistair did at Waterloo. If other
members of my family could face Death unflinchingly, I can certainly
face ridicule and disapproval."

"I don't want you to, you obstinate man!"

"I know that, my dear," he said. "I
realized it when I discovered you'd made off with my clothes and
money. I was deeply touched by that display of affection. But now you
must give them back."

THE LADIES STALKED out of the drawing room of
Throgmorton House, followed immediately by Lord Mandeville's son and
grandson. This left the earl no one to rage at but the servants, who
quickly made themselves scarce, too. Then he was at leisure to seethe
in solitude.

While the ladies sought haven in the conservatory, Lord
Northwick and Peter DeLucey viewed the wreckage in the hall.

Two chairs had been overturned. An enormous Chinese
porcelain dragon Lord Northwick had always hated lay on the floor in
fragments, which a pair of frightened housemaids were in the process
of sweeping up.

Joseph, braced up by James and Keble, limped toward the
baize door leading to the servants' realm.

Lord Northwick led his son out of hearing range. "You
must go after them," he said. "The lady and her…
brother."

Peter stared at him.

"Now," said his father. "We have not a
moment to lose."

"But Grandfather said… But you—you
didn't believe her. I could tell. You wore that look—"

"I have changed my mind," said Lord Northwick.
"Stop dithering and listen to me."

* * *

"MRS. WINGATE! I say, Mrs. Wingate!"

Benedict and Bathsheba looked behind them.

A lone rider galloped toward them.

As he drew nearer, Bathsheba said, "That is Lord
Northwick's boy, Peter DeLucey. What now?"

They halted and waited for him.

''A message," he said breathlessly. "From my
father. Apologies. Couldn't come himself. Press of duty. But he asks
that you meet him tomorrow morning at the King's Arms Inn. I am to
show you where it is and see that you are made comfortable. Father
says…" The young man glanced uncertainly from Bathsheba
to Benedict. "Father says he believes you, and we are to offer
you every assistance."

"EVERY ASSISTANCE" INCLUDED arranging for
rooms at the inn as well as a midday meal, which not only went a good
way to helping Benedict recover from the previous night's debauch,
but raised his opinion of the DeLuceys.

Still, he thought at first that this DeLucey's
helpfulness was an excuse to loiter about ogling Bathsheba, for the
young man could not take his eyes off her. He did not need to be
asked twice to join them for the meal.

DeLucey was in no hurry to leave after the meal, either.

Benedict decided to drop a hint.

"I regret I must be on my way," he said. "Our
manservant and carriage remain at an inn near Bath, and I am obliged
to collect them. The innkeeper must be paid as well. My sister left
in great haste, you see, and in her anxiety and agitation, she
mistook my purse for hers."

"Oh, I can ride to the inn and do all that for
you," DeLucey said.

"Certainly not," said Bathsheba. "We
should never ask such a thing."

"You would be doing me a favor," the young man
said. "Otherwise, I'll have nothing to do all day but be bored
witless. Sundays at Throgmorton can be deadly. Grandfather loathes
going to church, but he believes it is his duty to set an example. I
wish he would stay home and let the ladies set an example instead.
Being preached at always puts him in the foulest mood. Then someone
is sure to stop him after the service with complaints or demands or
some such, and make him late coming home. Meanwhile, he will fast
before services, though his physician has told him time and again
that it isn't good for him at his age. So naturally, by the time he
does come home he is as hungry as a bear, which does not improve
anybody's temper."

He colored. "I daresay he would not have welcomed
you in any case, but this being Sunday, perhaps it was worse than it
might have been."

It was well said, Benedict thought. The young man
effected an apology of sorts for his grandfather without disparaging
him, and with a degree of compassion.

Benedict's paternal grandmother had a deadly sharp
tongue and no patience whatsoever. In Lord Mandeville's place, she
might have displayed more self-control, but she would not have been
any gentler.

The elderly must be allowed their crotchets.

Benedict had reminded himself of this rule a short time
ago. This was why he had not heaved Lord Mandeville through the
nearest window.

"It is the DeLucey temper," said Bathsheba.
"Apparently, that family characteristic is found in all the
branches. I am quite used to it."

"You have it," Benedict said.

"Yet it was not I who threw the footman through the
drawing room door," she said.

"He was a vile person," Benedict said. "I
shall not apologize for that."

"That might have been what turned Father in your
favor," DeLucey said. "He has wanted Joseph dismissed this
age, but Grandfather…" He trailed off, his blue eyes
widening. "I say, sir, you are not really queer in the attic,
after all." He turned his puzzled stare upon Bathsheba.

"I thought your family might excuse lunacy more
readily than they would temper," she said.

"Sometimes my sister drives me mad," Benedict
said. "Otherwise I am perfectly rational. Being rational, I see
no reason for you to travel all the way to Bath to pacify an irate
innkeeper while allaying my loyal servant's anxieties. After that,
you would make the same tiresome journey back, during which you would
feel as though you were alone, because Thomas would not dream of
conversing with you. However, if you are in no hurry to return to
Throgmorton, you are welcome to accompany me."

"It seems I am not needed, then," said
Bathsheba.

Benedict blinked. He'd expected her to insist on going
with them. He'd braced himself for the inevitable battle.

But she showed none of the usual signs of determination
to do exactly what he didn't want her to do. Her face was white and
drawn. The day must have caught up with her, he thought. She'd not
only had insufficient rest, but she'd had to bear the brunt of
Mandeville's fury, along with her other relatives' coldness and
distrust.

She'd borne it well, Benedict thought. She'd held her
head high. She had not let anybody ruffle her composure. She had
behaved with dignity, every inch the lady.

"Mr. DeLucey and I shall manage without you,"
Benedict said. "While we're gone, dear sister, I hope you'll get
as much rest as you can. The next few days promise to be
challenging."

SINCE PETER DELUCEY had obtained separate rooms for the
supposed siblings, that was the last Bathsheba saw of Rathbourne
until the following morning, when she met him for breakfast in a
private dining parlor on the inn's ground floor.

He rose when she entered the room, and his expression
softened. "You look a good deal better than you did yesterday,"
he said. "I was afraid you'd made yourself ill, what with the
debauchery and the noble self-sacrifice and bearding lions in their
den and such."

"You are the most ungrateful man," she said.
"I was trying to save you from yourself."

He laughed and came to her.

"It was sweet of you," he said. He brought his
arms round her but he did not draw her close. He only looked down at
her, smiling a little.

"I am not sweet," she said.

He kissed her forehead. "Indeed you are. You are
wicked, too. A dizzying combination."

A footstep outside made him draw away.

Someone tapped on the door.

"Yes, yes, come in," Rathbourne said.

Thomas entered. "Lord Northwick is here, sir."

"Yes, of course. We were expecting him. Don't make
his lordship wait, Thomas. You know better than that."

"Which I was not wishing to interrupt anything,"
Thomas muttered as he went out again.

"Thomas thinks me an ingrate, too," Rathbourne
said.

"I take back everything I said about him on Friday
evening," Bathsheba said. "Thomas is a paragon. And a
saint."

"Indeed, he is, poor fellow. He waited all the day
yesterday for me in his underwear. That was your fault, by the way,
but I—Ah, Lord Northwick. Good morning, sir."

His lordship stood in the doorway for a moment. Then he
swept off his hat, revealing hair nearly as dark as hers, but
threaded with silver at the temples. He was immaculately groomed, and
dressed to the highest pitch of the tailor's art.

He entered and closed the door behind him.

"Good morning, Lord Rathbourne," he said.
"Perhaps you would be so good, sir, as to tell me what, exactly,
all this charade is about?"

Chapter 15