My Lord Murderer (6 page)

“Intimacy! I’ve not the slightest desire to develop an intimacy with you! And as for accepting the fact that you’re not a murderer, why
should
I accept such a lie? Did you not, a few moments ago, admit that you deprived me of a husband?”

“Yes, Lady Rowle. To my everlasting regret, I did. It was an accident, not murder.”

“So you would have the world believe. But I am not fooled.”

He looked at her keenly, the smiling glint in the back of his eyes fading. “My word means nothing to you then?”

“Less than nothing.”

Drew, nonplussed, tried to plunge ahead, although the difficulty of his task was beginning to be apparent. “Nevertheless, I’ve offered myself to you. Even a murderer, I trust, may make amends. And may be turned into a worthy man by the love of a good woman.”

“Perhaps. But the tendency toward violence in a man is completely repugnant to me. As repugnant as your suggestion that there could ever be anything between us.” And she stood up to indicate that his few minutes had come to an end.

Drew rose, circled the table, and confronted her squarely. With the disarming smile that Gwen was beginning to find rather disconcerting, he lifted her chin. “I hope you change your mind, my girl,” he said softly. “There’s an attraction between us that should not be dismissed so summarily. It’s not often that two people are suited in as many ways as we are.”

“Suited?” she asked scornfully, making no effort to pull her chin from his hand. “In what ways?”

“I think you know as well as I. For one thing, our minds seem attuned—each one follows the other’s thinking so easily. For another, we laugh at the same things. For a third—” He paused.

She couldn’t help asking, “A third?”

“Yes,” he said. “For a third, this!” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, holding her close against him until they both were breathless. When at last he let her go, he turned quickly away, picked up his hat and cane, and went to the door. Just before opening it, he turned back, his eyes again appreciative, his smile warm. “I’ll see you again, Gwen Rowle. I don’t give up so easily. But you may relax at breakfast in future. I’ll find some other, less violent way to secure your company.” And he bowed, put on his hat, and was gone—leaving Gwen staring at the door, her breast heaving with several confusing emotions she did not dare identify.

Chapter Four

G
WEN OPENED HER EYES
to the sound of the wind blowing the autumn leaves against her windowpane. She knew it must be early; there was no sound of household activity, and her abigail had not yet scratched at her door. Not quite awake, but not wishing to go to sleep again, she sat up, plumped up her pillows, and settled herself against them. For a while her mind drifted aimlessly in that state between sleep and waking where the dream can’t be remembered but the feelings of the dream persist. What had she dreamed that had left her in this wistful mood?

Her eyes absently noted the streak of sunlight on the ceiling, sunlight which had stolen in through the gap of her window curtains. In that narrow streak of light the shadow of the leaves outside her window danced enticingly. It will be a beautiful day, she thought idly, the kind of day that pulls one out of doors: a day to stroll through the woods, to smell the tang of the air, to feel the wind tingle the hairs at the back of the neck. If only one had someone with whom to share the day…

Inevitably, as it had every morning for the past three weeks, her mind turned to Drew. He would have made an exciting companion on a ramble through the woods, if only … if only … She shook herself in annoyance. How irritating it was to find him in her thoughts so constantly. He had shot her husband in a duel, he had embarrassed her in public, and he had invaded her home and her privacy. He was a violent, overbearing, unfeeling creature, and she debased herself by thinking of him. Yet at unexpected and frequently-recurring moments, she would find herself remembering his eyes with their glint of amusement; or her face would redden at the recollection of the strength of his arms around her and the pressure of his lips against hers; sometimes the sound of his voice came back to her: “I’ll see you again, Gwen Rowle. I don’t give up so easily.”

Three weeks ago he had said those words, and she had not heard from him since. She was relieved, of course. Of course. Still, it was surprising that he had declared himself so vehemently and then dropped from her life. Perhaps he’d reconsidered—regretted his impulsive behavior and realized that it would be useless to persist. Gwen admitted to herself that she felt disappointed at his withdrawal. He should have put up a stronger fight for her. Oh, she would have enjoyed refusing him again!

She had imagined that he would pursue her all over London, and she had pictured several delightful scenes in which she would revenge herself upon him. He would approach her at Almack’s, and she would give him the cut direct. And all the dowagers would snicker at him behind their fans, and his friends would turn away from him in embarrassment. Or he would ride up beside her in the park, and she would send him away with a sharp rebuff, turn her horse, and gallop off—leaving him red-faced and miserable in a cloud of dust. Or he would find her alone in a side sitting-room of the house of a mutual acquaintance, and he would fall on his knees before her and plead his case, but she would merely laugh scornfully, and he would stumble out of the room and run from the house in despair.

These were childish imaginings, she knew. It was far better that he’d withdrawn from the campaign. The best course for her was to put him firmly from her mind. She whipped the covers off with an air of determination and jumped out of bed. From this moment on, she would banish him from her life and her thoughts. And for that, she needed to arrange for herself a very, very busy day.

Lady Hazel had also arranged a busy day for herself. She did not often leave the comfort of the house, but today she determined to pay a call. She told Gwen that she was going to pay a call on Lady Ogilvie, although she had no such intention. Gwen kindly offered to accompany her, but this would interfere with Hazel’s plan. Lady Hazel knew, however, that Gwen found Bess Ogilvie a dreadful bore, so it was not difficult to urge her to remain behind. Hazel had never before lied to Gwen, but she hoped the end would justify the means.

It was a little past eleven when she knocked at the door of the Selby house in St. James Square. When the butler opened the door, she saw Lady Hester standing in the hallway tying on her bonnet. “Oh, dear,” Hazel said in obvious disappointment. “You are going out.”

“Lady Rowle!” Hetty exclaimed, running to the door and grasping Hazel’s hands. “How lovely to see you!”

“Thank you, my dear, but I don’t want to keep you…” Hazel began.

“Nonsense. I was only going to call on that detestable brother of mi—” Hetty said unthinkingly, then stopped in embarrassment.

Lady Hazel patted her hand. “Then of course you must go. I won’t have you keeping that charming young man waiting on my account.”

Hetty looked at Lady Hazel in surprise. “Do you
know
my brother, ma’am?” she asked hesitantly.

“I had the pleasure of meeting him briefly a few weeks ago, when he came to … er … call on my daughter-in-law. I must admit I was quite taken with him.”

“It’s very kind of you to say so … under the circumstances,” Hetty said with appealing frankness.

“Not at all,” Lady Hazel said crisply. “We must not permit a tragic accident to cause unnecessary bitterness between our families.”

“Oh, Lady Rowle,” said Hetty, reaching up and hugging the older woman impulsively, “you are so good! So good!”

“But you must hurry along, Lady Selby. I believe I hear your carriage at the door.”

“I shall send it back to the stables, of course. I can visit with Drew at any time. Please go into the drawing room, Lady Rowle, and I’ll join you in a moment.”

“Well, if you’re sure Drew won’t miss you…” Hazel murmured in relief, and turned to do as she was bid.

When, a few minutes later, Hetty joined her guest in the drawing room, she found Lady Hazel looking about the room with interest. Hetty, always pursuing the latest styles, had had her drawing room decorated in the new Egyptian mode. The wall panels were painted white and edged with gilt, with Egyptian figures painted in the center of each. The gracefully-curved sofa had clawed feet, and a round table in the corner was supported by a pedestal which was ornately carved to represent two huge, winged beasts. All the furniture was upholstered in pale silks which, combined with the white walls—which were reflected in the large mirror over the fireplace—gave the room a surprisingly bright appearance. Lady Hazel, whose tastes ran to the dark, massive furniture of an earlier day, found herself rather uncomfortable in the midst of so much gilt and brightness.

“Won’t you sit down?” Hetty asked, indicating the sofa.

Lady Hazel lowered her tall frame gingerly and sat uncomfortably on the edge of the seat.

“I’m afraid you don’t think much of my Egyptian drawing room,” Hetty grinned.

“Well, I…” Hazel began. “You see, it’s all a bit too bright for me, my dear.”

Hetty laughed. “What you mean is that you find it vulgar.”

“Oh, no, my dear, of course not,” Lady Hazel said hastily.

“You needn’t be embarrassed. Selby and my odious brother agree with you. But I don’t mind. There must be a terribly vulgar streak in me—I love this room!” she said in her endearingly forthright way.

“And so you should, Lady Selby, for I am sure it is … er … all the crack!”

“Thank you, Lady Rowle. But I’m sure you didn’t come to see me to discuss my horrible taste in furniture,” Hetty said, pulling up a chair with gilded arms, the ends of which were carved to form lions’ heads. She perched lightly on it and looked eagerly at her guest.

“Well, my dear,” said Lady Hazel, uncomfortable about broaching the subject so abruptly but plunging in anyway, “I’ve come to see you about this bumble-bath your brother and my Gwen have got themselves into. May I be absolutely frank, my dear?”

“I wish you will be. This whole affair has given me many a sleepless night,” Hetty said, leaning forward with interest.

“Well then, without roundaboutation, I must tell you that Gwen has convinced herself that Lord Jamison is guilty of murder, and her mind will not be changed. Nevertheless, his visit a few weeks ago seems to have had a profound effect on her—”

“
Had
it?” Hetty asked eagerly. “I’ve tried and tried to learn what happened that day, but Drew won’t tell me a word about it.”

“Gwen will not discuss it either. Believe me, my dear, I was sorely tempted to listen in at the keyhole that morning,” Lady Hazel admitted with a twinkle, “but my old-fashioned conscience wouldn’t permit me.”

“If only
I
had had the chance!” Hetty grinned. “I have no conscience at all when it comes to eavesdropping.”

Lady Hazel laughed briefly and then sighed as she returned to her subject. “Gwen has not been quite the same since Lord Jamison’s visit. She mopes about the house, broods too much and goes off into a daydream in the middle of a conversation. Not at all like her. She is usually so … so…”

“Purposeful?” Hetty supplied.

Lady Hazel looked at Hetty gratefully. “Yes, the very word. Purposeful. And there is something else … troubling me about Gwen. I’m afraid her marriage to my son was not very happy, yet since his death I think she has been blaming herself for … well, for having failed to…”

Hazel was finding it difficult to speak frankly of her son. Hetty leaned forward and squeezed her hand. “I understand what you mean. I noticed myself that Gwen’s reaction to Rowle’s death was … strange.”

Lady Hazel nodded. “You are very easy to talk to, my dear. Now, I come to the reason for this visit. If we are agreed that Gwen and your brother would both benefit from an end to their hostilities—”

“Oh, I would agree to more than that!” Hetty asserted, her enthusiasm causing her to forget her manners. “I want to see them
married!
Nothing less will satisfy me.” She glanced at Lady Hazel quizzically. “Have I gone too far, Lady Hazel?”

Hazel smiled, but shook her head. “We mustn’t hope for too much,” she cautioned. “It will be enough to see Gwen overcome her bitterness and to restore Lord Jamison to the good graces of society.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Hetty said, sighing. “But I don’t see how we’re to bring even
that
to pass.”

“Well, you see, I’ve thought of something.”

“Have you?” Hetty said, delightedly clapping her hands. “How wonderful! We all—that is, Selby and Wystan Farr and I—have tried endlessly to find a way. What on earth have you thought of?”

The grey head leaned close to the curly auburn one, and a delightful hour passed in plotting stratagems. The plotting continued over a hastily-arranged luncheon of baked salmon, coddled eggs, country ham, cold roast beef, hot biscuits, stewed tomatoes, a ragout of veal, and a number of creams and jellies. By the time the two conspirators kissed each other goodbye, it was past two o’clock. Hetty saw Lady Hazel to the door, and, swinging her bonnet by the ribbons, she almost danced up the stairs to her sitting room where she spent the rest of the afternoon at her desk composing a number of carefully-worded notes. Meanwhile, Lady Hazel walked home with a decidedly youthful spring in her step, and a secret smile hovering at the corners of her mouth.

Lady Gwen Rowle had been persuaded by Sir George Pollard to join him and a couple of lively friends, Lady Flora and Sir Richard Warrenton, for a gay evening at the Covent Garden theater and a late supper afterwards at the Warrentons’ table. Gwen had at first refused the invitation, for Lady Flora seemed to her a silly woman who responded to every remark with a giggle, as if everyone’s purpose for speaking to her was to tease, and Sir Richard was a court-card who often rendered Gwen uncomfortable by staring at her decolletage through his quizzing-glass. However, Sir George was persistent, and Gwen had determined to keep herself busy, so she agreed at last. Now, sitting in a box at the theater at intermission time, she was glad she had come. The famous Mrs. Siddons was most affecting as Constance in
King John
, and Sir George had done everything to see to her comfort, even taking a seat between her and Lady Flora as if he understood that she did not enjoy having that lady giggling in her ear throughout the performance.