Never a Gentleman (35 page)

Bending his head back, he gave the Sikh on her balustrade a considered look. “When were you going to tell me about this little
set-up?” he asked. “Or did you plan to keep all your secrets?”

She never took her eyes from him. “I don’t know. Did you plan to keep yours?”

He gave her an unflinching look. “Come back to London and I’ll tell you mine. Every one.”

She was already shaking her head. “I don’t think so. I don’t think I’ll take well to being shuffled off into a corner so I
won’t bother anyone.”

He opened his mouth to argue and realized Drake had asked him to do just that. “Grace,” he said, the pain squeezing his chest.
“Your secrets affect your friends. Mine affect Britain.”

Diccan saw the remaining warmth leach from her eyes. “I see. You’re fucking the Frenchwoman for the good of Mother England.
Or was it me you fucked for the flag?”

Again she’d sneaked in under his guard. This time she
almost leveled him. “I won’t discuss that, Grace,” he said, wishing to God he could.

“Not to my satisfaction, certainly. Go back, Diccan. I won’t bother you. I won’t even speak to my uncle again. You’re safe.”

“It’s not enough.”

She actually looked tired. “I’m afraid it has to be. I can no longer survive like this. And tell the truth. You don’t need
me.”

He said it before he even thought. Before he considered how dangerous the words were. “But what if I want you?”

He hadn’t known how bleak laughter could sound. “You are kind, Diccan. But we both know better. Please leave me a bit of dignity.”

“Don’t argue with me, Grace.”

“I’m not arguing, Diccan. I’m simply not going.”

He found himself rubbing the damned headache. Then, inspiration struck. “If you won’t do it for me, do it for Kate.”

She abruptly stilled. “Kate? What does she have to do with anything?”

“Her family is having her followed again. They’ve caught wind of a rumor that she’s being painted as Aphrodite coming out
of the sea.”

He saw Grace deflate a bit. “Nude, I assume.” She shook her head, sighing. “Dear Kate, she never does anything by halfs, does
she?”

“They’ll yank her back to Moorhaven Castle faster than you can shoot. And if they get her there, they won’t let her out again.
They won’t hesitate to lock her up rather than risk possible scandal.”

Grace peered at him. “Can they really just kidnap a duchess?”

“Yes. And if you think she can appeal to her late husband’s family, Bea’s the only one of them who’d throw her a rope if she
were drowning. The only reason they haven’t been able to get to her yet is because she stays barely on the right side of propriety.
One nude painting would put an end to it.”

For a long moment, all Diccan could hear was birdsong and distant cowbells, the muffled shuffling of feet on the roof. Smythe
was waiting for him back at the inn, possibly to reveal enough to stop the attempt on Wellington’s life, and all Diccan could
seem to focus on was Grace.

“You’re telling me the truth?” she finally asked. “On your honor?”

Well, at least he could say this with a clear conscience. “On my honor. I ran into the Duke and Duchess of Livingston at the
Pavilion in Brighton.”

Grace winced. “Vile woman.”

“Please, Grace. Kate needs you. Get her to burn the damn thing or have some clothes painted on it. You’re one of the few people
she’ll listen to.”

“We’re supposed to go to Olivia’s wedding,” she said.

“I’ll try and meet you there.”

She spent a moment looking out over the trees, as if seeking support. Finally, though, she shrugged and sighed. “Of course.
Now, go on back to your friends. I have to make preparations.”

“Thank you, Grace.”

She looked back at him, and he saw the warrior again. “Oh, don’t thank me, Diccan. I don’t think you’re going to like how
this all comes out.”

His heart thudded with relief. “I know. Thank you anyway.”

He wanted to embrace her, at least drop a kiss of affection on her forehead. But she wouldn’t believe it was sincere. So he
stepped back and gave her his best court bow.

“My thanks, madame wife. I’ll see you soon.”

He was just turning back to his horse, when Grace stepped forward. “Diccan, one thing.”

He turned back to see honest concern in her eyes. “That Mr. Carver,” she said.

“Yes?”

“He frightens me. Be careful.”

He stepped forward, immediately afraid. “Did he threaten you?”

She seemed to consider that, which made Diccan even more nervous. “No,” she finally said. “I just think that for some reason
this is… personal with him. He can’t wait to arrest you.”

Diccan stood frozen for an unconscionably long time. If he’d had a decade to consider it, he never would have anticipated
Grace’s warning. But then, he didn’t know too many people with such an unwavering sense of honor. Diccan swore Grace was going
to rip the heart of out of him.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll be careful.”

Then, wishing he had any other choice, he swung up onto his horse and cantered off.

Grace stood in the drive so long that Harper called down to her, “You all right, then, girl?”

Startled, she looked up to see them all still ranged on the balustrade, the garden staff and Benny still crowding the front
door. “Oh, yes, Harps. Thank you for your help. I think we’re finished now.”

“You would wish me to follow the sahib and chastise him?” Bhanwar asked from the roof, his great black eyebrows pursed into
one, his sword cradled threateningly in his arms.

Grace found she could still smile. “Thank you, no, Bhanwar. I would far prefer a lovely biryani for dinner. Then I must pack
for London.”

He gave her a magnificent bow and held his hand out for his tiny Radhika. Grace watched them follow the Harpers from the roof
and ached like a lost child for what she would never have. For every half-formed dream that had died in the driveway this
afternoon, every hope that looked oddly like those two mismatched couples on her roof.

Before she knew it, she was limping off over the lawn. No one needed to be around her right now.

“Grace?” she heard Breege call.

“Leave her go,” Harper answered. “She needs to walk this one off.”

Walk it off. Yes, she imagined she did. It was what they’d done on the Peninsula when the carnage and pain had overwhelmed
them. Picked up a gun and walked into the dry brown hills. It hadn’t mattered then that by the time she returned her knee
hurt so much she had to soak it all night. It didn’t now. This had been one blow too many. She had to give motion to the pain.

These fields were a world away from those spare, sere hills she’d walked in Spain. This land was gentle and wooded and oh,
so deliciously green. Verdant green. Life-giving green. She could smell the green, felt as if she could roll in it and have
the color come off on her.

When she’d walked the empty hills of Spain, she had kept a place just like this in her mind, her reward for
services rendered to country and family. A home that would be hers alone, where she could be what she truly was without being
pitied or chastised or scorned. She’d known within five minutes of stepping out of the coach to see this place that this was
that home.
Her home
.

Only it wasn’t.

Epona saw her limp by and cantered along the fence, throwing her head and whinnying to get Grace’s attention. Usually Grace
laughed at the antics. Usually she had a treat for her beloved friend. But her friend wasn’t hers anymore either. Nothing
was. She could no longer pretend that any part of her life was really hers. Not her home or her life or her dreams. Not even
her treasures, lovingly gathered piece by piece over long years in exile, valuable to no one but her, but inextricably interwoven
with the dreams that had sustained her.

Diccan had taken it all away from her. He knew she’d have to go back to London, if only for Kate. He knew she would nail her
boxes shut and put them away again, because they simply didn’t belong in his world. Only this time Grace had the feeling she
would never be able to open them again.

She found herself leaning over the parapet of the stone bridge that gave the property its name. She loved the mellow old structure.
She loved the way the Kennet slid beneath with barely a murmur. She loved the time she spent sitting beneath the willows that
edged the bank, wrapped in quiet green and insect song as she fished the day away. What she had cherished most had been the
feeling that finally, after a life wandering to far and alien places, she had finally come home.

She felt the the crack in her control splinter wider, all
jagged edges and sorrow. She felt lost and angry and afraid, and she knew it would only get worse. She had done everything
she should have. She’d been a good daughter, a good woman, a good friend. She had spent her life holding off her dreams so
she could be those things. Was it funny that she had actually expected to be rewarded, if only with a home where she felt
wanted?

Diccan had been very nice to say what he had, but she knew better. He didn’t want her at all. Even so, he would never let
her go. Not now. Especially not if what she suspected was true.

She laid a hand against her flat belly, and the acid vanished from her chest. Would it be so bad? She could surely trade a
place of her own for a future she could never in her life have dreamed of. Ever even imagined. If she’d never even imagined
a wedding, how could she have foreseen a child?

Emotion filled her again, but this time it was an exquisitely sweet pain. A baby. Could it really be true? Certainly her courses
were late, but she had never known them to be regular. But for the last week she’d been sick, vomiting up anything stronger
than soup and bread. Breege had begun to look at her askance, and Radhika, who had her own babe, smiled.

Yes she thought. She would give all this up, and gladly, if indeed Diccan had given her a child. Someone who was hers, who
would love her and look to her for joy and comfort and peace. A small warm body to enfold. She never passed up a chance to
hold Radhika’s daughter Ruchi, even now that the girl was seven and smarter than anyone else in the household. She remembered
the wonder of having that wee babe nestle under her chin, a tiny hand wrapped
around a length of her hair, the minute heart a soothing flutter against her own. She remembered the terrible yearning for
that babe to be hers.

She knew better than to hope. But, unforgivably, she did.

And so it was that she nailed the lids back down on her precious crates, packed her Guards jacket yet again, and took her
Aunt’s creaking old traveling chaise back to London.
A week
, she kept repeating to herself.
Only a week until I can escape again. Until I can travel to Olivia’s wedding and at least have my friends to support me as
I try and untangle my life.
And by then, maybe she’d know for certain what that life would be.

One thing she did do for herself was bring along Mr. Pitt. If Diccan wanted to know what he now owned because of his marriage,
let him find out. Within twelve hours of arriving at Clarges Street, the monkey, a rather cantankerous black-faced langur,
had shattered Diccan’s favorite globe, bitten the first footman, and pelted Diccan’s bed with ripe fruit. Grace just reminded
everyone on staff that this was now Diccan’s pet and that they would do well to remember it. To a person, they grinned.

Leaving the monkey perched atop the curtains in Diccan’s study, she donned bonnet and pelisse and left for Kate’s. Grace kept
her promise. Over tea she alerted Kate to her family’s latest threat about the painting. Predictably, Kate laughed. “Good
Heavens, how creative. I suppose I must consider myself honored that they’re expending such energy to bring me to heel. Sadly,
I cannot oblige.”

Grace saw the tears rise in Bea’s eyes. “Un…
worthy,
” the old woman spat, and Grace knew she wasn’t speaking of painters.

Reaching over, Kate took a distressed Bea’s hand in her own. “My darling Bea, you and I both know it will come to nothing
but more humiliation to be poured on Edwin’s head.”

“Counterfeit,” Bea protested, her face screwed up in worry, her free hand fluttering.

“If there actually is a painting,” Kate said, “it is most certainly counterfeit. Which, sad to say for Edwin, is easily proved.”

It was something Grace hadn’t even considered.

“He wouldn’t.”

Kate chuckled, still holding tightly to a clearly distraught Bea. “He would. Well, Glynis would. Edwin doesn’t have the cunning
for it. He would think it a brilliant idea, though, wretched little snirp.”

Grace wished she were finished with bad news and could just enjoy her tea. She couldn’t, though. During her ride back to London,
she had made a decision. Secrets were too dangerous to keep. She needed help; she needed to share her information about Diccan.
She’d already sent a note to Olivia, asking her to keep an ear open to the investigation into the Lions. She should have known
better than to keep it from Kate. If nothing else, Kate had a knack for deadly insight.

“There is worse, I’m afraid,” Grace said, setting down her cup. “It’s about Diccan.”

Kate must have seen Grace’s distress, because she set aside her own cup and settled back, hand on Bea’s arm, her expression
calm. Bea kept sipping. Focused on her own tea, Grace told them of the accusations against Diccan. Because she knew how much
they both loved him, she had to tell them everything, even what she’d seen at Half Moon Street. Grace related it all as unemotionally
as she could, leaving the room in stark silence.

Then, suddenly, Bea came abruptly to life. “Bollocks!” the old woman snapped, setting her cup down so hard the tea sloshed.

Grace looked up to see that her friends did not look accusing or outraged, but sympathetic.

“Why didn’t you come to us?” Kate asked, taking hold of Grace’s cold hand.

Suddenly Grace was trembling with reaction. “I was told not to speak to you. And then Kit told me that Diccan was under investigation
and to keep out of it. I’ve decided I can’t do that.”