Authors: Kate Pearce
Simply Carnal (15 page)
“I have a perfect right to interfere. I am the one who was nearly kidnapped, after all!”
Christian’s gaze slid back to Paul. “Do you think it was a kidnapping attempt?”
“I assume so. The man had plenty of time to kill her before I reached them. He had a knife.”
“He could have slit her throat.”
“Exactly, but he didn’t use it. I found it tucked in his belt when I had him cornered.”
“Did he threaten you with the knife, Elizabeth?”
“No. He didn’t need to. When he grabbed me, I had no chance to do anything, even scream.” Elizabeth shook her head and then felt dizzy. She reluctantly lay back on the pillows. “He was trying to tie my hands when Paul caught him.”
There was a gentle tap on the door and Ambrose appeared with a tray containing a bottle, a spoon, and a small glass of water. “I have some laudanum for Elizabeth. It will help her sleep.”
Christian sighed. “You might as well stay, Ambrose, and save me having to repeat everything to you later.”
Ambrose glanced at Elizabeth. “If that is all right with you?”
She waved a hand at him. “Perfectly.”
Her face was starting to throb as if she had a toothache, and she really wanted to be alone. She knew Christian was unlikely to leave until he had extracted every detail from her and Paul. Which begged the question, how much did she want to tell him? Her close encounter with the obnoxious Gaston had shaken her more than she would have imagined.
Ambrose opened the laudanum bottle and measured out a dose into the glass of water. “Drink this, Elizabeth.”
“Thank you, Ambrose.” Elizabeth shuddered at the bitter taste but knew she had no choice but to drink. It was like most of her choices at the moment, bitter but unfortunately necessary.
Christian waited impatiently until Elizabeth swallowed the dose of laudanum Ambrose offered her. The right side of her face was scratched and bloodied, and he feared she would have a black eye in the morning. A cold rage settled over him as he contemplated what he would have done if he’d been the one to catch her attacker.
But he hadn’t been there, had he? He’d delegated the task to his companions because he feared he was becoming too involved with his newest employee. And much good it had done him. Now he was even more enraged and still involved.
He brought one of the chairs over from beside the fire and placed it with a deliberate thump by the bed. Elizabeth lay against the pillows, her eyes closed, her hands clasped tightly on top of the covers like a marble effigy on a tomb.
“Elizabeth, if we are to stand any chance of helping you, I need to know exactly what happened.”
She opened her gray eyes to look down at him. “I understand that.” She sighed. “I will do my best.”
“Thank you.”
Christian didn’t like the hint of reserve in her voice, but he knew her well enough to accept that a partial victory was better than nothing. He reached out and took her hand, uncurled her shaking fingers, and interlaced them with his own.
“So tell me exactly what happened from the beginning,” Christian commanded.
“I met with the man who placed the advertisement in the newspaper and spoke to him for a few minutes.”
“His name?” Christian demanded.
“He didn’t give it to me. I only know him by the initials RR he used in the advertisement.”
“Was this RR the one who followed and attacked you?”
She frowned. “No, the man in the office was a perfect English gentleman, although he spoke French very well.”
“And what did he want?”
“He said he had a message from a member of my deceased husband’s family and that they wanted me to return to France. I told him I had no intention of returning on their terms.”
“And did he become enraged?”
“No, he took the news very calmly. He told me he would take my answer back to the family and that he would contact me again if necessary.”
“Did he not seem angry at all?”
She started to shake her head and then winced. “No, which was why I was so surprised when I was attacked.”
Christian contemplated their joined hands as he thought through the issues. “Did you see RR, Paul?”
“I didn’t. Once I was certain that Mrs. Smith was in the newspaper offices, I set about organizing our transportation home. I knew she wouldn’t be foolish enough to leave with anyone, so I assumed she would be safe for a moment.” Paul groaned. “Of course, it took longer than I anticipated to get the hackney and now I feel like a fool.”
Christian agreed with that sentiment, but he didn’t want to arouse Elizabeth’s wrath again by mentioning it to Paul. “What happened next, Elizabeth?”
“The man left, and I waited a few minutes in the office before I left as well. Paul asked me to meet him at Somerset House, so I turned in that direction.” She hesitated and Christian squeezed her hand. “I crossed the street, and just as I stepped up onto the pavement, someone caught my heel and I almost fell. When I tried to straighten up, I realized I was trapped against ... against a man I recognized.”
“What man?”
She bit down on her already-bruised lip. “My deceased husband’s valet.”
“What is his name?” Christian asked.
Another tiny hesitation. “Gaston.”
He thought back over the scraps of information she had let fall about her marriage. “The same Gaston who would beat you when your husband became too frail to do so?”
She swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“Why do they want you back so badly, Elizabeth?” She tried to pull her hand out of his grasp but he held on. “Elizabeth. . .”
“Because there are some legal matters that I control, and the family wants to control them instead.”
“What kind of legal matters?” Christian persisted despite the stiffening of her expression.
“Matters concerning the finances of the estate.”
“Why weren’t these matters settled before you left France?”
“Because their ‘demands’ were not beneficial to my health.”
“You were in fear of your life?”
Elizabeth still failed to meet his gaze. “That is the only reason why I would have left.”
Somehow he knew there was more to the story than she was sharing, but at least he had the bones of it.
He released her hands. “I shall speak to my mother about finding you the most knowledgeable French lawyer available. Until then, you are not to leave the house without an escort. Do you understand me?”
“I am quite prepared to accept an escort, but I do not want you to involve your mother in any of this.”
Christian met her gaze head-on. “You are employed by my mother. If she chooses to defend you, I believe that is her prerogative.”
“I do not need her to defend me or to interfere.”
“Why not?” Christian paused as he finally recognized what lay behind her defiance. “What are you afraid of?”
“Mr. Delornay, it is not that simple,” Elizabeth whispered. “It never is.”
“Then tell me what the real problem is, and let me help you.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes and lay back against the pillows. Apart from the livid red marks on her cheek, her skin was the color of palest porcelain. Christian stared down at her as he sensed her deliberately shutting him out.
“Do you wish to live your life like this, Mrs. Smith? Always hiding in the shadows, afraid to use your real name or venture out in case you are kidnapped again? What kind of an existence is that?”
She turned her head away from him, and he stood up and took a sudden violent step toward the bed. He halted as he noticed the tears sliding down her cheeks. Something inside him twisted and his hand dropped to his side. Ambrose touched his shoulder and brought his finger to his lips.
“Let her sleep, Mr. Delornay. Perhaps she will have more answers for us in the morning.”
Christian reluctantly allowed Ambrose to usher him out of Elizabeth’s bedchamber and down to his study where Paul handed them both large brandies. Christian swallowed the entire glass in one gulp and held it out for a refill.
“I don’t care what she says. We are going to help her.”
“Hear, hear,” Paul replied, holding up his brandy glass.
Ambrose said nothing, his gaze fixed on the swirling brandy, his expression thoughtful.
“I will talk to my mother tomorrow,” Christian said, and then groaned. “Damn, I’ll have to write to her. I believe she and Philip are still traveling.”
Ambrose looked up. “I’m not sure what we can do.”
“There must be something!”
“I’m sure there is, but we don’t have a lot to go on.” He paused. “Why are you so anxious to help Elizabeth, Mr. Delornay? Shouldn’t you just turn the whole matter over to your mother?”
“I know Elizabeth far better than my mother does,” Christian said. “I have an obligation to help her.”
“But she refuses to trust you with her problems.”
“She refuses to trust anyone.” Christian glared at Ambrose. “I am hardly the one at fault here. If you think you can do any better, please go ahead!”
Ambrose raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps I will.”
Christian pulled a piece of paper from his desk and got out his pen. “I have to write to my mother. Please make sure that someone checks on Mrs. Smith during the rest of the night to make certain she is well.”
Ambrose put down his untouched brandy and rose to his feet. “I’ll take care of that, Mr. Delornay. Marie-Claude has already offered to sit with her.”
“Good.” Christian didn’t look up. His patience with his old friend was wearing terribly thin, and he was reluctant to see the condemnation on Ambrose’s face. He stared down at the blank piece of paper and saw instead Elizabeth’s bloodied face.
“Christian?”
He reluctantly looked up and saw that Paul had lingered by the fire. “What?”
“I’m sorry about what happened to Elizabeth while she was in my care.”
Christian put down his pen. “You saved her in the end. That is really all that matters.”
Paul’s hands clenched into fists. “But that was only by chance. I was lucky enough to see him take her. I had to fight my way through the crowds to get to them. I could so easily have been too late.”
“But you weren’t.”
“And yet you are still angry with me.”
Christian sighed. “No, I’m angry at myself for misjudging the severity of the situation and not taking proper care of Mrs. Smith.”
“She’s hardly made it easy for you, has she?”
“That is true.”
Paul straightened and turned for the door. “If it is any help to you, I suspect Elizabeth’s family come from Sussex.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because that’s where my family came from originally, and I can hear it in her speech. She also seems familiar with some of the landmarks I’ve mentioned in conversation.”
“Well, it’s a start,” Christian said.
“I’ll write to my great-aunt Agatha,” Paul said. “She knows all the gossip in Sussex for the last fifty years—she started most of it herself, actually, and she might know of Elizabeth’s family.”
“Thank you, Paul.” This time Christian met Paul’s brown gaze without rancor. “I’d appreciate that.”
“Good night, then.”
Paul half saluted and left Christian sitting by himself with far too many questions still unanswered and the safety of the woman he’d reluctantly become involved with preying on his mind.
13
E
arly the next morning, Christian was back at his desk reading the morning mail when Ambrose came in and shut the door.
arly the next morning, Christian was back at his desk reading the morning mail when Ambrose came in and shut the door.
“Mr. Delornay, there is something I need to show you.” Ambrose laid the black pelisse Christian had chosen for Elizabeth on the desk. “This is the coat Elizabeth wore yesterday.” It was muddied to the knees and the wool was badly creased.
“What of it?”
“I was going to send it to be laundered, so I checked the pockets.”
Christian sat forward. “You found something?”
“I found this.” Ambrose placed a surprisingly heavy leather pouch into Christian’s outstretched hand. “I suspect it is jewelry of some sort.”
“I wonder if this came from the mysterious RR?”
“One would assume so. The advertisement did mention possessions.”
“Did you open it?” Christian asked.
“Of course not!”
“I assume you want me to do it instead.”
“Despite my past as a pickpocket, you have always been far less scrupulous than me, Mr. Delornay.”
“That is true.” Christian searched Ambrose’s face. “If you hate the idea of violating Elizabeth’s privacy so much, why didn’t you just give it back to her and not tell me about it?”
Ambrose grimaced. “Because I suspect this is the only way we might find out something useful about her. And I truly believe she needs our help whether she wants it or not.”
Christian weighed the purse in his hand. “I’ll open it. If she’s angry, I’ll willingly take the blame. She might not realize that jewelry can be traced back to its maker and thus to its owner.”
“Why would she know?” Ambrose said. “Only thieves, gamblers, and pawnbrokers need that information.”
“And proprietors of upper-class houses of pleasure. How many pieces of jewelry have we discreetly traced and returned to their grateful owners after a night of drunken revelry here?”
“Several,” Ambrose replied. “It’s amazing what people will forget or misplace in the heat of passion.”
“Or in a writhing mass of naked bodies.” Christian opened the drawstring and tipped the contents of the bag out onto his blotter. “Jewelry, it is.” He carefully spread the jewels out. “A mixture of new and old.” He looked up at Ambrose. “How likely is it that Elizabeth had time to catalog exactly what was in here?”
“Very unlikely I’d say.”
“Well that could play to our advantage. If we find anything of note, we can probably remove it temporarily. She’ll assume RR didn’t bring everything with him or that he helped himself to some choice pieces.”
He stared down at the precious gems and gold and stirred them with his finger. Most of the newer pieces appeared too large and gaudy to suit Elizabeth’s beauty. He reckoned someone else must have chosen them. He paused to admire a string of perfectly matched pearls and then spotted something completely suited to their purpose.
“There’s a locket here, Ambrose.”
He picked it up, disentangling the thin gold chain from a diamond and ruby hair clip. The locket was oval and appeared to have a worn family crest engraved on the front. Christian tried to open the locket but met with no success. He passed it over to Ambrose, who couldn’t open it either.
“I’ll take it to Mr. William Neate, the jeweler on Cornhill. Send him a note, Ambrose, and ask when it will be convenient for me to see him,” Christian said. “I’m sure he’ll be able to find out who made the locket and reveal what’s inside.”
Ambrose sat back. “I still don’t like this.”
“This may surprise you, but I don’t like it either,” Christian replied. He got out his handkerchief and laid the locket in the center before placing it back in his pocket. “I’ve been harping on about being honest to Mrs. Smith for weeks and now I’m stealing her jewelry.”
“I suppose it is for a good reason.” Ambrose sighed. “Is there anything else there that might help us?”
Christian perused the rest of the jewelry. “There’s a silver bracelet that might yield a hallmark and a maker’s name. I think I’ll keep that in reserve.” He removed the bracelet, put it in the top drawer of his desk, and locked it. “I suggest you delay returning this jewelry to Elizabeth until she thinks to ask for it. With any luck, I might be able to get the locket back into her possession before she even realizes I’ve borrowed it.”
“That would probably be for the best.” Ambrose stood up. “But if she asks for the bag, I will give it to her.”
“Fair enough, my friend.” Christian gathered up the remaining items and put them back in the soft leather pouch. “Here you are.”
Ambrose took the bag and put it in his coat pocket. “I dispatched your letter to your mother this morning.”
“Excellent.” Christian rose too. “Let’s hope she has some answers for us as well.”
Ambrose went along to the kitchen and Christian turned toward the stairs. When he reached Elizabeth’s room, he knocked softly on the door and was surprised when she asked him to enter. He halted inside the room, his gaze drawn to the empty bed.
“Why aren’t you still in bed?”
“There is no reason for me to be there,” Elizabeth answered him far too lightly. “I am feeling much better.”
“Are you sure?”
She was busy drawing the curtains to let in the weak sunlight. She was fully dressed in a gray muslin morning gown with a paisley pattern. She looked over her shoulder at him and he saw that she did indeed have the makings of a black eye.
“I’m a little stiff and sore, but that’s all.”
Christian leaned against the bedpost and regarded her. Her dogged independence continued to both impress and alarm him. “I haven’t scheduled you to work today.”
“Why not?” She lifted her chin.
“Because you’d frighten all the guests.”
“Oh ...” Her hand flew to her cheek and she blushed. “I could easily cover the bruises.”
He walked across the room and took her hands in his. “You don’t need to.”
“Then what am I supposed to do all day?”
“You can help me with the accounts?”
She looked dubious and he raised her hands to his lips and kissed her fingertips. She looked up, her cool gaze guarded.
“Why are you being so pleasant?” Elizabeth asked.
“How did you expect me to be?”
“Angry, and busy pestering me with a thousand more questions.”
“I assume you told me everything there was to tell.” He paused. “Was I mistaken?”
“I told you everything I could.”
“That’s not the same and you know it.”
“But it is more than you knew before.”
He watched her carefully. “Did you think I would still be angry with you?”
“Of course I did. You hate my unbecoming independence.”
“That’s not quite true,” Christian said. “In some ways you remind me of my mother.”
She shivered. “Don’t say that. I’ll wager you would have preferred it if I’d turned up here, cried buckets of tears, and flung myself on your mercy. You probably imagine you could have solved all my problems by now.”
“No, because I would still have underestimated the severity of the threat against you.”
She sighed. “I’d forgotten that money is a powerful motivator.”
“You obviously inherited something they want.”
A shadow passed across her exquisite face. “I suppose I did.”
“If you could relinquish those rights, would you do so?”
“Some of them, yes. I even offered to ...” She closed her mouth and looked away from him. “I cannot relinquish them all. It’s not that simple.”
“You keep saying that, and it is beginning to annoy me.”
“
Beginning
to?” She opened her gray eyes wide. “You hate the fact that you don’t know everything about me and that I keep secrets.”
Beginning
to?” She opened her gray eyes wide. “You hate the fact that you don’t know everything about me and that I keep secrets.”
“I suppose I do,” he said slowly. “I’m not used to being denied anything.” He studied her grazed cheek and the swollen cut on her lower lip. “But I want to find the man who did this to you and beat him to a bloody pulp.”
“That is very noble of you. I doubt it would help.”
“I disagree. He frightened you, didn’t he?”
Her expression stilled. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you finally told us more about the threat to your person.”
She sighed. “He did frighten me. Even when my husband was alive I never liked Gaston.”
“Did he do more than beat you?”
Her answering smile was perfect. “Yes, he did. I don’t believe he was supposed to touch me, but he found plenty of opportunities.”
Christian’s longing to find Gaston increased tenfold, and he dwelt lovingly on an image of hanging the damned Frenchman by his testicles and leaving him like that to die.
“Despite your concerns, I’m still going to ask my mother to help you.”
“There is no need.” She hesitated. “I’m hoping this will be the last we hear of them.”
Christian snorted. “Elizabeth, if your husband’s family is prepared to chase you across the English Channel and abduct you in broad daylight, a slight setback like this is hardly going to put them off.”
She moved away from him and started pacing the room, her hands clasped together at her waist. “Then perhaps we could set a trap and force them out into the open.”
“With you as bait? Do you really think I would agree to that?”
“It is not your decision to make.”
He watched her carefully as his suspicions deepened. “I suspect you are planning something else entirely.” He paused and she went still, her calm gaze fixed on his. “Something that involves only you.”
She turned away from him. “I did think to give myself up and go back.”
He frowned at her averted face. “Like a meek little lamb? Do you really believe I’d fall for that? You are just trying to draw me away from your true purpose.”
She walked away from him toward the door. “I might have no choice. Even you said that running away from everything was foolish.”
“And running straight back is any better?” She opened her door and Christian started after her. “I don’t believe you are that foolish.”
He also hoped to God he could find out something about her life before she attempted to solve all her problems herself and ended up in danger.
“I’m not foolish, just practical.” She glanced up at him, her gaze clear and steady. “I’ve brought you nothing but trouble, Mr. Delornay, and I regret that immensely.”
He wanted to tell her that wasn’t true, but the words stuck in his throat. Her arrival
had
changed everything, and he still wasn’t sure if he liked it. She simultaneously intrigued and delighted him, made him crave her sexually and worry about her safety—all the softer emotions he’d striven to control or eradicate from his personal life.
had
changed everything, and he still wasn’t sure if he liked it. She simultaneously intrigued and delighted him, made him crave her sexually and worry about her safety—all the softer emotions he’d striven to control or eradicate from his personal life.
“I don’t regret meeting you, Mrs. Smith.”
But it was too late and too little. She’d already retreated behind her smiling mask, and he’d lost the opportunity to reassure her that she was valued and safe with him. Part of him regretted that; the rest of him was simply too relieved that he hadn’t made a terrible mistake. He of all people knew that showing how you felt was never a good idea.
Christian left Elizabeth with Marie-Claude and went down to the kitchen. Paul arrived through the back door, his blond hair damp and curling from the drizzle. His boots left muddy tracks on the flagstone floor, which Madame Durand was sure to notice and complain about.
Paul held up a bundle of papers. “I have some post for you. Shall I put it in your office?”
Christian patted the tabletop. “You might as well give it to me here.”
“And how is Mrs. Smith this morning?”
“She seems quite well,” Christian said, his attention caught by a letter that bore his mother’s unmistakable handwriting. It was too soon for a reply to his message, so he assumed she had some news of her own to share. “Mrs. Smith is upstairs talking to Marie-Claude if you want to see for yourself.”
“I’ll do that, thank you.”
Paul disappeared while still being scolded by Madame for the state of his boots. Christian slit the seal on the letter. It was closely written in dark ink and seemed to contain a great deal of exclamation marks, which was fairly typical of his mother’s style.
He frowned as he read. His mother had consulted with her many acquaintances in the shipping world and obtained a list of passengers who had crossed from France to England in the past year. She had narrowed down the list of possibilities to three women who might be Elizabeth. All three had crossed from Calais to Dover and had traveled alone.
She went on to say that she had information coming as to where each of the three women had traveled from in France to reach the port of Calais. Christian paused briefly to admire both his mother’s methods and her thoroughness. It hadn’t occurred to him to try and trace Elizabeth back to France from her port of entry. He read the letter again and then took it into his study and locked it away in his desk.
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