Skylark (33 page)

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Authors: Jo Beverley

BOOK: Skylark
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But then she remembered his hands.
She growled, tired of trying to make these mismatched pieces fit. The soft voices faded even more, and then a door closed. They’d gone into the bedroom. Or HG had been sent to bed like a naughty boy.
Laura straightened and abandoned her post. She went to look out at rippling sea and sunny sky. Not a scene to match her thoughts. There was no longer any hope that HG was Henry Gardeyne.
Stephen was on a wasted journey, for there was no need to raid the room. But then she changed her mind. They’d do it in order to liberate HG from Farouk and give him a chance to live his life as he wished. She’d have to leave that in Stephen’s hands, however, because she really must return home.
But then it truly sank in that Harry was as vulnerable as before. That she must return to her previous plan. It was perhaps not quite so bad now. Stephen had said he wanted to marry her, so there was no need to seduce him. She had only to say yes.
As for suitability, she would make sure it was an honest bargain. After all, she loved him, so it surely wouldn’t be difficult to be what he wanted and needed—informed, concerned, serious, decorous. There would be no trace of skylarking. She’d enjoyed their quiet time here and their complex, interesting discussions . . .
She wasn’t paying any attention to the scene in front of her, so it took her a moment to realize what she was seeing.
Jack Gardeyne. Riding up to the Compass!
Chapter 37
Laura shrank back out of sight. How had Jack made it here so quickly? He must have ridden like the devil, and half through the night. She shouldn’t have underestimated a sporting Gardeyne. Of course, there was nothing for him to find other than a fraud, but there’d be hell to pay if he discovered her!
She edged forward just enough to watch him. Was he planning to take rooms here? How was she going to avoid him then? She didn’t believe her disguise would fool him for more than a moment.
When he turned his horse, she let out a fervent breath of relief. He’d only been checking out the Compass.
What would he do now?
She watched him ride back down the street and into the yard of the King’s Arms.
Oh, thank heavens. Here came Stephen. She waited impatiently, keeping a cautious eye on the street. As soon as Stephen walked in, she said, “Jack Gardeyne’s here!”
He was instantly alert. “At the inn?”
“No, but he rode past, studying it.”
He smiled. “Then things could become interesting.”
“Interesting!” She sank into a chair, realizing that Stephen didn’t know what she knew. “HG isn’t Henry Gardeyne.”
“What?”
She told her story.
He’d taken the station by the window and was looking out, so she couldn’t see his expression. “Don’t tell me it was too big a risk,” she said at the end.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” It was flat, possibly sarcastic. He turned to look at her. “You’re sure? He could be very changed.”
“Including the color of his eyes? What’s more, I’d lay money that he was a common seaman once. It’s there, even though he’s been educated. And how can that have happened, when he was a slave in the Algerian mines? Which he obviously wasn’t. His hands and complexion are finer than mine.”
“Impossible,” he said with twitching lips.
“Wait until you see him.”
“Will you be jealous?”
She realized where that might take them. “
Nothing
about this makes sense. Nothing! But I want HG freed from Farouk. He . . . he dominates him, and I’m sure he can be cruel.”
“Of course.” He seemed lost in thought. “And we want to see what Jack Gardeyne does. We might be able to make some use of it. You’ll have to stay in these rooms, though. He might recognize you.”
“You’re right. And when the sun is finally shining. As for Jack, what do you think he’ll do?”
“Investigate, I assume. And have as much trouble seeing HG as we did.”
Stephen, however, had a look she knew of old: deep thought. “What if Lord Caldfort shared his worries, and Jack decided to act on his own?”
She straightened. “Strike without warning and get rid of the problem altogether? It would be like him. And his principal target would be HG. Until he sees him. Then, I assume, he’ll ride home laughing.”
“Thus HG’s seclusion. They could never know when an investigator would arrive, so Egan Dyer had to stay out of sight. Strange that Farouk didn’t find someone a little more likely.”
“Oh!” she cried in exasperation. “It
still
doesn’t make sense. My brain feels like scrambled eggs. I should leave for Redoaks now.”
But then she realized that would leave Stephen unbound.
“Don’t you want to be here to catch Jack Gardeyne in mischief?” he asked. “It could be very useful.”
“As a weapon over his head? You’re like the snake with the apple.”
“Hisssss.”
She laughed, shaking her head, but inside she knew she was the snake, or Eve, ready to tempt him, perhaps into misery.
“What of Kerslake’s men?” she asked.
“I reached Crag Wyvern—and I don’t envy Kerslake that place. It’s like the grimmest medieval keep. Nothing on the outside but arrow slits—to find him away at Bridport. So I left a message hinting at the situation. He probably won’t get it until it’s too late to come here today, but that doesn’t matter now.”
No, nothing matters now.
She found herself fretting about HG, however. He seemed so defenseless. “What if Jack’s come here prepared to pay the money, and Farouk then slits HG’s throat? Just because HG seems devoted to Farouk doesn’t mean that Farouk isn’t a deceitful villain. And the young man is strangely sweet.”
Stephen gave her a look. “I approve of a tender heart, but yours is becoming mushy. What exactly do you want me to do?”
“If Farouk goes out again, can you follow him? Make sure he doesn’t rendezvous with Jack?”
“I can, but I don’t like to leave you alone. I know, I know, but if Jack Gardeyne is a murderer, he’d welcome a chance to kill you, too. That would leave Harry completely in his power.”
A chill swept through her. “You’re right. I’ll lock the door while you’re gone, and I do have my pistol.”
She took it out of the reticule, and he came to inspect it. “A nice piece. Does it fire straight?”
“I could hit things with it. I stopped practicing when Hal wanted me to hit a rabbit.”
She caught a flicker of a grimace. “Stephen, I cannot and will not stop talking about Hal. He was my husband for five years, and some of those years were happy. Harry is his son, and I’ll do my best to keep Hal’s memory alive for him.”
There she was, warning him off again.
“I was simply wondering if you’ll be able to fire at a man.”
“Oh,” she said, deflated. “Have you ever shot a man?”
“Touché. But I have shot rabbits and various other creatures.”
She put the gun back in the bag. “I can only hope I’ll do what I have to do.”
He returned to watching through the window, and Laura paced anxiously. Though serious, this venture had not seemed truly dangerous before. She wasn’t even sure where the danger came from—Jack or Farouk, or both—but she truly believed it now.
She didn’t want Stephen out there, even though Jack could meet him and be not at all suspicious.
She paced into Stephen’s room and listened at the wall.
Silence.
And anyway, what was the point? She knew the truth, and she knew what she had to do.
Hidden from Stephen, she leaned for a moment against one of the bedposts. She wanted him so much, in earthy ways and others, that she felt weak with longings. Only see how calm he was, though. Perhaps her warnings had taken root and he’d come to his senses. And how could she seduce her beloved out of that? Scrambled eggs, indeed.
A noise startled her, and then she knew what it was. Squeaks in the corridor. She hurried into the parlor. “I think Farouk’s leaving.”
Stephen picked up his gloves and hat, and Laura took his station at the window.
Stephen paused at the door. “What are you going to do if Farouk is going to the apothecary for corn plasters, and Jack sneaks in here?”
“Run out with my pistol and throw myself between HG and death . . . Don’t be silly. I think I’ll screech,
Fire
!”
“Do that. This is no time for skylarking. Remember, Jack might want to kill you. I’d see him in hell by tomorrow, but he may not know that until too late.”
His cool intent quivered in her like desire. She couldn’t resist. She went to him, cradled his face in her hands, and kissed him. “Take care. I value your safety, too.”
She moved to let him go, but he pulled her to him and kissed her, a full, passionate kiss more staggering than before. Then he was gone. She touched her lips, still sensitive from his searing kiss, knowing she was smiling like an idiot.
He was not cool. Not cool at all.
What was she going to do about this? If she could believe he felt true love, she would be as carefree as a skylark, but what if he was deluded by her sober appearance? Even at Caldfort, he’d encountered Laura Gardeyne, mourning widow and devoted mother.
Within weeks she could bring out her old finery and be Labellelle. Was that who he wanted? Was that who she was—now?
She sat by the parlor window to watch for Jack and consider true honesty.
A number of people were taking advantage of the late afternoon sun, promenading to and fro for health and pleasure. Dr. Grantleigh was out there in his chair, his wife beside him, holding his hand. Captain Sillitoe was chatting to another gentleman. Jean was hurrying back from some errand.
They were all, she assumed, living relatively uncomplicated lives.
What a blessed state.
Chapter 38
Stephen followed the blue turban, trying to concentrate on the dangers from different parties and anticipate them, but his mind seemed stuck in that kiss. He kept losing control when he was supposed to be winning Laura with care and restraint. Giving her time to think. Not pressing her. Certainly not seducing her!
He’d gone to Caldfort with the aim of stealing her freedom by courting her before anyone else had the chance. Proof of how low desperation could push a man. It had been even worse. Nicholas was right. He hadn’t even recognized the nature of the prize he wanted to possess; simply been desperate to correct the old loss.
Now he knew, however, knew the remarkable complexity and strength of Laura Gardeyne, and for the first time he recognized how sane, intelligent men could be driven beyond all limits by desire, by need, of such a woman. He would not be pushed into dishonor, he vowed. He would do nothing to force her choice.
How the devil could she be expected to make any rational choice now, amid the danger and mayhem that circled her precious child?
Farouk approached the King’s Arms and Stephen watched, praying that the man did not go in, for that would mean an appointment with Reverend Gardeyne. The Arab walked on and Stephen paused to think.
Farouk and Gardeyne might have already appointed a meeting elsewhere, but in so little time? If he followed Farouk, he couldn’t watch for the vile vicar. He decided to stay near the King’s Arms, where he could watch and guard Laura.
The vile vicar. He felt coldly certain that Gardeyne was a villain, and that his plan was to kill and leave. He could see the sense of it. As far as Gardeyne knew, no one else except his father had a hint of this affair. Eliminate any threat from a resurrected Henry Gardeyne and there’d be only one small boy to dispose of.
He didn’t know that small boy had a resolute protector. No, two. Stephen was sure that Gardeyne greatly underestimated Laura.
He loitered near the Arms, buying a newssheet from a lad for an excuse, but after a couple of encounters with people who wanted to chat, he strolled down onto the beach. He could continue to observe from there.
He found his attention wandering too often to the upstairs windows of the Compass, not looking for Dyer but for a glimpse of Laura. He even wished he had the telescope. Madness, but in normal circumstances, of the sweetest kind.
He couldn’t lose her. In a fair and just universe, he could not lose her again. Everything about Laura was precious to him. The turn of her hand, the line of her back, that omnipresent perfume, so subtle yet so magical. Her sparkling laugh.
She didn’t laugh enough, and he didn’t think it was just this situation.
He could make her merry as a lark.
He could seduce her.
Despite all his resolve, the thought returned, winding itself in false colors. He’d be saving her from another mistake, making it easier for him to protect her son.
Despite the somewhat wild reputation of Lady Skylark, he knew Laura was not the sort of woman to take intimacy lightly. She would feel she should marry a lover. She might even get with child, which would clinch it.
Unfair. Unethical. Base. But would it really matter, when it was clear she desired him, too? When they were old friends and newly delighted in one another?
“Hissss,” he said, recognizing the snake in his thoughts and trying to stamp it into oblivion.
 
Laura had seen Stephen halt outside the King’s Arms while Farouk went on. She’d watched him buy a newssheet and read it, then walk down onto the beach. She wished she were there with him, arm in arm, breathing in the sea air, walking with Stephen.
She remembered to look away, to check the wider scene for threats, to her, to him. No Jack, no Farouk.
She went to listen at the wall when there was no point, simply to be in Stephen’s room.
She wouldn’t let herself repeat her previous folly and disturb the bed, but she didn’t seem able to control herself entirely. She wandered the room, exploring with eyes and sometimes with fingers. His valise—plain leather, well used, and with a small brass plate engraved with his name.

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