Sweet Enemy (23 page)

Besides, he’d sent for the surveyors to mark out the mine he planned to sink at the edge of his property, and he needed to oversee the placement. A smile crossed his lips when he thought of how outraged his mother would be when she learned he planned to convert acreage to a thriving lead mine and village.

This matter of missing money and blackmail would have to wait at least another week.

Setting his snifter on the corner of his desk, Geoffrey once again sat and opened the books from 1805. He’d been away from England two years by then. He tried to remember if he even knew the steward who’d been overseeing Somerton Park then. He searched his mind but came up blank.

Wait. He might not remember who the steward was at the time, but Witherspoon might. His father’s valet had stayed on at least a couple of years after the old earl died. The man might have some insight that could help Geoffrey solve this mystery.

He’d heard Witherspoon and his wife still lived in the village, and he had been meaning to get by and pay his respects. Bartlesby would be sleeping for at least a couple of hours.

Geoffrey swept up all of the account books and stowed them away in his desk. He knew he had only this afternoon before he’d have to rejoin the party and play the gracious host for a few more days.

He’d saddle Grin and head to town right now.

Chapter Fifteen

A

fter a brisk walk to the far side of the village, Liliana was feeling much more in control. The narrow lane leading to the Witherspoon cottage was a bit overgrown, the pickets of the weathered fence a bit askew, but the overall effect was pleasant. The tiny cottage her father had left her in Chelmsford possessed a similar quaint charm, and standing here on the Witherspoons’ shabby stoop brought a pang of homesickness.

Well, there was no time for that. Liliana rapped her knuckles against the hardwood door of the cottage. She bounced on the balls of her feet with nervous energy. Mr. Witherspoon just had to be well enough to see her today—there was no telling when she might be able to check on him again.

Muffled voices came from within. Liliana worked her thumb in circles against her index finger as she waited.

The rumble of hooves registered behind her and she turned to look over her shoulder. A rider slowed his mount as he came down the lane.

Liliana’s breath caught as disbelief sent her stomach plummeting to the vicinity of her toes.
Geoffrey
. What could he possibly be doing here? Had he found her out and come to prevent her from speaking to Witherspoon?

Her heart tripped in her chest, stumbling and skipping
like an exuberant toddler chasing after a rabbit. She fought the urge to hide, knowing he’d already seen her.

As he dismounted, Liliana tried to imagine what might have given her away. This morning she’d thought for certain she had nothing to worry about. She’d watched him carefully when she’d mentioned her father and his death. Geoffrey had shown only compassion, no guilt. He’d shown no shred of suspicion or caution where she was concerned, and given that he’d been far from England when her father was killed, she’d decided he really knew nothing.

Liliana shifted on her feet, her hands clenching even as she pasted a smile on her face.

Geoffrey tied Gringolet to a fence post and turned in her direction. Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he moved to join her. A hesitant smile touched his lips, one of surprise and puzzlement. The tight knot in Liliana’s chest dissolved to be replaced by sharp relief. He hadn’t expected to see her here any more than she had him. The feeling lasted only momentarily, however, as she realized he’d want an explanation as to her presence here.

Newton’s apple. Not only would he want an explanation, but there’d be no way she could interview Witherspoon now, even if the man
were
feeling up to it.

“Liliana,” Geoffrey said as he stepped onto the tiny stoop with her. Had she noticed before how wide his shoulders were? She caught his scent of mint and man, could feel the heat from his body. She felt an answering heat rise in her and she stepped back, moving closer to the door. His presence overwhelmed her but didn’t frighten her. Instead, a hot anxiety filled her, one she seemed to experience more and more in his presence.

His tone was genial, his smile gentlemanly, but there was something in his eyes that stirred her as his gaze dropped to her lips. A melting heat drizzled down Liliana’s middle, and her lips tingled as she recalled how he’d looked at her just so this morning before he’d bid her good day in the gardens.

Then he blinked several times and stepped back from her as well. He tilted his head to the side and his eyes narrowed slightly, though his voice remained friendly when he asked, “Whatever are you doing here?”

Unease came roaring back. “Well, I—”

A sharp click sounded and the scarred oak door creaked inward. An older woman poked her head through the door, blinking against the bright sun. The smell of stale urine, sickness, and overboiled cabbage wafted through the door and Liliana tried not to wrinkle her nose. The odors combined with the tired lines on the woman’s face to dim Liliana’s hopes of Mr. Witherspoon’s recovery.

The woman glanced briefly at Liliana before dismissing her as a stranger and turning her gaze to Geoffrey. Brown eyes widened with shock and recognition before one hand pushed back a lock of stringy grayish brown hair. The other hand began dusting off her well-worn skirts.

“M-my lord!” she exclaimed, flustered. “Whatever are you doing here?”

The question of the day, it seemed. Liliana turned toward Geoffrey to hear his answer, grateful to have been given a reprieve in answering it herself.

Geoffrey bowed to the woman. “Forgive me, Mrs. Witherspoon, for not coming to visit you earlier.” He rose to his full height, and again Liliana felt almost crowded by him, even though she had ample room on the stoop. “I was wondering if I might speak to Mr. Witherspoon.”

Liliana looked back at the woman, curious to see if Mr. Witherspoon was, indeed, up for visitors. There was, of course, the chance that the maid of all work hadn’t given the tonic recipe to her mistress at all. And even if she had, the woman very well may have tossed it, being that it came from a stranger who’d not even examined her husband.

Mrs. Witherspoon didn’t answer, but instead fixed her curious gaze on Liliana, who felt heat stain her cheeks.

Geoffrey gazed at her, too, likely still wondering why
she was here when Mrs. Witherspoon obviously didn’t know her. Yet he smoothly said, “Forgive me again. May I present Miss Claremont?”

Liliana opened her mouth to make an explanation when Mrs. Witherspoon gasped.

“Miss Claremont? You’re the young miss what come by yesterday and left the directions to make that concoction for m’poor Harold!” she exclaimed, pushing the door wide. Her expression changed, her crooked smile beaming. “Glory be.” She threw her arms around Liliana. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

Liliana staggered back at the unexpected embrace, then awkwardly patted the shorter woman’s shoulders. “Is Mr. Witherspoon improving, then?”

Mrs. Witherspoon released her, nodding vigorously as she wiped moisture from the corner of her eye. “Ever so much. I haven’t seen him this well in ten years or more.” She laughed, and a sense of pride swelled in Liliana at the relief in the older woman’s voice. Liliana couldn’t stifle a wide smile. This was why she spent so many hours poring over her tonics, why she worked so hard to find the link between sickness and chemistry, biology and environment.

Still, she had to remember why she’d come. “Is he well enough that I might pay him a short visit?” She glanced over at Geoffrey, who was watching her with a mixture of bemusement and something more intense. Curiosity? Admiration? Pleasant prickles bubbled through her chest. She abruptly returned her gaze to Mrs. Witherspoon and tried to sound proficient while she made up an excuse for her presence. “To check on his condition, of course.” Perhaps she could sneak in a question or two, though how she’d manage to ask anything substantial escaped her.

“I think so,” his wife replied. “Please, come in,” she offered, grabbing Liliana’s arm. As she pulled Liliana in through the door, she seemed to suddenly remember she’d left Geoffrey on the stoop. “You, too, of course, my
lord.” She let out an embarrassed chuckle as she motioned him in. “I’ll just check and see if Harold feels up to visitors.”

Mrs. Witherspoon bade Liliana and Geoffrey wait in a darkened parlor. Liliana shot Geoffrey a bland smile, trying to act as if nothing about their situation was unusual. He still watched her with an expression she couldn’t fathom, yet sent tiny tremors off in her middle. She glanced at the floor, then all around the room, looking everywhere but at him. But she couldn’t ignore his presence, and though he stood a respectable distance from her, it was almost as if he were pressed up against her, so alert and attuned was her body to his. It seemed as if whatever attraction was between them grew exponentially stronger each time he was near, like a reaction that burned hotter and hotter the more substance one introduced.

“I wasn’t aware you were acquainted with anyone in the village,” Geoffrey said.

Even uttering the most mundane of words, his voice moved over her like a warm velvet caress. Closeted with him in this dim parlor as she was, that feeling of having her space pleasantly invaded returned. A delicious shiver snaked through her.

“Not acquainted, exactly,” she said, slanting a glance his way. Had he moved closer to her? Her heart sped up. “I ventured into the village during my morning ride yesterday. I…I had an overwhelming urge for a hot cross bun,” she said, hating the lie even as it passed her lips. Allowing Geoffrey to think she’d come to Somerton Park only at her aunt’s insistence had been bad enough, but at least then it hadn’t been necessary to actually lie to the man. She’d just nodded at his erroneous conclusion. But now she was actively deceiving him, and it didn’t sit well.

“The Witherspoons’ maid was picking up the morning bread at the bakery and we began talking. She told me of her master’s condition, one I recognized the symptoms
of, so I gave her the recipe for a tonic that might help.” She shrugged.

That look of concentrated intensity she’d seen on his face before, as when he’d precisely loaded his pistol during their wager, was turned upon her. She squirmed beneath it.

“I see,” he said after a moment. “Just part of your life’s work.” There was no doubt of the admiration in his voice and his expression.

She shrugged again, embarrassed and more than a little uncomfortable. How odd. She’d spent her life chasing recognition, yet the look she saw in Geoffrey’s eyes shamed her. Here he was thinking lovely things about her while she lied to him.

Liliana tried to focus her attention on the parlor as distraction. The windows were covered with heavy fabric, the air musty and filled with dust. The house had probably been shut up while Mr. Witherspoon convalesced, a common enough practice, but one she wholly disagreed with.

A few moments passed in silence, but Liliana could feel Geoffrey’s occasional stare. Finally, a shuffling sound drew their attention.

An older man, rawboned and gaunt, ambled down the hall with the help of his wife and the maid Liliana had met yesterday. As Mr. Witherspoon passed into the light, Liliana blanched at how pale he looked, his ghostly skin blotched with spots. Yet when he smiled at her, Liliana glimpsed what he must have been like in his younger years—a rascal, no doubt.

As was proper, Witherspoon greeted Geoffrey first, but he almost immediately turned to her. A perplexed look crossed his wizened old face as he glanced between her and Geoffrey.

“So you’re my angel,” he said finally, coming to stand before her.

Liliana felt her cheeks pinken. “How are you feeling?”

“Chipper as can be, thanks to you,” he answered.

“I’m glad I could be of help. I wasn’t sure you would try my suggestions, given I’m a complete stranger who appeared out of nowhere on your doorstep.”

Mr. Witherspoon barked a laugh that sounded quite hearty to her. “Believe me, miss, when you’ve been feeling as rotten as I have these past months, you’re willing to try anything…even if old Scratch brought it to your door hisself.”

Liliana felt the corners of her lips rise. But as she took in his pallid tone, she glanced around the dark room once more. She remembered seeing a fence around the side of the thatched cottage. Perhaps there was a courtyard in the rear. She decided to take a chance.

“Well, perhaps you’d be willing to try another piece of advice?”

A wooly white brow rose in expectation.

“Might we sit out in the sunshine while we visit?”

Mrs. Witherspoon gasped, clutching protectively at her husband’s elbow. “Out of doors? Are you mad?”

Liliana held firm. “I know it goes against common wisdom, but there is something about sunlight that is very reviving to a body.” She waved her arm in the direction of the windows. “Fresh air, too. In fact, my suggestion would be to take down these drapes and throw open the windows. Not only here, but in Mr. Witherspoon’s rooms as well. Unless there is worry of contagion, there’s no reason to be confined when the weather is fair. It will do you a world of good, sir,” she said, keeping her eyes on Mr. Witherspoon, not daring to look at Geoffrey to see if he, too, thought she was mad.