Tainted Angel (18 page)

Lina woke the next morning, stiff from having spent an uncomfortable night. Carstairs had determined that the cot wouldn’t be sturdy enough to hold their combined weight, and so the straw mattress was dragged to the floor beside the banked fire. He had then tenderly covered her with both a blanket and his own warm and wonderful body but she had been unable to fight exhaustion and so had fallen asleep during his lovemaking. Remembering, she covered her face with her hands and groaned with embarrassment.

“So ye’re awake.” Maisie was pouring a jug of hot water into the basin.

Lina assessed her maidservant through her fingers and decided the other’s mood had improved, which was a good thing. “I could sleep the clock ’round, Maisie, and this wretched pallet reminds me of sleeping in a haystack.”

“Ye can sleep later—I has me orders, I do.” The other woman slung a flannel towel over her shoulder and assessed Lina with a practiced gaze, her hands on her hips.

Propping herself on an elbow, Lina swept the hair from her eyes and returned her regard with some surprise. “And who, pray tell, is giving you orders?”

But Maisie was unrepentant. “Yer man, that’s who. He’s nowt happy ye’ve never seen a doctor about the babe, and small blame t’ him.”

Amused, Lina contemplated the fact that her erstwhile husband knew exactly how to winkle his way back into favor. “Heavens, Maisie—what has he said to sweeten you up? Or did he bribe you?”

Ignoring the slight, her maidservant continued, “I’m to keep ye quiet today and see to it ye have eggs an’ milk.”

With a grimace, Lina lay back down. “Neither sounds very appetizing just now.”

Considering this, Maisie suggested, “I can dip some bread in the eggs and milk so as to soak—then toast the bread.”

“With jam?” Jam actually sounded rather appealing.

“I’ll find some,” agreed Maisie. “We’ll see iffen ye can keep it down.”

Lina gingerly stretched out her aching back, trying to muster up an appetite. She could hear rain tapping on the garret’s window and pulled the wool blanket closer around her shoulders. “Has Mr. Carstairs eaten?”

“Hours ago—he left t’ mount a search. Sech a fine horse.” Maisie considered herself a fair judge of horseflesh, being from the north country.

Smiling, Lina teased her, “Ah—now I understand why you will take orders from him. Did he promise you a foal?”

But her maid continued, unashamed of her new loyalty as she laid out the linens. “He made me promise ye wouldn’t try to escape t’day whilst he was away. Ye’re to hide—bein’ as ye’ve drowned an’ all.” Reminded, she added, “He said yer not to walk about when I’m downstairs, so no one hears you and comes to look.”

Lina lay back to contemplate the rough-hewn ceiling, her hands behind her head. “You’ve turned coat, Maisie—I am disappointed but unsurprised.”

Unfazed by this calumny, Maisie bustled out the door. “I’ll fetch yer breakfast. Iffen ye can manage to go back to sleep, I won’t wake ye—it’d be better than eatin’, I’m thinkin’.”

Lina tried to muster up enough energy to rise and dress, the straw pallet rustling while she turned to sit up. Although she was used to sleeping in uncertain surroundings, she had not done well last night; she had dreamed of San Sebastian—probably because she had spoken of it—and woke in a cold terror, her heart pounding. Carstairs had held her and assured her in Portuguese that the baby was safe—she must have said something in her nightmare. Poor man, she thought. First I fall asleep during lovemaking and then I give him a scare for his troubles; he’ll think long and hard about taking me on.

Raising her arms over her head to stretch, she could not suppress a smile because despite the fact she should not trust him an inch, it did seem—and here she was cautiously optimistic—he truly meant to take her on. Even though I am a bundle of troubles, she thought with remorse; I should help him sort them out.

To this end she spoke to Maisie while picking with little enthusiasm at the proffered toast and jam. “Do you think you can lay hands on a Bible somewhere?”

Maisie blinked. “Ye’ll be studyin’ the Bible now, missy?”

“I have a mind to,” Lina teased with a sidelong glance. “I shall have to teach this child something other than how to nick an ace.”

Dubious, Maisie offered, “I’ll see if I can find one downstairs—I has t’ leave at noon, though.”

“Oh?” Lina raised her brows in amusement. “Do you have standing orders, then?”

Maisie lifted her eyes to the ceiling, folded her hands under her apron, and recited, “I’m to bring food t’ the men who’re lookin’ for ye; I’m to remember to be sorrowful, and weep.”

Privately, Lina hoped Maisie could pull it off; she tended to be self-conscious when she was playing a role, which is why it was a rare—and desperate—occurrence.
Deus
, she thought, I cannot take another bite to save my life, and she pushed the plate away.

Shaking her head with sympathy, Maisie gathered up the breakfast things while Lina lay back, fighting nausea. “I’ll bring a Bible an’ ye kin read while I’m gone. And don’t forget—no movin’ about.”

Thus enjoined, Lina passed a tedious day watching the rain on the tiny windowsill and thumbing through the onionskin pages of the ancient Bible until she found what she was looking for—not that it eased her mind. I don’t know why it’s such a Good Book, she thought, staring at the fire—it does me precious little good.

In the late afternoon she heard voices and doors slamming and was sorely tempted to do some soft-footed listening, but Maisie came in just as she moving toward the door.

“Ye’ll stay put, missy,” the maid warned. “Yer man’s back, wi’ some o’ the men; he says he’ll offer ’em a drink and then he’ll come up to see ye.”

Lina brightened, pleased her abject boredom would soon be at an end. “Good—first brush out my hair and then make yourself scarce.”

Maisie looked disapproving. “Best t’ let the poor man rest—he’s had a long day.”

“He won’t complain, Maisie.”

And he didn’t; instead he paused in the doorway for a moment, surveying her naked form with approval as she approached and twined her arms around his neck. “Poor Lucien—you look tired.”

He wrapped his arms around her and spoke into her ear. “Knackered. But recovering nicely, as I imagine you can tell.”

She chuckled and trailed kisses along his throat. “Good—I have to make it up to you for falling asleep last night.”

He bent to kiss her shoulder as his fingers began unfastening the buttons on his shirt. “I didn’t take it personally—I just soldiered on without you.”

Laughing, she kissed his chest as she helped him pull off his shirt. “I am sorry, Lucien. I meant no insult.”

He enclosed her in his arms and squeezed tightly, lifting her off her feet. “I don’t know—I’ve never had a woman lose interest as quickly as you did.”

She obligingly wrapped her legs around his waist and ran her tongue along the inside of his ear, evoking a grunt of pleasure. “I am all attention, now.”

“As am I—painfully so.” He cupped her hips and pressed her against him as he carried her across to the fire. “Mind your head,” he warned as he maneuvered them beneath the low ceiling and onto the pallet. “Someday soon,” he murmured into her breasts, “we are going to do this in a decent bed.”

“I shall hold you to it,” she whispered, and could feel a chuckle reverberate in his chest, although he was fast becoming too serious to joke. He began to caress her while she gave in to the mindless pleasure—they were becoming accustomed to one another, and she now knew what pleased him best, as he knew her own preferences. For a moment, she was aware she would have to test their newfound trust, and soon—but she quickly quashed the thought and instead concentrated on the delightful present.

After a very satisfying session of lovemaking, Lina rested her head on his shoulder and pulled gently at the hairs on his chest. “Are you too tired to tell me what’s afoot?”

“We’ll see,” he murmured sleepily.

“How are you playing it?”

She felt his chest rise and fall. “I am grim but resigned—I hold out little hope.”

“Are you bereft?” she teased. “I would appreciate it if you were bereft.”

“Only so much that I won’t be suspected of doing you in. Recall that I only married you because you were pregnant.”

Keeping her tone light, she asked, “Are you more bereft or less bereft than when Marie died?”

There was a small pause. “Unfair,” he finally said.

“Sorry.” He is good, she thought; he does not allow a distraction and his guard never comes down. Perhaps I have met my match—which may or may not be a good thing, considering this tale is not yet told and much remains to be accomplished.

“The Vicar does not believe you are dead.”

Startled, she propped herself up on her elbow and looked down into his face. “The Vicar is
here
?”

Carstairs regarded her from beneath hooded lids and ran his hand over her back. “He is in close contact.”

Lina was all admiration; Carstairs was much better at serving up a distraction than she was.

Lina prodded, “What does our illustrious Vicar have to say on the subject?”

Carstairs’s hands continued their lazy progress across her lower back. “He says we are fools to believe it, short of having your lifeless corpse before us on a slab.”

Frowning, she absorbed this distressing information. “Does he suspect your complicity?”

“Not as far as I can tell.”

She thought it over. “What is next?”

Tracing a finger across her lower lip, he replied, “The weather is helping; the locals tell us nothing will wash up for days—if at all—and most likely a half-mile to the south.”

She teased, “Will you call off the search and take long and contemplative walks on the cliffs, thinking of what might have been?”

He lowered his chin slightly. “No—I will depart this sad place with all speed.”

This was of interest, as she was slated to accompany him—although the logistics had not yet been sorted out. “Where do you go to mourn my poor dead self?”

Slowly he drew a tendril of her hair with two fingers to place it behind her ear. “Even your ears are perfect.”

Impatiently, she shook his fingers away because they tickled. “Do not change the subject, if you please. I would know where the twice-widower will reside, being as I imagine I will reside there with him.”

He drew a finger along her cheek. “There is a safe house in Kensington—it will answer, and I doubt anyone will think to look for you there, with me. Only Maisie is to know,” he added with emphasis, and it was clear he was warning her not to contact Brodie.

Laying her head on his chest, she said lightly, “So—you are to go home grieving, and break the news to my unknowing friends and acquaintances.”

She felt him sigh in acknowledgment. “My sad charge.”

There was a pause. “It’s a bit rainy for a ride in a sack, Lucien.”

“You are welcome to remain in this garret” was his mild reply.

She rose on her elbows again and gently punched him in the arm. “Don’t even joke; I hate being cramped up in here—I’ve been miserable every moment.”

He cupped her hips against him with his hands, smiling. “Oh?”

She chuckled and conceded, “Well, perhaps not every moment.”

“I thank you.” He drew her head toward him for a kiss.

After the lingering kiss, she smoothed his hair from his forehead. “I am reconciled to your plan, I suppose—how am I to be extracted?”

“Maisie will accompany me back to London, bringing your trunk and weeping into her handkerchief all the while.”

With a sigh, she lowered her head again to his chest. “Just make certain I have enough air.”

“That’s my girl.” He fingered the ends of her hair where it spilled around his ribs.

“But won’t the Vicar be watching Maisie for such a trick?”

Drawing a strand of hair through his fingers, he lifted it and watched it fall. “I think not. He is preoccupied—your disappearance is not nearly as important as the disappearance of the latest gold shipment. The Treasury is in an uproar.”

Lina lifted her head and met his gaze. “Are there any leads?”

In a neutral tone he disclosed, “One. A gold brick was discovered in your house.”

Lina had no problem portraying her extreme surprise. “Truly? In
my
house?”

“It was under your cook’s pillow.”

She stared at him in horror, and then ducked her head and struggled not to smile. I cannot break role, she thought in desperation—hold steady,
menina
. Laughter welled up from within her breast, and she could not control it to save her life, so she burst into laughter until the tears came to her eyes. She had not laughed so hard in a long, long time.

He pulled her to him and laughed right along with her. “You can only imagine…”

“Oh Lucien,” she gasped. “He must have been furious.”

They laughed together again, then brought themselves under control, Carstairs’s hand resting on her head. “How did you twig him?”

“Lucien,” she protested with a smile. “I know nothing of this.”

With good humor he pointed out, “But you knew it was the Curate, masquerading as your cook.”

“Only because you gave him away—when I mentioned the card games with the footman next door you couldn’t hold your role.”

They gazed at each other a long moment and a smile still played around his lips. “Don’t tell him I gave him away.”

“As if I’d grass on you, wretched man—you should know better.”

Chuckling, he rubbed his hand along her back. “I now see why my plan to clear your taint must be so complicated.”

But she disagreed and shook her head at him with a smile. “Pray acquit me of this prank—how can I be implicated? I was safely stowed away here at the end of the earth with no friends at hand. Then I was good enough to drown.”

Ducking his chin, he conceded, “Good point—all suspicion must fall on Brodie, then.” His gaze was suddenly sharp upon her.

She arched a brow. “You know Brodie—perhaps he merely twists the Vicar’s tail. It is not as though Brodie doesn’t have his own gold bricks lying about.”

Carstairs nodded in acknowledgment. “It is not enough to bring him in, certainly—and even if it was, they wouldn’t dare for fear of what he’d do, and how it would look if they couldn’t find proof of any wrongdoing.”

“Definitely—and remember that he is unpredictable and does not always react as you would expect. Not to mention that he will have been bereaved of a very fine mistress—I’d not like to cross him just now.”

“Will he grieve?” Carstairs asked, touching her face with his fingertips. He seemed genuinely curious.

Lina answered easily, “I imagine—he is very fond of me.”

He traced her jaw line with a forefinger. “No more.”

“No more what?” she teased.

“No more of that life.”

She leaned in to bite his ear, gently. “Alas—and I have such a lovely sugar box full of jewels.”

He tilted his head toward her because he was enjoying the attentions to his ear. “You won’t need them in Suffolk.”

She chuckled. “Lord, Suffolk will not know what to make of me.”

“I will.” He nibbled on her throat, then twisting, shifted himself atop her, his mouth trailing down to her abdomen. He paused and placed his hand across her trim waist for a moment, contemplating it. “It is hard to believe there is someone in there.”

“I tend to forget, myself.”

He propped up on an elbow and placed a palm where the baby rested. “What was your mother’s name?”

She gazed at the ceiling and smiled. “Concepción.”

He grinned. “Perhaps not.”

“No—we shouldn’t saddle this poor child with such a name.”

“Constance, perhaps,” he suggested.

Touched, she laid a hand against his face. “You are a wonderful, wonderful man.”

He turned his head to kiss her palm and returned the compliment. “I cannot believe my good fortune—that I am here, with you.”

“An amazing turn of luck.” She could not suppress the undercurrent of irony and berated herself; she shouldn’t undermine the bliss of the moment.

He did not respond to her tone but shifted up to lie beside her, pulling her head to rest on his shoulder. “I have to earn your trust. I understand.”

They lay together in drowsy silence for a few moments while the rain pattered on the tiny window. “What if the child is a boy, Lucien?”

He tightened his arm around her. “Jameson. We have little choice, I’m afraid—every other generation is Jameson or Lucien.”

With some alarm she confessed, “I am afraid to ask how many generations there have been.”

“Nonsense; you are fearless.”

Making a wry mouth she continued, “And I’ll wager none of them has ever brought home someone like me.”

“Poor souls.”

Apparently he was feeling amorous again as he began to engage in the preliminaries. “Lucien,” she whispered. “I’m afraid you are being foolish—to ignore such things.”

He kissed her, open mouthed, and trailed kisses down her throat before he asked, “Is there any chance you will be executed for treason?” Suddenly his face was above hers, the expression in his blue eyes very serious.

“No,” she said with complete sincerity. “Not the smallest chance.”

“Then I don’t care what they think.” His face disappeared between her breasts and she decided there was nothing to be done—he was certifiable, poor man. But a master at lovemaking, which completely made up for the lapse. “Lucien,” she gasped. “We have to stay quiet.”

His busy mouth was muffled. “I am not the one who is noisy.”

Writhing with pleasure, she laughed again. I could become accustomed to this, she thought.
Por
favor
Deus
.