The Belligerent Miss Boynton AND The Lurid Lady Lockport (Two Companion Full-Length Regency Novels) (58 page)

Everyone, it being well past two in the morning, was tucked up in their beds fast asleep.

Anne Chevington, the picture of contentment, was snuggled up against her husband's shoulder as he lay softly snoring, an open copy of
The Compleat Gardener
resting on his ample belly.

Down the corridor, Lord and Lady Storm also slept in each others arms, having completed a discussion of each other's matchmaking schemes, a conversation that had engendered some lovemaking a little closer to home.

Lady Lockport slept all alone in her wide, otherwise empty bed. No contented smile softened her features, just as no masculine chest served as her pillow. She tossed and turned, as if some dissatisfaction troubled her even in her sleep, and more than one long, sad sigh escaped her lips.

Behind the door on quite the opposite side of the Countess's sitting room resided the only occupant of The Hall who was not yet abed. Not that Lord Lockport had not tried to sleep—heaven only knew he craved a few hours in the arms of Morpheus—but it was not to be.

Kevin paced the floor of his chamber, his mind unable to stop replaying the scene enacted earlier in the large saloon. "She clung to that popinjay like a demmed barnacle," he gritted aloud as the picture of his wife and Rory O'Keefe deep in discussion in a corner of the saloon came back to haunt him yet again.

Oh, yes, he had been sitting in Glynis's pocket the whole evening long himself, but even though he had done so on Jared's advice, his hadn't really been in the thing.

You're jealous, old man
, his inner voice told him now. "You're damned right, I am!" Kevin agreed aloud, before downing a half-glass of burgundy and pouring himself another.

In the act of bringing the glass to his lips, he hesitated a moment, thinking he heard a noise in the corridor. He listened a moment longer, then shrugged, dismissing the sound as just the natural creakings of an ancient building, and took a small sip from his glass.

There! He'd heard it again. No settling of timbers that, he decided, and no ghost ever succeeded in making a sound like breaking glass. Chains dragging, or deep groans, that's what ghosts sounded like, he was sure.

Putting down his glass, Kevin moved stealthily toward the sitting room and tiptoed past Miss Roseberry's pallet to the small door leading to the dresser's bedroom. Silly woman, he thought, smiling. Did she really believe he was such a slowtop that he was unaware of the door that led from that bedroom directly into his wife's chamber?

He had to know that Gilly was abed and not, as Bo suggested, skulking the corridors at night, seeking the fortune.

He approached her bed slowly, unable to resist the temptation of a lengthy observation of his wife's slumbering form. She was beautiful as she lay there, one small hand cupping her cheek, and he was caught between leaving her to her dreams and sliding into the bed beside her, waking her with kisses.

Then he remembered the noises he had heard, and told himself that this was not the time to play the froggie who would a-wooing go.

Nevertheless, he was here now. He had heard noises. Should he wake her? Did one takes one's wife along on midnight searches, especially if they could prove dangerous? No, one did not. But if one did, and caught the burglar, wouldn't it be nice to have one's wife witness such a feat of derring-do? Kevin decided, considering himself more than a match for any thief, that, yes, one did.

Putting a hand across her mouth as a precaution, he leaned down and whispered into his wife's ear: "Gilly.
Pssst!
Gillyflower—wake up."

Two huge round blue eyes flew open in mingled astonishment and fear; those emotions rapidly replaced, as those same blue orbs narrowed in a combination of outrage and accusation that was truly eloquent.

Look at him,
Gilly demanded of herself as she stared up at Kevin,
standing there grinning like the village idiot. What is he about anyway?

Gilly's mental question was soon answered when he hissed,
"Listen."
Pinned down as effectively as she was, and having no other option open to her except to do her best to bite his hand, she did. Sure enough, within a few moments there was something for her to hear. A sound, muffled but still audible, coming from the main saloon beneath her chamber.

Kevin brought his mouth to within a hairbreadth of her ear and asked her if she would promise to keep still if he removed his hand. Not knowing if it were his hand, his mere proximity, or his warm breath fanning her ear that most upset her heart rate, and not sure if it was indignation or anticipation that had so accelerated that same heart rate, she vigorously moved her head in the affirmative.

Once released, she sprang up from the bed and, slipping on the sky blue satin dressing gown that had been draped over a nearby chair, whispered, "Well? What are you waiting for—reinforcements? Haul yourself over to the door to the corridor and let's get going. If you want to catch a thief, Kevin, you must be prepared to do more than listen to noises and take ten years off your wife's life by half smothering her with your great oafish fist."

The Earl smiled ruefully and shook his head. "Ah, Gilly, you're a treasure. A veritable pearl beyond price. Some women would swoon. Then again, some would cower under the counterpane while sending their husbands off alone to investigate—and possibly to their deaths at the hands of a dastardly fiend intent on some nefarious mission. Even others would, upon awaking to hear such a noise, fail entirely to understand the significance of such a bump in the night. But not my wife. Oh, no. No indeed. No that Amazon, that Boadicea. Not only does she immediately comprehend the seriousness of the situation, but she launches herself posthaste into the fray. I say, wife, do you wish to take up the poker or shall I?"

Gilly let out her breath in an exasperated sigh. "If you have done with your speeches and your histrionics, perhaps we can
get on with it?"

Yet as Kevin made for the door another thought occurred to Gilly. "Wait," she called out quietly. "I have a better plan. Come with me."

So saying, she tiptoed barefoot to the wall beside the bed. Pressing on a wooden rosette decorating the massive clothespress, she stepped back as the press swept silently down the wall for the space of two feet, revealing a narrow, dank, cobweb-hung flight of stairs that sank down into the darkness below.

"What—?"

"
Ssshh!
This staircase leads directly to the main saloon." Snatching up her night candle, Gilly led the way down the curving stone staircase, the flickering flame raised on high causing her orange gold hair and satin robe to send off starbursts of light as Kevin followed two stairs behind her, holding her hand.

"Where do we come out?" he whispered, the poker he had mentioned jokingly now cradled firmly in his left hand.

"There's a small hinged door behind the curtains in the deep window embrasure. We can enter the saloon with no one the wiser. Or we could, if you'll but put a muzzle on your yapper," Gilly returned in a fierce undertone.

It took Gilly a few moments to find the spring that would release the door. When she did at last locate it, the door opened inward with a loud screeching noise reminiscent of the uproar a pig makes when caught in a grate.

"We could have had a fanfare of trumpets announce us instead, pet," Kevin groaned, shaking his head. "At least they'd have been more harmonious."

The screech had no sooner subsided than another noise, that of running feet, could be heard coming from somewhere in the saloon. But by the time Kevin could bodily displace Gilly and take up the chase, all that was left for him to do was to close the glass doors to the garden that had been left swinging in the intruder's wake.

"So much for that," he commented tightly as Gilly joined him at the door.

"I'm sorry, Kevin. Truly I am. I guess the spring needs a bit of oil. I should have thought of it sooner, but it has been years since I've made use of that particular passageway," Gilly apologized earnestly.

Together they went round the large saloon, lighting candles until they could see well enough to ascertain what the trespasser had been doing in the room. There was no sign of any disturbance of Rice's well-ordered housekeeping, none at all, which was unusual, as thieves are not normally known for their fastidiousness in the midst of burgling.

As nothing was missing, not even the chased-silver snuffbox encrusted with a circlet of rubies Bo had left in plain view on a small end table, the intruder's intention did not seem to be robbery. After all, he'd certainly had time and enough to pocket the snuffbox and much more before he was interrupted. It could only be deduced that the person had been looking for something specific and had taken great pains not to disturb anything and thus alert the residents that he had been there at all.

"In case he didn't find what he was looking for and wanted to return for another visit," Gilly crowed, gratifying Kevin by her quick understanding of the situation.

Even more pleasing to Kevin, however, was the dawning realization that Bo had been wrong in his assertion that Gilly could have been secretly hunting out the fortune herself in a bid to be shed of Kevin once and for all.

Yet, as they climbed back up the stone stairs to Gilly's bedchamber, Kevin was hit with a disquieting thought. "Is this the only secret passageway or, Heaven forbid, is The Hall honeycombed with false walls, trap doors, and hidden rooms? Lord knows it's old enough to be riddled with them."

"There are several passageways and the rest, located all over The Hall. Why do you ask?" Gilly questioned, hunting out any stray cobwebs by running her fingers through her short mop of curls (now sadly flattened from sleeping, although Miss Roseberry, by means of an artfully applied curling wand, would refurbish them in the morning).

"Because, you delightful ignoramus," returned Kevin, who had decided he would be damned if he'd spend the rest of the night alone now that he had gained entry to his wife's bedchamber, "if there are hidden passageways, and if someone besides ourselves has knowledge of them, we're open to any number of visits from our midnight prowler. Just the thought that he could enter my own wife's chamber and accost her while she sleeps here all alone? Why, it fair makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up in dread."

Gilly chuckled at this show of sensibilities. "That's laying it on a bit too thick and rare, don't you think, Kevin, even for you? I'm perfectly safe. After spending a near-lifetime prowling all over The Hall, I can guarantee you that this particular passage, at least, opens only from this side of the clothespress."

"How greatly you relieve my mind," Kevin mumbled, clearly crestfallen. "But what about the other passageways? Do any of them lead outside? Never mind answering, pet. Of course they do. What's the sense of secret entrances and exits if they don't lead outside."

Gilly admitted there were such secret exits, although she had failed to locate them. Then, because he was looking so crestfallen, she told him of one of Sylvester's strangest projects—that of ordering mammoth tunnels dug from the stables outward in a well-planned grid pattern, so that he could actually drive a curricle and two around parts of the estate underground.

Kevin nodded. "I'm not surprised, already having learned more than I want to know about Sylvester's mad starts. I've heard the Fifth Duke of Portland has done much the same on his estate, and his underground warren includes, besides the drive, a vast amount of rooms in which he can indulge his love of privacy. Strange lot, our countrymen. But," he went on, now strategically seating himself at the end of Gilly's bed, "the questions remain as before, don't they, pet? How accessible are these underground tunnels? How many do they number? And, Heaven forbid, who all knows of them?"

"I'll admit that none of this occurred to me before now. Most certainly the men who helped dig the tunnels know of their existence. They do present a danger, don't they?" his wife agreed, sitting herself down beside him. Then, it being quite late, she yawned and rested her head on his shoulder.

Kevin took this opportunity (as he was no slacker when it came to making the most of any breach of defenses) to slide his arm around Gilly's shoulders. They remained thus for some minutes, Kevin reluctant to rush his fences. But soon he tired of the game and made to turn Gilly towards him to deepen the embrace.

But he had left his move too late. She was asleep. The dratted female was fast asleep! Kevin's light kisses on her eyes and cheeks did nothing to rouse her, but only caused her to sigh once in contentment before burrowing her face more closely against his chest.

What a drafted coil. If he woke her—if he indeed could wake her, for she was, in his mind at least, almost comatose—she could be counted on to order him from the room or, failing that, call for her dragon, Miss Roseberry. Yet, if he slipped her gently into bed and crawled in beside her, there would be the devil to pay in the morning. Besides, how could he possibly lie in the same bed as Gilly without going mad with wanting her?

In the end, Kevin was forced to acknowledge that, just perhaps, a slower seduction was in order. Would probably be best served to deposit his wife back under the covers and take himself off to his own chamber. Probably. No,
certainly.
He knew he had to put as much distance between Gilly and himself as he could, or else he might be tempted to do something stupid, and thereby destroy his only chance to win her. Indeed, the heat of his passion was so intense at the moment, he was surprised the bedclothes hadn't already burst into flame.

And so the dawn found the resolute, resolved, and quite terribly alone Lord Lockport slumped in a chair in his chamber, his dressing gown still tied about him, a half-empty glass dangling from his fingers.

If this was what love did to a person, Willstone thought as he removed the glass from his master's slack hand, he'd take steak and kidney pie, thank you anyway.

#

Kevin had requested the two men to meet him in the Long Library before dinner (having not seen his friends all day due to a minor crisis on one of the farms), and Jared was more than a little concerned that their friend had news of some gravity to impart.